The mood of the room has grown grim. I see them looking me over again, reassessing whatever initial assumptions they made of me. I’m wearing a simple white shirt, jeans, and a scuffed up pair of leather boots, the items a little travel-worn. They’re also not mine. I’m sure I came in looking young and naive. I hope they see the haunted look in my eyes, and I hope they hear the truth in my words.
If they do, this might just work.
“No horseman has ridden through this country in two decades,” the mayor finally says. “Why would one show up now?”
I try to find my patience. I was never meant to be a diplomat.
“I don’t know why,” I say. “I don’t actually have any of the answers. All I do know is that I met a man with black wings who called himself Death, and he’s been riding through town after town, killing everyone in his wake.
Again, an ominous silence falls over the room.
“As far as I can tell, this horseman doesn’t sleep, and neither does his steed,” I say. “There is one thing and one thing only that drives him: the need to annihilate us. The only thing I can try to do is warn cities like yours. If you evacuate your city, you might survive Death’s wrath.”
The chief of police clears his throat. “There’s one problem with your story,” he says. “If Death is killing everyone he crosses, then how are you still alive?”
This is the question I’ve been dreading. Of course they’d want to know this. I haven’t come up with a convincing enough lie, so I go for the truth.
“I cannot die.”
The room grows quiet again; only now, I feel the collective skepticism and distrust.
Finally, the mayor laughs humorlessly. “George was right. This is a goddamned waste of our—”
“I can prove it.” I don’t want to, but I can. “I just need a knife and a little more of your time.”
Chapter 8
Lexington, Kentucky
October, Year 26 of the Horsemen
“This is ridiculous,” the mayor protests a minute later. “No one is going to let you cut yourself—or whatever the hell you plan on doing.”
“You want proof I cannot die; I have the proof. Do you really think any of this is bloodless?” I demand vehemently. “My hometown isn’t the only city I’ve seen fall. Look at those X’s. They represent every massacre I’ve seen with my own eyes. And there are countless more that I haven’t seen. I’m trying to prevent Lexington from being another X on my map, so if you need proof, I’m willing to give it.”
It’s quiet for a long moment, and I can tell the men are uncomfortable with everything I’m telling them.
“Fuck it,” the chief of police says, threading his hands behind his head, his chair groaning as he shifts his weight. “If the lady wants to cut herself to prove a point, I say she does it.”
I don’t want to do anything.
The fire chief stares at me for a long moment, then nods his head.
“Really?” The mayor blows out a breath. “Fine, whatever.”
I begin rolling up one of my sleeves as the mayor mutters something under his breath.
“Just what exactly are you planning on doing?” the fire chief asks, his eyes narrowing.
I glance over at him. “I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re worried about. I heal unnaturally fast—I was planning on demonstrating that.”
“How exactly is one little cut supposed to prove that you can’t die?” the mayor says, somewhat hostile.
I blow out a breath. “Should I just go?” I ask. I feel defeated. “I want to help, but if you think I have malicious intent, I can go.” Bile rises at the thought. I don’t want to leave, but I also need to know when to fold.
I think I know what road the horseman will take into Lexington. If I leave now, perhaps I can cut him off …
“If you have malicious intent,” the mayor says, “you won’t be going anywhere.”
The chief of police holds up his hand. “Nobody is asking you to leave,” he says, giving the mayor a sharp look. “Do what you need to, to prove your claims.”
I exhale. Okay, I can do this. I haven’t scared off these officials yet.
I point to my bag. “Can I grab my knife?”
The men in the room tense as though I haven’t been saying for the last several minutes that I need a knife.
The fire chief eventually nods. “That’s fine.”
Slowly, I pull the blade out from my bag.