“The choice has been taken from me,” I spit out.
“It hasn’t.”
I glance up at him then. I can feel my steady heart pick up at what he’s insinuating.
My hand shakes as I glance back down at Lazarus. Lazarus who was never supposed to die.
Lazarus bargained for humanity. I don’t know if the voice in my head is my own, or Hers. This form muddles my extra senses. What will you do? It is your decision in the end.
“It’s not my decision,” I say vehemently. I’ve only ever followed the universe’s orders.
My gaze passes over Famine before touching on the still forms of Pestilence and War. My three brothers were willing to do everything to stop me. I’d accepted their decision to fight for humanity. I’d even understood the deep drive that fueled them. They loved their wives and their children, and they all came around to appreciating humanity—Famine and his hardened heart included.
I have seen each of my brothers clutch their woman in death. I’ve heard their bargains. I thought myself above it all.
And now here I am, with this woman of flesh and blood, who fought me and fueled me, and who loved me. The woman who I am hopelessly in love with.
“Take your woman and run, Thanatos,” Famine breathes.
“I cannot.” My voice breaks.
I have never once broken the rules. Not in all my long years of existence. I have delivered every single soul to its afterlife.
Just as I will hers.
I have to take her.
I’m heaving as I lay her body gently down.
“Fool,” Famine whispers.
I rise and face Lazarus’s soul. It is every bit as brilliant as I knew it would be.
Clasping her close, I slip us into the world of spirits, and I take my kismet to the afterlife.
Chapter 74
The Beyond
October, Year 27 of the Horsemen
Lazarus
Death is … the wrong word for this. Death is an ending, but this isn’t an ending at all. It feels like a beginning. Like rebirth.
Transmutation.
I smile—or at least, I feel like I’m smiling even though I’m not sure I’m solid. I honestly don’t know what I am, just that I exist and I am aware.
I look around. Wherever I am, muted light surrounds me. I take a step back, my body—or essence—bumps into something solid.
I turn, and the first thing I see is that gleaming silver armor, then those large black wings. Finally, my eyes settle on that beloved face that I swear I’ve always known.
“Thanatos.” I say his name softly. I thought I had left him, but of course not, he is death. “You were right, this isn’t so bad.”
But now I notice how agonized his eyes still are.
Rather than answering, Death looks down. I follow his gaze, and the muted light blows away in wisps, as though it were merely thick smoke. Below, I see my lifeless body resting among the wreckage.
Finally, the fighting is over. And I lost—all of humanity lost—but this isn’t so bad. That urge to beg and plead, to leverage and threaten and bargain my way into some compromise is gone. The time for that passed with my life.
Death takes my spectral hand and I grip his tightly. As I watch, my body below grows smaller and smaller, as though we’re floating away from it.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Thanatos’s grieving eyes burn as they look at me. “Founipa.”
Heaven.
The dim light around us brightens, and it’s like sun breaking through the clouds.
In the distance, figures appear. At least, I think they’re figures. To be honest, they’re more impressions of people than actual, physical bodies. Instead of skin and bones, their forms seem to be made of light.
As they come into focus, I begin to recognize them. At the front, there’s my mom. Then there’s River, and Nicolette, and Robin, and Ethan, Owen and Juniper. I see my nieces and nephews—I even see Harrison, my adoptive father; I’ve only ever known him through pictures, and yet he’s still here, welcoming me.
Near the front of the group are two more people who I have no memory of, and yet I inherently know them. My birth parents.
I make a small noise. They’re all here, all waiting for me. And though it makes no sense, I can feel their love for me.
You’re loved. You’re home.
I glance over at Thanatos and his tormented eyes.
Death the ferryman, who takes souls and delivers them, but does not join the dead. Death, who belongs neither to earth, nor to the afterlife.
He belongs with me. That is the one thing I am certain of.
He releases my hand to touch my cheek. “I will dream of you every day, Lazarus.” He looks as though he’s burning in his own sort of hell.