“I have all of my brothers’ powers and then some,” he says.
His words chill me to my core.
“You mean to tell me that another horseman can also raise the dead?” I ask, terrified of the prospect.
“Could,” Death corrects me.
“Could?” I echo, trying to piece together what he isn’t saying. “So this other horseman is dead?”
“On the contrary, Lazarus, War is very much alive.” Thanatos says this with no little disdain.
War. War could raise the dead. I … cannot even fathom what that must’ve looked like.
But he doesn’t have these powers anymore? I’m burning with curiosity; there’s clearly so much more to Thanatos and the other riders. And for once, I’m in a position to learn it all, now that I’m stuck in the saddle with the horseman.
“What else can you do?” I ask.
“You will see in time,” Death promises, and wrapped in that promise is another that lingers unspoken between us—
You will be with me, always.
Chapter 22
Pleasanton, Texas
January, Year 27 of the Horsemen
We’ve ridden for several hours when Death turns off the highway and onto an ancient road, the asphalt cracked and pitted.
“Why are we getting off the highway?” I ask. Up until now I’d been able to relax. Now, however, my misgivings are back.
Death doesn’t answer, and my anxiety spikes. What is going on? There doesn’t appear to be any city center anywhere in sight, so I don’t think he’s taken me to wipe out another city.
So, what is he doing?
Eventually, Thanatos turns onto a dirt road that looks as though it was once graveled over; now, however, weeds have sprouted up all over the place, making it difficult to see the narrow pathway.
In the distance I notice a copse of trees. Peeking out from behind them is a derelict ranch house. It looks like a thousand other long abandoned homes I’ve passed before, yet for whatever reason, this is the one Death’s decided to stop at.
With the structure in sight, the horseman slows his steed, and aside from the clop of hooves, the world around us is quiet. This is a silence I’ve gotten used to in the wake of Death. The kind that gets under your skin and soaks into your bones. It can be either incredibly peaceful or frightening beyond belief—which I guess is what you can say about death itself.
We pass by the trees, and then I can clearly see the house. It looks as though it was once a pale blue, but sun and rot have now discolored it brown under the eaves and at its base, and white mostly everywhere else. The roof sags, the windows have been cut out and taken—probably to be installed in some newer home—there are rusted cars and old appliances in the driveway, and a lowlying, rotted wood fence encircles the home. Whatever once existed of the yard has given way to natural flora.
The place is a mess.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“This is a human dwelling, is it not?” Thanatos responds. “We are here to dwell.”
That … that gives me pause.
He can’t possibly be serious.
I glance over my shoulder him. Death’s face is as handsomely stoic as ever.
Shit, I think he is serious.
We ride all the way up the driveway, weaving around a rusted out dishwasher. Thanatos swings off of his steed. A second later, he pulls me down.
We’re really doing this. Dwelling in an abandoned house. Together. At least until I figure out how to escape him.
Thanatos’s hands are still on my waist. He’s either afraid of letting me go and chasing me down … or he’s getting comfortable with the idea of touching me.
His mouth curves into a pitiless smile. “I can see your clever thoughts in your eyes, Lazarus, but you’re not getting away. That, I’ll make sure of.”
No sooner has he spoken than the earth around us seems to groan. It splits open and plants begin to rise around the perimeter of the property.
I suck in a gasp, watching them grow, shoots turning into stalks which turn into branches. Hundreds of leaves unfurl by the second.
“How are you doing this?” I ask, my gaze taking it all in.
This brambly foliage grows and grows until a makeshift hedge of sorts encircles us and the house, barricading us in.
“Killing is not the only thing I’m good at,” he says.
Eventually the plants’ growth slows, then stops altogether. All is quiet and still once more.
I step away from Death, his hands slipping off of my waist, and walk up to the thicket. My eyes scour the thing. I should feel afraid—this is just one more power the horseman has at his fingertips, one that he’s now willing to use against me. But I don’t feel afraid. Instead, I’m overcome by a sense of wonder.