I reach out and touch one of the thorny branches. “Is this … Famine’s power?” I ask. That’s the only rider I can think of who might deal with plants.
“It’s my power,” Death corrects from behind me, “but yes, I share it with him.”
“Isn’t Famine’s job to make food scarce?” I ask, my fingers tracing a leaf.
“His job is to kill crops.”
I turn from the thicket. “But these plants—you made them grow.”
“Famine can make things both grow and perish—as can I.”
Why would these horsemen be given anything but destructive powers? It … makes no sense. They are only here to destroy our world.
I glance back at the living wall Death’s created. It’s impenetrable, that much is clear.
“Try to run, Laz,” he goads me. “I dare you.”
My skin pricks at the familiar way he shortens my name.
I look over my shoulder at Death and hold his gaze. I’ll wait to run until you least expect it.
“Thanks, but I’m not a betting woman,” I say instead, heading back over to him.
“On the contrary, that seems to be entirely what you are,” Thanatos counters. “You bet that you’ll find me in the towns you travel to, you bet that you’ll kill me and save your precious countrymen—”
“I only ever did what I did because the other option was guaranteed annihilation,” I say, stopping near the horseman’s mount. I give the creature a pet on the neck.
“Kismet, all life is, is guaranteed annihilation.”
I raise my chin. “If it’s all guaranteed annihilation, then explain me.”
Death’s features seem to sharpen, and that heat is back in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, though I’m getting good at reading his expression.
You are mine, it seems to say.
I press my thighs together at the naked desire on his face. Desire that I’m not sure Thanatos is even aware of.
My gaze flicks to the structure behind him. “Are you going to show me this house or not?” I ask, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.
After a moment, Thanatos steps aside, gesturing to the dilapidated structure. “Why don’t you show yourself in? The house is yours, after all.”
“It’s not mine,” I say.
“Fine, ours,” Death corrects.
That’s even worse.
I press my lips together and head to the front door. The knob is rusted over, and it dangles partway off the door. I grab it anyway. The hinges screech as I open the door, and the musty smell of wet animals and mildew waft out.
The laminate floorboards inside have bubbled and curled at their edges, the top layer flaking off in many places. Dingy lace curtains hang from some of the windows. There’s an ancient, stained recliner that came from the world before; its seams have burst in a few spots, exposing dirt-speckled stuffing.
The floor groans and creaks as I walk into the kitchen and flip through the cupboards. Nothing but dust and cobwebs and an old cookbook, its binding swollen and its pages curled.
Death follows me like a shadow, and I can feel his dark gaze on me, drinking in my every reaction. I don’t know what he wants from me.
I leave the kitchen, poking my head into a bathroom that has been updated since the end of the world, the toilet replaced with something that’s more akin to a fancy bucket with a toilet seat on top, and the sink replaced with a removable basin.
Now I notice the water stains along the walls, where once upon a time this house must’ve flooded. Maybe that’s why it was abandoned.
I move to the bedrooms next, expecting to see more furniture. Other than a warped particleboard dresser that’s mostly fallen apart, the three bedrooms are empty.
“Why did you choose this place?” I ask after I’ve finished taking in the master bedroom. A house that has no food, no beds—no amenities whatsoever—is hardly a destination worth stopping for. We might as well have set up camp off to the side of the road. We’re barely better off here—and even that is questionable.
“Does it matter?” Thanatos replies. “It is a home, it will meet your needs.”
Meet my needs?
I swivel around to face the horseman. He stands in the doorway, his attention fixed on me.
I give him a quizzical look. “Have you ever lived anywhere?” I ask.
“I have lived everywhere life is, kismet,” he responds smoothly.
“I mean,” I say slowly, “have you ever stayed in a house? Cooked yourself a meal? Slept in a bed?”