My face crumples. I hear the truth in his words, even if I don’t want to believe it.
“Please,” I say, tears slipping from my eyes. “He’s just a baby.”
Don’t take him.
Thanatos is quiet, his expression agonized. For me, I realize. He’s agonized for me. I’m not sure any of his pity is for the child.
I begin to shake.
“His soul beckoned,” Thanatos reminds me softly. “It’s his time. I know it, and so does he.”
No. No, no, no, no.
But I cannot escape the truth of Death’s words. If Thanatos can sense Ben, then my son must be mortal after all. If I wasn’t already sitting, the thought would’ve sent me to my knees.
“Spare him,” I beg. “I know you can.” If Thanatos can take lives at will, then I’m sure he can overlook one.
Death shakes his head.
“I will do anything—anything,” I vow. I hate how hollow my voice sounds, how hopeless I already am. But no one else has given me anything to believe in, and there’s no reason why this horseman should be any different.
Death gives me a long, curious look. Something flickers in his eyes, and I remember that the last time I saw him, he was determined to keep me captive.
Now, there’s a spark of hope. I take it as an opening.
“I will live with you—I’ll do it—” I say, “just spare Ben. Please, heal him like you’ve healed me.”
Thanatos has never seen me like this, boiled down to my weakest, most vulnerable essence.
His gaze is heavy on mine. “I only healed you, Lazarus, because you cannot die and I cannot bear your suffering.”
“But I’m suffering now,” I say, tears slipping from my eyes.
Thanatos actually looks torn.
“Please,” I beg, “I know we’re enemies, but … please,” I rasp out, “spare me this.”
Death is quiet for a long moment. I feel those heavy, ancient eyes on me, and I wonder absently if, despite all the death he’s witnessed, he doesn’t know what to make of grief.
Finally, he says, “I will give you what I have given many mothers before you,” he says. “Time. You have a day.”
Chapter 34
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
A day?
My body seems to give out then, and I do crumple out of that hospital chair and onto my knees, holding Ben’s sickly body close to me. Sobs shudder out of me, and nearby, I’m aware of Death’s foreboding presence. He hasn’t left, though I don’t know why he still lingers.
“I hate you,” I whisper. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”
Death sinks down next to me, and he does something I’m not prepared for: he wraps his arms around me and Ben and holds us against him.
For a moment, his embrace feels unsure, but then I’m leaning into him, like he’s the sun and I’m a flower drinking in his light. And I’m breaking apart. I start to cry in earnest, everything within me coming undone all at once. I’ve been strong for too long, on my own for too long, and I’m now in an impossible situation.
“I thought he was like me,” I admit. “I found him alive in one of the towns you destroyed. I thought he could survive death.”
Thanatos’s solemn eyes meet mine, his face close enough to kiss. “No one is like you, Lazarus,” he says softly.
And I begin to cry all over again because I’m alone, I’m always alone, and everyone I love leaves me, and I shouldn't be jealous of that.
“Tell me he’s going to be alright,” I say, my spirit broken.
“Lazarus, he will be alright. More than alright. No more pain, no more suffering. He will be surrounded by love.”
I’m shaking my head against Thanatos because I don’t believe in that sort of goodness. Not when all I’ve seen of the supernatural is pain and death.
“And when it is your time,” the horseman continues, “he will be there, waiting for you.”
I sob harder because that shouldn’t be the way of things—children shouldn’t die before parents. And I don’t care that I’m technically not his birth mother, or that the people who gave him life have already passed. He’s not even two years old. He has an entire future ahead of him.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. Tears are falling from my eyes like rain.
“Why would I?” Death says. “I have never shielded you from pain.” But he says it so gently, I almost think he regrets that fact.