Most of all, I want to ask him whether he left my son alone once he realized Ben was healed. But I’m terrified of drawing the horseman’s attention back to Ben in case my son is alright. I can’t imagine Death likes being robbed a soul.
I focus my attention on the world below me, just to distract myself. It’s hard to see much with my hair whipping about and the wind stinging my eyes, but I do catch some glimpses. Mostly the land is a patchwork of fields with a few houses speckled like freckles across a face. Every so often, however, I see cities—or, in some grim cases, the remains of them. The latter look like a gray smudge on the landscape, the buildings torn down, the roads covered with debris. I bet if I looked hard enough, I’d see bodies too. I don’t bother.
These are the places Death has claimed.
And now he’s claiming you.
At some point I sense us lowering. Beneath us is a massive city, one that Death has already destroyed. We pass mile after mile of leveled buildings. I spot certain bits of topography—the curve of a residential street, the blue sheen of a pool, the spire of a church—but everything else is nearly unrecognizable.
Why is Death bringing me here?
Because we are still lowering.
Almost begrudgingly the broken buildings give way to wider and wider stretches of greenery. Unlike the city behind us, the few structures I spot in this area are intact. I don’t have time to wonder why that is before manicured yards are blurring by beneath our feet.
With a final whoosh, we land in one of these yards. Death takes a few final strides forward before his wings snap shut behind him.
All around us is brilliant green lawn. My eyes move up, past the verdant gardens and towards the massive mansion that sits proudly before us. It gleams bright as a diamond and appears extraordinarily out of place amongst all the death and destruction we just flew over.
Almost reluctantly, Death sets me down. I take a few stumbling steps forward, feeling like a colt trying to find their balance for the first time.
I glance over at Death, his black wings looking like a cape at his back. Without his armor, there’s something vulnerable about him. Or maybe it’s simply that he doesn’t look ready to do battle.
I draw in a deep breath, realizing that it’s all coming back to me. That year of fighting him, studying him, trying to figure out what his weaknesses were. I’m falling right back into it, as though my time with Ben were merely a dream, and this, my reality.
The ground beneath my feet trembles, interrupting my thoughts. Then, all around the vast perimeter of the house, monstrous, thorned plants rise, growing and twisting until they create a massive, living wall.
“That looks painfully familiar,” I say.
Death is all cold, hard edges as he stares at me. How had I thought there was something vulnerable about him?
“I told you, I’m not letting you go again.”
“I’m not planning on running.”
“Ah, yes, because you have a deal to uphold.”
The two of us gaze at each other for several seconds. We have so much baggage between us. Literally, cities’ worth.
“You hid from me for half a year,” he says.
My brows pull together ever so slightly. I think that fact actually upsets him. Even though it meant that he could rampage towns without having to worry about facing me. And yet what did he do? He hunted me down like an animal.
It hits me then.
Death spent all that time searching for me instead of wiping out new parts of the United States.
For the first time since I made a deal with Death’s brothers I suddenly see the situation with clarity. I have altered Thanatos’s motives.
“You stopped chasing me,” he adds, accusation threading his voice.
“I had to,” I say. “You would’ve killed my son if I didn’t.”
“Your son,” he repeats, and I can hear the question in his voice. The horseman might not know much about humans, but I think he knows enough to be confused by the timeline here. The last he saw of me, I didn’t look pregnant, but now I have a son, one who is well over a year old.
Now that the topic of Ben has come up, my worries resurface.
“Is my son—is he—is he … ?” Dead? It’s the question I wasn’t supposed to ask, but it came tumbling out anyway.
Thanatos’s eyes are flinty. “No.” He grimaces. “Your son is alive.”
“He’s alive?” My knees want to give out.
I see so much self-loathing on the horseman’s face.
Because he didn’t take my son’s soul, I realize. Death could’ve—and clearly he thinks he should’ve—but he didn’t. Because that soul meant something to me.