He looks me over. “Now that you’re here, however, I have this deep, abiding fear that this isn’t real—that you’ll fade away in the night. And for all my power, I cannot shake the feeling.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I remind him.
Thanatos gives me another one of his long looks. I’m pretty sure he’d stand there all day staring at me if I let him.
But then he surprises me.
“You must be hungry,” he says, coming forward.
“I am,” I say warily.
The horseman reaches my side and takes my hand.
I close my eyes at the sensation. I don’t think either of us has truly been touched in a long, long time, which makes every bit of physical contact that much more potent. And with Death’s words still echoing in my mind, I know that this simple touch must mean a lot to him as well.
“Come, my fallen adversary,” he says softly, tugging on my hand. “I have a victory dinner to attend, and you are my guest of honor.”
I open my eyes to look at him, but he’s already moving ahead, leading me through this massive house he’s clearly familiar with.
How long has he been prepping this place for me?
Thanatos leads me into a grand dining room that I missed because it lays on the opposite end of this mansion. Like the rest of the house, it is ornately furnished, with another crystal chandelier and a gilded mirror hanging above a massive fireplace. The table itself is an enormous thing. I count twelve chairs tucked around it, the wood’s dark surface polished to a gleam.
Resting on it are several steaming dishes and two place settings—one at the end of the table and one adjacent to it.
Death releases my hand, letting me make my way into the room. My fingers drag along the table’s smooth surface. I glance back at the horseman, only to find him watching me, his eyes caressing me like a touch.
“How did you learn about cooking?” I ask, gesturing to the dishes set out. Technically, this is far more than just cooking. Every platter of food seems to be perfectly catered, and the table settings have been arranged with precise care.
Death lifts his chin. “Does it please you?” he asks curiously.
There’s that question again.
“Does it matter?” I whisper, afraid to tell him the truth—that this far surpasses any expectation I had.
“You already know the answer to that, Lazarus,” he says.
I can’t seem to look away from him. He’s mesmerizing.
He nods towards the table. “Go ahead,” he finally says.
I do. I make my way to the proffered seat, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pull the chair out and sit down.
Only then does Death move, silently making his way towards the remaining place setting at the end of the table. It’s only now that I notice his chair back has been cut away.
The horseman pulls the seat out, his wings lifting just the slightest so that he can situate himself into it comfortably.
A week ago I was beginning to look into traveling overseas with Ben. Two days ago I was sure my son would die. A day ago I bargained my life away for his. And today I was taken by the angel of death for the second time in my life.
And now I’m sitting at a table with him, about to eat a meal like any of this is normal.
I look over the spread of food. There’s bread and cheese, but there’s also a tossed salad and a creamy pasta and stuffed peppers and breaded chicken.
“Who made this?” I ask.
Death’s eyes slide to a nearby door. It’s closed, but as I watch, the knob turns and a skeleton steps out, carrying an open bottle of wine.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say as the thing moves over to us. “A dead person made this food? Tell me I’m wrong.”
The horseman gives me a curious look. “You’re not.”
My gaze moves over the dishes. “How?” How did a mindless skeleton make all this?
As I speak, the skeleton pours wine into my glass. It then moves to Death and fills his glass before setting the bottle down on the table.
Thanatos lifts a hand and gestures to the creature. “I tell them what they must do, and they do it. But I don’t confess to understand how human food is prepared, or—” he grimaces at the dishes in question, “what you find particularly appealing about it.” As he speaks, the skeleton quietly retreats, exiting out of the door it entered.
“Well, normally, food is appealing because, you know, it keeps us alive,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Says the woman who cannot die,” he interjects.