As I move around a second tree now, I begin humming—then singing—“Scarborough Fair,” the song stirring up old, achingly sweet memories. It was a song my mother would often sing while she did the dishes or hung clothes up to dry, one that some of my siblings and I would harmonize with.
I don’t know how long I’ve been singing when I hear the scuff of a boot.
I glance over my shoulder, staggering a little when I see the horseman standing in front of me, his gaze fixed to my mouth.
“So that’s music,” he says wondrously, as though he only just put a name to the sound.
I guess that’s the irony of Thanatos. He’s existed for forever, and he seems to be a well of wisdom when it comes to humans, but the horseman has only been a man for a short while.
Giving him a hesitant look, I nod.
His gaze scours my face. “Don’t stop,” he whispers.
Heat creeps up into my cheeks.
I don’t really want to sing now that I have an audience.
“Please,” Death adds. He’s still staring at my lips.
I want to tell him that people don’t ask these sorts of things, but he knows that. And he seems genuinely … moved by the music. So, I clear my throat, and after only wavering for another moment or two, I begin to sing again, turning back to the tree so that I can resume picking fruit and pretend I don’t have an avid audience.
Only, I’m not left alone for long.
Thanatos rounds the tree, his gaze moving over my eyes, my lips, my hair. He’s looking at me like I’m the Eighth Wonder of the World and I have no defense for the blatant longing on his face.
My song ends, and it’s silent for a long moment.
Death shakes his head, still looking possessed. “That was … opodanao.”
The foreign word draws out an instant reaction. I feel bathed in light, as though it were stroking my skin and running its fingers through my hair. I think I understand the word’s meaning, but the horseman translates for me anyway.
“Beautiful.”
Chapter 41
Sugar Land, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I need to start making good on my promise to the horsemen.
Seduce Death.
That was the deal.
I pull myself out of the cold bath I drew for myself, grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it around my body. Water puddles at my feet as I cross the bathroom and enter my bedroom, the world beyond the windows dark.
The massive closet gapes open, and I catch sight of all those clothes neatly hung up inside. Curiosity tugs at me. Just what did the horseman—or his undead servants—think to pick out for me? Grabbing a nearby lantern, I head over to it.
The flame flickers in the glass container, making the shadows dance along the various materials.
My fingers drift over the clothing, the sizing and styles all over the place. My hand pauses when I come to a black dress, one that appears to be form-fitting. I pull it out, noticing that a slit runs up the side all the way to mid-thigh.
It’s perfect for my needs.
It looks like it’ll fit too. I grab it and pull it on. The dress is a little tight, and I’ve gotten so used to loose, practical clothing that I tug on it absently, trying to make it less constricting.
There are a dozen pairs of shoes stashed away in the closet as well, but only two of them are even close to my size, one a knee-high riding boot and the other a worn pair of flip-flops. Neither really matches the outfit.
I glance down at my bare feet.
Fuck it. I’m going shoeless.
Also in the closet are several shallow drawers which contain some random jewelry, including a single gold bangle and a delicate chain anklet—both of which I put on as well. I cannot tell if these were items owned by whoever lived here before me, or if—like the clothing—they were odds and ends that Death had his servants pick up.
I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. The dead no longer have need for them, though I do.
Entering the bathroom once more, I find a stash of makeup in one of the drawers.
This is trickier.
Used makeup cannot hurt me any more than anything else, but it’s still somewhat off-putting. Luckily, I find a couple lipsticks and some gold eyeshadow that look untouched, and I put those on instead.
The end result … robs me of breath. I stare at my reflection. I haven’t worn makeup in a long, long time. So much of the last two years has been about survival—Ben’s survival and humanity’s—that I hadn’t put much thought into physical appearance. But now my skin shimmers where I put the eye shadow on, and my lips are rosy. I even added a hint of both to my cheekbones, and the overall effect is …