I cling to that possibility as I gaze down at my son. He’s gone eerily quiet. All I wanted throughout the day was for him to stop crying, but not like this, when sickness and exhaustion are what have stolen his cries away.
I didn’t realize you could love something so thoroughly so quickly. I didn’t give birth to this boy and I’ve known him for less than a year, and yet if—if something happens to him, it will crush me worse than all of the deaths I’ve already endured.
I do pray—damn that doctor—I pray to the god the people in my hometown both loved and feared, even though that god killed my parents and then all the rest of my family and friends. Even though that god has let me die so many times only to force me to live. Even though that god is primed to take my son.
I’m so consumed by my own fear and grief that I don’t hear the animals off in the distance, nor do I notice the unnatural silence that falls over the hospital like a shroud. I don’t hear the ominous footfalls drawing closer and closer nor the slick sound of wingtips brushing against the floor.
I only glance up when the door opens, assuming it’s a nurse.
Instead, my eyes land on Death.
Chapter 33
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
I suck in a gasp at the sight of him.
“No,” I whisper low, the word like a prayer, clutching Ben tighter to me. I had prayed for God to spare my son, not to hand-deliver Death to me.
Thanatos stares at me in equal astonishment. “I didn’t believe it,” he says, his voice hushed. “Not until now.”
I force my gaze away from Death. The trick with him is to not look too long or too hard. Otherwise, I might see something beyond my opponent, something real and human.
He steps into the dim, lamp-lit hospital room. “Months I have searched for you,” he says.
Despite myself, my gaze is drawn back to him.
Death’s dark eyes are fevered. “You stopped coming for me,” he accuses.
I don’t have an answer for him. He wants to talk about something that feels like a lifetime ago. But all I can focus on is the terrible situation that’s consumed me for the past day.
As though he can read my thoughts, Death’s eyes dip to the baby in my arms.
“You’re a mother?” Thanatos says, and the surprise is back in his expression.
My heart pounds in my chest. It’s about now that it’s actually sinking in: Death is inside Ben’s hospital room—Death who kills everyone.
I glance down at Ben, so afraid of what I’ll see. He’s frighteningly still, but I hear his faint inhalations.
Thanatos hasn’t killed my son. Has the horseman ever gotten this close to another living soul besides me without taking its life?
“Why are you here?” I demand.
His gaze is fixed to Ben. “I sense every living creature,” he says. “They open their souls to me when it’s their time to go.”
Death’s gaze rises to mine. His ancient eyes are sad—so, so sad.
“No,” I say again, my voice broken, my hold on Ben tightening. My son doesn’t let out so much as a whimper.
“The boy in your arms is very, very sick, Lazarus,” Thanatos says gently, taking a step forward.
I shake my head, trying to banish his words. “He’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure both of us.
“No,” Death says softly, taking another step towards me, “he won’t be.”
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.
His hold on me tightens, and the three of us stay like that.
Tomorrow, we will be enemies, but tonight, he’s my solace.
Chapter 35
Orange, Texas
July, Year 27 of the Horsemen
It is the worst day of my life.
I’ve had so many bad ones, I didn’t realize they could be eclipsed by this one.
Ben doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, and any time he cries, it’s a weak, thready sound; I can hear the grave in his voice. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he’s calling out to that bastard horseman, begging him to take his life away from me.