“I don’t hold it against you,” I say, smiling softly against his touch. “You were thinking about death, and I was thinking about life.”
“Yes, but life and death are lovers, kismet. They always choose each other in the end.”
I turn my face from the stars and meet Death’s dark gaze. “We did,” I agree, and then I kiss him.
Just when it seems like we will be doomed to travel forever, we arrive on Vancouver Island. I’ve had butterflies in my stomach all day.
Today I will see my son.
The trees around us rustle in the breeze, and this place is one of the most beautiful sites I’ve laid eyes on in a long time. All of the Pacific Northwest is. And maybe that’s because for the first time in over a year I know I don’t have to continue traveling—but I’d also like to believe it’s because this place looks like a slice of heaven.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
I still have so many questions for Thanatos—about the apocalypse’s inception, about its outcome, about God’s feelings on all of it—you know, those big questions that keep you up at night. But for now, I’ll make do with the fact that I stopped Death in the end. Stopped him and then decided to keep him around.
Pestilence leads the group of us off of the paved road, and I cast a glance over at the horsemen. Pestilence—Victor (I will get it right one of these days)—War, and Famine all have an excited gleam in their eyes.
We must be close.
My hands begin to tremble, and Death’s grip on me tightens. For the next few minutes the group of us ride in silence.
I hear children’s laughter before I see the house.
“My girls,” I hear War murmur, now grinning like a mad fool.
I crane my neck to see anything, but the trees block out my view.
But then the trees part, and the late afternoon sun glitters down on green, green grass that slopes away from an enormous two story home.
And out in front of that home stand a group of people, most of them women. They’re barbequing something, and a young man is sitting on the steps, tuning his guitar. Out on the front lawn are a gaggle of children—also mostly girls.
I hear one of the women whoop.
“They did it! Pussy power for the win!”
I hear someone cackle. One of the women with dark, curly hair comes running towards our group, and grumpy Famine basically flings himself off his horse like he’s the most dramatic thing to ever enter North America. He sprints the last of the distance between them and swings the woman into his arms.
I’m taking it all in when I catch sight of Ben. He’s tossing a ball in the grass with a young girl who bears an uncanny resemblance to War.
Making a small sound, I slide out of Death’s arms and off his horse, my eyes trained on my son.
“Ben!” I shout, my entire body shaking from excitement and happiness and the best sort of nerves.
Ben looks up then, catching sight of me. For an instant, I’m paralyzed by a bolt of fear. Does he remember who I am? It’s only been four months, but to a small child, that’s an eternity.
My worries evaporate the moment Ben drops his ball and starts running. Running! When did he get so good at running?
But then of course he trips and falls because his little legs are still unsteady and I’m laughing even though my cheeks feel wet.
I sprint towards him, cutting the distance between us as he gets back up and, wearing the most blinding smile, begins running at me again. As soon as he’s within arm’s reach I sweep him up into a hug, spinning him as I do so. And then I’m kissing his temple, and I can hear him saying, “Mama! Mama!” And I’m still crying big, fat, stupid tears, and he’s holding me like he’s never going to let go and I’m one thousand percent fine with that.
There were countless times when I feared this day would never come, but it has. It has at last.
I sit down with my son in the grass, brushing his hair back and trying to memorize his features.
A shadow falls over me, and my skin pricks with awareness. Thanatos no longer brings that deadly stillness with him, but he still has a supernatural presence to him.
I glance up at the horseman, surprised to see a soft smile on his face. But his eyes are full of uncertainty.
Do I belong here? His expression seems to say.
I reach out and give his hand a squeeze because he does belong here.
Ben pulls away from me and stares up, up, up at the horseman, craning his neck to see the man. He tilts his held to the side, his eyes a little wary.
Death squats on his haunches so that he and Ben are roughly eye level. I marvel that the horseman no longer has to lean forward in that position to make room for his wings. My heart thumps in a mad way; I was so sad to see those wings go, but there are so many casually human things Death can now do. Like crouching.
“Hello, Ben,” he says. “I’m Thanatos.”
Ben continues to stare unblinkingly at Death, and I think that’s going to be the sum total of his reaction, but then Ben reaches out for Death’s face.
I see the horseman’s eyes widen in surprise as Ben points to one of them.
“Eye,” Ben says very seriously.
Thanatos nods, equally serious. After a moment, he himself reaches out. About an inch from Ben’s skin, he hesitates, his fingers curling inward. I remember that, up until several weeks ago, Death’s touch killed. Even then, he could control that power, but I still understand his reluctance.
“It’s okay,” I say softly, giving him permission.
The horseman takes a deep breath, then draws his fingers down the side of Ben’s face.
And …
Ben gazes at the horseman for several long seconds, and then he shyly smiles.
Death smiles back, the uncertainty no longer in his eyes. “I can’t wait to get to know you,” he says earnestly.
After a moment, Death wraps his arms around both me and Ben. It’s an eerily similar embrace to the one he gave us months and months ago, when Ben’s life hung in the balance.
Only now, everything is different.
Chapter 80
Somewhere in the World
March, Year 28 of the Horsemen
Down a long abandoned road in a long abandoned neighborhood in one of the many long abandoned towns of the world, a streetlamp flickers. On—off—on—off—
On.
And it stays on.
Epilogue
Death
In the end, it is just as I hoped it would be.
A good, long life. Children. Grandchildren. All of them are mortal, all are wingless, some share my blood and some don’t, and—blessedly—none seem to have inherited my ability to slip a soul from its flesh. Thank goodness. Within a single lifetime, I’ve created a human legacy I thought would be impossible.
There is an inherent magic to life, a magic that not even the afterlife can give. That’s why creation exists at all, and it’s why humans, who balance on the edge of good and evil, are as they are.
I still have my secrets—the quiet conversations with the Universe. I am still Her intermediary, even if I relinquished my powers. I won’t ever be fully human. My memories stretch farther back than anyone—even my brothers—can remember. I will always be the pause between sentences, the silence that follows the end of a story. I fit between things, and no amount of mortality can erase that.
Time here doesn’t work as it did before I was made into a man. It’s blindingly fast, and achingly slow.
But eventually it does come to a close.
My brothers and their wives go. I don’t choose the day; I cannot any longer. That aspect of my power is gone. And one awful day, Lazarus goes too, and none of my knowledge of the afterlife does anything to dull the unbearable agony of her passing. I feel her soul slip away, I see its flight up into the heavens, and this time, though a part of my essence does lead her there, it’s not this part of me—the conscious, mortal man I’ve become.
And then she’s gone.
And somehow, I still live, though by all rights, the part of me that matters has left. For a handful of years I exist without her, and I understand finally, truly, Lazarus’s words about loss.