Just then, an elderly man limps out from a hallway branching off to the left. He comes to a stuttering stop.
“Lord Almighty!” He places a hand over his heart. “You weren’t kidding, Ruthie,” he says, staring at Pestilence.
Warily, he steps closer, his eyes drinking in the horseman. “Truly, you are real?”
Pestilence’s chin is lifted at an almost haughty angle, though his expression is more piqued than arrogant.
“Of course I am,” he says calmly.
Out of nowhere, the old man lets out a husky whoop. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come, sit. Mi casa es su casa,” he says.
This has got to be the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in. And considering the last few weeks of my life, that’s saying something.
The two of us follow the elderly couple into their kitchen, Pestilence with far more reluctance than me. He stares at the couple suspiciously, his hand edging towards his bow. He clearly doesn’t know what to make of this hospitality. Truth be told, neither do I.
Ruth bustles over to the stovetop, warming a pot of tea while the man gestures to a worn wooden table. “Please, you must be tired.” He glances out the window. “Bad weather to travel in.”
I nearly cry, taking a grateful seat. It’s been so long since another human being treated me with any kind of genuine care. I’d almost forgotten that people did this.
The old man limps his way to the other side of the kitchen, where Ruth is grabbing mugs.
“Sit, love, let me do this,” he says.
She guffaws. “You’re the one who needs to sit,” she says. “That knee is going to give you trouble tonight.”
“Bah! Everything gives me trouble these days.” He glances my way and winks at me, the gesture causing Pestilence to look between the two of us.
Ruth grabs a spatula and swats at her husband, who’s now attempting to bodily move her. “I’ve got this. Now stop feeling me up in front of our guests and go sit down.”
The man grumbles, saying louder, “I’ll take my affection where I can get it.”
His wife throws him a warm look over her shoulder as he takes a seat across from us.
The horseman watches the entire exchange with the utmost fascination.
“I’m Rob, and that’s Ruth,” the old man says, settling into his chair as he makes introductions.
Pestilence inclines his head. “I am Pestilence, and this is Sara,” he says, gesturing to me.
“Pestilence,” Rob repeats, his eyes bright with awe. Remembering himself, he turns to me and nods. “And Sara. Pleasure to meet you both.”
I glance between everyone, nearly as shaken as the horseman is. We’ve come to expect a certain dialogue between us and our hosts, and this one has veered wildly off script.
“Is it, though?” Pestilence asks, assessing the man. “A pleasure to meet us, that is?”
“Well, of course it is!” Rob says, slapping his palm against the tabletop for emphasis. “How often does one of the Four Horsemen arrive on your doorstep?”
Ruth shuffles over with several steaming cups of tea, setting them down in front of each of us.
“Thank you,” I murmur when she hands me a mug.
Pestilence frowns at his own drink, his nostrils flaring at the smell.
Rob pats Ruth’s side as she takes a seat next to him. “Thank you for the tea.” His gaze lingers on her, and it’s an intimate enough look that I avert my eyes.
Pushing his drink away, Pestilence leans back in his seat, his expression caught somewhere between troubled and hopeful. “Most mortals do not take kindly to my presence.”
“Does it look like I fear death?” Rob asks.
The horseman’s eyes narrow shrewdly.
“I’m old, my body hurts, and my wits are half-gone.” He glances at Ruth. “Our children have grown up and left us, and now their children are nearly full grown. If the end has come, well, I’m happy to be leaving it alongside my wife.”
A wrinkle mars Pestilence’s brow. “It is not a good death,” he admits.
I don’t know why he’s even bothering to make himself look bad. These people want to like him.
“Far better than losing your mind, memory by memory,” Ruth says. She shudders. “That’s how my own mother went. It’s awful enough to lose someone, but to watch death take them piece by piece until there is nothing left but a husk,” She shakes her head. “No, there are far worse ways to go than plague.”
“We mean to stay here for several days,” Pestilence says. “Sara will need a bed, and food, and water.”
Again, Pestilence seems to want to aggravate the elderly couple. His efforts, however, seem to be in vain. When their eyes move to me, their expressions are kind.
“That’s not a problem,” Rob responds. “As I said, mi casa es su casa.”
I take in Pestilence’s glowering profile when it hits me. No one’s ever just liked him before. Not until now. He doesn’t trust Ruth or Rob, because why should he? People hate Pestilence, the spreader of plague.
I grab the horseman’s hand, an action that draws the elderly couple’s eyes to me.
Ignoring them, I lean into Pestilence. “Can I speak to you alone for a moment?”
His eyes flick to our joined hands, then to my face. Without a word, his chair scrapes back and he unfolds all six-plus feet of himself.
Pestilence follows me back into the entryway. When I swivel to face him, he stands close, his clothes brushing against mine.
“What is it, Sara?” he asks, touching a lock of my hair, like he can’t help himself.
“These people are not trying to deceive you, Pestilence. They are genuinely excited you’re here.” Which is batshit crazy if you ask me, but hey, no one is asking, so—
“How do you know this?” he asks, not bothering to deny the fact that he’s skeptical.
I lift my arms helplessly. “I just do.”
He studies me, rubbing his jaw absently as he thinks on it. I try not to dwell on how sexy that small action is.
Finally, he nods. “Alright. I will … work to trust these people because you do.”
I take his hand again and squeeze it. I’m about to let it go when his grip tightens.
“Sara,” he says. His other hand joins the first; he clasps my hand like it’s a gift.
One look at his eyes has me quaking. His gaze is too deep, his face too sincere … whatever he’s about to say, my heart’s not ready for it.
I pull my hand from his and head back into the kitchen, not waiting for him to follow.
Several seconds after I take a seat, I hear his heavy footfalls. His eyes are locked on me as he sits. I can all but sense the words he needs to say, the ones I ran from.
His gaze lingers on me for a short while longer, but eventually his body relaxes, and he drapes an arm casually over my seatback. I swear every inch of me is acutely aware of that arm.
The entire time, Ruth and Rob watch us impassively. It makes my palms sweat, knowing what they might be seeing.
“So, what brings you to our home?” Ruth asks cheerily.
“Sara needs to rest and recuperate,” Pestilence says. I can feel his gaze everywhere. “The long days of travel take their toll on her.”
“Ah,” Ruth says, taking in his words and his demeanor. “And how about you? Will you need a bed?”
Pestilence lounges in his seat, his large legs splayed out. “I am Pestilence the Conqueror, the first of the Four Horsemen come to claim your world. I am eternal, and my task, unwavering. I do not require anything to sustain me.”
Alriiiight then.
Ruth raises her eyebrows pleasantly. “Well there’s an extra bed if you need. Now,” she says, getting comfortable in her chair. “How did you two meet?” She looks between the horseman and me as she takes a sip of her drink.
She’s a sly one, this Ruth. Pretending like she’s not mapping out my strange relationship with Pestilence.
“I attempted to kill the horseman,” I say.
Ruth sets down her tea, her mug clattering against the table, clearly shocked by the answer.
“I shot him with my grandfather’s shotgun,” I continue, “and then I lit his body on fire.”
Both of our hosts are at a loss of words.
Probably didn’t need to go into that much detail …
I guess Pestilence isn’t the only one trying to sabotage this couple’s hospitality.