walk your path. Or," he said, "as you ride. We are Horsemen, after all."
"War said that my purpose was to get people to fight about food, and then she'd do the rest."
"Yes, well, War has been known to twist things her own way. She's the politician out of the four of us."
Lisa looked up at Pestilence on his white horse, like some mockery of a knight who'd come to save her. "What does that make you?"
"The philanthropist," he said, tipping an imaginary hat. With that, the White Rider nudged his steed, and both man and horse disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Lisa stayed until all six bodies were in the ground. When the last shovelful of dirt filled the pit, she quietly said a prayer for the dead. She wasn't a religious girl, but clearly there were powers out there; she and the other Horsemen were proof of that.
"God," she said somberly, "their deaths were stupid. Please welcome their souls to heaven, because they deserve better than what they got here." After a moment, she added, "And if you don't mind, help me figure out my path, like Pestilence said. Um, please. Because as messed up as I am, I don't want to mess up other people. Thank you. Amen."
As she and Midnight turned to leave, she thought she heard a familiar voice say, "Go thee out unto the world."
But when she looked around for Death's familiar face, she was alone.
Chapter 12
The black horse set Famine down outside the human's house, as she'd requested. The steed had neighed its opinion—there were many other places that beckoned to them, areas ripe with abundance, where the horn of plenty was constantly sucked dry by gluttons—but even so, the horse did as its mistress had asked. It was loyal, even when its rider was foolish.
Really, a human's
house?
Why waste time with a bare handful of people when the entire world waited for Famine's touch? The horse snorted. Even after its millennia of existence, it would never, ever understand people.
It knelt so that Famine could dismount. After she did so, she patted its neck and murmured thanks as sweet to its ears as pralines to its tongue. Its previous rider had never been so considerate. Maybe it was because this rider was still young—and still human. Whatever the reason for the affection, the steed enjoyed Famine's attention.
The horse stood guard until its mistress entered the abode. Then it scanned the landscaped bushes, and its ears quivered when it spied a bright array of chrysanthemums. It trotted over to the autumn flowers and began to snack.
Not pralines, no. But still quite tasty.
***
Lisa should have known things would go sour when Tammy overreacted to Lisa's not bringing any of her homemade cookies.
"You promised," Tammy grumbled. "You said so yesterday, so I didn't go shopping today."
Shopping
was code for Tammy scouring the pantry, raiding it for store-brand cookies and packaged cakes and other sweets, for chocolate bars and pretzels and potato chips. Lisa knew that Tammy never actually went to the store to supply her binges; why should she, when her mother and sister—obese, the two of them—were all too happy to fill the shelves to capacity with junk food?
But like Lisa, Tammy had her rituals. And Lisa had blown it for her.
"I'm sorry," Lisa said again as Tammy searched the shelves for the foods she needed for binging. As always, Tammy was in control; even in the grip of her desire to stuff herself to the bursting point, she would only do so with specific foods. It was completely unlike what Lisa did whenever she would inevitably cave and eat (and eat and eat; whenever she gave in, it was as if her stomach were a bottomless pit). During those bleak times, Lisa went with whatever food had seduced her—a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of potato bread, a bag of chocolates. Lisa had no control. Tammy, however, had a particular routine. Even now, pissed off as all get out, she exuded confidence, determination.
"Uh-huh." Tammy slammed cabinet doors, stormed through the kitchen, spewing venom as
"War said that my purpose was to get people to fight about food, and then she'd do the rest."
"Yes, well, War has been known to twist things her own way. She's the politician out of the four of us."
Lisa looked up at Pestilence on his white horse, like some mockery of a knight who'd come to save her. "What does that make you?"
"The philanthropist," he said, tipping an imaginary hat. With that, the White Rider nudged his steed, and both man and horse disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Lisa stayed until all six bodies were in the ground. When the last shovelful of dirt filled the pit, she quietly said a prayer for the dead. She wasn't a religious girl, but clearly there were powers out there; she and the other Horsemen were proof of that.
"God," she said somberly, "their deaths were stupid. Please welcome their souls to heaven, because they deserve better than what they got here." After a moment, she added, "And if you don't mind, help me figure out my path, like Pestilence said. Um, please. Because as messed up as I am, I don't want to mess up other people. Thank you. Amen."
As she and Midnight turned to leave, she thought she heard a familiar voice say, "Go thee out unto the world."
But when she looked around for Death's familiar face, she was alone.
Chapter 12
The black horse set Famine down outside the human's house, as she'd requested. The steed had neighed its opinion—there were many other places that beckoned to them, areas ripe with abundance, where the horn of plenty was constantly sucked dry by gluttons—but even so, the horse did as its mistress had asked. It was loyal, even when its rider was foolish.
Really, a human's
house?
Why waste time with a bare handful of people when the entire world waited for Famine's touch? The horse snorted. Even after its millennia of existence, it would never, ever understand people.
It knelt so that Famine could dismount. After she did so, she patted its neck and murmured thanks as sweet to its ears as pralines to its tongue. Its previous rider had never been so considerate. Maybe it was because this rider was still young—and still human. Whatever the reason for the affection, the steed enjoyed Famine's attention.
The horse stood guard until its mistress entered the abode. Then it scanned the landscaped bushes, and its ears quivered when it spied a bright array of chrysanthemums. It trotted over to the autumn flowers and began to snack.
Not pralines, no. But still quite tasty.
***
Lisa should have known things would go sour when Tammy overreacted to Lisa's not bringing any of her homemade cookies.
"You promised," Tammy grumbled. "You said so yesterday, so I didn't go shopping today."
Shopping
was code for Tammy scouring the pantry, raiding it for store-brand cookies and packaged cakes and other sweets, for chocolate bars and pretzels and potato chips. Lisa knew that Tammy never actually went to the store to supply her binges; why should she, when her mother and sister—obese, the two of them—were all too happy to fill the shelves to capacity with junk food?
But like Lisa, Tammy had her rituals. And Lisa had blown it for her.
"I'm sorry," Lisa said again as Tammy searched the shelves for the foods she needed for binging. As always, Tammy was in control; even in the grip of her desire to stuff herself to the bursting point, she would only do so with specific foods. It was completely unlike what Lisa did whenever she would inevitably cave and eat (and eat and eat; whenever she gave in, it was as if her stomach were a bottomless pit). During those bleak times, Lisa went with whatever food had seduced her—a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of potato bread, a bag of chocolates. Lisa had no control. Tammy, however, had a particular routine. Even now, pissed off as all get out, she exuded confidence, determination.
"Uh-huh." Tammy slammed cabinet doors, stormed through the kitchen, spewing venom as
Similar Books
