Page 186 of Famine

Around me, half a dozen people bustle by, sweeping floors, removing moldy linens and shaggy curtains.

Beyond them, Famine stands with his arms folded, listening to some woman, a bored expression on his face.

The horseman must feel me watching, because he glances in my direction.

His eyes brighten when he sees me. “My little flower. Do you like it?” he calls, gesturing to the room around us. It’s a genuine question, and God, but he actually looks hopeful, like his happiness rests upon my answer.

I cut across the room towards him. “You’ve really manipulated your way into getting us the best house,” I say, even though this is not the best house by a long shot.

The horseman flashes me a sly grin as I approach him. “Would you rather we stay in a different house? I’m sure any of the families here would be happy to be kicked out of their homes so that we could move in. That’s always an option.”

People are still cleaning the room around us, but now many of them stiffen a little.

I suppress a shudder. “Thank you, no,” I say.

I step into Famine’s space. “You mentioned earlier that you were trying something new,” I say. I gesture to the house around us. “How is this new?”

Famine often asks people for offerings and places to stay. To me, this is the same gimmick he’s always pulled.

The horseman pulls me into him. “You’ll see,” he whispers against my ear.

There’s a chair nearby. Famine snags it, dragging it over. He sits down in it, pulling me down along with him.

“Let me go, Famine,” I say, as he props me on his lap.

“No,” he says casually, reaching out to play with one of my curls.

“I’m serious.” This situation—Famine sitting in a chair like some sort of king—has always preceded terrible things. I don’t want to be here to watch.

“As am I,” he says.

Anxiety builds in my veins.

He runs a finger down my arm. “Relax,” he breathes against my ear.

But I can’t relax.

“What are you going to do to them?” I ask, my voice low so that the people around us can’t hear.

“I already told you, little flower: I’m trying something new.”

I peer at him for several seconds before realization hits me.

“You’re not going to kill them?” I breathe, my eyes widening. It’s too good to hope for.

The Reaper lifts a finger and traces the scab running across my neck, frowning at the sight of it. “Of course I’m going to kill them.” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice, and the people in the room with us flash him wide-eyed looks. “I just won’t do it yet.”

My gaze searches his. “Why?”

“Strange creature—would you like me to kill them straight away?”

“Jesus, Famine. No.” I’m not even sure he’s joking. “I just … I’m curious.” After all, the Reaper has never done anything like this before, and I want to know why.

He stares at me for a long time. I can practically see the scarred layers of himself melting away as he takes me in.

“You’ve never asked me to change,” Famine finally admits. “Or to be something I’m not. You never needed me to be human to accept me.”

I mean, I wasn’t super accepting when I tried to stab him. And I don’t think I’veeveraccepted his cruelty. But heistechnically right—I never actually thought to change his behavior. I never realized that changing himwasan option. That would be like him trying to remove the human out of me—utterly impossible.