Page 26 of Famine

I edge away from him.

The horseman must see me cower because he gives me an exasperated look. “You slept on me last night. There’s nothing for you to fear.”

“You now have a blade—andhands,” I say. “Howdidyou get them back?”

“My body regenerates.”

“Your body …” Dear baby Jesus, he can grow backlimbs? “And the … the …” I gesture vaguely at his attire.

Famine presses his lips together, either in displeasure or because he’s trying not laugh. He doesn’t seem like the laughing type, so displeasure it is.

“I’m not of this world, flower.”

That’s not really an answer, but I’m sort of stuck on the fact that he called meflower.

That’s a compliment, right?

Looking at him, I want it to be a compliment.

Are you seriously crushing on one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, Ana?

Damnit, I think I am. But in my defense, they don’t make cheekbones that pretty here on earth.

“Come on,” Famine says, interrupting my thoughts, “we need to move.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, hurrying after him, grabbing my basket of fruit. I have some fatalistic hope that bringing this basket back home will somehow spare me my aunt’s wrath.

It’s a foolish hope, but then, Iama fool.

Famine doesn’t respond, and it’s just as well. We’re clearly headed back towards town, the two of us walking down the road I so recently found him on. My eyes linger on the scythe he holds; he decided to bringthatbut not the other, less threatening object, and I’m trying really, really hard not to think about the motives behind that decision. Or, for that matter, what’s going to happen the moment the townspeople meet Famine.

“Last night this road was swarming with men,” Famine says, more to himself than to me. “Now it’s deserted.”

The back of my neck pricks. “Do you think those men … ?”

“They’re setting a trap for me,” he says.

The thought is downrightpetrifying.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be on this road then … we could hide …” All I can see in my mind’s eye is how much torture Famine’s body endured when I first found him.

“I have waitedyearsfor this moment,” he says. “I will not hide from them. Their deaths are mine tosavor.”

That’s right about when I have my first real misgivings about Famine.

“I didn’t save you so that you could kill a bunch of people,” I say.

“You know what I am, flower,”—that name again—“don’t pretend you don’t know my nature.”

Before I can debate with him more, we enter Anitápolis.

People are going about their morning when we walk down the street. They stop what they’re doing, however, when they notice Famine and his big-ass scythe.

As we move towards the middle of town, a coal-black horse comes galloping down the cracked asphalt, heading right for Famine. The steed looks spitting angry, but at the sight of the creature, the horseman seems to relax.

Wait. Is that his … ?

The steed slows, finally stopping in front of Famine.