Page 99 of Famine

“What?” I call after him. “Did I say something wrong? Don’t be mad—you’re much less pretty when you’re mad.”

In response, he growls.

I grin.Somuch fun to tease.

The rest of the ride is full of silence—heavy, tense silence. Behind me, Famine broods away.

Even though the worst of the storm is behind us—both literally and figuratively—rain still pelts down on us. There’s no escaping it, but it’s not altogether unpleasant. It cools my skin against the stifling heat of the day.

We continue down the road, following one of Brazil’s old highways. By the looks of it, the thing has been patched over and over again since its creation. Here the farms have thinned out, replaced by rolling fields and thick, verdant forests.

Every so often we pass by a trading post or an inn, but that’s it. We don’t pass by any travelers today, and for that, I’m immensely relieved. Famine’s men must’ve done an adequate job warning people about Famine’s arrival.

My own mood is light and airy until I read a sign on the road.

“We’re going to São Paulo?” I say.

“If you’re referring to the city ahead of us, then yes, we are.”

São Paulo is one of thosebig placesin my world. It’s one of those cities you want to be a part of because things happened there. I always imagined that its citizens were more cultured, more sophisticated, more well-traveled—justmore.

And now the Reaper is going to destroy it all.

As we enter the city, I can’t help but suck in a breath. The place isenormous, and it just seems to go on and on and on. There are blocks upon blocks of skyscrapers as far as the eye can see.

However, despite its sprawl, there’s a desolation to São Paulo, and slowly, I understand why. So much of what I see is rubble. There are blocks and blocks of collapsed buildings; some areas are so utterly destroyed that the debris has effectively blockaded the streets. More than once, Famine has had to turn back and find an alternate route when the original one was obstructed. It seems as though São Paulo abandoned this section of the city.

Out of nowhere, Famine says, “You’re not to kiss me again.”

“What?” I say, blinking away my thoughts.

“Agree to it.”

“Agree to what?” I’m so lost.

A moment later my mind catches up to what he said.

“Oh, kissing you?” I state. “Naw, I’m not going to agree to that.” I say it mostly to ruffle his feathers, but also because—curiosity.

“Ana.” He says my name like a warning.

Just to be an asshole, I grab his hand and, threading my fingers in between his, I lift his arm to my mouth. Softly, I press a kiss to the back of his hand, then another against the side of his wrist, then—

“Damnit, Ana,stop.”

He pulls his arm away, and I have to press my lips together to stop from laughing at the fact that scary, horrible Famine is physically holding his arm away from me to stop me from kissing it again.

“God, calmdown, Famine,” I say. “I’m just teasing you.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Well of course it’s not funny to you,” I say. “The joke’s at your expense.”

The longer we move through São Paulo, the more uneasy I get. I haven’t seen anyone on the streets.

All the stories I heard about this place made it seem lively. Could they have been wrong?

As I look up at one of the windows, I see a figure peering out. When the woman notices me, she darts away from the window. Inside another building I see a curtain rustle.