Page 128

Story: Pestilence

Since he liked “The Raven,” I dredge up “Lenore.”

“‘… Come! let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung! An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young …’”

I don’t even get all the way through the end of the second stanza of Poe’s “Lenore” before I realize that Pestilence isn’t paying attention. And after he made such a fuss about hearing a poem, too.

“And so,” I continue, “the banging chick Lenore died and people apparently weren’t super sad because she was the shit and they hated her for that and now you want to kill everyone because we’re all A-holes of epic proportions.”

I pause, waiting for Pestilence to say something,anything, but he doesn’t.

I sigh.

The horseman strokes my belly absently with his thumb, lost in thought.

“Have you thought about children?” he says, rousing from his reverie.

The question takes me by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Children,” he repeats.

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ve had unprotected sex—twice. I may be new to these parts, but even I know the purpose of reproduction is toreproduce.”

A sick wave of vertigo washes over me. I put a hand to my head.

I hadn’t once thought about using protection.

And now …

Oh,shit.

“Can that happen?” I ask. “Between us, I mean.”

He’s not human, I reassure myself, and a bit of my unease retreats. Biologically, we’re not programmed the same way.

Right?

“I don’t see why it can’t,” he says. “I can eat and drink and make love just like a mortal. Perhaps I can sire a child just like one too.”

Whelp, there goes my nice, calm morning.

“But you don’tknow?” I ask, my voice rising.

There’s a brief silence, then, “Sara, I sense you’re afraid of the possibility.”

Ding—ding—ding! You guessed correctly.

He continues. “For a woman who so eagerly takes my flesh into hers—”

Jesus. My cheeks heat.

“—you’re awfully reluctant to deal with everything else that comes with the act.”

I am, aren’t I? But in my defense, we’re talking about achild.

He would protect it, just as he has you.

That’s beside the point, brain. Don’t be an idiot on me now.