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For the first time since we happened upon him, the prophet is looking a bit unsure of himself. “N-no—”

“Your women would be nothing more than a hindrance to me,” Pestilence says, talking over him. “As for the rest of your people, you should know by now I cannotsave. I can only kill.”

My skin prickles at his words.

“If you believe in a God, which you appear to,” the horseman continues, “I would suggest you pray to Him. He’s the only one who can save you all now.”

Chapter 43

“I understood Ezekiel’sintent,” Pestilence says, once the prophet and his people are far behind us. “There is much about this world that baffles me, butthatdid not.”

So hedidunderstand that the women were meant as sexual offerings.

And just when the horseman’s gotten a taste for womanflesh …

Ezekiel must’ve heard whispers that Pestilence kept a captive female, one who didn’t succumb to the Fever. He must’ve thought that if he offered up a few more women, he could arrange for his chosen people to live.

Bet he thought he was pretty clever too.

We pass through several successive towns quickly, only stopping once at an outpost so that I can go to the bathroom and Pestilence can swipe a tent and a few other odds and ends.

Guess we’re camping again tonight.

And naturally, as the day comes to a close, the heavens decide to unleash yet another torrential downpour. Because camping isn’t shit-sucking enough.

By nightfall, rain batters outside our tent, and not even the waterproof material is enough to keep it all out. It seeps in from the muddy ground outside and in through the tent’s seems. The flimsy structure shivers and shakes as it gets pummeled.

The horseman and I are twined together in the darkness.

“So, this is fun,” I say.

Pestilence huffs out a laugh. “It isn’t our worst night together.”

No, technically it’s not.What a depressing thought.

I can’t see him in the darkness, but his warmth is everywhere.

“Poor Trixie,” I say.

He’s still out there. Shortly after we dismounted, Pestilence gave the horse a pat on the flank, and the creature trotted away into the woods.

“My steed is undying. I assure you, he is fine.” The horseman’s breath brushes against my cheek. “You still haven’t finished reciting that Edgar Allan Poe poem.”

From this morning? He actually remembers that?

“You weren’t listening.”

“I was, though I’m not sure your macabre poet is the type to pen ‘A-holes’ into his poetry.”

I smile in the darkness, remembering when I went off script to get the horseman’s attention. “Poe has a sassy mouth.”

“Does he?” I can hear the grin in Pestilence’s voice. “What other well-kept secrets of the universe do you know?”

“Hmmm,” I pretend to ponder this. “Wednesday is the most underrated day of the week. Hot baths can take away just about any ailment.Phlegmis the most horrible word in existence—notmoist, like my mother insists. The world is worth saving, and I want to call you by something other than Pestilence because, despite what you say, names do matter.”

I hadn’t meant for the conversation to suddenly get deep, or for me to get preachy, but there you go.

Pestilence stiffens around me. “I do not seek to change you; why must you try to change me?”