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“That’s not a true answer,” he says.

“It’s the only one you’re getting,” I say tartly.

Of course, that’s all Ruth needs to hear before she bustles away to put together a platter of nuts, fruit, and cheese.

Rob leans forward. “How much can you tell us of your origins?” he asks, changing the subject altogether.

Pestilence’s attention reluctantly moves off of me.

“That question has several answers,” the horseman responds. As he speaks, he removes his bow, then shrugs off his quiver.

“Are you a Christian entity?” Rob presses.

I should’ve anticipated this line of questioning from the cross hanging over the kitchen table.

Pestilence kicks his big-ass boots up on the table, crossing his feet at the ankles. I have no idea whether he knows it’s rude to do so, but he seems comfortable enough. He rests his arm over my chair again.

“Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist—they’re all wrong and they’re all right,” he says. “It’s not the details that are important. It’s the overall message.”

I feel the horseman’s fingers playing with my hair, the sensation making me want to lean into the touch (I’m a sucker for head scratches).

“Morality, and not faith,” he continues, “is what matters to God.”

Rob’s eyes are alight with joy. “Of course,” he says. He gives a startled laugh, like the entire conversation is just so surprising, which, yeah no shit, Burns, it is. “Ah, I never thought this day would come. I am the luckiest man, to be sitting here with proof of His existence. And how much do you know about the Bible?”

“The Bible is a work of man, not God. What use have I for something that is more wrong than right?”

I tense, expecting Ruth or Rob to bristle, but they don’t. I’m pretty sure Pestilence could fart and they’d find it enchanting.

“And whatisright?” Ruth asks, coming back with the tray of finger foods, settling herself into her chair.

“That I and my brothers have come to conquer this land, and unless humans change, all will be laid to waste, and your day of judgment will fall swiftly upon you.”

He could really lube us up for entry, rather than just shoving shit at us like that.

Rob leans forward. “How do we change?”

“Your natures are corrupted,” Pestilence says. “Your hearts are hard and your minds are set on a selfish, destructive course. You have killed off countless creatures, you’ve made a mockery of nature, you’ve turned your backs on one another. Unless your ways change, you will be eliminated.”

Rob runs a hand over his close-cropped white hair. “That’s a tall order for our lot,” he says sadly.

“That is why humankind will perish.” Pestilence says this with such certainty that I have to tamp down a shiver.

He doesn’t believe we are capable of changing.

Rob leans forward. “But there is a chance we won’t?”

Pestilence hesitates. “Yes,” he finally says. “There is a chance. Until Death has ridden through the land and deemed it unworthy—until God Himself has called us back—there is a chance.”

I lay awakefor a long time that night, my mind slow to turn off. Even once it does, my sleep is fairly light. A peel of laughter or a gruff word from the other end of the house is enough to rouse me.

Pestilence stays up late with the elderly couple, talking about things that I can’t quite make out. Bits and pieces of conversation drift in, and it’s just enough for me to figure out that they’re talking about God and religion. I get the impression that the horseman is far freer with his words around them than he is with me.

Startlingly, I feel a spark of jealousy. I don’t evenwantto talk to Pestilence about God, so I don’t know why it bothers me.

You want him to share his most private thoughts with you, and you alone.

To think that he’s telling this couple things that he won’t utter in front of me … beneath the jealousy and annoyance is hurt.