Page 97 of Famine

Famine saw all this and still he didn’t shove me off his lap?Iwould’ve. I stare after where I last saw the horseman. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Famine was a gentleman.

What a disturbing thought.

I meet the Reaper outside, where he’s checking his horse’s straps.

“Where does your horse go?” I ask as I walk over.

Famine turns to me, his expression turbulent.

“You mean when I leave him alone?” he says. “Wherever he pleases, I imagine.”

“And he just comes back to you when you need him?” I ask, rolling my injured shoulder absently; my injury feels much, much better. I guess a good night’s sleep on the Reaper was all I needed. “You don’t have to worry about him running off?”

“He may be a horse,” Famine says, “but he wasn’t bornofhorses. He was formed from the ether with one purpose and one purpose alone: to assist me in all ways.”

That’s all he says on the subject—it’s all he says at all. He still wears that same, stormy expression when he lifts me onto his horse. Wordlessly, he gets on behind me and steers his horse back to the road.

Overhead, dark clouds gather on themselves, but it’s not just the weather that feels ominous.

I can practically feel Famine’s oppressive mood bearing down on me.

“So …” I start.

Last night plays out in my mind. I still want to know about Famine’s dirty little sex life—because I’m a snoop.

“I don’t want to talk.” As he speaks, the sky seems to visibly darken.

“But—”

“Don’t push me,” he cuts me off. As if to punctuate his thought, I hear a distant rumble, and one fat raindrop lands on my nose.

I glance up at the sky.

Wait. Is it possible that he has power over … ?

“You’re not a virgin,” I say, staring up at the grey clouds.

“Do you suddenly not understand your own language?I don’t want to talk.”

“Well, Ido,” I insist. “And Ireallywant to discuss the fact that you’ve boned a woman before—or was it a man?” I gasp at the titillating thought. “Please tell me it was a man!”

Famine doesn’t respond, and if anything, the sky seems to clear a bit.

Hmmm …

“Or maybe we should talk about the fact that you let me sleep on your lap for anentire night.”

A fat drop of water lands on my cheek.

Therewe go.

At my back, the horseman goes rigid.

“One would almost think you cared about me …” I say, baiting him.

Another raindrop hits my face—then another and another.

“Enough.”

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