Pestilence (11 page)

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“What time is it?”

Pest looked up from the computer screen he’d been staring at for the past twenty minutes. He glanced at his watch. “It’s around midnight. You slept for about four hours. Are you hungry? There’s spaghetti in the refrigerator if you are.”

Bart paused like he was trying to decide whether he was hungry or not. As Pest watched him, his stomach growled.

“I guess that says it all.” Bart grinned at him and shuffled off to get food.

Pest had eaten earlier. Even though he didn’t need to, he ate to feel more normal—it was the same reason why he’d actually sleep when it got dark. He waited until Bart came back with a plateful of pasta and sat down on the couch before talking again.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to see the dean of your discipline. See if he can get us in to see Jasper and the others. I think they’ll be so shocked at seeing you again, they’ll agree to anything you ask. Plus the doctors handling the others’ cases will want to examine you.” Pest leaned back in his chair and laid his head against the headrest. “Do you think the virus mutated when it left the humidity of the rainforest?”

Bart grunted and Pest continued on.

“I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t end up with boils and open sores. Your fever was very high for several weeks. Lam worried your brain might set on fire because of how hot you were.”

“Lam’s a friend of yours?”

Pest tilted his head to the side and spied Bart staring at him. “I wouldn’t necessarily call him a friend. He’s worked with us on a few missions, but it’s always been at Death’s request.”

“But you trusted him enough to leave him to watch me while you were gone?” Bart put his empty plate on the coffee table and curled up in the corner of the couch, feet tucked under him and arms wrapped around his knees.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Death needed me to go with him. Plus when Lam gives his word, you can trust him to keep it. He promised he would keep you alive until I got back, and that’s exactly what he did.” Pest looked back up at the ceiling. “Aside from my comrades, Lam is the one creature I’d trust with someone else’s life.”

“Your comrades? What are you, Russian?” Bart frowned.

Pest shook his head reluctantly. “The three men I work with aren’t my friends, but they are more than mere associates. I’d hesitate to call them family or anything intimate. We avoid being around each other as much as we possibly can. The only one who sees each of us individually is Death.”

“Are you a cult who believe you’re the Four Horsemen or something? Are the other two called War and Famine?” Bart snorted in disbelief.

Silence filled the room as Pest decided what he could tell Bart without getting in trouble with Death and have Bart believe him. There wasn’t much he could reveal, and he knew it. Either way he was screwed, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

He stood and joined Bart on the couch. He unbuttoned his shirt and tugged the bottom out of his jeans.

“What are you doing? I don’t think stripping is quite the way to answer my questions, though it’s a good way to distract me.” Bart seemed a little nervous.

“Don’t worry. I just want you to see something.” Pest took off his shirt and removed his gloves.

He reached around to the small of his back and rubbed his fingers there. After a minute, heat blossomed and he put his gloves back on. Turning to present his back to Bart, he said, “Tell me what you see there, but don’t touch it.”

“It looks like a Roman seal. I dated an archaeologist for a while, and his area of expertise was Rome. What does it say and why do you have it on your back? Why didn’t I see it before? It’s not a tattoo. It’s more like a brand.”

“
Coniecturalem artem esse medicinam.
Medicine is the art of guessing. I thought it was a fitting motto for me, especially after watching my own family die because I didn’t know how to cure them.” Pest turned to face Bart again. “I can’t tell you anything about what I do. You wouldn’t believe me. You ask me these questions, all the while you’re thinking I’m crazy or just pulling your leg.”

Bart opened his mouth and Pest pressed his fingers against his lips.

“Don’t deny that’s what you’re thinking. I know better, Bart. I’ve never told anyone the truth because no one would ever believe me. To be honest, though, I’ve never met anyone I ever wanted to share the real truth with.” He narrowed his gaze at Bart. “What makes you different from the others?”

“I know there’s something strange about you and Death and Lam. Your eyes are weird. You have the strangest colored hair I’ve ever seen, and I know yours is natural. You came and visited me in my dreams.” Bart jerked to his feet and paced. “Why can’t you tell me the truth?”

“What kind of truth do you want, Bart? The truth is my family died during the Bubonic Plague outbreak in the 1300s. I was a doctor, but nothing I did could save them or anyone else in my village. I took my own life because I felt so guilty. What else did I have to live for? They were gone. My wife and son had died.” Pest touched the locket hanging around his neck.

“You’re saying you’re dead. You killed yourself in the 1300s. That’s not possible.” Bart continued to pace.

“Of course it’s not possible. Why do you think I’ve never told you or anyone about this? No one, unless they’re completely crazy, will believe me.” Pest pulled his shirt back on and stood. He went to the window, looking out over the street.

“Pestilence, you must stay silent.”
Death’s admonishment echoed through Pest’s mind.

“Or what? I’ll die or you’ll kill me, but I can’t die, so any sort of threat you make is pointless.”
Pest leaned his head on the cool glass.

“You’re the one who chose to become a Horseman. No one forced you.”

“Wait a minute. I didn’t choose to become Pestilence. I killed myself and somehow that elected me to this job. I never had one chance to get out of it.”

Death’s silence told Pest his fellow Horseman had said all he was going to on the subject.

“Why can’t I say something? He’ll just think I’m crazy, but for once in my eternal life, I’ll have told someone the truth.”

Pest wasn’t expecting Bart’s touch, so when the man’s hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped.

“Sorry.” Bart slipped his arms around Pest’s waist, and tugged him into a tight embrace. He rested his hands low on Pest’s stomach. “I’m sorry about your family. Do you have pictures of them in the locket?”

Laughing softly, Pest shook his head. He reached up and opened the locket to show it to Bart. “It’s locks of their hair. Cameras didn’t exist when they were alive, and by the time I found an artist to do a rendering of them, I’d forgotten what they looked like. At times, I can remember what my son’s laughter or my wife’s voice sounded like, but for the most part, they’re a feeling in my heart and nothing more.”

“I wasn’t very close to my parents. When they died, I was upset for a little while, but it was more like a slight blip on my radar. You know, I realized today that Kerry is truly my only close friend, and we aren’t that close.” Bart paused and sighed. “I should say I wasn’t that close to Kerry. I never invested myself in any sort of relationship. Too much work.”

“After my village was wiped out by the plague, I became a hermit, staying in my house and not allowing anyone to come visit me. I didn’t want the responsibility of being a doctor anymore. Too difficult to believe in my meager training. So many people died and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Bart hesitated, and Pest waited for him to comment on Pest’s memories being delusions or something like that, but Bart didn’t say anything like that. He simply stroked his fingers over Pest’s skin. Pest thanked God it was only his hands no one could touch. He’d hate it if he couldn’t feel Bart’s hands on his body.

“What could you have done? From what I read about the plague, no one knew how to treat it. How did you manage not to catch it?”

Pest shrugged and ran his fingertip over the locks of hair in the necklace. “I don’t know. Fate must have had a different plan, though I’m not sure why suicide would be on the course charted for me.”

For the first time since becoming a Horseman, Pest was tired. He closed his eyes and laid his head on Bart’s shoulder, silently asking the man to hold him. Bart ran his hands up and down Pest’s back to soothe him, avoiding the mark on his lower back.

“Why aren’t you running away from me, screaming about the crazy man? We’re in civilization now. It’ll be easy to find someone to help you.”

Bart shrugged. “Maybe because I’m still tired and none of this has sunk in yet. Maybe because I can tell you believe it. I’ve always had feeling there was something different about you, Pest. I might be a scientist and tend to believe what I can see instead of accepting someone’s word on a possibility, but I’m willing to suspend my doubt for a little while.”

“Death is going to be furious with me for saying even what little I told you,” Pest admitted.

“Screw him. He’s not here and he doesn’t matter. What’s happened is between us and we’ll deal with it. Why don’t we go to bed?” Bart switched the topic. “It’s been a long day, and something tells me the way you brought us to Cambridge wasn’t as effortless as you’ve been acting.”

“Good idea,” Pest agreed, even though he didn’t want to lose the warmth of Bart’s arms around him. “Do you want to use the bathroom first? I can change and make sure the guest bed has sheets.”

“Guest bed?” Bart eased back and looked at Pest. “Why would you be sleeping in the guest bed?”

“Why would I assume I’d be sharing your bed? Now that you know the real truth about me. I mean, sure, we rubbed off on each other, but does that mean you want to see if we could be more than fuck buddies?”

Christ, he hated sounding so unsure. One wouldn’t think he hadn’t lived centuries or had more than one relationship. He mentally slapped himself upside the head. He’d had other lovers, but none had been as serious as what was happening between him and Bart.

“Have you ever had an affair with a man?” Bart took Pest’s hand and led him toward the master bedroom.

“Sure. I’ve lived too long not to realize love has nothing to do with the sex of the person, and everything to do with the person themselves. If I were to make an educated guess, I would say I was probably bisexual when I was married, but back then, you didn’t admit to liking men. Not if you wanted to live.”

Pest didn’t fight, not that he wanted to. They got ready for bed and climbed under the blankets to snuggle close together. He knew Bart wanted to know more, but Pest wasn’t sure he should continue. It might lead to other confessions, and Pest figured Death was poised to come and kidnap him if he kept talking.

“You’re not uncomfortable about this, are you?” Bart brushed Pest’s hair off his forehead.

“No, I’m not. I miss sharing a bed with someone, but I wouldn’t allow myself to admit that aloud. It’s difficult to find a person willing in the middle of the Amazon.” He chuckled.

“I bet.” Bart winked. “I didn’t see anyone during the time I wandered the jungle and even when you found me, I’d only saw you, Lam and Death.”

“The natives stay away from me. They think I’m a god, or at least a demi-god. There are legends about me passed down through generations,” Pest bragged with a grin.

“Impressed with yourself, huh?”

“Not really. I think it’s funny. I never thought I’d be a legend in the history of a people I didn’t even know existed when I practiced medicine.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in Bart’s fresh male scent, letting it ease him even more. Bart caressed his cheek.

“Sleep, Pest. All of this will still be here when you wake up.”

Giving over his trust to Bart for the night, he slid into slumber, knowing he wouldn’t be dreaming that night.

He and Death stood in a familiar barren landscape, their horses pawing the ground behind them. Pestilence squared his shoulders, ready to get chewed out by Death. The Pale Horseman didn’t say anything, just stared out over the wasteland of nothingness.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Death stretched, his bones popping and joints creaking. “No reason.”

“You always have a reason for everything you do, Death. Don’t lie to me.” Pestilence folded his arms over his chest and glared at the man.

“You’re not thinking clearly. Your emotions are caught up in this mortal and it could lead to all of us being discovered.” Death didn’t look at him.

“Don’t give me that shit, Death. Do you really think Bart would run out and tell the whole world the Four Horsemen are real and he knows one of them? He’d either be locked up or laughed out of society. He’d become one of those tabloid sensations.” Pestilence stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet in the dirt. “I don’t even know if he believes me or not.”

“I think he believes.” Death ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “I knew a time like this would come, but I wasn’t really ready for it.”

“A time like what? When our presence will be revealed to the world?” Pestilence snorted. “Don’t worry. No one will believe except for the crazies and people never take them seriously anyway.”

“You’re right of course. I’m silly to worry about it. Go back to your sleep, comrade. You have much to do tomorrow.”

Death conceded too quickly on the argument. Pestilence narrowed his eyes and studied the pale Horseman. Something else was going on here, but he knew it was near impossible to get Death talking if he didn’t want to do so.

“All right. I’m going back to my bed, but don’t think I didn’t notice you not answering my questions. There’s something going on here, but you’re not going to tell me.”

Swinging around, he whistled for the white stallion. The horse trotted over to him and he mounted. As he turned to leave, he glanced down at Death. The sorrow dancing across the other Horseman’s face stopped him for a second. It disappeared and Death’s normal dispassionate expression returned.

“I’ll contact you in a few days after you’ve had a chance to look at the others. We’ll decide then how to handle this outbreak.”