Pestilence (17 page)

“Jealous?” Pest grinned at him.

“Nah. Kerry’s too young for you.”

“Really? And why do you think that?” Pest raised an eyebrow in question.

“Those weird eyes of yours have seen too much in your life time, no matter how long you’ve been alive. Kerry’s pretty innocent, and you don’t know how to deal with someone like that.”

Pest grew silent, and the only way Bart knew he was still awake was by the way Pest’s hand trembled in his. The time had come for the truth to be told, and Bart wasn’t going to let Pest avoid his questions this time.

Chapter Nine

“Will you tell me the truth now?” Bart asked as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms.

Pest’s heartbeat sped up. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He’d promised Bart he’d tell him the whole truth, but did he have the courage to watch Bart walk away after the night they’d just spent together?

How had this one human got behind all of Pest’s walls? Only his wife had ever made him feel as happy and as intense as Bart did. None of the few men and women he’d slept with since becoming a Horseman had ever caused him to consider revealing the truth.

“Pest?”

At Bart’s softly whispered question, Pest surrendered. His lover wouldn’t believe him, but Pest couldn’t fight Bart, plus he had promised. With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and got dressed.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t let it go. You should get dressed. This isn’t something I can discuss while naked. I’ll pour us a drink while you do so.”

Bart didn’t say anything. He simply did as Pest suggested. Pest had had a bottle of whiskey delivered earlier with their dinner and he opened it, pouring their drinks when Bart got out of the bathroom.

“Do you want to turn on a light?” Bart asked as he sat on the couch.

Pest stood by the window, watching the headlights speed past and shaking his head. “What I tell you is better said in the dark.”

“Okay.”

Silence filled the room for a few minutes while Pest organized his thoughts. Where to start? He’d dropped hints, but Bart had chosen not to believe them.

“You can only tell the truth, Pestilence. Belief must come from him.”

Death’s advice startled him. Pest rested his forehead against the cool glass.

“Why aren’t you here trying to stop me? We aren’t supposed to reveal anything about the Horsemen. Yet here I am, ready to spill my guts.”

“Maybe I wish to see his reaction.
Maybe the argument you presented me earlier convinced me.”
Death’s shrug was obvious in his tone. “
Only you can make the final decision. Remember though, you can tell him very little about Lam. There are harsher penalties for revealing knowledge about his kind.”

Pest nodded and took a large swallow of whiskey for liquid courage.

“You asked me once who Lam was and I mentioned he was a friend doing Death a favor.”

“Yes.” Bart sat, almost frozen, on the couch.

“It was true as far as it goes. Lam is really an
agnus dei
, or a lamb of God.”

“You mean like the Bible?”

Pest nodded, then said, “Like the Bible.”

“But I thought there was only one Lamb of God. I certainly never got the feeling Lam was Him.”

Laughing, Pest shook his head. “Oh no. There is
the
Lamb of God, capital L and all that. And then there are lambs of Gods, or
agnus dei
. They break the seals during the end days. They are the ones who release the Horsemen, and serve as messengers between Death and God.”

“Is that what Lam’s tattoo means?”

“Yes, I believe so, though I’ve never asked him about it.”

The clink of ice against glass informed Pest that Bart had taken a drink. A thud and a splash let him know Bart had poured himself another drink.

“Of Apocalypse fame? Those Horsemen?”

“The same ones. Pestilence, War, Famine and Death. We are real, not figments or allegories.” Pest wound a lock of his hair around a finger and tugged. “We exist to keep the balance between Heaven and Hell.”

“I’m not an expert on the Bible, but I thought the Horsemen were signs of the end times.” Bart’s confusion sounded in his voice.

Pest turned away from the window and sat in the chair across from the couch. He braced his elbows on his knees and let his glass dangle from his hand. He stared at the floor.

“For many, that’s what we are, but we are used to keep the end of times from happening. When evil has too much hold over the world, the
agnus dei
open the seals and we ride forth.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the shadows and letting the images in his mind dance on his eyelids.

“Pestilence is first, and if what I do doesn’t change their minds, then War reigns over the innocent. Famine is the last resort because if whoever is creating the unbalance doesn’t stop, there is nothing but terror coming after us. Death accompanies each of us. He is our
de facto
leader.”

Pausing, Pest waited for Bart to laugh or get up and walk away. The man simply sat there, not moving, but also not looking at Pest.

“How does one become a Horseman?”

Sighing, Pest ran his hand through his hair. “I used to be Doctor Aldo Bianchi, a healer in a small village just outside Rome in Italy. I was thirty when the plague hit and within months, my entire life had changed. My wife and I had been married for ten years and I loved her with all my heart. Only my son meant more to me.”

“That’s understandable, but how do you go from being married to sleeping with me?” Bart gestured vaguely.

“It might seem strange, but you realize I’ve been around for seven hundred years. I’ve learned over the span of those centuries, chemistry doesn’t care whether the person in your bed has a dick or a pussy. All it cares about is how attracted you are to the person.” Pest leaned back and let his arms flop to his sides. “I will admit I was slightly freaked out the first time I found myself head over heels in lust with a man. I had stirrings of attraction when I was alive, but I loved my wife so much, it didn’t matter that sex with another man was illegal, I wouldn’t have done anything anyway.”

“How did you become a Horseman? We seem to have wandered away from that question.”

Pest cringed and hoped Bart couldn’t see his expression in the dark. He’d purposely run away from that question, not really wanting to discuss in detail his demise and subsequent rebirth as Pestilence.

“There have always been Horsemen, and there must always be four. I don’t know how one stops being a Horseman. Maybe one day we just simply cease to exist and a new one is born to take our place. Death never explained it to me. He knows far more than the rest of us. Maybe that’s why he’s the leader.”

“Did he come and make you an offer or something? You said you killed yourself because of your guilt for not saving your family and the other villagers. Is this your punishment for taking your own life?”

Pest frowned. Was being a Horseman punishment for what he’d done? An instinct inside his soul told him no. If he were to be punished, he would have been forced to continue living his life alone without the two people he loved most in the world.

“I don’t think it works that way. The first Death I dealt with told me it wasn’t necessarily a punishment for killing myself. I had more lessons to learn. God, or the universe, had plans for me. ” He shot to his feet and moved to the open space where he paced, tugging on the ends of his hair while he talked. “One moment I dangled from the end of a rope, feeling my life strangle out of me. The next, I was gasping for air, staring up into the eyes of a stranger.”

Bart shifted on the couch before pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “Was it Death?”

Pest shook his head. “Yes and no. The being you know as Death is the second Pale Horseman I’ve known. The first was the one who dragged me out of my death and told me who I’d become.”

“Really? How did you react to that?” Bart sounded surprised at Pest’s lack of curiosity.

“I freaked out and he waited patiently until I could breathe again before he sat me down. He calmly explained how this was going to work. I was now Pestilence, the first Horseman. I mean, who would be a better person for the job than a doctor? I knew all the damage disease and bacteria could cause, but instead of healing them, I cause epidemics with a touch of my hand.”

He held up his hands, covered with black leather, to the moonlight shining through the windows. Once his hands had been instruments of healing and care. Now they were the source of so much pain and anguish. At times, he wished he could die—he would have probably killed himself again.

“You’re afraid of accidently making someone ill. Is that why you live in the rainforest? You don’t have a lot of interaction with people, so there’s no risk you can give something to anyone.” Bart scrubbed his hand over his face. “But how does it work?”

“What do you mean? How does it work? Death comes to collect me. I go with him to wherever he wants the epidemic to start. I do my job, touching people and giving them whatever illness happens to come from me. I never know what they might get since I don’t have control over it.” Pest stopped and braided his hair, finding a band in his pocket to tie off the end. It was a nervous habit he’d developed over the centuries.

“When he thinks it’s enough, he tells me I can go. Death always sticks around because he has to deal with the truly difficult part of their death. He touches them and they die, then he gathers their souls up and escorts them to the gates.”

“The Pearly Gates?” A soft snort from Bart after the question told Pest that Bart’s skepticism was still there.

“Hell, I don’t know what kind of gates they are. I never saw them. From what Death told me, there are two sets of gates. One leads to Heaven and the other to Hell.”

“Does he shove them through the gates or what?”

“He leaves them there. It isn’t his job to escort them to where they need to be. Just to the gates. I guess someone else takes over from there.”

“Why you? Did the man ever explain why you’re the one chosen to take over from the last Horseman?” Bart paused for a second before continuing. “Can you say no when Death tells you to go with him?”

Pest rolled his eyes and snorted. “Oh sure. I tried to say no when you showed up, but Death wouldn’t let me stay with you. That’s how Lam came to be your nurse. I’ve never said no to Death before and I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to either. Why should I fight what I am?”

Bart stood up and walked toward him. As difficult as it was, Pest didn’t drop his gaze. He did close his eyes when Bart cupped his face in his hands.

“Do you feel you deserve this? Do you see this as punishment for not being able to keep your family alive? For them dying during the plague?”

Filling his lungs, Pest started to shake his head and not answer Bart’s question. Bart wouldn’t let him move.

“Look at me. Tell me you don’t think you’re responsible for their deaths. Tell me you understand there wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“Do you believe me?”

His question hung in the air like a balloon, and Bart hesitated. Pest jerked from his touch and turned away. He tugged on the end of his braid while he paced, not wanting to stand close to Bart and breathe in his familiar scent.
Christ!
He thought he could handle Bart not believing him, yet it seemed his heart didn’t like knowing the man he was falling in love with thought he was crazy.

“You really should believe him, Bartholomew.”

Pest didn’t turn when Death spoke up. He’d been aware of Death’s presence from the minute the other Horseman had arrived, but he was surprised Death had made an appearance. Bart jumped and whirled around to face the pale man standing in the corner of the room.

“How did you get in here? You haven’t been here the whole time or I would have seen you.” Bart glanced over his shoulder at Pest. “Did you ask him to come to try and convince me you’re telling the truth?”

Death pointed a finger toward the lamp and it turned on. His black eyes stared at Bart, yet Pest could tell his comrade’s attention wasn’t totally on Bart.

“You’re sure it will be worth telling him everything?” Death stalked up to Bart and reached out.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t touch him.”

Bart and Pest spoke at the same time. Death’s upper lip curled slightly as he let his hand drop.

“Why are you afraid of me touching you if you don’t believe we are who Pestilence says we are?” Death rested his hands on his hips. “And I can tell from your rather panicked expression, you know who I am.”

“Well, if any of this is real, then you must be Death, the Pale Horseman. I do remember seeing you at Pest’s place in the jungle.” Bart seemed rather belligerent, especially talking to Death. “Why are you here?”

“It’s certainly not to take you to the gates. It appears you aren’t going to die any time soon.” Death looked at Pest. “I’m here to support him, should you be stupid enough to think he’s crazy.”

Pest blinked. Death was there to support him? To comfort him if Bart turned away? Death never gave any sign he might care about his fellow Horsemen. Hell, none of them wanted to spend time with each other. It was hard for Pest to look at War, Famine, or even Death, knowing what they represented and how it hurt the mortals they looked after, yet it was necessary.

“He might not really believe you, but he does have a point.” Death inclined his head in Bart’s direction.

“What point is that?” Pest couldn’t help but ask, even though he didn’t want to engage Death in a long, drawn-out conversation.

Death eyed him like he was a bug under a microscope “Do you feel this is punishment for your family dying in the plague? Or for killing yourself after they died?”

Pest turned his back on both of the men. He moved back to his spot at the window. Staring out into the darkness, he couldn’t really see the reflections of Death and Bart, which was what he wanted. The isolation he felt in the black velvet of the sky eased him in a way, but he found he didn’t like looking at himself.

“It wasn’t an accusation,” Bart pointed out.