Horseman

by Shayne Silvers

  I kept on shouting, not caring in the slightest if I woke anyone up. Anyone worth their pay would be on high alert tonight after even one of my allies had returned from Fight Club, raving about the carnage. As I tore down the halls, I was actually kind of surprised that no one had tried to return to the Fight Club to check on us. Then I remembered that there was some kind of time restraint on that – if you had been killed there, you had to wait a half-day or so before you could return.

  Still, there should have been armed fucking guards at every corner, or someone waiting in my room for me.

  I burst into Alex’s rooms, sweeping the area quickly, but saw no sign of him.

  I cursed, spun, and ran back out the door. Would he have awoken somewhere else? Or had he returned like me and gone out to check on everyone else, to tell them what had happened?

  “If I was Alex, where would I go—”

  It hit me in an instant, and I began running.

  Ruin. He would go to check on either Ruin or me, and seeing as how Ruin had left the Fight Club in a truly unique way, it wasn’t unbelievable to think he might have actually died. Whereas if Alex had woken up, realized he was fine, then he would have assumed I was fine as well, and gone out to check on the other most important person in his life.

  I kept on shouting Alex’s name as I half ran, half fell down the stairs, saving myself only by grasping at the bannister. Dean stormed onto the landing at the base of the stairs in his night robe, saw I was naked, and grimaced.

  Then he pulled out his airsoft gun; for some reason he’d had it tucked into his robe. And it had some kind of bulbous extended magazine filled with about a million plastic BB’s.

  I blinked at him incredulously. “Really?” I snapped in disbelief. “You work for me! You can’t just shoot me—”

  He cocked back the hammer and clicked off the safety, cutting me off with the weight of his actions. “Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he said in the tone only a well-established Butler could pull off. “I warned you, Master Temple. No more nudity in this house. It’s getting quite out of hand.” And he pointed the gun at me, unloading without further warning.

  I squawked and sprinted for my life to escape the line of fire, hissing at each fiery bite of the damned plastic bullets pegging my ass and lower back. Dean had gotten the automatic version, apparently.

  My run was not that of a graceful, long-legged gazelle, because too wide of a stride and he might tag my dangly bits by accident. So, it was more of a stiff-legged speed-walk as I basically pretended to be the fastest wind-up nutcracker toy in the world, keeping my legs straight as I swung my legs as fast as possible.

  Dean obviously intended for me to remember the lesson, for he pursued me with a vengeance.

  “Dean!” I shouted, alarmed at how fast he was in house slippers. “We’re all in grave danger!”

  “We’re always in grave danger. And you look perfectly fine. I’ll have no more of this nudity nonsense,” he said in a cool, unflappable tone, unaffected by his swift sprint. “Enough is enough.”

  I spotted a blanket hanging off a nearby couch and lunged for it. He shot my hand with about seventy-eight BB’s, and another sixty-two hit me in the exposed ribs as I desperately tried to swing it over my shoulders.

  Finally covered, I held it over my face, rounding on him. I realized it was some sort of tiger skin, not a blanket, and that it didn’t reach all the way to the floor. “There!” I hissed. “Happy now?”

  He shot me in the pinky toe with another dozen bullets, making me hop on one foot. “Dance, monkey,” Dean said in a dry tone, switching targets to my other foot, almost ripping off that pinky toe as well. “Dance,” he repeated, not releasing the trigger for a second.

  I snarled in both pain and outrage, and spun to resume my sprint for Alex.

  I no longer heard him running after me, but as I lengthened my stride, I realized Dean had learned a thing or two about geometry in Butler School. Because he used the marble floor to angle bullets under my tiger-skin, and I suddenly felt about thirty-six of the plastic hellfire missiles tag me in the testicula-oblangata, momentarily shutting down my brain and sending me sliding on the floor. I whimpered, tucking my feet under the tiger skin, and rolled out of the sniping Butler’s line of sight, gasping.

  The sound of bouncing BB’s echoed down the hall, but I no longer heard the sound of him pulling the trigger or pursuing me.

  I cautiously peeped my head around the corner to see Dean pointing the gun at me from down the Hall. I swore, ducking back to safety, but he never pulled the trigger.

  “What’s the new rule, Master Temple?” he called out loudly.

  “No more nudity in public places,” I shouted back, desperate to get him away from me.

  “Thank you, Sir. Can I do anything else for you this evening?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “No, Dean, thank you. That will be all.”

  “Of course, Master Temple. I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning. Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, Dean,” I called back, gritting my teeth. I didn’t risk movement until I heard him walking away, and I didn’t peek out into the hallway until I was sure he was gone.

  Then I was running again, this time out the front door.

  I had forgotten about the news reporters lurking at the gate, but spotting the blazing array of floodlights they had set up aimed towards my front door, I immediately swore seven kinds of hell. Especially at the gasps of surprise and the sudden explosion of clicking cameras that were apparently rigged to a motion sensor so they wouldn’t miss the opportunity to snap a thousand pictures of the local billionaire in his natural habitat.

  The streaking, tiger-skin clad billionaire running through his lawn in the middle of the night for a nocturnal hunt.

  I might have flinched instinctively at those clicks, my body’s fight or flight syndrome instinctively thinking it was Dean and his airsoft gun again. I ran out of view, using the hill to hide my movements as I ran to the pale white tree glistening in the moonlight.

  I let out a sigh of relief, almost collapsing to the grass as I saw Alex standing at the base of Carl’s Mighty D, discreetly calling out to the treehouse high above, but careful not to alert the press that something was happening.

  Too late for that, thanks to me.

  But Alex was alive. I took a deep breath, let it out, and then walked over to him.

  He was wearing a thick robe, and had a steaming cup of cocoa in his hands. I blinked down at it as I stopped beside him.

  He noticed me, gasped, and instinctively reached in for a hug until he saw my outfit. “Ummm…”

  I scowled back. “All I could find on short notice. You’re lucky Dean didn’t find you before you got that robe.”

  Alex frowned at me. “Dean gave me the robe. And the hot chocolate. He saw me running through the hall, naked, looking for you. I was crying, so I think he was concerned. Said he would go check on you.”

  I blinked at him, opening my mouth silently, but couldn’t form words. That no good, backstabbing bastard of a Butler.

  Alex was frowning. “Didn’t he find you? He had a robe ready for you…” he added, inspecting my tiger skin.

  I let out another breath. “I thought this was cooler,” I snapped. “Is he home?” I asked, glancing up.

  Alex shrugged. “I think so, but he’s not answering.”

  “Go away!” a voice shouted from within the treehouse.

  And I almost sat down on my tiger skin and cried. B—no, Ruin was alive. But why…

  “Come on out!” Alex hissed. “We were scared to death for you. You were a goddamn hero tonight!”

  The door to the treehouse creaked open, and out drifted a train-wreck of a cloud. “Ow…” he said groggily. If a cumulous could mimic a one-night-stand’s walk of shame, Ruin would have nailed it. I grew alarmed. “B, what the hell? Are you okay?” I asked nervously.

  His center mass rumbled distantly, like a complaining growl of thunder on the horizon,
and a flurry of multi-colored lightning coagulated from his edges to a single point near his lower edge. He suddenly condensed into a much smaller mass. “Oh, not again,” he whispered anxiously, zipping back into the treehouse and slamming the door.

  I shared a quick, confused look with Alex before a flash of light from up above caught our attention. And what looked like a hurricane briefly illuminated the tree house from inside. Water abruptly poured down through the crack in the treehouse door, and the windows burst open, rattling from a sudden torrent of wind. We instinctively dodged the falling water, grimacing at a bizarre thought.

  Ruin groaned in agony, an all-too-familiar sound. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I just want to die,” he whimpered pathetically, not really meaning it.

  “Did he just…” Alex whispered incredulously.

  I shook my head in disbelief, realizing I was about to burst with laughter. “I think so.”

  Ruin had just… had an accident. IBS – Irritable Beast Syndrome.

  Alex turned to me, grinning wide. “That soul he ate must have been expired,” he said, chuckling. Then he bubbled over with laughter.

  After such a crazily chaotic night, all the death, fear, carnage… to witness Ruin experiencing his first case of food poisoning was just too much. And… just the right amount. Soon we were both cackling, no longer caring about anything the reporters might pick up for the paper in the morning.

  We laughed back and forth for a while, exchanging jokes about Ruin’s rumbly tummy.

  But he was alive. Alex was alive. And if they were alive, my other friends were alive, too. I realized I must have left my cell phone in my room, and that it was probably blowing up with missed calls and texts. But glancing over at Alex – and another waterfall from Ruin’s treehouse – I told myself it could wait a few more minutes.

  Alex regarded me warily. “Sorry about killing you… And for tricking Grimm into taking me to Fight Night. I told him you were challenging Roy G. Biv. That’s really all the push he needed to turn against your wishes.”

  I grunted, unable to even find the energy to be upset. “That’s what friends are for,” I finally admitted.

  Despite how crazy that sounded, he nodded thoughtfully. “I think I’m beginning to see that.” Alex pointed at my neck. “That doesn’t look good,” he said softly.

  I glanced down to find my Horseman’s Mask, back to its disguise as a coin, hanging from the chain around my neck. It now featured a jagged white line down the center. I sighed, letting it go, and in the process, got a glimpse of my Family Crest branded into my palm.

  It also had a jagged bolt down the center – part of the original design. I frowned.

  I was getting really sick and tired of these coincidences.

  I nodded at Alex. “I’ll figure it out later,” I told him.

  He reached into his pocket, and handed over the Devourer as casually as if he was handing me my mail. My eyes widened and I snatched it away eagerly. The light was still there, but it was very dark now, like a dim, wine-colored night light. The blade hummed slightly, but nothing like it had earlier tonight. I glanced at Alex, the look on my face obviously incredulous.

  He shrugged easily. “I needed to let my cocoa cool off, and Ruin wasn’t answering, so I walked back to the Drop Zone to pick it up,” he said casually, sipping at his cocoa. He let out a pleased sound. “Ah, perfect,” he said, licking at his lips.

  At any other time, I probably would have swatted the cocoa out of his hands.

  Then I noticed the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Cocky little shit,” I muttered, grunting.

  He grinned back, nodding. “Learned from the best. Oh, and I put your satchel in your bedroom’s safe like you asked.” I let out a breath of relief. The vial was safe.

  I rolled my eyes at Alex’s smug grin, and then jumped to my feet, suddenly remembering something as I thought about the Devourer. The Horsemen!

  “Alex, I need to go check on something. You’re in charge while I’m gone. I won’t be long, hopefully. I’m sure everyone is going to have a ton of questions. Answer what you can, but try to get everyone to stay in one place so we can make Gateways to get them all here. We need to talk about what happened tonight.”

  He nodded. “We won. That’s what happened.”

  I grimaced. “We won an intense battle, that’s for sure. But the next battle happens tomorrow when Mordred pops over for our meeting. I have a feeling the agenda might have changed after tonight. This is a war, and we need to figure out what comes next. How he’ll respond. I’m guessing it will be something awful that none of us would have voted for.”

  Alex nodded soberly. “You should probably change before you go check on the Horsemen,” he said as I was walking away. I turned to look at him, but he had his back to me, sipping his cocoa loudly.

  “You… saw it all, didn’t you? The Horseman thing…” I asked in a soft voice.

  “Oh, yeah. You kicked some serious ass, for what it’s worth.”

  I nodded, studying his back, considering his newfound confidence and rock-solid threshold for doing what needed to be done. While suffering a fatal chest wound, he had watched as the Horsemen went up against Mordred. Seeing how the battle was faring, he had clung to life in order to offer help at the last minute. Ignoring his pain to make sure he was there if I needed it. For as long as he could hold on.

  “I think you’re going to be very dangerous one day, Alex.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Only to the bad guys, Dad.” Then he turned back to the tree, humming softly to himself.

  Taking his advice, I did decide to change into something a little more respectable.

  But I was smart enough to Shadow Walk rather than risking my life in Dean’s funhouse.

  His hallway of Death by Airsoft.

  Chapter 59

  It took a little bit of effort, but I finally managed to find where the Horsemen were staying. Mainly because I had found a notepad in Othello’s room with an address on it, the rest of the page blank.

  I strolled up to the unassuming cottage at the end of a quiet street and knocked.

  I heard footsteps approaching the door, and my heart rose.

  The door opened, and I saw Death staring back at me. My sudden burst of relief died just as suddenly when I really took stock of him. He looked like his namesake, pale and wan. He was using his scythe as a cane.

  “Um, what the hell happened tonight?” I demanded, peering past him. “Where are the others?”

  “In here,” a sniffling voice called out. I frowned uncertainly, meeting Death’s eyes.

  He shrugged. “Apparently, we caught a cold,” he said tiredly.

  “I caught it first,” the same sniffling voice wheezed before erupting into a hacking cough. Must have been Conquest. “This is terrible! I feel like I’m dying!” he whined.

  Death rolled his eyes. “Come on in, Hope,” he said, turning his back on me to lead the way.

  I followed him, not sure if I should be terrified, or if it was no big deal for them to catch a cold.

  I followed Death to the living room to find War, Conquest, and Famine huddled together on a couch, sharing a blanket. It was a rather ridiculous sight, to be honest. Othello was cursing under her breath, shoving an electric thermometer into Conquest’s mouth. She noticed me, and snarled, “The man-flu! One little sniffle and they all suddenly think the world is ending!”

  I studied her patients, diagnosing that they really didn’t look very good. Alarmingly bad, actually. “Well, with these guys, it kind of is world-ending, right?”

  Othello shot me a dark look. “You wouldn’t see a woman acting this dramatic. We know how to handle a weak cough.”

  I shared a look with Death, who was leaning on his scythe much more openly, now. Practically hanging onto it, his body sagging. “You… didn’t tell her?” I whispered, growing alarmed at his rapid rate of decline.

  “Didn’t tell me what?” Othello demanded, turning to Death with a furi
ous look. I appraised the other Horsemen, and realized they all looked much worse than a few moments ago. They had purple rings under their eyes, and their skin was ashen.

  Famine began coughing violently, slapping his hand over his mouth. When he pulled it away, his palm speckled with blood. Everyone stared incredulously, even Othello, making her momentarily forget all about her boyfriend’s omission.

  The thermometer suddenly beeped, saving Death’s life. Othello took it out hurriedly, read it, and then dropped the thermometer in disbelief. “One-thirty-nine!” she shrieked. “That’s impossible. You were at ninety-nine two minutes ago!” She jumped off the couch, eyes widening as she checked on Death.

  Famine reached out for a small trinket sitting on the coffee table, a figure of some kind. As his fingers drew closer, it began to smoke, then zapped him upon contact. He hissed, sending himself into another coughing fit.

  “Is that… your Mask?” I asked warily.

  It was a rhetorical question, because the look in Famine’s eyes gave me my answer. I reached up to my neck, realizing that the coin – my Mask – was vibrating so intensely that it was actually hurting my skin.

  And growing stronger. I touched it, wincing at the electric current sensation, but it didn’t smoke or zap me like Famine’s had.

  Death abruptly collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. Othello was instantly lifting his head to her lap, terrified. “Jesus, Nate! He’s burning up, too! They were fine a few minutes ago—”

  Then it dawned on me. “I’m… making it worse,” I said in disbelief. My Mask was killing them.

  And before she could respond, I sprinted out the front door, Shadow Walking back to the Sanctorum at Chateau Falco, not sure how far away I needed to get.

  I began to pace, staring down at my phone. I didn’t want to call her in case she was busy saving their lives, but I wanted to call her in case she needed help… saving their lives.

  My phone finally rang, and I instantly answered. “Are they okay?” I demanded.