“Can you speak?” I ask.

“He killed my children and their children too,” the man rasps out. “He didn’t even have to touch them to end their lives.” He begins sobbing again.

“I’m looking for him,” I say. “Is he still in the city?”

The man doesn’t answer, just continues to cry.

I step in closer. Way up in that tree, I can just barely make out the man’s eyes.

I pause, assessing him, before I lift my shirt, showing him my own grisly wounds. I can’t say how many times I’ve stripped for men, or how many eyes have taken in my naked flesh. This, however, is one of the few times I’ve showed my skin for something other than money or pleasure.

After several seconds, the man goes quiet.

“He tried to kill me too,” I say, letting the stranger take in the various scars from my knife wounds. “I intend to return the favor. So, do you know where he is?” I say.

“God has spared you, girl,” he wheezes out. “Leave this place and live your life.”

I want to laugh at that. I took that option once; it landed me in a whorehouse. I’m not taking it again.

“God spared me nothing,” I respond. “Now, do you know where he is?”

The man is quiet for a long time, but finally he says, “Seven kilometers east of here, there’s the neighborhood of Jardim Social. I’ve heard that he’s staying somewhere in there.”

Seven kilometers. I could get there within an hour or two—assuming I can find the place.

“Thank you,” I say.

I hesitate then, feeling like I owe the man something.

“Leave me,” he wheezes. “I belong here, with my family.”

The thought sends a shiver through me.

“Thank you,” I say again, then turn to leave.

“It’s suicide,” he calls out to my back.

I don’t turn around. “It’s revenge.”

Chapter 7

I follow the old man’s directions the best I can and head east. If there was once fear in me, there is no longer. It takes me a long time to find the house Famine is staying in, though eventually I find it. It doesn’t in any way stand out from the houses around it. In fact, I might’ve ridden right past it if it weren’t for the mean-looking men that loiter around the property.

One of them sees me, taking several ominous steps forward before he retreats into the house. Someone has clearly gone to tattle on me. Which means …

Famine is in that house.

My heart begins to beat like mad.

Famine is in that house and in a few moments, he will know there’s still someone alive in this blighted city.

Before the rest of the men standing guard can do anything else, I ride away, only stopping three blocks later when I come across an abandoned house, a relic of a different era.

Grabbing several of the weapons from my cart, I wait for one of Famine’s men to come hunt me down—or worse, for one of those unnatural plants to spring up from the ground and crush me to death. I’m all but ready for it, but nothing happens. The minutes tick by, and the sun makes its way across the horizon.

The Reaper is here, in this city, mere blocks away. My adrenaline is spiking at the thought, and a part of me wants to charge over to that mansion, kick down its doors and push my way in. Instead, I force myself to wait, coming up with a plan of sorts while the sky darkens.

I wait until it’s pitch black outside before I leave. I’ve strapped two blades to my hips and another across my chest, the leather straps feeling strange against my body. Two months ago, this would’ve been excessive for most law-abiding citizens. Now it might not be enough protection against Famine and his men.

I creep back towards the house he’s staying in, my heart beginning to pound. I know enough about the horseman to understand that nothing humans have done has killed him. That doesn’t slow my step.

Ahead of me, I catch sight of the mansion. I couldn’t miss it. It’s the only house anywhere in the city that’s lit up. Oil lamps glow, and yet again a handful of men linger outside. Some are standing, a couple of them sit and smoke cigarettes and cigars on the front lawn. One of them is pacing, gesturing wildly as he does so; he’s saying something, but I’m too far away to hear.

I move to the block that runs behind the house, sticking to the shadows. No one’s posted back here, among these dark, empty homes. It’s not surprising; Famine probably isn’t expecting any sort of attack now that he’s killed off most of the city’s population.

Once I figure out which home backs up against Famine’s, I cut across the home’s yard, making my way to the back of the property. Everything is chillingly quiet.

I climb over the stone fence that separates the two properties, then drop down inside the mansion’s yard, my feet landing in soft dirt.

My heart begins to pound in earnest, my breath coming in shallow pants. This is the point of no return. Up until now I could’ve taken that old man’s advice and fled with my life. I could’ve existed. It would’ve been lonely and it would’ve looked nothing like the life I knew, but I would’ve survived, which is better than what I can say for most people.

I take a step forward, then another and another, ignoring the scared, rational part of my brain. This part of the property is dark; there are lamp posts back here, but they don’t burn.

I realize why a moment later when I hear the groan of some dying soul. I squint into the darkness. After several seconds, I make out a pile of bodies.

Jesus.

I swallow a scream, my own memories swarming in. For a minute I simply stand there, riding out the old pain and fear, which doesn’t seem so old at the moment. Then, when I’ve managed to wrestle my emotions back into place, I take a deep breath and continue on, skirting around the bodies.

My hand touches the hilt of my weapons. I’ve never stabbed a person before. I’ve scratched, slapped, and punched a few people in my time—and I’ve kicked men in the balls more times than I care to admit—but that’s about it.

Tonight … tonight will truly be my first time using a dagger. I try not to think about that too hard; I don’t want to lose my nerve.

I head over to a back door and, reaching out, I try the handle. It gives beneath my touch.

Unlocked.

Because who would dare break into Famine’s house after he decimated the city?

I swear I can hear my own heartbeat as I push the door open. I glance around at the cold living room beyond me. A few candles flicker, the wax dripping down their stems. The dim light illuminates a couch, a set of side chairs, an enormous vase, and an oiled wooden bust of a woman. No one’s in here.

Silently, I step into the room.

Where are all the guards? I saw nearly a dozen of them outside, but in here they’re nowhere to be seen.

After a moment, I hear a soft tapping sound. The sound drags my gaze to the right, where I take in a dimly lit dining room. My chest stills when I see Famine’s silhouette sitting in one of the chairs, his back to me.

His armor is gone, but his telltale scythe rests on the table in front of him, just beyond the open book that’s resting where a plate should be. The Reaper, however, doesn’t seem to be reading. Based on the angle of his head, he’s staring out the windows across from him, his fingers drumming absently on the table.