Ink and Shadows (14 page)

Every immortal could step into the black spirals behind the Veil, sliding over to places on Earth
that called them, but this was the one line none of them could touch. Death hoped it led to some place
human souls could find peace. He’d not spoken to anyone who’d come back from the journey. He could
only have faith in what he believed to be true.

Nervous, the man asked, “Can you come with me? I mean, aren’t you supposed to come with me? To show me the way?”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t go where you need to.” Refusing the man was hard, especially seeing the
desolation in his face. He placed a hand on the man’s ghostly shoulder, pushing him toward the shining
ribbon. “You just need to step in. It will take you along to where you should be.”

The soul hovered, sliding halfway through the opening Death had made into the Veil. Rising, the winds hit them, as hot and wild as the firestorm burning in the next district. The man hesitated, instinct telling him to hide away from the pull of the odd river, but the memory of his children’s faces burned hotter than his fear, and he stepped further into shadows. His head disappeared, his shoulders frozen at the triangular opening, hanging onto the edge with tightly clenched hands.

“Don’t you just want to stand behind them sometimes and give a hard push?” A torn fingernail caught on Ari’s jeans, and he chewed its edge off, spitting the shredded nail out from between his teeth.

“Ari,” Death growled, his patience unraveling to a single thread.

“Yeah, I know, shut up.” The other man shrugged off Death’s irritation. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not even speaking his language. He can’t understand me.”

“I can understand you,” Death said. He watched the man step into the dark, sparks of light swirling up from the silvered path. The current caught, dragging the soul off into the churning light at the horizon.

The man began to unravel around the edges. He glanced back, looking down at the blackened remains of his body, dark eyes tearing up. Reaching for Death, his fingers vanished before he could touch the immortal, falling away to the nothingness beyond.

“Let go,” Death said. “It will be fine. I promise.”

He finally went, falling into the quiet of the Veil. The man was gone in an instant, barely a whisper of a voice carried along the gusts of hot air. Death exhaled hard, relieved at the man’s passing, and stood silent until Ari cleared his throat, a harsh, gruff noise that sounded a bit like disgust to Death’s ears.

“What?” Ari widened his eyes, innocently staring back at his friend.

“You could be a bit more respectful.”

“Why? They go on. We move along.” The immortal shrugged, holding a hand out for Death to steady himself with. “It’s what they do. It’s what we do.”

“One day, I’ll make you understand this,” Death said, gripping at Ari’s wrist, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Slapping at the soot clinging to his pants, he stepped clear of the fallen walls.

“I’d rather just get you home.” Holding onto the other man’s waist, Ari reached out to find their sanctuary, drawing on the presence of the Four’s resonance along the shadows running through the Veil. “And a shower. Because you, my friend, stink.”

“You’re not much sweeter,” Death replied, wrinkling his nose at the scent of Ari’s shirt. “What did you roll in? Dog shit?”

“I would have counted myself lucky to have rolled in dog shit,” Ari laughed. “Come on. You strong enough to get there on your own, or do I have to piggyback you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He shook off Ari’s hand. “But when we get home, you take a shower before you come to bed. I’m not having you on my sheets, smelling like that.”

M
AL
RETURNED
to his room and sat on the couch, careful not to jostle the young man. Alone except for the sleeping Kismet, Mal burrowed down against the soft cushions, wondering what to do next.

“Hey,” Kismet said softly. Awake and pale, he blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings.

The human’s husky voice startled Mal, and he jumped, knocking his knees against the low coffee table. Kismet’s brown eyes were full of life again, and vivid bruises were beginning to rise on his cheekbone.

“Hello.” Mal pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. Reluctantly, he eased away from the young man’s welcome warmth, letting the cushions rise up and flatten under Kismet’s body. “How do you feel?”

Coughing, Kismet tried to turn, stopped by a wave of pain in his head. Resting back down, he blinked away the tears in his eyes. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“No, don’t move, Kismet.” Wincing in sympathy at the anguish on Kismet’s face, Mal reached under to pull at a cushion to straighten it. “How much do you remember?”

“I’m better than I thought I would be, considering I was eaten alive by a huge dog-thing.” Kismet winced as he shifted his legs, calves tight with contractions from being tucked under him. “I think it was trying to kill me. And I remember you guys coming. Then things started getting fuzzy. Oh, and I hurt.”

Sitting on the coffee table’s edge, Mal looked over the young man’s bruises. He’d not planned on the young man waking up before morning. Now his brain was scrambling as he tried to think about what to tell the human. “The monster didn’t do that much damage. It wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Did you tell me your name before?” Kismet asked suddenly. “I don’t remember.”

“Mal,” the Horseman said.

“Okay then, Mal, don’t lie to me. That thing ate right through me. I’m kind of more than banged up. That wasn’t a wild dog.” Every movement sent tingles of agony through Kismet’s body. Gasping, he drew short breaths in through his teeth.

“Hold still. Let me see how your injuries look.” Pulling up the other’s shirt, Mal examined a stretch
of redness on the young man’s ribs, unsure if he should be happy or frustrated at the knitted skin. Most of
the wounds were sealed, just a burr of raw flesh left open to the air.

“How’s your head?” Mal asked. He had little experience with serious injuries, other than the occasional stab by a supposedly well-intentioned Ari during weapons practice. There was nothing that could be done about the bruises, Mal reasoned. They would just have to fade on their own.

“I can’t see too well. I can see you okay but not behind you.”

“Probably loss of blood. Vision likes blood and oxygen. I think it’ll get better over time.” Mal reached over to wave his fingers in front of Kismet’s face, then spotted the needle marks on the inside of the other man’s arms. Touching at them lightly, Mal drew back when Kismet shook him off. “Did he bite you there too?”

“Nope. I bit me there.” Kismet fought with his body, trying to force himself off the couch, failing when his limbs refused to respond. He didn’t feel the burn of the heroin in his system, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he started having the shakes. “Hang around a couple of hours. That monster scared the shit right out of me. I’m probably going to need to shoot again.”

“A gun wouldn’t have helped you,” Mal said. “Nothing fired or thrown can hurt one. A weapon has to be anchored to someone Veiled for it to work on something like a wraith.”

“Gun?” Kismet tried to focus on the face swimming just beyond his sight. He could make out a tousle of light blond hair and round glasses, the barest brush of stubble over a square jaw. “Wow, you’re serious. Where the hell am I?”

“You’re in my room.” Mal noticed the tremors in the young man’s fingers. They worried him. All of his experiences with humans inevitably led to them dying. Trembling wasn’t a natural occurrence in most humans; he was sure of it. “You just need some sleep.”

“
Where
? Narnia?” Kismet peered around, trying to make sense of the shapes and silence of the apartment. He strained to hear the whispering voices he knew lurked in the darkness. Nothing called to him, a slithering quiet that unnerved him. Resting back in the soft cushions of the couch, the silence became a comfort. Concentrating on the young man next to him, Kismet relaxed, letting the ache in his bones ease away. “And what the hell did you guys do to me? There’s no way I should be as healed up as I am. That thing ate me.”

“I told you, my room. At home,” the Horseman replied. “In my home. Where the Four of us live.”

“Four?” Kismet asked softly. “You’ve got a group thing going? Shit, I can’t keep one person going, and you’ve got three others. Damn.”

“A group thing?” Mal wasn’t certain if the disconnect in his mind had to do with Kismet’s speech patterns or his lack of knowledge of the human world. “The Four of us are a group, I suppose.”

“Mal, no offense, but you’re kind of dim. I don’t think you’re getting what I’m saying.” Kismet tried to lift himself up, moaning in pain as his muscles protested. “Sweet and cute but
dim. A group thing. Sex and love. Poly something or other? More than two people?”

“Oh!” The red started under Mal’s skin and burned to the surface of his face. “No, it’s not like that. We’re… I’m not… we’re not a group like that. There’s nothing wrong with that… we’re just not….”

“It’s okay.” Kismet grinned despite the ache in his face and neck, the tightness of his healing skin pulling with the motion. “You don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to. Well no, I do want to know what you did to make me better.”

“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea about….” Mal swore under his breath, finding words Ari used quite satisfying in this situation. “I’m not sure what kind of idea I want you to get. I should probably start over.”

“Okay, start with why my guts aren’t all over the sidewalk of the motel.”

“I don’t know,” Mal admitted. “We just found you. Maybe someone took you to a hospital.”

“Dude, you are the world’s shittiest liar.” Kismet plucked at the torn clothes stretched over his body. “There wasn’t a hospital, and I’m still wearing what I had on when the monster attacked me.”

“Okay, Ari and I took you home after the wraith bit you.” The youngest Horseman worried at his lower lip with his teeth. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Sit still for a moment. I need to see about something.”

Mal took a deep breath, stretching his soul out. When he was around the others, he felt the press of their callings on his, linked together into a single strong unit. The other immortals avoided the Four, but the few times Mal had been around one, he felt their presence on the Veil, a soft beacon he could respond to. Despite the healing of Kismet’s body, Mal felt none of that in the young man they’d rescued, a blankness where a calling should have been. Whatever Kismet was now, he certainly wasn’t human anymore, but he wasn’t an immortal like Mal.

“You’re not one of us.” Disappointed, Mal sat back. He’d wanted so much for Kismet to be a part of their world. “Shit.”

“You okay?” Kismet reached for Mal’s leg, his arm trembling with the effort. His body refused to respond quickly, each movement leaving him weak.

“I’m fine,” Mal said. He felt the burn of a blush on his face again. Kismet’s hand on his
thigh disturbed what little calm he’d mustered up. Contact with someone other than the Four was rare.
The last intimate touch he’d had was when Ari dragged him to Vegas and paid for a woman to show
him pleasure. “I’m just not sure how much to tell you.”

“You tell me as little or as much as you want to,” he replied. “You don’t have to explain anything. Hell, you dragged me out of that thing’s mouth. I don’t have any complaints about anything. I just don’t understand what the hell is going on.”

“I feel like I need to at least tell you what we are,” Mal said. He touched the back of Kismet’s arm, stroking at the warm flesh, marveling at the feel of a fine down on his fingertips. “You might not believe me. I don’t know much about what people believe.”

Looking down at his hands, Mal tried to decide what he should share. Other than the Four, Mal had never had someone to speak to before, someone open to the Veil and free of any preconceptions of the Horsemen. With the sloe-eyed young man nestled back into the couch’s cushions listening intently, Mal found himself talking on about how the Horsemen lived, hidden from the world and saddled with the unenviable.

“So, you guys are kind of like angels?” Kismet asked after Mal finally wound down, his thoughts swimming. He’d often thought he was crazy, but the blond sitting next to him had him beat. “You want me to believe you’re angels?”

“No, not angels. I’m not explaining this well.” Mal knew he’d muddled things, going over what he’d said in his mind. “We’re just the Four Horsemen, like in the Bible. Sort of.”

“The Bible isn’t on my summer reading list, man. The only thing I know about the Four Horsemen is what people bring in to get inked on their bodies,” Kismet replied. “Maybe you are crazier than me.”

“I’m not. This is real. I don’t know what else I can do to convince you.”

“So it’s just the four of you, then. Here to save mankind.”

“There are others like us, but they don’t have much to do with us.” Mal saw the doubt in Kismet’s face. “No really, there are. Not just the Horsemen, people like Luck and even the Vices are real. Sort of real, anyway. And we’re not here to save mankind, not really.”

“Got to tell you, man,” Kismet admitted. “You sound insane. Cute but really fucking nuts.”

“Funny, that’s what they keep saying about you.” Mal laughed, a hearty, free sound. “Ari’s sure you’re crazy, and that’s why you can see us.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a bit on the crazy side. That’s already been proven.” Kismet groaned, his insides pounding to get out. He felt the back of his skull, mewling when his shoulder muscles screamed in torment. “God, that hurts. My head really hurts too.”

“Maybe you need to get some sleep,” Mal said, unsure of what to do for the young man stretched out on the couch.

“Do you have some aspirin?” Kismet beseeched him. The pain burned, hotter than the need ever had. It came in waves, ebbing at times, then flaring again, riding into his vision and nerves. His intestines twisted, a knotting pain chewing outward as the tangled cords attempted to right themselves. “Damn, I’ll take anything right now.”