Riders (Riders, #1)(35)

“Gideon, slow down,” Cordero says, her hand coming up. “You’re rushing.”

I trudge up out of the swamp. Clear my throat. “Am I?”

The radiator’s going again. Tink tink tink. We must be somewhere cold. Why didn’t I think about that before? Wait. Did I?

“That’s okay,” Cordero says. Her smile is as warm as a bag of rocks. She’s been intent from the beginning, but now she’s intense. Getting nervous, maybe. If I’m telling the truth, what does it mean? What will it mean to her reality, her beliefs? Her understanding of the world? She’s getting a taste of what I’ve been through.

She looks at her folder. “You said the horses ‘appeared’?”

“That’s right.”

“What did that look like?”

“I knew that would get you.”

“The horses, Gideon.”

“How about this. You give me more water and I tell you about the horses.”

Cordero approves the water request and Texas is on the job. Water’s good. Helps my throat, my head. Drugs are starting to pull back. Chemical taste is going away. Clouds in muscles thinning. Stomach’s doing okay. Brain’s getting sharper. I still have a ways to go before I’m back to normal again. Maybe another hour or so. But I’ll get there.

I finish the water and thank Texas, who nods and posts up again. Then I dive right in. I never liked this, but now I’m starting to hate it. This clown show of a debriefing needs to be over. “Bastian’s horse was—”

“Bastian is Sebastian?”

“That’s him. Sebastian. Bas. Famine. I know he’s right next door.”

“You were saying about his horse?” Cordero says. No pause. No reaction.

“Right. I was saying. His horse came up in the middle of the street like black smoke. First just a thread, twisting up from the ground, then a flurry of whirling, rising darkness that gradually formed into the blackest horse you can imagine. Blacker than soot. Blacker than the deepest cave. Smoke, then solid. Then horse. Like that.

“The mare was long and spindly in build. Leggy, like a racehorse. She moved like she was spring-loaded, totally weightless. When she did, lines of muscle caught the light. Blue, like moonbeams. Like the flash of moonbeams on that midnight coat. When she moved fast, she’d leave the same trails of smoky light I’d seen when I’d thrown the disks. They’d come off her legs, her mane and tail, and … I don’t know what else to tell you. She was incredible. Fragile. Insect-thin. Haunting. But damn if she wasn’t beautiful.”

Cordero’s dark eyes hold steady. “You’re saying the horse came from nothing.”

“She didn’t come from nothing. I don’t think anything comes from nothing. What I am saying is that I watched her materialize in front of me.”

Now she does pause.

“The horse took up a defensive position for you?”

This comes from Beretta, surprisingly.

Cordero spreads her hands. “My next question as well.” She sounds a little peeved.

“Yes,” I answer, “but she didn’t do it for me. She did it for Sebastian. My horse, in case you’re wondering, came up the same way as Bastian’s, except as fire. He started out as a flare, then became this small blazing inferno, then bam. Horse. Huge red horse that made a ghost trail of flames when he moved.”

I force myself not to add and he was even more kickass than Bastian’s! I get competitive about my horse. We all do.

“And these horses,” Cordero says, “they appeared and simply awaited your commands?”

She had to ask, didn’t she? Don’t answer, Blake. Just this one question. Don’t don’t don’t here I go. “No. My horse, he um … He came up and charged me. Again. Like on the beach.”

Texas grins big, his teeth surprisingly white and straight behind the shaggy beard.

“He charged you. And you stopped him?” Cordero asks.

“No. Not me. Sebastian’s horse set him straight. She let out a loud neigh and my horse fell in line. Then he was two thousand pounds of lethal, fiery trouble, shooting past Sebastian’s mare, taking up position less than ten meters away from Samrael.”

So much for taking the humble high road.

“And Samrael’s reaction?” Cordero asks.

“Well, I’m not sure because like I said, Bastian and I got out of there pretty fast. But I think he pissed his bad-boy pants.”

“Really, Gideon.”

“I’m serious. You have to understand, Cordero. My horse stood like a wall staring Samrael down. Red as sunset. Head high, his breath pumping in and out. He had sparks coming out of his nostrils. Flames rolled up his legs and flowed off his tail. These horses … they’re not normal. They’re predators. Warriors, a hundred percent. None more so than mine. When Bastian’s horse glided up next to him like a nightmare, like a beautiful freakin’ nightmare, both of them standing there, fearless … just fearless … I think Samrael probably soiled himself. I know I almost did.”

Cordero rolls her eyes, which makes me smile.

“I do remember looking back one last time as Bastian and I rounded the corner. Samrael was standing in that fake New York street, watching the horses with this extreme focus. With awe. He seemed to be discovering for the first time what we actually were. Horsemen. And to be honest, that was pretty close to how I felt right then, too.”