Endless Knight(62)

Eventually I started nodding off, catching myself dozing against Death’s armored chest. Each time I would pinch my arms, biting the inside of my cheek to shake my drowsiness. No use. Finally I went out like a light, didn’t know for how long.

I only jerked awake when my ears began popping. Sure enough, I was relaxed back against him. I sat up, scooting forward in the saddle.

As if in reflex, Death’s arm tightened around me, the four-inch long spikes of his glove hovering near my neck.

“Watch the gloves, Reaper.”


“They’re called gauntlets.” When he released me, he accidentally(?) brushed my new cuff, sending pain shooting down my arm.

I hissed in a breath, eyes watering. But knowing how much he enjoyed my suffering, I refused to let him see any more of it.

I tried to get my bearings as we wound along a narrow rocky trail, but the rain and fog were thick. All I could determine was that we were already above the tree line—or what used to be the tree line—and still ascending. Up here, it was barren. I’d wager no plants had grown in this dismal terrain even before the Flash.

The higher we climbed, the more Death seemed to relax, while I grew colder and colder. Just when I decided this was the highest mountain I’d ever been on, the path widened to a gravel drive, fronted with an enormous gate. A stone wall towered over us.

“And now we arrive.”


His lair was atop a mountain? Ogen lumbered ahead to open the gate, and we rode through. The horses’ hooves—and Ogen’s—clacked on a brick courtyard. A jaw-dropping mansion, almost a castle, came into view. Through the fog, I spied several stories and two sprawling wings.

Death lifted me from the saddle and plopped me on the ground, then dismounted. Lark did as well, and Ogen led the horses away.

“Come,” Death commanded, and I had no choice but to follow.

At first I was impressed with this stronghold. Yet as we neared and details came into focus, I thought, No, Finn, this is officially the creepiest place.

If someone had asked me to sketch my idea of the world’s eeriest mansion, I couldn’t have imagined the scene before me. Death’s home was so . . . Death.

Dwarfing Haven House, it was built of gray stone. Courtesy of the Flash, the walls were slashed with charred black. The slate roof had dozens of different pitches and turrets, with one looming above them all.

Chimneys climbed into the night sky. Rusted weather vanes squeaked. An unseen shutter thumped, like a spirit banging on a coffin lid. Fog seemed to be trapped in place, choking the courtyard, clinging to the walls.

As we approached, I detected animal calls growing louder and louder. Even some exotic ones. I jumped when I heard a lion’s roar. Somewhere on this mountain, creatures teemed. With that many to control, Lark might prove unstoppable.

How close was this menagerie? The fog lies.

I glanced up, caught Death studying my reaction. Did he actually care what I thought of his home?

Lark saw my look of horror. “Hotel California, Evie. You can check out, but you can never leave.”


“She’s right,” Death said. “You will never leave this mountaintop alive.”


I waved that away. “I thought your lair was gleaming black, with ruins from all different ages.”


“Ruins?”


“It looked like you, I don’t know, collected them,” I said as we climbed a few steps toward the huge copper-plated front doors.

“Then you saw inside my mind. I wonder why the Fool would give you access to me.”


Aghast, I said, “That’s what it looks like in your head?”


“Explain to me why it should look any different.” He sneered, “Do you really think Death should dream in color?”


“I doubt you have dreams.”


“Would it shock you to know I once did?” he asked in a strange tone—as if he were accusing me.

Before I could ask about this, we passed through the front doors into an opulent foyer, with a chandelier dangling above. He dialed on a wall switch, and the foyer went ablaze, crystals projecting prisms, lighting a grand staircase. If the exterior had been forbidding, the interior was quite the opposite.

I’d grown up in a stately southern mansion. As we walked deeper into this palatial building, I realized Haven would look quaint in comparison.

When the corridor intersected with one leading to another wing, Lark veered off. “See you in the morning, boss. Night, Evie.”


I glared. “I hope you die before you wake, Lark.”


She cast me a fake wince. “Ooh, burn.” She trotted off, leaving me alone with Death.

“Follow me.” The corridor wound seemingly forever. At last he stopped to unlock an oak door. Behind it lay a curving stairwell.

We climbed so many steps that I knew he had to be leading me to that soaring tower. The walls of the stairwell were cold, weeping moisture. I could only imagine what my cell would be like.

“Try to keep up, creature.”


“I have a name.”


“As you always do.”


“And what’s yours?” I asked. “Ogen and Lark have given names—don’t you?”


“Call me Death. That’s all I’ll ever be to you.”