Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(61)

Did he miss the part where we broke into their home?

Ruth’s gaze stays on Pestilence for a long time, moving from his bow and quiver to his crown, before settling on his face. “I believe it’s one of the Four Horsemen, dear.” Her eyes flick to me. “And he’s brought with him a lady friend.”

“What in the—?” Shuffling sounds come from the back room.

Whatever shock came over Ruth moments ago, now dissipates. All at once, she begins to move, hurrying over. “Well, come now, you both must be cold. Come in, come in—and for the love of the Good Lord, shut the door behind you.”

Pestilence looks quizzically from her to the doorknob, which hangs at a funny angle. I push the door closed behind him.

Ruth comes to me and helps remove my coat. Her dry hands brush against mine. “Heavens, girl!” she exclaims, cupping one. “You’re going to catch your death out there. You’re as cold as ice.” Ruth clucks her tongue at Pestilence. “Shame on you for letting her get cold.”

The horseman stares at Ruth in shock, and I try not to smile. It’s clear he’s never encountered a sweet old lady before.

Just then, an elderly man limps out from a hallway branching off to the left. He comes to a stuttering stop.

“Lord Almighty!” He places a hand over his heart. “You weren’t kidding, Ruthie,” he says, staring at Pestilence.

Warily, he steps closer, his eyes drinking in the horseman. “Truly, you are real?”

Pestilence’s chin is lifted at an almost haughty angle, though his expression is more piqued than arrogant.

“Of course I am,” he says calmly.

Out of nowhere, the old man lets out a husky whoop. “Well, I’ll be damned. Come, sit. Mi casa es su casa,” he says.

This has got to be the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in. And considering the last few weeks of my life, that’s saying something.

The two of us follow the elderly couple into their kitchen, Pestilence with far more reluctance than me. He stares at the couple suspiciously, his hand edging towards his bow. He clearly doesn’t know what to make of this hospitality. Truth be told, neither do I.

Ruth bustles over to the stovetop, warming a pot of tea while the man gestures to a worn wooden table. “Please, you must be tired.” He glances out the window. “Bad weather to travel in.”

I nearly cry, taking a grateful seat. It’s been so long since another human being treated me with any kind of genuine care. I’d almost forgotten that people did this.

The old man limps his way to the other side of the kitchen, where Ruth is grabbing mugs.

“Sit, love, let me do this,” he says.

She guffaws. “You’re the one who needs to sit,” she says. “That knee is going to give you trouble tonight.”

“Bah! Everything gives me trouble these days.” He glances my way and winks at me, the gesture causing Pestilence to look between the two of us.

Ruth grabs a spatula and swats at her husband, who’s now attempting to bodily move her. “I’ve got this. Now stop feeling me up in front of our guests and go sit down.”

The man grumbles, saying louder, “I’ll take my affection where I can get it.”

His wife throws him a warm look over her shoulder as he takes a seat across from us.

The horseman watches the entire exchange with the utmost fascination.

“I’m Rob, and that’s Ruth,” the old man says, settling into his chair as he makes introductions.

Pestilence inclines his head. “I am Pestilence, and this is Sara,” he says, gesturing to me.

“Pestilence,” Rob repeats, his eyes bright with awe. Remembering himself, he turns to me and nods. “And Sara. Pleasure to meet you both.”

I glance between everyone, nearly as shaken as the horseman is. We’ve come to expect a certain dialogue between us and our hosts, and this one has veered wildly off script.

“Is it, though?” Pestilence asks, assessing the man. “A pleasure to meet us, that is?”

“Well, of course it is!” Rob says, slapping his palm against the tabletop for emphasis. “How often does one of the Four Horsemen arrive on your doorstep?”

Ruth shuffles over with several steaming cups of tea, setting them down in front of each of us.

“Thank you,” I murmur when she hands me a mug.

Pestilence frowns at his own drink, his nostrils flaring at the smell.

Rob pats Ruth’s side as she takes a seat next to him. “Thank you for the tea.” His gaze lingers on her, and it’s an intimate enough look that I avert my eyes.

Pushing his drink away, Pestilence leans back in his seat, his expression caught somewhere between troubled and hopeful. “Most mortals do not take kindly to my presence.”

“Does it look like I fear death?” Rob asks.

The horseman’s eyes narrow shrewdly.

“I’m old, my body hurts, and my wits are half-gone.” He glances at Ruth. “Our children have grown up and left us, and now their children are nearly full grown. If the end has come, well, I’m happy to be leaving it alongside my wife.”

A wrinkle mars Pestilence’s brow. “It is not a good death,” he admits.

I don’t know why he’s even bothering to make himself look bad. These people want to like him.