Riders (14 page)

My aim was off. I’d gone for Samrael but the weapon sailed wide and low, toward Pyro. He lunged away, but not fast enough. The chain caught one of his shins and the disks twisted, lassoing his other leg. He hit the street, calf-roped.

Samrael looked at his fallen Kindred, clearly surprised. I was too, but I didn’t stick around. I grabbed the back of Sebastian’s shirt and hauled him up, and then behind the cab. “You okay?”

He was shaking pretty badly but he didn’t look hurt.

“My life just danced before my eyes!”

I glanced over my shoulder. Samrael was still coming. Pyro had untangled himself. Ronwae was doing that shimmering thing I’d seen a few moments ago, like seeing in 3D without the glasses.

“Call your horse, Gideon!” Sebastian grabbed my arm. “That’s our only chance!”

“
Call my—
what did you just say
?”

“I’ll do it.” Sebastian’s eyes closed for a beat; then right in the middle of the street, the horses appeared.

First his. Then mine.

They charged right up to the Kindred and stood there like complete badasses, providing the best equine overwatch you’ve ever seen in your life. That gave me and Sebastian the window we needed to get the hell out of there.

C
HAPTER
20

“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.”

C
HAPTER
21

After we left the Kindred behind, we met up with Daryn in the garage. She was waiting right by the Jeep as planned. The relief at seeing her there, unharmed, stopped me in my tracks for a second. Samrael had shown no hesitation in killing the studio guard. I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if he’d caught her.

We piled into the Jeep and I drove. Daryn and Sebastian traded quick hellos. I gave Daryn a summary of the studio lot events. Then we spent sixty miles quietly and individually processing the extreme suck of the situation.

With my pulse finally evening out, I looked up, meeting Sebastian’s gaze in the rearview mirror. I was pretty positive he’d just seen his first violent death too. We were stuck in this thing, the two of us. This was happening to us both.

“I don’t even know how to thank you for what you did back there,” he said.

Daryn stirred, her gaze moving between us. Sebastian and I had been quiet, but she’d been more than quiet. She had a way of sinking so far into her thoughts, it felt like she went away somewhere.

“You just did,” I replied. “Sorry about your flying disks, though. Those were pretty cool.”

“You mean the scales,” Sebastian said. “Famine has scales. In the Book of Revelation.”

He paused after every comment, waiting for some sign of recognition from me. I couldn’t give it to him. I’d remembered a little more about the four horsemen, but it still wasn’t much. Just another reason I didn’t understand why I’d been given the job. I knew they rode horses of different colors and that they were involved in the end times. I knew generally about sacred seals being broken, setting a series of cataclysmic events into motion before Judgment Day. But Daryn had said we weren’t doing any of that. We were incarnations of the horsemen, manifested for a different mission. The mission, so far defined, being the protection of an object no one except Daryn knew anything about.

“Anyway, no worries,” Sebastian said. “I have them right here.”

I glanced back and saw the weapon resting on his legs.
“Explain.”
I didn’t like that he had a weapon. And apparent control of his horse. I didn’t have any of that. “Explain right now.”

“Wait a second. You told me you were War. I thought you’d know. You told me you had answers.”

I tipped my head to Daryn. “She does.”

“Some answers. I know some things, but”—she gestured to the scales—“the weapons, the horses. That’s all you guys.”

“Hey, Daryn,” I said, my frustration hitting a boil. “You realize you gave me the worst mission briefing that’s probably ever been given in the history of time?”

“Hey, Gideon. This is a need-to-know situation. You know what I need you to. I have to get you all together. You can figure out your weapons and horses then. And it’s not like I know everything myself.”

That wasn’t a satisfying explanation at all, but at the moment I was more interested by the scales. “How did you get them back?” I asked Sebastian.

“Watch,” he said.

I took my eyes off the road and turned. The scales disintegrated into a whirl of black ribbons.
Poof
. Vanished.

That made sense. He could telepathically call the superweapon from magic cuff land when he needed it. Should’ve figured that out myself. “Our horses. Are they disappeared, too?” We’d left our horses standing guard, and for all I knew, they were still hanging out at the studio.

“I called mine back. My guess is yours just followed.”

“Perfect. Listen up, Sebastian. As soon as we get out of this Jeep, you’re going to tell me how you did that. You’re going to
show
me.”

I sounded like the cadre in RASP, laying it down in ruthless no-BS terms, but whatever. Intel. I needed it.

“No problem,” he said. “And you can call me Bastian or Bas.” He shifted around in the backseat, trying to stretch out his legs. “Most people do. I only really use my full name for work. My real name’s my stage name.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind taking all that extra time to say your full name.” Not very cool of me, but I was having a hard time being so far behind the learning curve on stuff that seemed pretty damn critical.

“Gideon has OCPD tendencies,” Daryn said. She pulled my Giants sweatshirt on. It felt like her sweatshirt now.

“Say again?”

She smiled. “Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. It’s an extreme preoccupation with perfectionism, orderliness, and neatness.”

Was that how she saw me? Like a human graphing calculator? Great. “You missed a few, Martin. I also like specifics. Thoroughness. And winning. At everything. But I gotta say as a soldier I fully support your use of acronyms.”

“Ten-four, buddy,” she said.

“In the Army we say ‘Roger that.’”

Her smile grew wider. “Ten-four, buddy.”

For a second there, it felt like maybe she was messing with me, in a good way. Then she raised her eyebrows like, dude. Stare much? And started giving me directions that put us on Highway 15, which was toward Vegas.

“So, no Death Valley?” I asked. “For Death?”

Dumb comment, but my balance was off.

Daryn reached down and rummaged in her backpack like I hadn’t said anything.

“Can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” I said. It came out harsher than I’d meant. Why? No idea why.

She pulled her notebook out, propped it on her knees, and started writing.

Solid brush-off. It simultaneously annoyed me and made me want to smack myself for insubordination. Did I question my commanding officers?
Hell
no.

She’d told me what we needed to do. Wrangle up some horsemen. I had to focus on that. Sebastian obviously knew more about our tools, our weapons. Maybe the other guys, Conquest and Death, would bring their own contributions. Like Daryn said, I needed to get everyone together, and fast, so we could get down to the real work of mastering our capabilities. It was our best shot at standing against the Kindred. And, no question about it anymore, it was also our best shot at staying alive.

*   *   *

An hour later, night was falling and Eddie Vedder was singing about still being alive as I drove past the turnoff to Barstow. I watched the sign come and go, marking a place that I didn’t know, but that had pretty big personal meaning. My dad had spent six months stationed at Fort Irwin in Barstow. Anna and I were born during those months. I hadn’t been back here since.

Thinking about that took me to thinking about my mom and how worried she probably was about me. Maybe I should call her. Sure. Call and say what exactly that would stop her worrying?

Sebastian leaned forward and rested his elbows on the front seats. “Is she asleep?”

I nodded. Daryn had somehow rolled into a ball in the passenger seat, tight as a pill bug. I had no idea how she could make herself so small. My kneecaps would’ve exploded in that position. A lock of her hair had fallen over her face. I wanted to brush it aside.

“Gideon, I’m not even going to try to tiptoe around the bush about this—”

“Beat around the bush?”

“Yeah. I have a lot of questions, like”—he tipped his chin at Daryn—“how does she fit into this?”

“She’s, um. Well, I don’t know a lot.” I wanted to know more about her. More and more I wanted to know more. “But she calls herself a Seeker. She’s in charge.”

“That’s what it seems like.”

I looked at him. He looked at me. It didn’t seem like he’d meant it as a put-down. I rubbed my eyes and drove.