Pestilence (5 page)

“I’ve been having dreams about him. He comes and checks on me.”

Now out of the water, Bart felt slightly cleaner, but he shivered as the humid air chilled him.

“Why don’t you slip in there and wash?” Lam tossed him a bar of soap. “I’ll stay out here to keep an eye on you.”

He caught the bar and managed a more graceful entrance into the pool. Lam turned his back and, for the first time, Bart noticed Lam didn’t have a shirt on. At the small of Lam’s back was a stylized lamb with the words
Agna Deus
tattooed around it.

“What’s your tattoo mean?”

The silver-haired man looked over his shoulder at Bart. “You don’t want to know.”

“Why? Does it say you’re a serial killer?” Bart grinned.

“If I were a serial killer, I would have gotten rid of you already,” Lam pointed out.

“True, but maybe you love the thrill of my fear and want me aware of what you’re doing.” Bart scrubbed his hair with the soap before ducking under to rinse it off. “What does it mean?”

“It means none of your business. I’m not here to entertain you. You do realize I have better things to do with my time than hang around here and take care of you, right?” Lam shook his head. “This is why I don’t hang around humans very often.”

“Humans?”

“Never mind. Are you done?”

Lam must have been paying close attention to Bart because, as he asked his question, Bart’s energy ran out.

“I better be, or else I’ll be drowning and you’ll have to dive in and save me.”

Lam grunted and offered his hand, tugging Bart out of the water.

“I can walk,” he protested as Lam bent to throw him over his shoulder again.

Lam studied him again, but didn’t say anything. He simply wrapped his arm around Bart’s waist and supported him as they made their way back in the direction they’d come. Bart kept his eyes on the path and tried to figure out what the shelter was. He breathed deep and grunted in surprise.

“Why do you smell like cinnamon and vanilla?”

Lam should smell like dirt and the jungle, or at least like the soap they washed with.

Lam sighed. “Never mind that. All angels smell like Christmas cookies. ”

Angels?
Bart started to comment on Lam’s statement, but found he didn’t have enough energy to worry about the smell. All he had was enough strength to get back to the hut.

“Where’s the hut? I thought it was in this direction.” He gestured with a limp hand toward the trail.

“There are people who travel the jungle you wouldn’t want wandering into your camping site. Pest has lived here many years and has learned how to hide in plain sight.” Lam didn’t hesitate as he led Bart to what looked like a wall of hanging vegetation.

He brushed it aside and gave Bart a little push. Bart stepped into the hut, amazed at the sight of wooden walls and floor hidden by a screen of plants. Lam escorted him to a chair and let him sit.

“You sit there for a moment or two.” Lam grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Bart. “I’m going to change out the sheets and get you some broth.”

Closing his eyes, Bart rested his head on the back of the chair, not fighting the fever smoldering under his skin.

“Will I ever be well again?”

“Possibly, or you could be compromised for the rest of your life. Sort of like malaria, not that I know anything about the disease. Pest would be able to tell you more, but he’s not here.” Lam stripped the bed of the blankets and sheets, tossing them in a basket before going to a small dresser and pulling out another set. “And why doesn’t that surprise me? Damn Horsemen drag me here and leave me to do all the dirty work. I imagine he’ll come riding back home when whatever illness you’ve got disappears. I’ll have done all the hard work while he comes in to save the day.”

Bart didn’t even try to pay attention to the man’s muttering, considering all Lam had been doing since Bart had woken up was complain. He had a hard enough time sitting up straight in the chair. He tugged the edges of the blanket tighter around him and studied the area surrounding him as chills racked his body.

It was one large room, sectioned into areas by the placement of furniture, though there wasn’t a lot of it. A small, scarred table sat next to a glassless window, making Bart think it was more of a workspace than a dining area. He saw the wood stove with two pans on top of it.

The entire space was sparse and rather empty looking. It didn’t give a hint to the personality of the man who called the place home. In fact, if Bart hadn’t met Pest, he would have believed its former owner had abandoned it. Yet it was clean for a hut in the jungle. He spied a cable leading from a cabinet.

“Does he have a satellite or something?” Bart gestured toward the cable.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Never had any need to use electronics or modern technology.”

Again, Bart chose to ignore all the questions that statement created. “Why does he live here?”

Lam looked up from where he’d bent over, tucking in the blankets. “He doesn’t like people. This is one of the best places to live if you don’t want to see anyone. It’s rare to have visitors. Not that anyone would want to visit him. Plus it’s probably best for everyone he stays hidden away.”

“Is he a fugitive or something?” Bart really couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would come out and live in the jungle unless he was wanted by the law.

“Hardly.” Lam paused, hands on hips and head tilted so his silver hair shimmered in the faint light of the hut. “You know, if anyone really understood who he was, he probably would be considered a fugitive.”

“Either you talk in riddles or my brain has been fried from my fever,” Bart complained. “I don’t understand anything you say.”

“You’re not supposed to.” Lam grinned and winked. “It wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if you knew all about me. Imagine the intriguing story you’ll tell all your friends when you get back to civilization. Maybe they’ll even do a movie about your ordeal.”

Bart opened his mouth, whether to deny having friends or anyone wanting to know his story, Bart never found out. The sound of a large group moving through the undergrowth caught their attention. Lam pressed his fingers to his lips, signaling for Bart to stay quiet. While Bart sat, Lam rushed around, quietly pulling vines and leaves down to cover the windows and hiding the entrance to the shelter. When he finished with that, he came over and scooped Bart up in his arms, carrying him to a door Bart hadn’t noticed on his first look over of the room. They slipped in and Lam set Bart down on another wooden chair.

Lam leaned forward, his mouth inches from Bart’s ear. “I’m going out to do some recon. You stay here and keep quiet. If you hear someone in the hut, don’t say a word. I’ll come and get you when the coast is clear.”

As much as Bart wanted to beg Lam to stay with him, he nodded. Whatever had moved in the jungle wasn’t an animal. It had made too much noise and sounded too big to be anything wild. He understood drug kingpins used the trails in the Amazon to move their product at times. Since he didn’t have a death wish, not anymore at least, he’d keep as quiet as he could.

His chair sat in the back corner of the room, far away from the door leading in. He glanced around and frowned. It looked like an herb garden had exploded. Bunches of plants hung from wooden racks. There were pots full of other green plants placed on all the shelves, along with wooden bowls full of other things Bart didn’t really want to look too closely at. It looked like a witch’s workshop of potions. Tables were covered with bottles, boxes, bowls and other things.

Strangely his curiosity about the flora around him was non-existent. Maybe it had to do with the fact he had no strength to get up and look through all the shit on the tables. Maybe all of his excitement about doing research in the Amazon had evaporated the minute he’d realized Jasper had abandoned him in the middle of nowhere.

He closed his eyes and tried to rest, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fall asleep while whatever or whoever wandered around outside. He didn’t know how much danger he was in, but he was pretty sure Lam would be back to save him if something went wrong. Wouldn’t he? Hadn’t Lam mentioned something about keeping mortals safe from harm, or something odd like that?

Bart stiffened as he realized he’d been dumped once again. It didn’t matter that Lam had promised to come back for him. What did he know about the man besides he’d stuck around to take care of him after another man had left him? Christ, what was it about Bart that made it easy for people to leave him?

Of course, Lam didn’t really know him, and neither did Pest, so their deserting him was a little more understandable, but Jasper and he had been fucking for over six months before Jasper had decided he wasn’t worth it.

Deep inside, Bart realized some of his anger was irrational. Jasper probably hadn’t even realized Bart was ill. Or if he had, he couldn’t have known how bad it had been. Bart couldn’t bring himself to believe Jasper could have been so cold-hearted as to leave him when he had been vulnerable. If Bart had been healthy, then he could have possibly found his way to the river and been picked up by a passing boat.

That reasoning doesn’t tell me why he took all my papers and passport.
He hated the fact his inner voice always pointed out the obvious.

He pressed his warm forehead to the cool dry wood of the chair. Trying to take a deep breath, he noticed the tightness around his chest seemed to have eased slightly. Could it be a sign that the sickness was over with and he was on his way to getting better? He inhaled again, drawing oxygen deeper into his lungs. Pain shot through his upper chest. Smothering the racking coughs with his blanket, he tensed to keep from falling out of his chair. It was too much and he slid to the dirt, curling into the fetal position. The blanket fell on top of Bart, covering every part of him from view.

After he got his coughing under control, he lay on the ground, absorbing the rather damp coolness of the dirt. He drifted into the darkness, waiting around the edges of his mind, not caring at this moment whether he died from the fever or from the chill seeping into his flesh.

“God damn it, Lam. What the hell were you thinking leaving him alone like that?”

Bart jerked upright, every muscle in his body protesting as he moved. “Fuck!”

How long had he been on the floor? He pitched forward as pain swamped him, freezing his limbs and making it impossible for him to move. He couldn’t even get his hands out in front of him and he cringed, waiting for the face-smashing encounter with the ground. Arms encircled his waist, jerking him into the air and into a tight embrace.

Blinking, he met the dark, pupil-less eyes of the white-haired man who had found him in the clearing all those weeks ago. Bart did his best impression of a landed fish, opening and closing his mouth without saying a word.

Pest frowned down at him for a second before turning his burning glare beyond Bart’s. “What the fuck were you doing, Lam?”

“Don’t yell at me, Horseman. I’ve been stuck here taking care of him, washing his sweaty body and trying to ensure he stays alive until you got your ass back here.” Lam’s frustration and annoyance rang in his voice. “Though I will admit, he’s not bad on the eyes.”

An honest-to-goodness growl came from Pest and Bart blinked again.

“Why is he in my workroom, hiding under a blanket? He’s not strong enough to be moved.”

“I took him out to the pool for a bath, then brought him back in here. I was taking the soiled sheets off the bed when we heard something. I put him in here, in case it was the local drug lord’s men. I figured you wouldn’t want them to find him, if they suddenly got a clue and discovered this place.”

Bart rolled his head to the side and met Lam’s concerned blue eyes. He tried to reassure the small man with a smile, but his lips didn’t seem to want to move. Lam’s eyes widened as Bart threw his head back and went into convulsions. He wanted to scream as searing pain rocketed through him, like someone was flaying his skin from his bones with a hot dull knife. He lost track of whom or where he was, fighting not to lose consciousness. He feared he wouldn’t wake up this time.

“Listen to me, Bartholomew. I’m here and I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t fight it.” Pest swept him into his arms.

Focusing as his vision cleared momentarily, Bart stared up into Pest’s endless black gaze and did what the man told him. He let go and quit fighting. He slid back into the now familiar darkness, praying to God he lived just one more day.

“Open your eyes,” a voice commanded.

Bart wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he did anyway. His gaze met another’s dark, pupil-less eyes. These were cold and merciless. The man was definitely not Pest.

“You were the one who made Pest go with you,” he said before looking around him. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“It’s not important where you are. I’m Death and our mission isn’t to help humans. If we don’t do our job or deviate from it, bad things will happen.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Death pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved an annoyed sigh. “No, I’m not threatening you. I’m simply warning you and hoping you won’t disrupt Pestilence’s acceptance of how his life is now.”

“I don’t know the guy. How could I disrupt anything in his life? I don’t know who you are or what you do, but all I really want is to get well and go teach my bastard of an ex a lesson.” Bart snarled at the thought of Jasper.

The pale man studied him with narrowed eyes. “You have inner strength. I do believe you’ll be able to survive this virus and get back to your world, but don’t fall in love with Pestilence, and don’t let him fall in love with you.”

Bart frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to fall in love with anyone.”

“Remind yourself of that every morning when you wake up,” Death suggested before reaching out to touch Bart’s forehead. “Now go back to him. Let him heal you, but nothing more.”

Snorting, Bart didn’t move away and the world went black around him again.

Death stood in the doorway of Pestilence’s hut, watching the gentle way the White Horseman cared for the mortal. Shaking his head, Death hoped his warning to Bartholomew worked. He worried about the consequences if Pestilence were to fall in love with the mortal. Death had never met one yet who was strong enough to deal with the realities of the Horsemen. He didn’t want Pestilence hurt.