Hunger by Jackie Morse Kessler Read Free Book Online Page B

her shoulder to look at the Pale Rider. "I have a name. Don't you?"
    He smiled, bemused. "You were Lisabeth Lewis. Now you are Famine."
    She didn't like the past tense usage with her name, but she decided that correcting Death was a bad idea. "So who were you before you were ... you?"
    His smile stretched wider. "I have always been what I am."
    "You never had a name?"
    "Oh, I've had hundreds of names. Thousands. People have a penchant for naming things. It gives them a sense of control, of understanding." He spread his arms wide. "But no matter what I am called, I am universal. I don't need a name."
    Lisa thought about that as she stroked the horse. "I think that's sad," she said. "Everyone should have a name."
    "So, what will you name your steed?"
    The horse turned its head to regard her, and she was struck by the frank curiosity she saw in its white eyes.
    "I think ... I'd like to call you Midnight," she said to the horse, understanding on some level that she should ask the steed for permission to give it a name. "Would that be all right?"
    The horse nickered again, and Lisa thought its mouth quirked into a smile.
    "Well," Death said, "at least you didn't go with Muffin. "
    The horse—Midnight—cast a long look at the Pale Rider, then snorted.
    Lisa bit back a laugh. Oh, she liked this horse. "People can't see it," she said to Death, "can they?"
    "Only Horsemen can see steeds. Come on now. Saddle up."
    As there was no saddle, Lisa said to the horse, "May I pull myself up?"
    And damned if the horse didn't nod.
    "Okay," she said, and then said "okay" again. She took a deep breath, and then grabbed hold of Midnight's black mane and pulled herself up, launching her left leg over the horse's back. She wobbled for a moment, but soon she was sitting astride the massive black beast. A wave of delight washed over her, leaving her giddy.
    Then the horse stood up, and Lisa let out a squeak. She gripped its mane for dear life.
    "My dad's going to worry," she said over the clamor of her galloping heartbeat. "If I'm not there and he checks on me, he's going to absolutely freak out."
    "He won't even notice you're gone."
    "If James calls..."
    "No one will call you. You are no longer Lisabeth Lewis. You are Famine."
    She turned her head to see that Death, too, was atop his steed. "But I don't know what to do or where I'm supposed to go!"
    Seated on his pale horse, Death looked at ease, all slouching confidence and careless smiles. His long blond hair rustled in the wind. "Your steed knows where Famine is supposed to be," he said. "As for what to do, you'll need your symbol of office."
    "My...?" Oh, right. "The Scales."
    "Yes."
    "They're inside."
    "No," Death said patiently, "they're not."
    Lisa took a breath and held it, wondering what she was supposed to do. She remembered the feel of the metal balance in her hands last night, pictured the way the light gleamed off the plates earlier that evening when the Scales had appeared on the kitchen table.
    Exhaling, she held out her hand and thought:
Come.
She felt incredibly stupid, but she thought it again, more clearly:
Come to me.
    She'd expected maybe a poof of smoke, even a boom. But the Scales materialized quietly before her, something out of nothing, hovering in the nighttime air like some clockwork hummingbird. The balance was smaller than she remembered; the whole thing could sit in the palm of her hand.
    Scaled according to size
, she thought, and nearly laughed.
    Hesitating for a moment, Lisa stared at the bronze (or maybe brass) set of scales, impressed by how something so small could radiate such menace. The center beam was intricately shaped, curving and sensuous—rather feminine-looking, except for the harsh, masculine quality to the metal. At its tip was a hook, suitable either for gripping with a hand or attaching to a ring. Identical thin beams stretched from the top of the center post, also curving lazily in'S shapes, like a bisected figure eight. Both of those beams ended in