‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the woman said, adjusting her hemline as she approached. ‘But I wanted to try something a little different.’
Her face was striking with dark green eyes. The putrid tang that emanated from her mouth made it clear that Pestilence had decided to take up cross-dressing on his first ever foray into the Mortal realm. Compared to his breath the stench of Humanity was nothing.
‘Might be a bit of fun too,’ the Horseman added with a wink.
Persephone could tell that the seven-and-a-half-foot tall slab of muscle with the rakish blond hair and surly demeanour was War. The emaciated and lanky form of Famine looked ridiculous standing next to him. Death stood a little away from his brothers and was a cut above them all.
Gone were the pale complexion, black stitching and delicate features of his true form. Now tall, well-built and dark skinned, Death had taken his inherent and ethereal beauty and somehow grafted it directly onto a Mortal form that bore no resemblance to the creature Persephone had first met in her father’s dungeons. Even by her famously high standards the results of the transformation were breath-taking.
‘So why have you brought us here?’ asked Pestilence in his sultry, feminine voice. He glanced around at the seemingly endless rows of crops. ‘And where is “here” while we’re on the subject?’
Persephone took a few steps back from him to avoid concentrated blasts of his breath.
‘We are near a place called Storm Lake in the United States of America,’ she told the Horsemen. Persephone walked to one of the tall plants and ripped an ear off of it. She tossed it to Pestilence.
‘That is called maize, or corn or whatever. I don’t really care. Almost half of the world’s supply comes from this country. I want none of it to.’
The Horseman sniffed at the maize.
‘They have changed this,’ he said after a few moments.
‘They spray it to keep insects and pests away,’ replied Persephone.
‘No, not just that; the very essence of this plant has been changed. My usual methods will not work on this.’
Persephone scowled at Pestilence.
‘So, we are a few minutes into our mission and already you are of no use to me?’
Pestilence tilted his head, brushed a stray strand of his fiery-red hair out of the way and studied the plant.
‘It will just take a little time.’
War stepped forward. His voice had kept the same bone-shaking tenor as in his true form.
‘We should visit an alehouse while our brother solves this problem.’
‘No we shouldn’t,’ replied Lucifer’s daughter. ‘This is not a holiday. You will do the job my father paid you to do.’
War marched over and stood in front of Persephone. She stared back undaunted, even though the Horseman towered above her.
‘We will do the job because we have promised as much, girl. You will not, however, tell us how to approach every minute detail. We know what you want and how you want to achieve it. This we shall deliver. We will not stand in the middle of a field waiting though when the thing you want can be accomplished somewhere with ale.’
Persephone held her ground and kept her eyes locked with War’s. After a few minutes it was obvious the Horseman would not relent. The only way forward seemed to be compromise. Persephone hated that word with a passion.
‘Fine,’ she replied, her voice dripping with contempt. ‘I don’t even know where the nearest bar is so we are in for a hunt and probably a long walk. If that’s what you want then so be it.’
‘It will not be a problem,’ replied War.
He nodded to his brothers and the Horsemen crowded around Death, Pestilence still clutching the maize. Persephone followed suit and smoke-like tendrils began to seep from Death as a shroud enveloped the group. Everything outside of it took on a greyish hue.
With nothing more than a quick lurch in Persephone’s stomach the scenery changed. The fields had been replaced with a parking lot and a wooden building with neon signage stood in front of the group. Death waited until a patron had staggered into the bar before dropping the shroud.
‘Where is this?’ asked Persephone.
‘An alehouse on the outskirts of the town,’ replied War.
‘They are called “bars” or “clubs”. This is the former. And don’t ask for ale in there, you’ll look like an idiot. It’s beer.’ Persephone looked back at Death. ‘How did he do that?’
‘Death finds everyone sooner or later,’ replied Famine. His voice was a sickly as his physique. ‘Hence Death knows all places.’
She studied the Horseman with a new appreciation for his powers.
‘That little trick will come in handy.’
Death tapped War on the shoulder. He made a quick series of hand gestures when he had his brother’s attention.
‘He said he feels “less”.’ said War in translation. ‘We are not supposed to be in this realm at this time. Our power comes from the souls your father sacrificed and it seems using them has a price.’
‘Great,’ replied Persephone. ‘Now you guys have a battery life as well.’
She wrote off War’s look of puzzlement with a wave.
‘Never mind, let’s just get this over with.’
Every eye in the bar was immediately drawn to the Horsemen as they entered. Not only were Persephone and Pestilence the most attractive women in the place but they were accompanied by a ridiculously mismatched trio of men. Though not exactly busy the bar was doing a brisk trade. Being closer to the farming community than the town, it had a distinctly rustic feel. Lucifer’s daughter took a seat at the bar with Pestilence as War waited to be served. While the Horseman was busy examining the plant, one of the locals sidled up beside the “women”. In his best chequered shirt and least greasy John Deere cap, Clint McGregor was on the hunt for love.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ he said, grinning and nodding down at the maize. ‘Name’s Clint by the way. Can I get you ladies a drink?’
Persephone ignored the man while Pestilence looked up and studied Clint with an air of indifference.
‘Go away,’ he said, before turning his attention back to the maize.
Clint suppressed a gag.
‘Damn, you could kill a bull with that breath. Ah well, can’t have it all I guess. Looking as pretty as that you can probably get away with not brushing your teeth. It’s just one drink, miss, no harm.’
Persephone snapped her finger’s to get Death’s attention. She pointed at him, then at Clint. War would have been the better choice to shoo away the Mortal but he was waiting for the drinks to be poured. Persephone hoped an angry glare from the mute would suffice; Pestilence had work to do.
Clint looked up as Death approached.
‘Go away, Denzel.’ he said ‘Unless she’s your wife this doesn’t concern you, pretty boy.’
At almost the same time a commotion erupted further down the bar. The barmaid was screaming at War about paying for the beers.
Damn, I forgot about that, thought Persephone. Mortals use money.
While War was drinking his beer and ignoring the torrent of abuse, Death walked up to Clint. The Mortal stood his ground and smiled at him, drawing his thumb across his throat. When Death returned the gesture Clint’s lifeless body crashed to the floor. A few people who had been watching the exchange gasped while