Hunger (14 page)

Wow. She must
really
be sick. Either she had been hallucinating, or her mother had actually been worried about her.

Her lips twitched into a brief smile, which then turned into a grimace. Her lips were cracked and dry, and her mouth was so parched that when she swallowed, it burned her throat. Her heart couldn't seem to find the right rhythm in her chest; it stuttered and skipped around, fiddling to find the right music. And, Lisa realized with dismay, it actually hurt to breathe, as if her lungs couldn't inflate properly.

Well
, she thought, her hand shaking as she mopped her sweating brow.
This isn't good.

Vaguely, she remembered having tea, and then listening to her mom lecture her about how terrible her clothing was, and...

Her eyes widened. And she'd hurt her mother. She'd used Famine against her and made her starve.

But she's okay
, she told herself firmly.
She's okay. I remember, I helped her. I made her healthy again—

Oh.

Oh!

A grin spread across her face, and it didn't matter that it hurt her cheeks. She'd helped! She could use Famine to actually help people ... just like the White Rider had insinuated! She wasn't a monster. She...

Her stomach whined, a low-pitched plaintive cry for food.

Yes, she needed to eat. Not for herself, no—God, she didn't think she'd ever be able to eat for herself again—but for others. She had to fuel herself. She had to store up enough energy so she could give it back.

She had to get up.

It took Lisa five minutes to gather enough strength to roll over. Then she needed to catch her breath. It occurred to her that she might be dying.

Well
, she thought,
if Death shows up, I'll just tell him he needs to wait.

Slowly, she made her way out of bed, and she nearly collapsed when she stood up. She was dizzy, and so very tired. But she had to get downstairs and fix herself something to eat.

No
, the Thin voice lamented,
you can't eat. You need to be thin.

Shut up
, she told the Thin voice. What she needed was energy. And that meant she had to eat. Somehow.

It took her a small eternity to navigate her way down the stairs.

In the kitchen, she didn't bother with the light. Her thick socks padding her footsteps, Lisa went to the refrigerator and forced it open. The thought of actually eating anything was enough to make her stomach pitch and roll.

But she could drink.

She grabbed one of her mother's protein drinks, a berry and yogurt concoction that promised to taste like "real strawberries," according to the label. Good; she wouldn't want to drink anything that tasted like fake strawberries. By the light of the open refrigerator, she opened the bottle and brought it to her lips.

And she nearly gagged from the smell.

Okay
, she thought,
I can do this.

Taking a deep breath through her mouth, she tilted the bottle back and forced the drink down her throat. The yogurt coated her tongue and was so thick as it slid down that she thought she was choking. She swallowed, and swallowed again—and again, commanding herself to keep it down, to somehow keep it all down.

When the bottle was empty, she dropped it to the ground. Her breath stank of fermented milk and spoiled berries. She pushed against the refrigerator door so that it closed, then teetered her way to the back door in the kitchen.

Her scalp hurt from where she'd pulled out fistfuls of hair. Her throat burned. Tears stung her eyes. Her heart threatened to stutter to a halt.

And yet, as Lisabeth Lewis opened the door and saw the black horse gaze upon her, she was grinning. Not caring that she wasn't wearing shoes or a jacket, she slowly approached her steed.

"Hey there," she said. "Miss me?"

The steed nickered. It seemed to return her grin as it lowered itself to the ground.

Lisa fumbled her way atop Midnight's back. Once seated, she threaded her fingers through the blue-black mane. "Let's go," she said.

Midnight whinnied its approval, and the two took off into the night.

***

From above, the pyramids looked like children's toys someone had accidentally dropped in the desert. The Sphinx was an afterthought.

Midnight swooped down, and soon they flew over a bustling city of browns and reds, a huge tower piercing the haze and smog, a concrete needle among the paper diamonds of wind-kissed kites. Pigeons played tag, darting out and soaring between bits of twine and plastic, avoiding satellite dishes and eventually finding their way back to their keepers' boxes. Below, houses were a mishmash of wood and brick, with various silver domes and mud brown mosques here and there. Shopping centers, both cosmopolitan and traditional, ran parallel throughout the city, the name-brand stores sitting side by side with fruit vendors.

The city teemed with life. People dotted the rooftops, flying kites and catching the breeze. Teenagers filled the alleys, gossiping and kissing. Adults walked in the streets, ambling along with goats and roosters, motorcycles weaving between them, taxis vying for parking spots with donkeys.

Lisa was enthralled. She saw groups of boys laughing as they passed bowls between them, heard women's buzzing chatter as they talked on their cell phones while hanging laundry. Girls lapped up ice cream; men held cigarettes in one hand and cups of tea in the other. A mixture of smells hit her: cumin and falafel, the press of human bodies, exhaust and animal dung, all weaving together into an exotic perfume. Lisa breathed in the city air and held it deep within her, feeling it fill her like magic.

The horse touched down, and they walked along the maze of streets. She saw walls lined with gold trinkets and brass plates; she was dazzled by gemstones in jewelry shop windows. Bolts of material cascaded around her, sequined and smooth. Statues of small gods stood guard against tourists and hawkers and city folk. Hundreds of shops called out for attention, offering linens and lamps, shoes and candleholders, tables, chairs, rugs and clothing and pipes and food . . everything. Lisa grinned, euphoric.

Farther they walked, invisible, and now Lisa saw the reality rubbing through the storybook façade: the ramshackle roofs and patchwork walls, the piles of cinder block and stone in the street covered with dust, the shop owners waiting outside their stores to entice passersby to step inside, the lines of clothing on display on hooks from above packed together tightly, throngs of people milling about the street like something out of a pickpocket's fantasy. More than the excitement, Lisa now felt pangs of boredom, of desperation, of hopeless dreams.

Outside a fruit and vegetable market, Lisa spied a boy, painfully thin, eyeing the mangoes hanging in bags and the rows of dates and figs on display. His gaze lingered on buckets of strawberries and plump oranges, on cartons of lettuce and bags of colorful peppers. She felt his gnawing hunger and understood he hadn't eaten a full meal in three days.

"Here," she said to Midnight. "Stop here, please."

The horse halted and knelt down in the dusty road. Lisa slid off and tested her legs; it wouldn't do for her to kick off her good deed by tripping over her own feet and getting a mouthful of dirt for her trouble.
Balance
, she told herself. Taking a breath, Lisa approached the boy.

Like the hordes of people around her, he didn't notice her or the black steed. Even if she hadn't had some sort of invisibility system going on, he probably wouldn't have seen her—he was far too focused on the tantalizing fruits and vegetables, and on the shopkeeper who was eyeballing him. The boy slouched, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his mouth fixed in a re-signed frown. His body language screamed "shoplifter," but his eyes looked haunted and sad.

Lisa felt bad for him. He couldn't have been more than ten. He should have been playing video games and reading comic books, not contemplating how to pinch a mango.

Pausing for a moment, Lisa focused on the baskets of strawberries, thinking about the taste of the yogurt drink she'd choked down. She closed her eyes and reached inward, searching for the part of her that was Famine. Sweat beaded on her brow as she concentrated, swaying where she stood. She gasped as she touched the black power within her, pulsing and hungry. Her fists clenching, she imagined pouring that energy into the grim-faced boy.

It fought her at first, snarling and snapping. Lisa stood her ground, and with a roar, the power surged out of her in a black wave, dousing the boy.

He spluttered and shook, gasping. And then a delighted grin broke across his face. The gut-wrenching hunger was gone! He could think clearly again, praise Allah! The boy ran off, feeling better than he had in months, ever since his stonecutter father lost his job and daily meals became a thing of fond memory.

Lisa sagged against her steed, exhausted. The horse chided her as it nuzzled against her palm, scolding her with its white-eyed gaze for wasting her energy—or maybe for using Famine in such a productive way. She didn't know; unlike Death, she didn't speak Horse.

She absently rubbed Midnight's side, taking comfort from its warmth. Even though she was utterly wrecked, she was positively giddy. She'd helped the boy. He wouldn't need to eat for at least a day, maybe even two. She knew this just as she knew two plus two equaled four. The effort hadn't been as harmful to her as it had been when she'd helped her mother; then again, she hadn't first tried to kill the boy.

She flushed from guilt. Some people only
thought
they had a killer temper.

As if sensing her distress, Midnight whinnied softly.

"I'm okay," she said, lying only a little. She'd work off her guilt, like a penance. She could help more people. Yes—that was exactly what she would do. But first, she needed to eat.

No
, the Thin voice whispered,
don't do that.

Lisa stiffened.
You don't get a vote
, she thought angrily at the Thin voice. She tried not to worry that she was talking to herself. In the past few days, she'd gotten a flying horse and the power to suck out people's health; what was a little thing like possible schizophrenia?

You're weak
, the Thin voice whispered.

Yes, she was ... but in a different way than the Thin voice insinuated. Lisa was having a hard time standing.

Midnight nickered again, then turned around to face Lisa. The steed gently placed its mouth around her wrist, careful not to bite her. Then it knelt down. Lisa had no choice but to follow the horse. She sat on the dusty road. Around her, people walked on, oblivious.

Once she was seated, the horse removed its mouth. It snorted, as if to tell her to stay there. Then her steed walked over to the fruit and vegetable stand, its hooves coughing up dust. It leaned over the orange bin, rummaging. All the while, the stall-keeper hawked his wares to passersby.

When her steed approached Lisa, it had a huge orange between its teeth. It dropped the fruit into her lap, then went back to the market. Lisa used her sweater to wipe horse saliva from the orange
(ew, gross)
, then peeled off the rind with shaking fingers. She broke off a section of the fruit and popped it into her mouth.

Her taste buds stood up and cheered, then did a happy dance.

She chewed, savoring the citrus tang, the burst of sweetness on her tongue. She swallowed and thought she'd gone to heaven. God, it was so ... damn ... good! Greedy, she ate the rest of the orange so quickly that juice dribbled down her chin. When she finished, Midnight had a basket of strawberries waiting for her.

And so it went: the horse fetched her food and she ate it. When she no longer thought she might faint, she shared the fruit with her steed. It munched on figs and dates while she gobbled peppers and more oranges, vaguely recalling saying something to her father about preferring to eat five oranges than to drink one glass of orange juice.

Soon she felt strong enough to stand, and soon after that, to ride. As Lisa and Midnight picked their way along the labyrinth-like streets, she knew where she needed to go next. She was full of food, and she was ready to give it back to those who needed it. Dimly, she wondered how long she would be able to do the Good Samaritan thing before her body gave out. If she saw a man with long blond hair sitting on a pale horse, she'd turn the other way.

Before anything else, she had a promise to keep.

"I want to go to a place that's already been visited by Famine," she told her steed. "A place where the people are really hurting. Starving. Can you do that?"

The black horse snorted its answer: of course it could.

"All right, that's great," she said, scratching Midnight behind its ears. "Before we go, there's something we still have to do while we're here."

The horse sniffed its question.

"You'll see," she replied.

They walked along the marketplace until Lisa found what she'd been looking for: a patisserie. There in the window she saw cakes and pastries and chocolates—including boxes of pralines, with the individual chocolates shaped like Ramses II and Cleopatra.

Midnight's ears quivered.

"I'll be right back," she said, sliding off the horse with no help at all. "I have to pick up some chocolate."

Lisa didn't know that horses could salivate.

She slipped into the shop and grabbed two boxes of pralines. Neither the seller nor the customers saw her. Lisa felt a stab of guilt as she exited the store, but two things helped her cope: first, she was Famine, damn it, and so she was doing her job by taking food; second, the look on Midnight's face was worth it.

Outside the patisserie, Lisa sat on the dusty ground and watched, smiling, as her horse set to the chocolates, letting out equine sounds of contentment as it ate.

They traveled. Galloping among the clouds, it occurred to Lisa that she was becoming rather blasé about riding horseback in the air.

It also occurred to her that she had, somewhere along the way, completely lost her mind.

She closed her eyes, trusting her steed to take her where she needed to go. Until they arrived, she would enjoy the feeling of the wind in her hair, of the horse's powerful body working hard beneath her. Fingers entwined tightly in Midnight's mane, her knees pressed against Midnight's ribs, Lisa held on.