Missy wiped away her tears as she faced the Pale Rider. "She was part of me all along, wasn't she?"
"Once you accepted the Sword? Of course. You think I was calling you War because it was a code name?" Death smiled warmly. "Okay, maybe it would make a good code name. But no, I was calling you by your office, by your title. By your name. Thou art War, Melissa Miller."
She nodded, and she was surprised by how right that sounded. She was War, the Red Rider of the Apocalypse. And she was Missy Miller. "I'm not sure how I'm going to fit in all the warring with classes and stuff."
"You'll figure it out." Death paused, and Missy was once again struck by how incredibly human he seemed, from the way his hair moved in the wind to the slouch of his shoulders—that, and so much more. He said, "You know, the other Horsemen have turned their backs on their human lives. Pestilence did so long ago, and Famine more recently. But they've left that part of themselves behind. You could do the same."
No more pre-calc classes? Now that was tempting.
Missy smiled sheepishly and shook her head. "I've just come to terms with a new part of myself. I'm not ready to leave any other pieces right now." Her smile turned rueful. "Besides, I don't have my driver's license yet."
Death laughed, and the sound was sweet to Missy's ears. "There is much that awaits you. And I am pleased that you've fully accepted your charge." He motioned to her, and she looked down at herself to see that her soccer uniform had been replaced with a duster, vest, pants, and boots, all leather, and all a fiery red-orange, like lava. The shirt beneath the vest felt like silk. Only her goalkeeper gloves remained the same.
Missy, momentarily stunned, forgot just how exhausted she was. Grinning like a kid locked in a candy shop, Missy spun around. "Okay, this is seriously cool."
"It is," said Death, stepping up to her, smiling softly, his eyes shining with secrets. "And it's only the beginning." He touched her cheek lightly, a small stroke and then his hand was gone, but that one touch was enough to speed up her heart.
Flushing, she looked up into his blue, blue eyes. "Why me?" she asked softly. "I'm just a girl. No one special. Why did you pick me?"
Something mischievous played along Death's face. "You're assuming I did the picking. And you're asking the wrong question." He took her hands in his, and even through the gloves she felt the chill of his fingers. "The real question is, why not you?"
For that, Missy had no answer. So she just looked up into Death's face, and she thought she saw her future written in his gaze.
"A question for a question," he said, still holding her hands. "Why do you believe you killed your cat?"
The words startled her. "She died in my arms."
"Graygirl was fourteen and sick, and you held her as the veterinarian put her to sleep. Why do you believe you killed her?"
Missy blinked away sudden tears. "It was my call," she said, her voice breaking. "Mom and Dad would have let the vet put a tube in her chest to help with her breathing, but they let me make the call because she had always been my cat, from when she was a kitten. I got her when I was two," she said, smiling with the vague memory of an eight-week-old kitten, a ball of gray fuzz, kneading her paws on Missy's lap. "Sure, she was the family cat, but she was mine, you know? She followed me and stayed in my room and slept in my bed. She chose me."
"Yes," said Death.
"And I chose to let her go." Missy's chest tightened ... but she didn't feel the pressing need to drag a razor across her belly. She was horribly sad, and it felt as if a hand were squeezing her heart. But she didn't want to cut.
"Some would say you gave her a blessing. You sent her on her way to peace."
"Is that what happens after?" Missy asked, peering into his eyes. "Peace?"
"That would be telling," he said, winking.
She let out a laugh, and for the first time since Graygirl died, she didn't feel guilty. She loved her cat and always would. It was time to let the pain go.
"See that?" Death said softly. "Right there, that's the amazing thing about you, about all people. You learn."
He smiled at her, and Missy's sadness melted, leaving her drained but not completely empty—not as long as she had the memory of Graygirl to fill her once again.
Death murmured, "I have to go."
She wanted to tell him to stay, but she knew better. "Will I see you again?"
"Before you know it. War and Death work very..." He squeezed her hands, once. "... very well together."
She had only thought she had blushed before. Now her entire face was on fire.
"Go thee out unto the world, Red Rider," said Death. "Live your life, Melissa Miller. Our paths will cross again."
He released her hands, and she had a wild urge to kiss him before he left.
"When you're ready, I'll be here." He grinned. "I'm a patient sort of personification."
Yes, Death was patient. But War wasn't known for her patience.
Missy wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes as she pulled him down to meet her halfway. She pressed her lips against his and kissed him. And kissed him.
Death's lips, warmed by War's passion, weren't cold at all.
***
After the Pale Rider left, Missy patted Ares' neck. "Go home," she told it fondly, "wherever that is for you. We won't be Riding today."
The horse nickered softly.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired. Been a long day. Math test, completely mortified by a bunch of idiots, kicked off the soccer team, confronted War, kissed Death." Missy smiled, her lips still tingling from Death's touch. "It's just my third day on the job. Do I get a learning curve?"
The steed seemed to think about it, then it snorted its approval.
"Thanks," she said, rubbing behind its ears. "I'll call you when I'm ready to Ride."
Ares leapt into the sky and disappeared in a wink of fire.
Missy turned to face her school and slowly walked up the stairs. By the time she reached the top, her clothing had shimmered into her black shirt, cutoff shorts, stockings, and sneakers.
With a sigh, Melissa Miller opened the door and stepped back into her life.