Rage by Jackie Morse Kessler

emphasized the last word, turning it into something enticing.
    She rubbed her arms, even though she wasn't cold. If anything, she was feeling much, much too warm. "You picked the wrong person. I'm just a—"
    Freak,
Adam jeered.
    "—a girl," she said bitterly.
    Death smiled, a slow curving of his lips that made Missy's heart beat faster. "Your past is meaningless," he said, "and your future is waiting to be defined. Don't condemn yourself to mediocrity just yet."
    His words rang with the promise of salvation, and for a wonderful moment, Missy felt hope bloom.
    But then she thought suddenly of Graygirl, heard the cat's final, pitiful cry before she died in Missy's arms.
    Missy's eyes burned with unshed tears. She wanted to curse, to shout, to beg for forgiveness, but the words refused to come. No matter what Death said, her past couldn't be erased. She bore her sins like scars.
    "That's one thing I'll never understand," said Death, shaking his head. "Why do you people insist on suffering?"
    Missy had no answer.
    "Don't feel bad. I don't have an answer, either, and I've been doing this for a long, long time." He held out his hand to her.
    Missy took a deep breath, and then she accepted Death's hand. It was firm, and cool, and as he helped her to her feet, a gentle numbness spread through her body, as if her dead face had encased her like a mummy.
    "Come on," Death said, smiling softly. "The night is young, and there's much to do."

Chapter 6
    Missy followed Death out of her room, feeling as if she were traveling in a dream. Around her, the world was out of sync—she heard her parents in their bedroom, the sounds of their lovemaking tinny and peppered with static; the photographs on the walls had faded into background floaters, their colors leeched away. Missy's head buzzed, not unpleasantly, as she noticed these oddities. It made sense that the mundane trappings of the world appeared dim and out of reach; by accepting the Sword, Missy had become more real, perhaps even surreal. It wasn't that she was alone because no one could relate to her; rather, she had transcended the glamour of the ordinary.
    It was possible, she reflected, that the soda she'd had at Kevin's party had been laced with something exotic and she was tripping her fool head off.
    Death glided sinuously down the stairs, and Missy drifted after him, a fleshy balloon filled with helium kisses. She was filthy and shoeless, and that was irrelevant. She had nearly died, and that, too, was irrelevant. She was War, the Red Rider of the Apocalypse. She was beyond concerns of bare feet and grime. Melissa Miller followed where Death walked, leaving her life behind her.
    They came to a halt by her front door. Death glanced back at her, an unreadable smile on his face. "War," he said, "meet thy steed." And then he opened the door and motioned outside.
    At the bottom of the front stoop, a horse waited.
    Missy sucked in a startled breath. She had seen horses before, but none of them had come close to the powerful creature standing in her front yard. Tall to the point of monstrosity, proud to the point of nobility, it stood, limbs locked, nostrils flared. From muzzle to mane to flank, it was the color of spilled blood—all but the eyes, which were the black of nightmares. Missy felt the horse's hatred slap her, sensed its silent dare for her to approach.
    No, not a dare. It was
hoping
she would step forward. It wanted to tear her apart.
    How on earth was she supposed to ride
that?
    "Warhorse," said Death cheerfully, "meet thy Rider."
    The steed bared its teeth. Its very sharp-looking teeth.
    Missy paled, and she took an involuntary step backward.
    "I wouldn't do that," Death murmured. "If it thinks you're afraid, it will attack. Then things will get messy."
    She froze. Her heart tried to leap out of her mouth and instead got lodged in her throat.
    "It's a bit temperamental," Death said, perhaps by way of apology. "But it's a fine steed."
    The warhorse snorted.
    Missy