Page 101 of The Death Wish

‘I did. But that does not mean it was not Silas.’

Silas’s laughter was not much more sure than Edward’s. ‘Come now, I know you have seen some strange things, but that’s quite a deduction.’

‘Are you seriously going to try to convince me I’m being unreasonable? After I’ve seen Edward possessed by an angel who has been resurrected before my very eyes, and is now chin-wagging with Tobias, who is a daemon himself, and Lucifer,’ Charlie flinched at that, ‘who is the King of all daemons. Do you truly think I’ve put my own miraculous strength down to a decent few meals and fresh air? And if you think I could wipe the event of the Fulbourn from my mind, you are not so sensible as I imagined. I saw you command…’ he searched for the words, ‘Ghosts…the undead, spectres or ghouls. Whatever I name them, it is not human. But above all else, I cannot ignore the deep sense of connection I have with you, Silas. The feeling that our meeting was inevitable.’ The red flecks in his hair were prominent in the gold-stained light of the Sanctuary. It had grown long, tangled at its ends, giving Charlie something of a wild-man’s look. It suited him. ‘I’m not certain what you are, Silas, and it doesn’t really matter, because I know who you are. I’ve known since the moment I came across you, trying to fish so terribly in Wyre Forest. I knowyou, Silas. The moment I stepped into your company, it was like…’ He bit his lip, clamping back the words.

‘Home,’ Edward whispered. ‘You told me, while we waited in that cave, that Silas felt like the home you wished for.’

Charlie nodded, his cheeks flushing pink as he looked to Silas. ‘It’s terribly sentimental, but you are strong, and constant and so terribly kind. Who would not find sanctuary with you? I understand perfectly why even Tobias could not help but fall for you, and am glad that with him, you do not seem so lonely anymore.’

Silas opened his arms, and the lad did not hesitate to move in to embrace him; the brave young boy whose ancestor had always sought to save Silas. No, whohadsaved Silas; rescued him from believing the world entirely cruel and ugly.

‘Thank you, Charlie.’

‘For a hug? Happy to oblige anytime, so long as you keep Tobias from glaring me into oblivion.’

Silas grew serious, relaxing his hold. ‘I need to go to him.’

Charlie was grim-faced, but nodded. ‘I’m surprised you lasted this long, to be honest. Go, Silas. We are fine, as you can see, and will take care of one another. It is not us who need you most right now, no matter how Tobias tries to convince you otherwise.’

‘Good luck to you, Silas.’ Edward offered his hand. ‘You’re a damned good chap. A hearty thanks for all you’ve done for me, and for Tobias. I’m bloody glad he’s got you on his side.’

Silas gripped the lieutenant’s hand. They shook with a warm and painful finality. ‘You’re a fine fellow, Edward.’

The lieutenant ducked his head. ‘Go on now, so it’s all the sooner we see you both again.’

Silas took a last look at the mirror, at the distant shore where his past lay. Lives long since lived. All of them were untouchable, unchangeable.

But not so the present.

He turned, and walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SERAPHIEL DRAGGEDPitch’s shirt high, exposing his belly. He pressed the palms of his cold metal covered hands to warm flesh, words of nefarious magick falling from his lips.

Pitch threw back his head, his hips bucking uncontrollably. His teeth dug into the wood, and his scream bulged in his throat. It was like being struck by the angel’s gods-damned halo all over again; Iblis and Gabriel had been gentle compared to this maltreatment.

Pitch’s hands sought purchase upon anything that might ground him in this cage of torment. He flailed, wondering if he shouldn’t have just succumbed to being restrained, after all. His fingers touched at firmness, and he dug them in; into the roundness of a body, the hint of bone at his fingertips. He gripped a shoulder, the collarbone unyielding.

White specks marked Pitch’s vision, and the roll of his head back and forth was barely under his control, but he glimpsed Lucifer. Sitting by the table; his head bowed so low his eyes were hidden. Pitch did not know if he’d intended to place himself within reach, but he did not shift away now; despite how cruel a grip Pitch had on him.

The world shrank down to a terrible, bone-deep ache; hot pain radiating through his hips and up his spine. All that kept him anchored was the king’s silent, solid presence.

Seraphiel dragged the Cultivation from where it sought to barricade itself in Pitch’s depths, brought it up through his skin, tugged it from his veins. The simurgh fought the fresh assault. Pitch spat the wood and cursed the angel to a thousand miserable ends. The simurgh’s fight was vicious.

But futile, when it was its creator who summoned.

There was no holding back an anguished cry. Pitch’s back bowed, his shoulders lifting, and the Cultivation was torn from him once more.

The simurgh appeared above Pitch’s belly; big as a peacock, but all shades of sunrise and sunset and lavender fields. Delicately, and deceptively, beautiful; save for the blackened claw, and spots of ruin upon its neck and wing. Damage wrought by its perilous encounter with Azazel. Damage that made Pitch’s sweat run, his eyes water with the pain.

Seraphiel kept on with his hymnal speech, the unknowable words of the Higher Angels, weaving their way around the simurgh. Pitch felt a subtle prodding at the wildness, like the brush of a moth’s wings at his core, as the angel assessed the Cultivation.

The simurgh settled. Its talons landing upon Pitch’s belly, resting on sensitive skin like cooling firebrands; the flap of its wings laboured.

Seraphiel’s displeasure did ugly things to his features. ‘If those angels had not already paid for this, I would make them do so a thousand times over. How dare they lay filthy hands upon my work?’ The simurgh’s topaz eyes were riveted on the angel, their brightness pulsing like the beat of a heart. ‘If the Lord had given me what I wanted sooner, I could have rid us of Samyaza’s legacy long ago.’

Pitch floated in the aftermath, his heartbeat loud in his ears, his breath heavy and reluctant to leave his lungs. He loosenedhis grip from the king’s shoulder, let his hand fall to drape over the bench’s edge. He had no strength to do anymore.