Page 114 of The Death Wish

‘Tighter,’ Pitch said, breathing in to raise his ribs and lengthen his torso. ‘Tight as you can.’

Seraphiel obliged. The great and terrible Seraph, the Lord’s favourite angel and Arcadia’s mightiest since Samyaza, played couturier to a daemon’s whim.

The assembly continued a moment longer until all was complete.

The gown was glorious, no doubt, its petticoat layers soft against Pitch’s legs, its long sleeves snug as gloves. The taffeta had a velvet trim of viridian, and a jewelled brooch sat at the decolletage. He tilted it against its pin, trying to examine it from such a close angle. A portrait brooch, with emerald accents in yellow gold.

He tried to make sense of the image painted at the centre. Sickness swept him as he realised who the tiny bearded man with dark hair was in the portrait.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ He demanded, snatching his other hand free, so he might tear the brooch away.

Seraphiel stared at him as though it were Pitch who was losing his mind. ‘I did not pay the ankou much mind, have I remembered him wrongly?’

‘Are you trying to torture me, even now?’ Fabric tore with the rough removal of the brooch. ‘I am not carrying this pathetic trinket with me. I want no reminder of him.’

‘Lucifer said you had an unreasonable affection for the ankou.’ Seraphiel shrugged. ‘The king has such sentiments for me. And as he was particularly enraptured by the brooch I made for him, I assumed you’d be pleased too –’

‘Stop talking, for the love of all gods and their Celestial arseholes. Stop.’ Pitch drew back his arm and cast the brooch deep into the assembly of dancers. ‘Open the Seal, Seraphiel. Now.’

The angel had followed the path of the flying brooch, and continued to stare into the crowd. ‘Was there something I was supposed to recall about that ankou?’

Pitch’s flame shuddered. ‘About Silas?’

‘Yes, yes. If that’s the large man’s name.’ He drew his gaze back to Pitch sharply. ‘I’m sure there was something of him that was memorable. Was he anything more than ankou?’

Pitch delayed the answer by reaching for the angel’s hands. By the gods, this creature was falling apart. Not a bad thing, in this case, forgetting that Silas was Nephilim; but what if Seraphiel also forgot how to open the fucking Seal?

He entwined their fingers and set his position once more.

‘I’m ready,’ Pitch said.

‘Whatever for? Wait…yes…you’re right. We are preparing…’ A moment of unconcealed distress whispered across the angel’s face, his eyes’ light dimming. ‘For something important, are we not?’

Pitch’s heart struck up a violent rhythm.

‘Opening the Seal…sending me into Blood Lake.’ He worked dutifully at keeping his voice even, the panic at the angel’s frailty hidden. ‘Have your musicians begin. Perhaps that will help you recall?’

Another wave swept the angel’s expression, and this one carried the confusion away; brightened his eyes and raised his cleft chin. ‘Music, yes. The dance. We are here for the dance.’

The quartet struck their first true chords. Seraphiel adjusted his pose, stepping back so his feet were not hidden beneath the length of Pitch’s gown. His skin warmed and the glow of his eyes made Pitch blink.

‘Begin.’

One word, with a resonance that worked past the fabric, and through the whalebone, through Pitch’s own skin and bones, to where the simurgh waited. The cultivation swept up, nudging at the base of his ribs. Making shallow breaths even shallower.

The harp joined the violins; the cello coming in last of all with the robustness of its notes.

Seraphiel drew Pitch into the first step of the dance, and it began.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

PITCH FOLLOWEDSeraphiel’s lead, his slippered feet moving with a life of their own. He should have asked for better footwear. But then, if he were expected to swim after this, he’d be casting off these flimsy shoes quickly.

‘When I arrive in the lake, what must I know?’ he asked, ignoring how the sea’s waft grew stronger.

Seraphiel twirled them about–proficient in his dance skills at least–as they moved from beneath Samyaza’s bone chandelier.

‘You know what you must.’