Page 116 of The Death Wish

‘Theirs is a noble sacrifice.’

‘That’s not a fucking answer to my question.’

‘It was a foolish question.’

‘You’re right,’ Pitch laughed, high and unhappy. ‘Of course you have not sought consent. You never do. I know that well.’

As Pitch was passed to the next dancer, he did so without fuss; not wishing to make life even more miserable for the unfortunates who held him. He was dancing through an appalling prison, a crowd whose abuse exceeded his own. At least he’d been allowed a life of sorts.

‘Complete this task, and these shall be the very last purebreds needed to anchor the Seal.’

‘Don’t!’ Pitch shouted. ‘Don’t you dare burden me with their fate.’

‘Dance, Vassago. You shall find the Lady of the Lake soon.’

Pitch searched again for the angel, who, for a tall, glowing man, was remarkably adept at hiding in the blasted crowd.

‘Lady of the…you mean Satine?’

‘The djinn has gone by many names.’

The scent of the ocean–of the seaweed and carcasses within–grew stronger. Coming in waves, in an olfactory mimic of the sea’s currents.

A young man embraced Pitch next, and the cello took over the symphony, its baser notes dominating. The man was barely out of boyhood.

Where had the unlucky bastard been plucked from, to end up here, in this cursed ballroom? He appeared to be of the upper classes; clean shaven, his shoulders held with that haughty air that the wealthy performed so well. Family would be searching, and worrying; perhaps already grieving.

Amidst the horror of an angel’s disregard, Pitch allowed himself to think of the ankou, to be thankful Silas had not witnessed this. If he’d been here, they’d likely never have made it through to Blood Lake. Silas would have refused to turn his back on these miserable souls.

The tinkling of glass drew Pitch from his thoughts. A shudder ran through the floor, and overhead the chandeliers jiggled, their flames flickering.

‘Faster,’ Seraphiel roared.

The dance moved from quick to manic, in the matter of a heartbeat. And the volume of the music rose until he could no longer hear the padding of feet on the floorboards. The rich smell of the sea rose over and above the sweaty odour of the human workhorses.

Pitch was hurled from the young man to a bare slip of a girl who held no hint of aristocracy beneath her fine evening clothes. Her lips were cracked, and there was a scar upon her chin. Dirt beneath her fingernails, too.

‘What is wrong?’ Pitch shouted. ‘Are we close?’

Another shudder hit the ballroom. Another pungent wave of fetid water moved through the room.

Pitch struggled to find sign of the angel through the gathering, and then, with a suddenness that made Pitch recoil, Seraphiel was right alongside him. His dance partner was a wide-eyed, stiff-backed man with a monocle that had cut into his skin, blood trailing down his cheek.

‘The boundaries are tested,’ Seraphiel spoke at a hiss. ‘Show me, now.’

For a moment, confusion gripped Pitch, thinking the angel spoke to him. His misinterpretation was quickly amended, with the emergence of a hand-mirror from the crowd; a yellow-gold frame with diamonds set in its back. It flew, unaided, at deft speed, and settled its long handle into Seraphiel’s outstretched palm.

The glass panel held no reflection of the angel’s golden hue, nor the sunny brightness of the ballroom. The glass was dark as tar. Obsidian, whose blackness swallowed all the light.

‘Show me,’ Seraphiel shouted, whilst the dance continued unabated.

The blackened surface rippled and brought forth a reflection. Not one of this ballroom, but that of the loch that held the Sanctuary secret. Charlie’s home was a blur in the distance.

But nearer, much clearer, something, or rather someone, travelled in a boat across the loch. Two figures were in the vessel; one seated, the other clad in a suit of armour that dazzled with the clearness of the day.

‘Is that your Ferryman?’ Pitch asked. Only to be whirled away again before an answer came. He was shifted to the centre of the room to perform the dreaded dip beneath Samyaza’s bone. ‘Damn it, Raph. What the fuck is happening? Who is with them?’

‘Michael has found the Sanctuary.’