Page 117 of The Death Wish

It was the answer Pitch dreaded, but it came with little surprise.

‘But he cannot enter, surely? Wasn’t that why you had to meddle with Edward to begin with? You alone can unlock this Sanctuary.’

His partner turned them at a maddened pace. Pitch’s neck jarred with trying to keep his eyes on Seraphiel and the mirror, who moved in an opposing direction.

‘I don’t need my Sanctuary explained to me,’ Seraphiel bellowed. ‘Let me think, you damned daemon. Shut up.’

But the angel had not given Pitch the answer he needed. ‘Tell me this Sanctuary cannot be compromised, Seraphiel. Tell me Michael cannot enter.’

His pulse already beat faster for all the movement, but now it did so unsteadily. Silas and the others stood between Michael and this maniac angel.

‘He’d not dare.’ Seraphiel’s laughter was strained. ‘He’d not dare.’

‘That’s no answer, you fool. He nearly killed a king of daemonkind to prevent us from entering here. He’d dare to knock on your godsforsaken golden door. Fucking gods, let go of me.’ He shouted at the dancer who held him, but he might as well have shouted at a rock. ‘Stop this dance.’

‘Focus on your task, daemon.’

Pitch grunted as he was man-handled onto the next dancer. He tried to pull free, but the young man, with the merest of fuzz upon his chin and a startled look etched on his face, held a magickal strength, one that would require Pitch to use a brute force that would not serve the man well.

‘Seraphiel, let me stay until we have dealt with Michael. Lucifer cannot do it. I’ve left the ankou vulnerable.’ Gods, what had he done? ‘You must protect –’

‘The Nephilim.’ Seraphiel was suddenly, and violently, at Pitch’s side again, his partner’s shoulder jutting at an unseemly angle: a dislocation most likely. ‘The Nephilim is to blame for this. That must be how Michael found my Ferryman.’

A fresh horror took hold of Pitch. ‘No…no, don’t…he had nothing to do with it…’ He gave in to his panic. ‘Don’t touch him. Do you hear me? You’re wrong, you mad, fucking bastard! Leave him be. Promise me, you shall not harm Silas, nor any who are with me.’ Pitch snatched his hand from the young man’s hold, and there was definitely a grunt of pain. ‘Seraphiel, listen to me.’

‘Ready yourself. There are but two chords that remain.’

‘Fuck you, Seraphiel. I’ll not go another step further.’

He punched at the man who sought to take hold of his hand once more and cursed himself for the dull whimper the blow brought.

‘You will go where you have been built to go.’

‘Tell me that Michael cannot enter this Sanctuary. My friends are innocent in this. You must protect them.’ His tongue caught on the foreignness of naming others as friends.

‘I must do nothing you command, Dominion. You endanger them by lingering.’ Seraphiel’s glow lit the ballroom so intensely, Pitch could barely keep his eyes open. ‘It is my Cultivation Michael seeks to destroy. He was always jealous of my work. Of my favour with our lord.’

Pitch drew his flame forth before thinking through the danger of it. The young gent let out a scream, the first true sound from any in the room.

He stifled the flame at once, but the damage had been done.

‘Shit, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.’ Cruel red burns marked the man’s hands, but his servitude to the angel did not allow him to release their hold. His expression remained blank and unreadable, but the tears that fell were horribly clear in the room's brightness. ‘Oh gods, forgive me.’

‘Inevitably, the innocent shall suffer when the mighty play their games,’ Seraphiel said, in a sing-song delivery, like a priest reciting a well-worn prayer. ‘You know this, Vassago, you have been an instrument of their suffering yourself. Ready yourself. There is but one chord that remains.’

Pitch drew in a breath, the reek of the sea searing his nostrils, the glare stinging his eyes. ‘Seraphiel…please…tell me you will not harm the ankou.’

‘If you truly wish to free that creature, then see the Death Wish undone.’

‘His name is Silas, curse you –’

‘His name does not matter. ’

Pitch knew himself back at the centre of the room, beneath the bone chandelier, but the glare lay like a haze his vision could barely penetrate. The simurgh slithered within, twisting about the knots he was made of now; his efforts to save Silas had only brought him certain harm. He sagged into the wounded dancer.

‘Give him your promise, Raph. All he seeks is reassurance.’ Lucifer’s voice moved through the brightness.

‘Luci, you should not be here. This is a dangerous place for you, after what you gave for the Cultivation.’