Page 139 of The Death Wish

‘Mercer,’ Lucifer hissed, limping his way deeper into the ballroom, both hands braced to the head of his cane. ‘Seraphiel speaks with Jacquetta now on reinforcing the outer boundaries, but he will be on his way here soon. If he sees you, I cannot say where his madness will take him. Leave, now. He and I shall deal with this.’

‘I do not fear that angel.’

‘But he fears you, and that is far worse.’ Lucifer glanced back at the doorway. ‘I’ll not give you another chance. Leave.’

Silas bristled with protest, and knew his shadow crept larger, more threatening than before. But before a word left his mouth, Scarlet moved between them.

Their rainbow hues shone brighter, a spectacular prettiness that ate at the malformation in the room.

They brightened until Silas was blinking, and Lucifer was lost from view. Edward grunted, protesting the glare.

But it was over quickly.

The spectacular brilliance faded.

The daemon had not moved, but something in him had changed. The line-etching fear had softened. He was still troubled–still frail–but a weight had left him.

He looked to Silas. ‘Good luck, Mr Mercer. Be quick. You won’t have long. Make sure you are not here when I return.’ Lucifer turned, but paused, the move half-done. ‘If you reachhim, if you should survive,…tell him…tell him I truly intended to do as he asked. I’d like to think his opinion of me goes no lower, when all is said and done, and I am not there to protest otherwise.’

The King of Daemonkind did not wait for an answer. He turned away, nodding at the wisp that fluttered in close, and chittered sweetly. Each step seemed pained, but he was soon out the doors.

They closed behind him, vanishing both the daemon and the wisp from view.

What the bloody hell had just happened? How did a tiny creature–sputtering nonsense–cajole a great daemon into walking away?

‘Silas…he’s giving us time…don’t waste it,’ Edward said. ‘Put your hand on my shoulder, and let’s begin.’

In something of a daze, Silas did as he was bid, and he assumed the position. Ready for the dance. He winced; thinking on the Crimson Bow when he’d last danced. Pitch had sought to teach him. The longing was near overwhelming.

Edward spoke one word. Strange, but with an elegance that made it float in the air. Angelic.

The quartet struck up. The harpist playing the first notes, the violins joining, the cellist last of all.

Edward lifted Silas’s hands up and down, working into a rhythm. Then he took his first step. The first few were hesitant, and Silas had to work not to stand on his toes. But as the melody flowed, so too did their dance. Edward grew surer, the tension in his face lightening, and he lead Silas firmly. Once they had to step over a body, a jarring experience that roiled Silas’s gut. The dance used all the floor, and after a time it became clear that it was a pattern repeating over and over; out to each of the corners, crossing at the centre, then out to the remaining corners. An hourglass.

Edward’s grip on his hand tightened, painfully so for one who’d been so frail not so long ago. Silas breathed in sharply at the blood that ran from the lieutenant’s nose and one of his eyes.

‘Christ, Edward.’

‘Never mind me,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘It is almost done.’

A dull reverberation ran beneath their feet, the angel’s attack unrelenting. Silas could only hope that purebreds would escape his wrath; his ferocity focused on the daemons and angels alone.

Edward took his hand from Silas’s hip and shifted in behind him with a grace and ease that Silas could only dream of. Wrapping about Silas’s waist, the lieutenant whispered, ‘Good luck, friend.’

He cast Silas, a man easily double his size, into a spin, sending him out to arm’s length. Letting him go.

The pace of the spin was whirlwind fast, the room blurred, the melody distorted, as though strings broke upon the players’ instruments. Silas threw out his arms, seeking something to hold, right before the world fell away beneath his feet.

Silas plunged.

Into watery depths.

And he sank like the proverbial stone.

Into misery.

He kicked out, spreading his arms in wide strokes, fighting against the dragging down of his body.