Page 18 of The Death Wish

He carried on, wrapping his arms about himself as he went, regretting his decision not to find his coat, but distracted by thoughts of Arcadia. Did they have such celebrations as Christmas, he wondered? From what he knew, it did not seem such a place, but then, he knew so very little about Pitch’s home. Maybe Pitch had experienced a Christmastime here…with Edward perhaps? Had it had been Christmas Eve when the lieutenant gifted Pitch the pendant watch? An exchange between lovers.

Silas’s mood soured at the thought. Which was ridiculous. He should be pleased that Pitch had known pleasanter times, happiness in a different skin, with a different man. But Silas had never been able to banish from his mind that day at the Moon Inn, when he’d been an appalling voyeur, and watched Edward and Pitch in their most private moment.

There was a small part of Silas that resented Edward for having laid with Pitch, he’d not deny it. But such jealousy was astoundingly stupid, and the poor lieutenant did not deserve it. Considering all that had gone on since, Edward probably wished he’d never met Tobias Astaroth. And there was the fact that Pitch had likely bedded three quarters of the British Isles, perhaps the continent too, not to mention Arcadia. Silas would wear himself out if he chose to be jealous of all who’d shared the prince’s bed. He knew all that. He knew his sense of possessiveness, when it came to the daemon, was terribly juvenile and ill-mannered. Silas was a sensible man. For the most part.

Just not the part where Pitch was involved.

So he’d enjoy the distraction of his own petty jealousies. They helped him to ignore the enormous, greater picture that faced them both.

The Sanctuary. The lake. The coming of an end.

Silas carried on, breathing deeper, letting the heady waft of the graves tickle at his senses, while he pictured Pitch as he’d been a few hours previously. Lost to pleasure. A pleasure that Silas bestowed, and no one else. A smile found his lips as he enjoyed the distraction of his own silliness, which in turn helped him ignore the biting cold, and the tiredness that was bone deep, despite hours spent sleeping. Lifting his feet was a chore, and his mind was foggy with the need to close his eyes.

The lure of the graveyard took him down a narrow alleyway between two thatched-roof cottages, and out to where a small church was now a visible hulking shadow further across the way.

The whispering began then.

The prickle at his skin that announced the presence of a soul. The very first sense he’d had of any deathly stirrings. The scythe remained ever silent though, unbothered by the ghost who watched them.

They watched from a distance, hidden in shadow, but not in the least threatening. Their excitement was palpable. He strode on, the gates of the cemetery now in sight, and the single whisper was joined by another. Then another.

Until Silas was walking along with a pack of lost souls in tow. They kept to the shadows, slinking alongside him, making the darkness stretch and slide with their movement.

He sighed. ‘You really are not so well hidden as you think.’

That drew an excited murmur from his little crowd, some of delight, others sounding not so sure.

It’s him. Definitely him, look at that beard.

The beard huh? Nothing to do with the way he’s glowing like a bloody full moon, and sounds like a choir from heaven.

Oh lordy, what I wouldn’t do to be able to touch things again. Namely his lovely beard.

Will you leave off about the beard, Matthew?

It’s lovely.

I’m scared.

Me too, Claudia. Do you think it will hurt?

The chatter was incessant now. There were at least five souls that he could sense.

My word, he’s handsome, isn’t he? The tales don’t do him justice.

Hush, you fool man. If that daemon hears you, you’ll be tasting his fire.

And why the heck would I be worried about fire then? How would the daemon harm me? We’re dead, he’s very much not.

We’re dead?

Very funny, Georgina. That joke got old about fifty years ago.

‘Excuse me,’ Silas rubbed at his arms. He swore the temperature had plummeted further. His breath was a ghostly plume, and the tip of his nose was numb. ‘There seem an awful lot of you here.’

He spoke to us!

Did that already. Told you your hearing wasn’t so good, Peter.