Page 26 of The Death Wish

‘Don’t let your mind darken so, Tobias. I see where your thoughts try to take you.’

‘Then I truly pity you, for it is a fucking awful place to go.’

‘You cannot leave him. If you go without him, he will find you. But he will suffer all the while until he does.’

Pitch ran his thumb over the dirty fabric. ‘He does not suffer now though, does he? I doubt I’d have to ask the goddess twice to keep him. She could hold him here, as he is.’

If Silas’s days were numbered, then let them be spent wandering aimlessly in a pretty garden, or foraging for wild mushrooms; whatever the hell he wanted, so long as it was peaceful.

‘Tobias?’ The firmness suggested it was not the first time the angel had called his name. ‘Are you alright?’

Not in the slightest. The idea of leaving Silas behind might be noble, but what a pity Pitch was so far from being a nobleman. He folded the trousers and set them aside.

He was too selfish to let Silas go as easily.

‘I’m fine.’

Sybilla urged the ferret from her lap, and pushed away from the headstone. Despite the silvery shadows Pitch saw her wince. ‘Silas defied his goddess for me. I cannot imagine what greater lengths he would go to for you.’ Sybilla glanced skyward, the whites of her eyes vibrant in the dim light. ‘Nor you for him. I feel a trace of your affections in my returned magick.’

That was perhaps the most appalling thing Pitch had heard of late. And, not knowing how a decent fellow would handle the situation, he stayed true to his miserable self. ‘Oh, please tell me you know we fucked about in that dream? I see now your magick was likely the reason we found each other at all. Were you aroused by what you saw? Could I perhaps entice you to dabble in a pillar or two?’

‘Gods, you are a fool.’

‘But a desirous one, no?’

‘No.’ A genuine smile found her punished lips. ‘You have no idea how desperately my magick raced to me, when it knew I had survived. Anything to escape the tawdry existence it shared with you.’

Laughter drifted between them, here in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by ghosts and grim and monsters.

‘I’m glad you didn’t die.’ Pitch laid his smouldering hand on Silas’s shoulder. The shimmer of heat made the drying strands of the ankou’s hair shift.

The angel did not reply, her gaze fixed towards the centre of the yard, where the tallest of the headstones stood. An angel, of all things.

‘But I did. My wings did not survive, nor my halo. I am grateful for this chance to make amends, of course, but I am not as I was, before.’

‘Amends?’

The Valkyrie levelled her gaze at him. ‘I should have been able to protect you, and I could not.’

Pitch found it too hard to hold her gaze. He looked away. ‘Before you spend another moment flagellating yourself, may I suggest you redirect your whip towards another angel. If Seraphiel had not had Edward turn me into a useless suit of bones in this devastatingly gorgeous skin, I’d have been able to protect myself. Hastings would not have had to sacrifice themselves, you would still have your wings, I would not have spilled secrets like a fucking fountain, and Silas would not have become a carcass for Morrigan to pick to the bone.’ He laid a hand to his belly, the movement out of Sybilla’s line of sight. The angel waited. ‘You could all be back at Holly Village by now. Or down at The Atlas perhaps. Silas would be stuffing his face with that awful Indian dish he adores.’

‘Kedgeree? It’s rather wonderful, actually. Despite the British dampening it down, and insisting it a breakfast dish.’ Sybilla got to her feet with a grunt, using the headstone as a prop. ‘He has very decent taste, for the most part.’ She made a point of eyeing Pitch up and down. ‘But on occasion Silas does go quite off the rails.’

Pitch’s gesture was not polite at all. ‘You must be feeling better. You have returned to imagining yourself remotely funny, but your humour is as dire as that bloody dish.’

‘I thought her rather amusing.’ The croaky, rough sound had Pitch’s blood lighting up.

‘Silas?’

‘Welcome back, Mr Mercer.’ Sybilla’s chuckle was warm. ‘You’ve been missed.’

Pitch stared down at the ankou, who was moving slowly, eyes fluttering. ‘You bloody sod, how long have you been awake?’

‘It is good to see you too, my heart.’ Silas grunted, trying to push himself to his elbow but having no luck with it until Pitch set a hand beneath his shoulder.

‘Here, be careful. Take your time.’ He eased Silas to sitting, the cloak falling away to rest in the ankou’s lap. Pitch clucked his tongue. ‘Keep it on, you’ll freeze out here, damn you.’

‘Are you fussing over me?’ Silas still had that rumble. And it still did odd things to the pit of Pitch’s stomach.