Page 36 of The Death Wish

Silas shifted, all degree of uncomfortable, recalling the goddess’s use of the boy. He was appalled he’d not thought tocheck on the young’un himself. ‘I hope he was warm enough…it was a cold night.’ Though he himself had not felt a shiver since waking in the grave, renewed.

‘He’ll be fine. A resilient lad, our boy. And he’ll adore the excuse to have an early Christmas celebration.’ Mr Churchill set down the last of the dishes he’d brought in. A hexagonal butter dish with purple and gold trim. None of the dinnerware matched, but it only made the spread more tantalising to look at.

Charlie and Jane were animated, chatting about Christmas experiences. ‘The tree, no doubt,’ Charlie said, in answer to Jane’s question about her favourite aspect of the season. ‘You?’

‘Gifts! Of course. And I do enjoy an eggnog.’

‘What a lot of hoo-hah over nothing,’ Pitch sighed.

Silas turned to him. ‘You don’t enjoy the season?’

‘Rather irksome in all its sentimentality.’ He played at a shiver. ‘And I am terrible at gift-giving, for I am not interested at all in what others like. And who can be bothered with wrapping paper?’

Silas nudged his knee against Pitch’s leg. ‘You are getting quite slovenly in your ability to lie. That new Inverness coat you had made for me is the most wonderful present I’ve ever received.’

‘Really? That must be why you didn’t even bother putting it on to go and take a piss in Sherwood Forest,’ Pitch said, and though his comment stirred memories that stung, the daemon’s laughter was so frivolous and clearly without any hint of blame that Silas simply smiled. ‘And let’s be honest, you likely do not remember any other presents you’ve received, my dear.’

‘Not a one, but I know I would like yours best.’

‘Dolt.’ Pitch’s hand rested on his thigh, resting there with no sultry intent, just finding its place. ‘Now, can we please eat?’

‘First decent words you’ve spoken, mate,’ Isaac growled. ‘No point putting down a feast this good and not lettin’ us stuff it in our gobs.’

‘Touch it before I say so and lose a finger.’ Tyvain swatted him over the ear, having just finished filling his glass.

‘There’s one more dish, but it will take a little longer.’ Mr Churchill stood, hands on hips, surveying his efforts. ‘Some fancy thing from India, that Cook insisted on. Powerful smell on it, too. And spicy, I’m told. Anyone fancy burning their tongues?’

Pitch nudged Silas. ‘This fellow will adore it. He does enjoy having his tongue in hot places.’

‘Astaroth,’ Isaac growled a warning.

Tyvain saved the day by finally taking her place on Pitch’s far side. She snatched up her glass so enthusiastically wine spilled onto her hand. ‘Right then, a Merry Christmas, to my family. The most fecked up bunch of bastards I’ve ever known, or hope to know.’ She chewed on her lip before continuing. ‘And I love ya, all of ya.’ Her pointed gaze went to Pitch. ‘Even you, you fucking prick.’

‘Oh sod off, hag.’

Charlie stood up, arm raised for another toast. ‘Can I echo those sentiments? Yours Tyvain, not yours, Tobias. And just say that I have no idea how I ended up here, only that I know it is exactly where I was supposed to be…’ His gaze moved to Silas. ‘I think I’ve known, from that day in the forest, when our paths crossed, that there was no other place for me.’

‘Paths far more than crossed, if I recall,’ Pitch declared. With his hand still upon Silas’s thigh it was easy enough to give him a decent pinch over the knuckles. ‘What? Am I wrong?’

‘Go on, Charlie.’ Silas rested his hand over Pitch’s; the wine smoothing a warm place in his empty belly. ‘Finish your toast and pay him no mind.’

‘Well, there’s not much more to say about it,’ Charlie shrugged. ‘I echo Tyvain’s sentiments…the part about family, and loving you, I mean.’ The lad blushed. ‘I’ve never been in so much peril in my entire life, and yet I’ve never felt so protected, so cared for, as I have with you all. So entirely seen.’ His voice hitched, and a tremble in his hand rippled the wine in his glass. ‘Christ, I’ve barely had two sips and I’m rambling.’

He slumped back into his seat.

‘Not at all, Charlie. We love you, too.’ Jane wrapped her arm about the lad, the hint of jasmine played between the heavier scents of the awaiting feast. ‘I do not wish you in harm’s way, but I’m so very glad you and Silas found each other, and us in return.’

Silas swallowed, far more overcome by the moment than he’d intended to allow himself. The notion of family struck hard at him. Especially here, at the end. When they must leave them all behind. Pitch entwined his fingers through Silas’s, leaning in. ‘Does that make us brothers then? If this is a family? I’m fairly sure fornication among siblings is frowned on in this dreary world. Shame. I did so enjoy rutting my big brother.’

Silas sputtered with laughter. He gave Pitch’s hand a tight squeeze. ‘Lucky I would break any law for you.’

‘Lucky indeed.’ Pitch grinned, taking another sip of his wine, a stain already darkening his pink lips.

Sybilla drew herself to standing, glaring away Tyvain’s move to assist her. ‘Don’t you dare. I’m fine.’ She raised her glass, which was already half-empty. ‘One last toast, to those we have lost, and those we’ve found along the way.’

‘To those lost, and those found along the way.’ Everyone chimed in, glasses tinkling as they were knocked against their neighbours.

‘See,’ Pitch muttered. ‘This is why I don’t like this Christmas lark. It is both downcast and jovial at once. Very confusing. Ihave no clue whether I should be laughing riotously, or crying into my drink.’