Page 60 of The Death Wish

‘A bastard. Where is Scarlet?’

‘I don’t know.’ The lad slipped in shale, causing a new rivulet to run.

The ground shook with another blast, another shockingly bright explosion that caused Pitch to blink through tears.

Another miss.

What the fuck was going on? They were sitting ducks, here upon open hillside, and yet three strikes now had blown wide. Each time, the shot of angelfire sent off a shower of stone, hot as embers, which must have been terrible for the mare to endure, but Lalassu held their canopy fast.

‘Let me out, you daft nag.’ Pitch did not dare extend his flame too far, for fear of giving the horse any more to contend with, but Lalassu was giving him no way out. ‘I can deal with him.’

Which was actually part lie, he had no real clue what he could do against a Seraph; but he was useless here, beneath the horsehair. And his fury was difficult to manage. The cunt of asire of his had betrayed them again. How else could this prick have found them?

‘It’s a Seraph, Pitch.’ Silas was on his knees, hunched over, his hands hovering over Charlie’s head; a rather useless shield against nothing, as so far nothing had pierced Lalassu’s protection. Pitch was squeezed uncomfortably between them, his body laid flat against the lad. They were a ridiculous, stacked pyramid. ‘Are they not the highest of angels?’

‘Yes, but that has not stopped me before. And a direct strike will be more than your horse can bear. I need to get out, Silas.’

Another blast rocked their world. Pristine white light seeped through the tiny cracks in the Pale Horse’s mane. Lalassu screamed, and for a terrifying moment Pitch thought the mare had been struck, but it seemed she was just as pissed off as he was. She rose to her feet, keeping them beneath her veil. Silas eased back enough that Pitch could slip free, scrambling to one side as Charlie coughed and spluttered, his face darkened with being pushed into the ground by the pressure of a daemon and ankou atop him.

‘Climb.’ Silas’s commanding tone brokered no argument, even if Pitch was inclined to protest. ‘Move now.’

Strands of horsehair touched at their backs, like guiding hands to urge them upwards, and Lalassu wound a particularly thick strand about Charlie’s waist, preventing the lad from an outright fall.

‘She could have done this from the bloody start,’ Pitch said, though none bothered to reply.

Together they laboured on hands and knees, clawing ever higher whilst their poorly-aiming assailant took their time with their next shot.

‘Something’s not right, Silas.’ Pitch and the ankou moved, side by side, just behind Charlie who puffed as he hurried to make his way up the unforgiving slope. ‘Michael does not miss.’

Once again a blast came. Once again, it struck near enough to make a blinding flash, and send the shale rattling and cascading, and generally making their day preposterous, as they sought to climb through the instability.

But there was a difference this time.

Amber and vermilion hues joined that of the stark white.

The flaming shades matched those dancing beneath Pitch’s skin.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered.

There was a reason for Michael’s ineptitude, and it was not inebriation.

Pitch’s distraction caused him to stumble. His knee met a lip of rock with eye-watering force. Material ripped, and skin tore, but before he had chance to finish a curse Silas grabbed him by the waist, keeping him steady, despite the ankou’s own awkwardness of angle.

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a daemon out there. They have to be the reason that arsehole can’t seem to strike a target.’

‘Lucifer?’

Likely, but the intensity of the flame was not as it should be if the King of Daemonkind were responsible. ‘I’m not certain.’

The shifting, rocky ground gave way to a flatter surface, covered with thin grass, and softer soil.

‘This is it. The cave is here, I remember all this grass.’ Charlie found a turn of speed, straining against Lalassu’s more cautionary pull. ‘Let me go now, we’re here. It’s just here.’

A blast of angelfire sent everyone diving for cover.

‘Let me see, damn it.’ Pitch grasped at Lalassu’s mane, and the mare obliged him, parting her strands just so. Pleasing as the view was, it did not give him hint of either angel nor daemon. Only will-o-wisp. Scarlet danced about, stubby hands bloated to make them more visible. As though anyone wouldneed guidance towards the roughly built wall that bordered the entrance to a low-roofed cave.