Page 120 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Pitch got ahold of the coronet which sat at the top of the watch’s design and dragged the pendant from its pulpy hiding place. There was no telling the item was gold, it was so drenched in the deep crimson of Pitch’s blood.

The watch slipped from between his fingers, and it was Charlie who got to it first, cupping his hands to rescue the grim token.

‘What now?’ Charlie might yet collapse in a quivering heap, but for now he was stalwart and resolute as any wartime nurse. He wiped the stained watch upon his clothes as he waited for an answer. Pitch saw then why Silas might admire the lad so.

Pitch sat back on his heels. His body trembled with the forces spoiling beneath the surface, the rising clamour of the wildness and halo’s mark had combined into a reckoning he struggled to control. His skin and bones did not seem enough to contain them both.

‘Give it to him.’ He jerked his chin towards Edward.

Charlie’s gaze darted back and forth between them. ‘He’s asleep… What do you want me to –’

‘Pin it on him,’ Pitch growled. ‘Shove it up his fucking nose…I don’t know.’

He just needed it to be done. For this sense of fraying at all his edges to settle. For his body not to ache at every joint and burn in every vein.

Charlie leaned over the lieutenant, speaking to him as he went. ‘I told you it would be all right, Edward. They are here to rescue us…just as I said.’ The lad swept back a strand of grey hair that had curled across Edward’s nose, doing so with a gentleness that spoke of a deep concern for the man. ‘We just need you to open your eyes, Edward. Come on now. This will help you…Tobias says.’

Tobias had said no such thing. Tobias…Pitch…Vassago…was an inept wreck at that very moment, barely in control of himself, let alone any rescue. Charlie was careful with his pinning, slipping one hand beneath the lieutenant’s shirt to ensure he did not prick the skin, whilst the other manoeuvred the pin into the fabric, the very same fabric the lad wore: unflattering checks of contrasting grey that was the institution’s patient uniform.

‘Forgive me,’ Pitch whispered. For it felt the right moment to say such things. He and Seraphiel had taken so much from the lieutenant. And the stealing seemed set to continue.

‘There we go, then,’ Charlie muttered, patting at the watch where he’d pinned it to the right-hand side of Edward’s chest like one of the medals the lieutenant owned. ‘Right…it’s on him. What happens…’

Edward’s body jerked. He sucked in a harsh breath, and his eyes flew open.

The prophet’s irises were a radiant citrine. As unforgettable as the Seraph who had borne them.

He tilted his head, gazing beyond where Charlie had his hands pressed to his mouth. He found Pitch, and a tiny smile curved his lips.

And when Seraphiel’s voice came again, it was not from the depths of Pitch’s skull but from Edward’s own lips.

‘Vassago.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

PITCH RECOILEDfrom the name…from the angel’s voice…as though he’d been struck. All the noise around him vanished, all the heat found a way to leave his skin. Pitch’s pulse was manic, the beats blurring to a hum.

‘How are you here?’ He was hoarse as fear dragged its claws along the bars of the beast’s cage.

Edward blinked, and the glare of citrine settled into tiny flecks that floated amongst the lieutenant’s own more pleasant grey.

The dazed man struggled to gather his bearings.

‘Jesus, my head.’ Edward sought to sit up, but Charlie was there first. ‘Charlie? Oh thank god you are all right. I thought they had…’ He grimaced. ‘I thought they had hurt you. I could hear screaming.’

The lad was busy fussing over the lieutenant in a way which would have made Silas proud. Gods, he was going to lose his mind to see the lad upright and in one piece.

‘There’s been quite a lot of that…’ Charlie grew pained. ‘But it wasn’t all me. I hoped you had slept through it all…’

Edward leaned into Charlie. With the way the lad sat, the lieutenant was hidden from Pitch’s view. Which was fine. Pitch was not keen to see those flame-riddled eyes again. ‘I drifted in and out… I heard things… I couldn’t tell what was dream and what was real.’ He ran his hand along the glass rim, his face troubled. ‘But I see much of it was not a dream.’ He clutched at Charlie’s sleeve. ‘He’s here now though, isn’t he? I didn’t dream that.’

‘Tobias?’ Charlie helped Edward shift onto his knees in a tender way that betrayed his affection.

Pitch watched them, taking note of the gentle air between them. Just one chance meeting in a Berkeley Square pub seemed highly unlikely, with the doe-eyed way the vagabond regarded the lieutenant.

‘Yes. Tobias is coming for us, Charlie.’ Edward was panting by the time he’d made it to kneeling. He draped an arm about Charlie’s shoulder and looked up. The lieutenant’s breath caught, and his eyes, still flecked with unsettling gold, narrowed. ‘Tobias…oh…you’re…’

‘I’m what?’