Page 121 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘So…’ Edward squinted. ‘So very bright. You’re almost as bright as he is.’

‘He, who?’ Pitch spat the question.

‘I think you know very well.’

Pitch’s temper flared. ‘Don’t fucking play with me, Charters.’

Charlie’s freckled face bunched in a frown, but Edward pressed his hand to his arm. ‘It’s all right, Charlie.’ He turned to Pitch. ‘He says not to utter his name here, but he is the one I’ve spoken of before…from my dreams…the one you said was my imagination struck mad. Everyone said I was mad…’ Edward grunted as Charlie helped him sit on the edge of the coffin. He was scowling, but Pitch suspected it was not because of the uncomfortable seat, rather at being condemned a lunatic. ‘But I am not. Ineverwas. The Holy One says you have always known who it was I saw.’

The fucking Holy One? Seraphiel was an imperious enough bastard to name himself so. Pitch shoved his scarlet-smeared fingers into his hair. ‘And this…’ He could barely bring himself to say it. ‘ThisHoly One…he’s speaking to you? He told you I would come?’

‘In his way, yes. It’s not exactly speaking.’ Edward was far surer of himself than he ought to be, what with waking to find himself lying in a coffin, the ghost of an angel inside him.

Waking to find himself a prophet.

What the blazes was happening here?

Was Seraphiel actually using Edward as a vessel again? Pitch clutched at his hair, pulling at the roots. No. That wasn’t it. When Seraphiel had possessed Edward before, the man’s presence had been pushed aside, tucked away in a corner where it could not bother anyone.

And besides it could not be as before, because the angel was dead. The angel was very, very dead.

‘Right, I’m sure you two have lots of catching up to do, but am I the only one thinking this is really not the time or place? And I’m just going to say it, the both of you are really disconcerting to look at right now…Edward…your eyes…’ Charlie shrugged off his own confusion. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

‘My eyes?’ He touched at the delicate skin just beneath his eyes. ‘They feel fine…’ Edward frowned. ‘Actually, I feel…quite content. I know that shouldn’t make any sense, considering all that’s gone on…’ He shrugged. ‘But you are right. We need to go.’

‘Brilliant advice.’ Pitch tried to summon the energy he needed to get to his feet. He was not fond of uncertainty nor at having a creature he had murdered fill his life once more, and he was balls deep in both here. ‘Did the Holy One happen to shove a map with the exit into your head too?’

Edward shook his head, massaging his temples. ‘Not for this Sanctuary, no. He doesn’t know this one…only his. And we need to go there.’ His head jerked up, and his gaze was unfocused as he spoke. ‘You and I…Tobias…I must take you there. That’s what I must do… That’s what I must do… I know the way… I cannot fail him…’

‘Must get me where, Edward?’ Pitch said, wanting and yet not wanting at all, to know he’d heard it right.

‘His Sanctuary of course. That’s what we must do.’

Pitch stared at the man while Edward in turn peered about like he were looking through a fog. His gaze seemed unable to settle or to focus. The flecks of gold were overcome by storm grey, and he must have peered right past Pitch three times before Charlie whispered urgently, ‘Can we go, please, Tobias? We really need to get out of here.’

Edward kept working his fingertips against his temple as Charlie helped him to his feet. ‘There was someone…she was…oh god…magic…’ Again he was peering into an ether of his own, head moving this way and that as he peered about at sights unseen. ‘Magick,’ he exclaimed. ‘There is magic here, Tobias. Magic intended to hurt you.’

‘We could have done with that warning hours ago. The magickdidhurt us, me and the ankou both.’

‘The ankou…Silas…yes…the Horseman.’ Edward reached for Pitch but was too far away to have hope of touching, and nearly toppled himself out of the coffin.

‘Steady on,’ Charlie cried.

‘They are going to seal you in, Tobias. I heard them speak of it.’ Edward was breathless. ‘They have already begun.’

‘Again, not news!’ Pitch shouted. ‘If you want to tell me something useful, tell me where the fucking front door is, Edward. Or better yet, tell me where the ankou is. Can the Holy One find Silas? Tell him I’m not fucking leaving here until we –’

‘Tobias, stop shouting.’ Charlie spoke with some duress as he took Edward’s weight while the lieutenant stepped over the lip of the coffin. Edward’s clothes hung off him. The man had clearly lost weight since Pitch had seen him last but was still a decent load for Charlie to carry. He should have offered them some assistance. But he didn’t want to touch Edward. He did not want to know what he might see…or feel…if he did so.

Pitch wiped his bloodied hand against his trousers, a pang of melancholy striking as he watched Charlie encourage Edward along, keeping him safe from any risk of a fall. Pitch knew how that felt now, to be handled carefully, to be watched and worried over. There was a gaping void at his side, wide and broad as an oaf, that hurt as keenly as any of his wounds. Pitch blinked, dropping his gaze to the ground – to where Edward and Charlie were barefooted, the soles of their feet scarlet with the stain of rowan berries. And now their knees as they prepared to crawl through the pyramid-shaped hole in the tree trunk. An easier option than attempting to climb over the wooden barrier. Listening to the berries squishing beneath their weight, Pitch was suddenly hopeful.

‘What about your bracelet, Charlie?’ Pitch said. ‘Make it find Silas. Make it grow another tree and send out the roots like it did for –’

‘I can’t make it do anything, Tobias.’ Charlie held his hand over Edward’s head, ensuring he stayed low as he crawled through the archway. He made a painfully slow job of manoeuvring himself through the narrow gap. ‘That is not how it worked.’

‘Have you tried?’ he said tightly.

‘Forget the bloody tree, Tobias,’ Edward snapped. ‘And forget your pet, he’s collateral. Use your flame to get us out of here. Do it now, that is a command.’