Page 135 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘Well,’ the ankou said. ‘If not for your call to Kaneko, the Order might never have found us. When you rang, he recalled hearing a lot of goings-on in the background and thought he might have heard the name of the venue but couldn’t bring it to mind. He agreed to let the Lady and Mr Ahari try and find the memory and delve into it. He even brought the umbrella that birthed him out of hiding so they might use it to delve deeper. That does not sound to me like someone who is a traitor.’ No. It certainly did not. The object that birthed a tsukumogami was fiercely guarded, for it was the heart of the spirit. Without it, they ceased to exist. But Pitch made a nonchalant sound, not committing an opinion either way, and Silas continued, ‘Once they had the name, it took time to realise the Crimson Bow was not in London at all. Apparently, it was quite the task. We certainly did not make it easy to be rescued.’

‘How were we to know we’d need to be so?’ Pitch raised a languid shrug. ‘Anyway, that hardly venerates Kaneko. His memory loss could still have been a ploy. One which gave the Morrigan plenty of time to bury us deep.’

Silas sighed. ‘My dear, I fear we gave them plenty of that ourselves.’

The words weren’t meant to be unkind, for the ankou rarely was, but Pitch flinched nonetheless. The blame for the entire cock-up could be laid squarely at Pitch’s feet. ‘Is Mr Ahari still here?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps we should speak with him now.’ He edged his foot under the blanket so he could poke at the child, who was making some headway on her attempt to scale the seat.

‘No.’ Silas shook his head. ‘He’s called some conference of the kitsunes of London together, trying to find trace of Ernest Weatherby. I think they believe him a weak link in the scheme of things. Isaac and Matilda went with him, and it’s been agreed that any rumours of our demise will not be refuted. There’s a chance the Morrigan may believe we did not escape. The seal was opened a mere crack to free us, I’m told. At the very least they may believe notallof us survived. Lady Satine has gone to organise Sanu and Lalassu to be brought to us. She will be back within a day or two.’

Pitch’s mood dipped a little lower. ‘Edward told her, then? About where we are to go next?’

Silas’s face shadowed. ‘No…but did he tell you?’

‘He did.’ Pitch glanced at Tilly. ‘A place only he can lead us.’

Silas looked pained. ‘Edward is not well, Pitch. Sybilla is with him now, but he has a terrible fever and isn’t lucid. I’ve only just managed to get Charlie out of his sickroom this hour, out into the fresh air. He’s barely left the lieutenant’s side.’

But Pitch was not interested in the lad playing nurse. ‘Sybilla? The Valkyrie is here?’

Silas nodded. ‘It was she who was able to pierce the Morrigan’s seal and free us. Well, her magick…and whatever it was Edward did. I’m afraid it has cost him rather dearly, Pitch. He’s awfully weak. Where is it we must go? What did he say?’ Silas crouched down beside Tilly.

‘The angel’s Sanctuary. That’s where we are to go.’ Pitch rushed the words before they choked him. He’d have preferred to learn he was to go straight to Blood Lake rather than wander those halls again, now made all the worse for knowing how used there he’d been.

Silas drew in a breath, and his expression veered dangerously close to pity. ‘Oh, Pitch…’

‘For the gods’ sake, Mercer, don’t look at me like that. A trip down memory lane is hardly the worst of my worries.’

Silas’s hands twitched. Damn him, he seemed to be considering one of his hugs. So Pitch did the most sensible thing. He gave Tilly’s shoulder a hard nudge and toppled the child off its summit. It fell with a thump on its backside on the floorboards. The child’s bottom lip did very strange things, wriggling about like a lizard’s cut tail.

‘Blast it, Pitch.’ Silas scooped up the child a moment before it released the most god-awful racket. ‘Be gentle, she is just a babe.’

He bounced the mewling brat in his arms, pacing over to where Forneus had lifted his broad head, ears flattened back as he glared at Pitch.

‘There, there,’ Silas soothed.

Pitch did not like the brush of guilt he felt at having dispensed with the child so roughly. So what if the ankou might think less of him? With an indignant huff, Pitch gathered up his blankets and got to his feet. The earring flashed golden as it fell from the folds and hit the floor, skidding to the edge of the rug. He had been preparing to march off in a huff, but he felt inclined to gather up the changeling’s gift.

The child’s tears turned to quieter sniffs, Silas still muttering consoling nonsense. He set her down next to the skriker, patted the hound’s head, and ruffled the girl’s snowy strands before he straightened. By the time he was upright, the child was busy removing one of her hair clips to tie it to the hound’s fur, only the dampness on her face showing any sign she’d been upset to begin with.

Pitch stared down at the earring as Silas approached. He could not bring himself to look at the ankou, fearing he’d see disapproval there and knowing it was rightly deserved.

‘She is fast to recover,’ Silas said quietly, stepping behind him. ‘But perhaps you could be kinder next time she wishes to sit with you?’

The ankou wrapped his arms about Pitch’s middle, bringing with him that sense of impermeability that Pitch craved so much.

‘I suppose so.’

Silas touched his lips to Pitch’s cheek. ‘How are you feeling?’ he whispered. The heat of his breath sent shivers down Pitch’s neck. ‘Does your back pain you? Be honest now.’

‘Honestly, it does not. I feel…’ Pitch frowned. ‘I feel quite well, all told. Surprisingly so.’

‘I am very glad.’ Another soft kiss, this one to the lobe of Pitch’s ear. ‘You slept so soundly overnight, not a single nightmare. You barely stirred. I poked you once just to ensure you hadn’t left me.’ He nuzzled his lips in behind Pitch’s ear, kissing the thin skin there. ‘Forgive me but I didn’t have the heart to replenish the amuletum… You looked so very peaceful, and did not seem in any pain.’

‘Have you been watching me sleep, Mr Mercer?’

‘Would it bother you if I had, Mr Astaroth?’

Pitch did not pause. ‘Not at all.’ He felt Silas’s smile, felt the roughness of the ankou’s returning stubble against his cheek.