Page 19 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

SILAS SCOWLEDand pushed up his sleeves. The paintbrush he held dripped with black lacquer and the stench was making his head spin.

I think you missed a section over there.

It was the third time Phillipa had pointed out such an oversight.

‘Good grief, why don’t you do this, then?’ He flicked the brush with irritation, sending droplets flying.

Because I’m dead, Mr Silas, sir. As you know,the lost soul replied with no trace of irritation.And these hands aren’t so good with precise work. I can push things off shelves, mind. Maybe even lift a candlestick if I really put my mind to it, but painting a carriage is quite beyond me. I’m not too proud to admit it. You are doing a very fine job though, otherwise.

Silas gritted his teeth. He’d come here to the carriage house at the Lodge, seeking Phillipa’s company, as he could not decide where to place himself while he waited on Pitch’s return. After Jane had made up the daemon to within an inch of his life, she and Sybilla had headed out for a dinner meeting with a chap from St George’s University of London, following a lead regarding body snatching. Tyvain was not the sort of calming company Silas sought, any more than Gilmore.

He’d considered heading over to Holly Lodge and speaking with Lady Satine about what he had learned of himself at the greensward, but he was unsettled enough as it was. What with Lucifer’s arrival and cursed halos to contend with. Not to mention Pitch being off without him, following the whim of the pendant watch.

Christ, it turned Silas cold to think of what was expected of the daemon. Lucifer claimed Seraphiel had made a monster of him. Well, so far as Silas was concerned, it was Lucifer and the bloody angel who were monstrous. Demanding so much of Pitch, and offering nothing in return.

Silas jabbed his brush at the door panel he was working on, repairing the damage done where the removal of the macabre dressing of bones had scratched off the paintwork. The task should have rested with someone with far greater skill but when Phillipa had lamented the damage, Silas had grabbed at the opportunity to do something other than pace.

He’ll be all right. I’m sure.

‘Who?’ Silas stabbed the brush at a spot that he’d been over a dozen times already.

Now, now, Mr Silas, sir. No need to be like that. You have been like a badger caught in a trap since that pretty fellow of yours walked out the gates looking like a dream.

The paintbrush suffered another thrust against the wood. ‘He is not my fellow.’ Bloody hell, it had moved on fromhisdaemon, to his fellow.

Whatever he is, he’s no stranger to you.

‘Of course not.’ Talk of a stranger wouldn’t make his pulse madden as it did now. ‘We ride as Horsemen, we are partnered. And yes, I am concerned. Of course I am. You know as well as anyone what horrors lurk out there.’

That I do.Phillipa’s sinking mood was palpable, and regret touched at Silas. She’d suffered a great loss, and he was being petty over a word.

‘You are very safe here, Phillipa.’

I know. And I thank you for it.The lost soul sighed, and the horrid gaping wound at her chest contracted.Your fellow will be fine, I’m sure. He doesn’t seem the type to be easily bested. Good gracious me, didn’t he look a vision when he left here? I’d never in a hundred years have imagined a man lay beneath that dress.

Silas kept quiet. He was not sure he could speak of seeing Pitch wrapped up in a gown and made up with rouge and raven-black hair without making a bloody fool of himself. He’d been furious, of course, that he’d not been allowed to travel with the daemon, but beneath the anger and worry had been other stirrings entirely. He’d not dared to get too close; he’d not even gone to say goodbye. The bloody tent-pole in his trousers made that impossible, for one. Silas could picture very well the man who lay beneath those layers, wrapped like a scandalous gift.

‘There you are, Silas.’

The brush slipped at the unexpected voice, smearing black lacquer onto a section of the window.

‘Lady Satine. Is everything all right?’ Silas rose to his feet.

‘Tobias is fine.’ She regarded him with gentle violet eyes. ‘He’s had no trouble getting in to the residence, so all is well there. Now we just wait.’

Silas exhaled. ‘Indeed.’

‘I wondered if we might have a word?’ Lady Satine tilted her head. She was a handsome woman in the appearance she had made for herself. This was her true form, herhumanform at least, when she was not borrowing bodies to deliver a message: superb olive-toned skin and a head of remarkable salt-and-pepper curls. She held a resolute air, a firmness to her that spoke of strength rather than sternness, much like Sybilla.

‘Of course.’ Silas darted a look up at Phillipa, who sat on the carriage roof, feet dangling.

Oh, I get it. Leaving, right now. I’ll be in the Morrison crypt in the cemetery if you need me. Mrs Morrison is an absolute riot.

‘I’m sure,’ Silas said. ‘But don’t go wandering too far. And be watchful. Tell me at once if you hear any talk of the Blight…the gloaming, you may hear it called.’

Yes, yes, Mr Silas. There’s no news of it here in the city so far though. Now don’t go fretting over me. You’re doing enough of that already over him. A few pints is what you need, I’d say.Phillipa gave him a cheery wave, fading away until Silas was blinking at thin air.

‘What did your ghostly friend have to say, Silas? You look like you’ve just sipped on foul milk.’