Page 32 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

Silas ran his fingers over the satin concealing Pitch’s hand and decided on honesty. ‘It was pretence that you were my sister, but nothing else was a charade. If you still think I do not care for you by now, then I worry the hit to your head was more damaging than you are letting on.’

Pitch screwed up his superbly perfect nose. To Silas it seemed as though the daemon was confused by his words. As though Pitch truly did not see the ankou had an affection for him.

Bloody hell. This creature was infuriating, even when he was not seeking to be.

‘I do think I need some more champagne,’ Pitch declared. ‘What say you?’

‘I could be persuaded,’ Silas returned. ‘Do you have anywhere in mind?’

‘Let’s head towards Piccadilly. It will be a delightful calamity at this time of the evening.’

‘All right then.’

Their light-hearted stroll was as much a deception as their appearance. They were playing at being something they were not, and it was bloody fantastic. It was a cool but not unpleasant evening, a preciously calm night before winter descended in full force. Silas grinned into the night air, bobbing his head when other people meandered by. A long-legged chap approached, draped in a dramatic embroidered grey coat, his movements in the quickened way of the nervous. Silas was startled by his delicate tune, one of flitting high notes and a beating sun, hot sand and gritty wind.

Djinn. Gazelle shifter.

As interesting as it was to imagine this chap growing hooves and horns, Silas stiffened. Was this the moment they discovered the elixir had worn from them? But the chap only glanced their way, showing no sign either of them were of any interest at all. He was more bothered with reaffixing his rather eccentric boilerman cap.

‘Would you prefer to spend your evening with that fellow?’ Pitch said. ‘You are staring.’

‘No, no, but he was djinn, was he not? He didn’t notice us at all.’

Cocking his head, Pitch regarded Silas. ‘You saw his nature?’

‘I heard it.’ He fluttered his fingers near his head. ‘It’s strange…a melody comes to me and I understand what it means.’

‘Since when?’

Silas hesitated. ‘I heard it a little when we met that other ankou.’ He’d not name him ever again. ‘I saw his aura too, and thought it perhaps just because he was one of my kind. But it’s happening with all naturals now. It only started a few days ago in earnest. Jane was the first I heard a melody for.’ He shook his head. ‘I had no idea so many naturals were living amongst humanity in such a way.’

‘I dare say youdidhave an idea once upon a time. When your brain hadn’t turned to mush.’ Pitch watched him. ‘What about me? What do I sound like?’

‘Nothing…there is nothing. I mean, I’m sure it will come,’ Silas said quickly. ‘I think you are right about my brain being mushy still. My faculties are not yet what they should be.’ Likely ever would be if the Lady’s guesses about him were correct. He’d not let those morbid thoughts ruin this evening though.‘But the good news is that chap did not notice us. The elixir is concealing us still.’

Pitch lifted his hand and brushed fingertips against Silas’s cheek. ‘As are our disguises. You are grey and shaved off your beard…to follow me.’

‘I am and I did.’ They had come to a standstill, right in the middle of the pavement. Silas was vaguely aware that there were some people approaching. ‘I’m not sure you like the beard gone?’

‘I can’t decide.’ He tilted his head, still touching Silas’s cheek. ‘Without it…it is less you.’

‘Then I shall grow it back.’ With the merest hesitation, he turned his head and brushed a kiss against Pitch’s wrist. He’d been longing to do that awhile.

‘I suppose that might be best,’ Pitch whispered. ‘But perhaps it is actually more comfortable this way.’

A pair of men in top hats and fine coats stepped around them. One cast Silas a wink, seeing nothing more than a man and his lady having a brazen, intimate moment.

‘More comfortable?’ Silas frowned.

The prince pushed himself up onto his toes, bringing himself as close as he could to the ankou’s level. ‘For me.’

His lips parted. Silas leaned in to meet him at once. He exhaled against Pitch’s mouth and their lips met. They moved against one another so easily, so hungrily. Silas’s appetite for this closeness made it hard to breathe. He cupped his free hand to the back of Pitch’s head, bringing the daemon gently closer, causing him to whimper and his tongue to dance against Silas’s more urgently. The delightful bittersweet tang of Pitch’s mouth mingled with a hint of champagne. A breeze toyed with the daemon’s wig, stirring the ringlets of ink, reminding Silas that they were standing out in the open with all of London passing them by as they kissed. The thrill of it was beyond words, his belly, and his cock, were tight and heavy with the knowledge.

The prince was first to pull back, and they caught their breath in unison. ‘Now, Mr Cargill, we are supposed to be avoiding attention.’

‘Then it’s best you do not kiss me like that.’ Silas was gruff.

‘I shall never do it again.’ Pitch swept his skirts back. With a tug at Silas’s arm, he set them walking once more.