Page 52 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘Tilly, little one, come now.’ Silas moved to intercept, but the changeling shook her head, her face wrinkling.

‘No touch.’

Silas pulled back at once. The last thing they needed was a screamed tantrum. And he did not mind so much how Pitch pressed up against him, seeking protection from the dastardly infant.

‘Go away, damn you.’ Pitch flicked his fingers but Tilly was determined.

‘Hug.’

Without further ado, Tilly clambered into his lap.

Pitch inhaled sharply, hands raised as though it was dirty laundry in his lap, not a grinning child. ‘Silas, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Language, please.’

‘Fire man scared.’ Tilly was on her knees. Pitch’s lap was buried beneath the bunching of blanket and sheet, his nakedness thankfully, for Tilly at least, covered. The child pointed her fingertip against his chin, and he tried to shake her off by tilting his head right back. ‘No be scared now.’

‘I’m not bloody scared, thank you very much,’ he told the ceiling. ‘And I’m not a fucking fire—’

‘Pitch, for god’s sake, don’t swear in front of her. She’s referring to your eyes. She must have seen them. You were upset—’

‘I’m still upset. She is digging her knee into my co—’

‘Don’t you dare say it.’ Silas lifted Tilly from Pitch’s lap, away from his glare. But the child was not happy about it.

‘No, no. Fire man.’ She tugged one of the earrings free, one plump hand extended towards Pitch. Clearly she wished him to take her little gift. A tiny flower was encased in the amber, a daisy perhaps. Silas was too busy keeping his eye on the unhappy daemon to discern. Tilly’s bottom lip began to quiver when Pitch made no move to accept her offering.

‘Oh goodness, Pitch just take it.’

‘It’s ugly. I don’t want it.’

‘Well, that is patently untrue. It’s quite unique,’ Silas said. ‘Do you wish to make her cry?’

‘Fuck no.’

‘Then take it.’

Pitch scowled and snatched the earring from Tilly’s fingers. The child nestled against Silas with a contented sound.

‘Pretty fire man. No scared.’

A faint voice reached them.

‘Tilly? Are you there my darling?’ Nancy called from somewhere distant. ‘No more hiding now, my love. It’s getting late. Time for your breakfast.’

‘No breakfast,’ Tilly said, swinging her feet either side of Silas’s knees.

‘We need to go, Silas.’ Pitch smoothed his thumb over the drop of amber, staring down at the entombed flower entombed. ‘Now.’

He seemed quite calm when he said it. Silas suspected he was anything but.

‘Of course. I’ll take Tilly to her mother. Ada offered us a pair of horses last night. The asylum is a twenty minute ride out of the city.’

‘No. No riding.’

‘Why-ever not?’

Pitch’s face brightened with his grin. ‘Because I rode you far too well last night and if we broke into a trot, I think I would split in half.’