Page 17 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Charlie grabbed his arm. Nothing too forceful, but Pitch was in no mood for punishment of any kind.

‘Don’t touch me.’ A feral snarl if ever there was one. He knew his eyes were alive with flame, hisownflame. And clearly he had just attacked Edward, but Charlie did not run away screaming like so many did from Vassago when he was in such a mood. Pitch was struck again by the lad’s courage.

‘You need to let him go, Tobias,’ Charlie said quietly. He sat back on his heels, hands raised as though to show he held no weapon, the weave of the rowan wood and holly bracelet peeking from beneath his sleeve. ‘I know you do not truly wish him any harm.’

‘You know absolutely nothing, you fool.’ He could not shift the image of those monstrous flames from his mind.

Charlie edged a hand towards the lieutenant’s head, but seemed undecided if now was the right time to move. ‘I know you are decent,’ he said. ‘Despite your best efforts to prove otherwise. I know I’ve seen you give everything to protect those around you, me included. And I know you see something in Edward…in what is happening to him…that frightens you terribly. It frightens me too, Tobias.’ The lad touched his wrist. ‘Please let him go.’

Pitch licked his lips, lowering his gaze. His pulse was still racing, hammering nails into his temples. But the space in his head the angel had filled was gloriously empty.

He released the lieutenant’s shirt. Charlie caught Edward’s shoulders before his head was in danger of striking the floor.

‘Charlie?’ The soft voice came from behind Pitch.

‘It’s all right now, Bess,’ Charlie said, carefully. ‘Edward had another of his fits, and he fell from the bed.’

The pregnant pause told Pitch that Old Bess recognised the lie. He turned.

The mistress of Harvington Hall hesitated in the doorway. Pitch drank in the familiarity, using it to anchor himself back in the world. The Child of Melusine’s usual glamour was absent, his silver-grey hair unhidden by any elaborate wig, his earlobes not troubled by impossibly heavy earrings. He wore not a whit of makeup, having just been rudely awoken, and wore a splendid nightgown, the laciest, frilliest piece of apricot-hued linen Pitch had ever laid eyes on.

‘Right then,’ Old Bess said, assuming a cheeriness that was no more than skin deep. ‘Shall we get Edward back into bed?’

Truly it was no better being condescended to than being feared. ‘He didn’t fall from the fucking bed.’ Pitch dragged himself off the lieutenant, bracing against the edge of the bed to pull his sorry arse upright. He was utterly wrung out and filled with an unsettling quiet after the chaotic angelic interlude.

‘Care to share what did occur then, Tobias?’ Old Bess spoke gently, which made Pitch suddenly, inexplicably enraged.

‘And then what? You sell our secrets to the Morrigan, or pass them to your dear sister who is clearly their whore for hire?’

Charlie took a sharp breath. Bess’s unusually bare face reddened. He clutched at the delicate lacework of his gown with too much fervour. ‘I know you suffered at Palatyne’s Sanctuary, but you go too far, Astaroth. I would never betray you or the Order. I am not your enemy.’

‘How can I be sure of that?’ Pitch was high on the wave of his confusion and trepidation now, channelling all his terror at the Child of Melusine. It was undeserved. He was a bastard. He could not stop. ‘Your kind are easily swayed by deep pockets and flashing gems, all know it. Perhaps your sister Jacquetta is not disappeared at all but at this very moment tending the Sanctuary she built to hide the sorcerers in. The Morrigan were not born fully grown, they had to shit their pants and learn to walk somewhere.’

Bess’s angry blush deepened. ‘Look to the UnSeelie Court if you wish to find the nursery of maleficium. Look to the Watcher angel Iblis. And don’t you dare sully my sister’s name again in such a way. Jacquetta loves this world. Loves the part of her that is human, with a passion evenIdo not share. She would never, ever side with those who seek to allow maleficium to endanger the purebreds.’

Pitch was spoiling for a fight to vanquish his own distress. ‘You don’t even know where the fuck she is, let alone what she is doing with her spare time–’

‘Stop, both of you,’ Charlie cried. ‘Bloody hell, Edward is still on the blasted floor and you are throwing stupid tantrums.’

As he spoke he was gathering the lieutenant up, an arm beneath his shoulders, the other beneath his knees.

‘Fool, he’s too heavy for you,’ Pitch sniped.

‘I can do it, Tobias.’ Charlie moved to lift the man, who must be near double his weight, however undernourished Edward had become. ‘Just leave me be.’

He shouldered Pitch away, who watched in some small astonishment as the lad did indeed lift the lieutenant, senseless as he was, and place him on the bed. It wasn’t graceful; it was more a heave and drop than anything, but it was done. Pitch glanced at Old Bess, who was watching the display with equal surprise. He made a face when he caught Pitch’s gaze, as though to say he had no idea when Charlie had become a weightlifter either.

Pitch deflated, all trace of his irrational fury slipping away. It was a terrible accusation he’d just levelled at a man who’d tended him so carefully at the hall. Who’d been there to help haul his disastrous arse out of the Fulbourn, and who was keeping them safe now. Not to mention clothed and fed.

Pitch should have offered an apology. Silas certainly would have nudged one out of him. But Pitch was tinder dry and more exhausted now than he’d felt all week. What he wanted most of all was to crawl back into his bed, hide beneath the covers, and pretend the angel had never spoken. Never given the beast a name: behemoth.

Pitch suppressed a shiver. He needed the ankou in that bed with him. It would not be so cold then.

‘What?’ Bess lifted a heavy brow. ‘Why are you staring at me? Do you wish you had a nightgown like this one? I could have Ronin send one for you if you like?’

It was a return to their normal inane banter. Old Bess graciously letting go of Pitch’s brutal accusations. But mention of the tsukumogami evaporated his considerations of an apology.

‘I don’t want anything from Ronin.’ Memory of their fuck on the stairwell at Harvington Hall left him oddly uncomfortable. He wondered if Tyvain had told Silas what she’d seen. He wondered why he cared either way. ‘Nor do I desire to wear such a ridiculously frilly nightgown.’ An utter lie and everyone in the room who was not unconscious knew it. ‘Where is Sybilla?’