Page 38 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

He lifted the plate from the drawer and removed its dome. A dollop of clotted cream sat in the middle of each tart. They were all but perfect, the pastry golden, the filling a deep shade of pink, one that teetered on the edge of red. Old Bess must have arranged this surprise. He suspected they were fresh from the Mustow Green bakery where he had eaten the poor baker clean out of tarts on a daily basis during his stay.

Pitch took one, dabbing its pastry at his lips. Hewashungry. But his appetite had no depth to it. He did not crave as he was wont to do. Pitch inhaled. Perhaps one bite. He felt compelled to at least try. More so than he’d done in days.

He widened his mouth, the cream in danger of catching at his lip.

‘No!’

A figure exploded out of the trunk, coming at him from the section where garments should hang. They collided and Pitch was thrown onto his side, the plate of tarts sent flying. For some bizarre reason, he refused to let go of the one he still held, squishing it in his hand, despite the stranger’s shouts.

‘Let it go, let it go.’ The stranger went for his face, grabbing at his chin. ‘Did you eat any? Spit it out. Now.’

What in all the imagined realms of hell was going on? ‘Let me go, you fucking arsehole.’

‘Did you eat it, Tobias?’

Although startled to hear his name, Pitch lashed out with hand and foot, punching and kicking his way free of the imbecile who clambered all over him. A well-placed kick to the gut had the attacker grunting and withdrawing. Pitch leapt to his feet, tart squeezing between his fingers, staring down at the man huddled on the rug.

‘Ronin? What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘Did you eat any of the tart?’

‘What was wrong with the tart?’

‘Did you eat any?’ he shouted.

‘I fucking did not!’ Pitch shouted right back. ‘What are you doing here? What is going on, Ronin?’

Old Bess’s favoured footman and Pitch’s momentary lover, was somehow, unfathomably, here. Pieces of pastry stuck in his jet-black hair as he gasped for breath, rolling onto his hands and knees. His clothes were worse for wear, great tears in the sleeves and a rip over his right butt cheek. There were some cuts upon his face that Pitch was certainhe’dnot put there.

Had not Old Bess said only inanimate objects could pass through the faerie tunnel between Harvington Hall and this place? Nothing living and breathing could do so. Ronin may be a sake pot at heart, but he was very much living and breathing. Gasping for every breath, actually.

‘Where is she?’ Ronin demanded. ‘Where is her plate?’ He still found the wherewithal to slide his gaze over Pitch’s body.

‘Could you focus enough to be clearer?’ Pitch said darkly. ‘Whose plate?’

But Ronin was already panting his way across the rug. As he moved, the floor seemed to crack beneath him. Not a creak of wood though, something sharper. More disconcerting. He cursed under his breath.

‘Thought I’d have longer.’

‘Ronin, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. There…there she is…take her to Bess. Before any more damage is done.’ Ronin lifted his hand and pointed.

His forefinger snapped at the knuckle as though an invisible hand had wrenched it backwards. The tsukumogami fell forward and screamed his agony into the rug.

‘Fuck.’ Pitch raced to his side, catching sight of the plate. It had ended up half-hidden beneath the bed, scattered tarts staining the rug around it.

The clatter of hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. A moment later, the door opened and Old Bess flew into the room in a rush of skirts.

‘Ronin? Oh gods, dear boy. What have you done?’

Ronin had no chance to answer before another of his bones broke. He had his arm stretched to reach for the plate, and so Pitch had a very clear view of his thumb as it snapped, the nail touching at the inside of his wrist. But worse was the muffled crack that came from beneath the tsukumogami’s shirt. A rib, or two, Pitch suspected.

The man was breaking apart.

Ronin’s squashed cry vanished into Old Bess’s bosom as the half-fae wrapped up his footman, gathering the slight figure and heaving him onto the bed before Pitch could try to assist.

‘Hotaru,’ Ronin breathed. ‘She is with them.’