Page 49 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘I did not leap to the assumption it came directly from Arcadia’s highest angel, who died, more than a year ago.’ Sybilla’s attempt to whisper was failing miserably. ‘I thought the magick came from the watch, a dormant Cultivation that would unlock in times of mortal danger, perhaps. Or from you…’
‘Me?’ Pitch nearly choked on incredulity.
Sybilla glowered. ‘Well, you are quite set apart from all others. And there is the halo’s mark upon you…’
‘Half of Arcadia’s legions have halo scars, so do those of Elyssiam, for that matter. Do you see those imbeciles Cultivating magick?’
‘This is not the same and you know it.’ Sybilla raised her voice. ‘You are an anomaly among all angels and daemons. You are…’
‘A freak? Go on, you can say it.’ Pitch was dark with poorly suppressed fury. Silas considered stepping in to halt the conversation here and now, but the daemon was not yet done. ‘I may not know half of what I am, angel, but I assure you I’m no Cultivator. You are to tell me that you’ve been using your blasted angelic voodoo on Edward for days and you’ve noticed nothing of his passenger?’
‘That is exactly what I’m saying. Of course I knew there were traces of divine magick making Edward so ill, but never did I imagine…’ She ran her hands over the top of her head, clasping them there. ‘I’m still not certain what I imagine. For the human to be the Seraphim’s prophet was strange enough, but I thought Edward’s contact with him in the past might make it possible.’ Silas glanced at Pitch. He was intent on the ground. ‘But that…that was not Edward who spoke to me.’ She was staring at the cabin as though she expected it to suddenly turn into the angel himself. ‘What is this, Tobias?’
‘I was rather hoping you would tell me.’ Pitch was sullen, still fixed on the soil as they spoke of the angel who had changed him to the very core.
Sybilla took a few steps away from the carriage, her hands working at her hair as though she sought to rub the curls off. ‘This all began after the watch reached Edward. I suppose their union may have triggered a Cultivation of some kind…’ she said, almost to herself. ‘Like a phonograph playing the tune etched into its cylinder. Except that was no recording ordering me to cease and desist.’
‘And I heard our dear departed angel before I’d reached Edward with the watch,’ Pitch returned.
Sybilla nodded. ‘It was in your possession though.’ She bit at her nail. ‘A shade perhaps? Though it boggles the mind to imagine the strength it would take for the angel’s shade to find its way here and haunt the man.’
‘Shade?’ Silas asked.
‘What Arcadia call one of your ghosts,’ Pitch replied.
Silas frowned at that. ‘I have no sense of any soul within the lieutenant. The scythe gives no hint of it. And surely one from such a powerful being would be evident?’ He touched at his pocket, reassuring himself the bandalore was still there.
Sybilla considered for a moment. ‘You are an ankou for the purebreds. Seraphim are one step from godliness, made in the image of the Celestials. Seraphiel was as far from human as one can be. Perhaps that is the reason?’
‘Or it is something else entirely.’ Pitch was grinding a hole in the dirt with his heel. ‘Seraphiel used Edward’s form in the past to exist in this world, but this is different, clearly. For starters he had a lot fucking more to say in those days, and he used Edward’s mouth and lungs to do so. He’s nothere, as he was then, but we both agree…something of himis. Perhaps it’s his shade. But how did it get here? A world away? That pissy watch carried him from Arcadia to here? Sitting on Lucifer’s bedside table until my sire thought, oh what a lovely day to take a stroll with my dead lover to the cesspit of Earth and piss off my Dominion spawn.’
Despite how very serious it all was, Silas had to bite back a smile. There was nothing amusing though about the sudden ache behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the conversation continued.
‘Granted, it is unlikely to see a shade so removed from where its death was met,’ Sybilla said. ‘But we are talking about Seraphim, Tobias. It might be possible.’
‘What if this is scrying?’ Pitch said, low and hurried, as though he wished to release the words before they disappeared. ‘What if he has his hand up Edward’s arse, using him as one big puppet to make sure I’ve washed my hands before dinner and said my prayers before bed?’
‘Scrying?’ Sybilla stared at him. ‘Then he would need to be alive.’
Pitch shrugged, biting at the corner of his lip. Silas gripped the reins. Only the faint twittering of birds and throaty rumble of thunder disturbed the air for a few long moments.
‘Tobias,’ Sybilla said, very quietly. ‘You were there…that day. Are you suggesting he survived? I’m told Enoch still mourns deeply. All of Arcadia has done so.’
Silas shifted uneasily, a fresh chill sweeping over him. He knew how well her questions must pain Pitch.
But the prince put on the airs and graces he wore so well as armour. ‘And a waste of tears that is. Alive or dead,’ he replied, ‘that pompous arsehole made his own fine mess, both at the Day of Ruination and when he fucked around with my flame. But could he have survived when I blasted him out of the sky?’ Pitch paced a few steps, rubbing at his arms. The air held the weight of approaching rain. ‘It did not seem so to me, but I’ve learned that very little is as it seems where he is concerned.’
The Valkyrie looked as though she were chewing upon a stick of cinnamon, trying to sort through all the pieces. Silas glanced between them, only to cringe at how the movement worsened the ache behind his eyes. He did not feel right at all.
The carriage rocked beneath him, and Charlie stepped out of the cabin. His auburn curls were pressed flat on one side of his head where he’d slept. He was awfully pale, every freckle remarkable. ‘Do you think you could discuss all this while we are riding on? While you are all playing detective, Edward is trying very hard to do what the Holy One, whoever or whatever that may be, demands of him.’
Pitch made a very indelicate noise. ‘Of all the names–’
‘What is the demand?’ Sybilla asked.
‘To stay alive. Which is infinitely more difficult with every moment wasted. The sooner we reach the Sanctuary, the sooner Edward’s task is done in this strange endeavour. And I would very much like to have the man I know returned to me.’ Charlie might have looked a little ruffled, and definitely in need of more sleep, but Silas had never thought him more immovable. Rooted in place. ‘I accept that I am involved in a circumstance far beyond my comprehension. I feel as though I’m sucking on an opium pipe, and all this, all of you…the strangest of dreams. But in that dream I know what must be done, and it is not standing about bemoaning your issues with your dearest pappa. Even if he is Lucifer…which I am trying very hard not to think about right now.’
Charlie, to Silas’s utter astonishment, looked Pitch right in the eye when he spoke about fatherly issues. Silas sucked in a worried breath. Which only seemed to aggravate his headache further.