Page 7 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘But you care deeply for Silas,’ Charlie cast right back. ‘And he and I share a friendship. I know I am quite safe with you because of that…if nothing else.’

Care deeply? Just because he enjoyed Silas’s hands on him, the rumble of his laughter when the ankou somehow found Pitch amusing, did not mean they should find the nearest vicar and get wed.

‘No one isquite safewith me, little boy.’ He thought the threat sufficient, but the lad rolled his eyes and returned to his lieutenant.

Pitch reaffixed his collar for the seventh time. Damning his feet for not moving. Glancing one last time up the hallway. Searching.

Clearly the ankou did notcare deeplyforhim, or else he’d be here right now, instead of poking at moss in the rain. With his irritation rising, Pitch crossed the threshold and strode to the bed.

His eyes fixed on the pendant watch.

Pitch had not given any specific instructions that it be kept with the lieutenant. Charlie had simply done so. On one of many failed attempts to visit Edward’s bedside, Pitch had overheard an exchange between Bess and Charlie.

‘No. It needs to stay with him.’ Charlie had been firm.

‘Are you quite sure?’ Old Bess had returned.

‘It is the only thing I am entirely certain of. The watch must stay with him.’

Pitch reached Edward’s bedside now far too quickly. He’d hoped he might escape the uncomfortable prickling beneath his skin that came with being near the watch, but a touch of it arrived as he came to stand behind Charlie’s chair.

The sensation tapped at the back of his neck but in truth it was not nearly so horrid as it had been in earlier days. With some effort, he might forget it bothered him at all. That should have pleased him, but it bothered him instead. First the wildness being subdued, now this? Pitch was so used to being uncomfortable that the absence of any pains was as close to troublesome as pain itself.

‘Well then,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m here. Speak up, Lieutenant.’ Pitch frowned. ‘I thought you said he was awake?’

‘I said he called your name,’ Charlie said.

‘Well I don’t hear it now. I should go.’

The lad sighed, again, rising from the chair. ‘Here, have my seat. Take his hand.’

Pitch recoiled. ‘No. I don’t want to touch him.’

‘Tobias, is everything all right?’

He stared at the lad, blinking into the astounding question. ‘Is everything all right? Are you a bigger imbecile than you look? A week ago you were pulled out of a magickal prison by a giant fox with nine tails. Before that you were attacked by walking corpses and rescued by a faerie hound. I understand that your feeble purebred brain is not seeing things entirely as they are, but I think even you can grasp the situation by now. No, Charlie, you daft idiot, everything is far from all right.’

The lad twisted the cloth in his hands. ‘Do you know that of all the things Old Bess has tried to explain, the fact I had the least trouble believing was that you are a daemon. I had always assumed such creatures to be spiteful, arrogant bastards, and you do not disappoint.’ He dragged in a breath, seemingly surprised at his own vehement words, a little unsteady on his feet. Charlie appeared so infinitely frail in that moment. Too delicate to deserve a tongue lashing for his harsh assessment.

Damn him.

‘I am very pleased to have met your expectations.’ Pitch was dry as sand. ‘Your opinion is soveryvaluable to me.’

Charlie lifted his hand to scratch at his forehead. The movement slid the cuff of his sleeve back, exposing Ottelie’s bracelet. It was threaded with more green than Pitch recalled, like there were hints of new growth through the twigs Ottelie had handed over. The lad tossed the cloth aside.

‘Take his hand,’ he said.

‘I will not.’

‘Why do you fear touching him?’

‘I don’t bloody–’

‘You do. Take his hand.’

‘Why are you so obsessed with hand-holding?’

‘Because I know it is what must be done.’ Charlie’s cheeks reddened, eyes bright. ‘I don’t understand why…or what it means. Fucking hell, Tobias, take his bloody hand. Has he not endured enough?’ He grabbed Edward’s hand, lifting it. ‘Stop being a pompous, stupid arse and just bloody fucking do it.’