Page 150 of The Simurgh

‘I’ve decided I’ll not stand in your way if you seek to try. I am going to return to White Mountain, and deliver word on the Archangel’s downfall, and the destruction of the cockaigne. Though I assure you the Lord Enoch knows already.’

‘And what of us? Does he know we survived? Shall you tell him?’

Lucifer moved away from the carriage, to where the road extended back towards the silent village which was just now beginning to feel the touches of the morning sun. The stillness of this morning could be nothing but preternatural. A breath held by the landscape. Not a bird call or a cow’s bray disturbing the quiet.

‘Just go, Va…Pitch. Go where the prophet guides you. Serve your purpose, and in return I shall do what I can at White Mountain to keep their gazes from you. The Archangel’s demise will draw attention for now, but the Seraphim…Michael and Ariel, are beyond my power to control, and do not take well to being deceived. If you reach the lake, they will know, and they will come for you.’

The voices from the graveyard were closer now. Silas would be with him again soon, and Pitch’s hunger stirred at the thought. The haven it would be to lie with him, and let pillow talk drown out darker contemplations.

‘Farewell, Pitch.’ Lucifer’s voice startled him.‘I cannot say if our paths shall cross again. The task ahead of you is formidable. But perhaps you are equally enough so.’ The King of Daemonkind nodded toward where the voices grew ever louder. ‘Relish the time afforded you, do not waste a moment that can be shared. Go to him.’

The words stung for their honesty. Pitch’s throat was far too tight to say anything at all.

‘Good luck to ya, Mr Reginald, sir.’ Tyvain filled the empty air.

Lucifer inclined his head. ‘And to you, Hag of Baera. Ensure no one is too hard upon Mr Ahari when next you meet. The kitsune had no choice but to follow my instruction.’ He made to leave, but hesitated. ‘Tell Antonius…that I…’ He shook his head. ‘No. Never mind. He knew...he knows.’

He left them, striding along the rutted road in a subtle glow of silver and embers. Headed to wherever it was a grand daemon needed to be. He cut a startlingly lonely figure, strange, for a creature who desired solitude. How Seraphiel and the king had found a common ground, found more than that, was a mystery worthy of the ages.

Pitch ran his thumb over the base of his ring finger, missing the weight of the scythe. He knew better than any that partnerships could defy logic and reason.

‘Was ‘e sayin’ they had pet names?’ Tyvain came to stand beside him.

Pitch nodded slowly. ‘They had godsdamned pet names.’

The soothsayer cackled, and Pitch grinned.

‘Well ‘spose it ain’t so strange. I call Gilmore my python on occasion.’

‘I don’t need to know that.’ Pitch paused. ‘Truly, he’s large?’

‘Enormous.’

‘Lucky Hag.’

Another hearty chuckle. ‘I’m bettin’ you’re sittin’ on cushions after goin’ a few rounds with your fella, too.’

Pitch’s blood sang, and the mild day got very warm. ‘Not often enough lately.’

‘Won’t be long now I expect. If we ain’t heading to a decent place to wash up and eat after this, I’m startin’ a bloody mutiny.’ She nudged him. ‘So you’ve got ya Sickle, but what’s the big fella call you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Liar.’

‘Is everything all right, darling?’ Silas called.

‘Fuck.’

The soothsayer nearly snorted her lungs out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

SHADOWS STRETCHEDaround the brambles as Silas and the others approached.

‘Everything is fine, Sickle.’

The ankou’s concerned frown vanished beneath a smile. He walked at the head of a gathering of miscreants. And by Enoch’s taint, what an odd party it was.