‘Well, he didn’t have the advantage of flying sirin or riding a djinn mare.’ Jane said. ‘But he’s either stopped for an ale along the way, or we will never see him again. The latter I suspect, the fae are not renowned for loyalty.’
‘So Mr Mercer didn’t smell when he arrived?’ Phillipa was still fixed on talking about corpses.
‘Jesus, no…’ Tyvain cringed, making her way around the other side of the carriage. Just in case the Valkyrie needed a hand. ‘Well, ’e didn’t when I met ’im. But he’d not been dead in a while then. What about earlier? Was ’e a stinker, Syb?’
Jane tsked. ‘Silas is an ankou, not a rotting corpse. I assure you he has never smelt of decay.’
‘Enough, both of you.’ Much to Tyvain’s satisfaction, Sybilla’s order had Jane falling silent quicker than a nun caught pleasuring herself. ‘There is an ill feeling here, certainly. Phillipa, are you certain there are no teratisms nearby? Silas has not come under attack?’
Hearing that did nothing for Tyvain’s heart rate, which had been galloping for far too long now.
Phillipa’s spectre appeared in full beside Isaac who said nothing, just glowered and shifted away. ‘Well I can’t say for certain, of course, but it doesn’t seem likely to me. The stench is not nearly strong enough, if they are all like my lady.’
‘Best you remain here, with Isaac,’ Sybilla braced a hand against the back carriage wheel. ‘Tell him if you feel the slightest niggle, won’t you?’
The Valkyrie was clearly under strain. Tyvain could see the tension in her wrist where she clutched at the door as she negotiated the single pedestal step. But Tyvain wasn’t going to offer a hand. If the angel wanted to play the martyr, then so be it.
‘Last thing we need is you goin’ ghoulish,’ Tyvain said. ‘And seein’ as we don’t ’ave the ankou right now to put ya down, Isaac, you better be ready with your flames. Phillipa is connected to the carriage, so burn it, if she looks like she’s changin’.’
‘Don’t you dare touch this carriage! This is my home, and Silas and I worked very hard to get it–’
‘It ain’t a home for monsters, and that’s what you’ll be.’ Tyvain heard Isaac say, in his usual blunt and disinterested way. ‘Besides, way things are going here, if he’s pissed off without our help, Mr Mercer won’t be around to know if I burned it, or painted it with polka dots and called it a brothel.’
Phillipa’s small cry of horror was almost lost beneath Sybilla’s reprimand.
‘Another word, Isaac. I dare you.’ The coachman sniffed at the angel’s rebuke. ‘Do somethin’ useful and get one of those sirin out to look for the Dullahan. If his Duty-Bind is worth a damn, we are going to need it.’
The Valkyrie reached the gate, which Jane held open for her, but Sybilla paused, resting a hip against the stone. ‘Where is Lalassu?’
The silhouette of the church rose over the graves. A squat building, square in shape with a bell tower of the same unimaginative design, not terribly tall either. This was an unassuming church, unlikely to entice visitors of grand architecture.
‘I don’t see her now,’ Jane sighed. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken…’
‘Ty, what about you? Are you getting anything from this place?’
Tyvain’s foresight had always been vague, just taunting little morsels that didn’t mean a right damn to anyone, neither her nor the paying customer that had the misfortune of believing otherwise. But what Tyvain was good at was reading people. And, thank the saints, that talent had gotten her through more than one bind. But since Holly Village had acquired a daemon, things had begun to change.
Actually, the change began in earnest later than that. Autumn. When her gut told her a trip to London was in order. A trip to The Atlas, where she’d come face to face with Silas Mercer, or rather, his arse. That lovely sight being the first she’d seen of him as he fussed around inside his carriage, searching for his bandalore. That was the first time the rumblings in her belly had felt trulydifferent.
Tyvain’s recall of The Atlas was bittersweet. Mr Ahari was playing silly buggers with them now, and she had no feckin’ clue why. After all the trouble he’d gone through to drag the daemon and his lovesick ankou out of the Fulbourn, now he decided to turn his back on them both? Sure, Tobias could be a filthy, infuriating cockhead, but he didn’t deserve this. Nor did Mercer.
Sybilla still waited on her reply, and Tyvain abandoned the hope of a gurgle or two arriving in time to give her something of note to say.
‘Nah. Nothin’, I’m sorry.’ She ducked her head, rather than see the poorly hidden disappointment on both women’s faces.
Jane stepped through the church gate, and let out a startled cry.
‘Lalassu!’
The mare appeared at the right-hand side of the church, neighing a greeting of sorts. Tyvain squinted. With the horse’s faintly luminous coat shedding some light, she could just make out a track in the soil that Lalassu was following…or perhaps had made…that ran right up close to the walls, only veering away where a headstone was set right up against the church wall. With her flared nostrils, curved, tight neck and wide eyes, the mare’s irritation was obvious.
‘Easy now, lovely.’ Jane raised her hand, holding it out towards Lalassu, who tossed her head, sending those long strands of mossy-white mane curling like ocean waves.
‘Well, that ain’t reassurin’.’ Tyvain rubbed at her arms. ‘She’s got ’erself right worked up. Idiot Mercer’s gone and done something stupid, I tell ya.’
‘Of course he bloody has, damn it, Silas.’ Sybilla said. ‘Jane, open the church doors, quickly. Perhaps we’re not too late.’
Jane took off at a run, and Tyvain paused only to see if Sybilla would take that hand after all. The Valkyrie’s dark look answered the question quickly, the jab of a finger towards the church underscoring it. ‘Go with her.’
