But it was another who put an end to the angel’s fury.
Strands of snow white, like vines in an impossible winter jungle, glided up the aisle. Tyvain grabbed Jane’s arm and tugged her down as Lalassu sent her mane overhead. The movement held no sound, and the mare herself was quiet where she stood with her front feet inside the doorway.
The strands found Sybilla, and curled about her arms. At once the stiff, angry stance of the Valkyrie subsided. Sybilla went limp, her knees seeming to buckle. Palatyne dropped from her grasp, her skirt billowing, her neck blackened.
The Child coughed harshly, her hand touching at her throat. But Sybilla seemed equally unsteady, reaching for the altar as she wavered. Jane dashed the short distance up the aisle, hunching over as Lalassu’s mane whipped overhead, retracting back to the mare.
‘Nicely done.’ Tyvain gave the horse a grateful nod.
Lalassu snorted, the ghostly night light turning her coat near pristine white.
‘It told you, Witch Hunter, I cannot do it. Not anymore.’ Palatyne rasped, still clutching at her throat. Bess, seeming to have forgotten his sister was a double-crossing bitch who’d just accused him of murdering his own sibling, was at her side, not touching, just hovering, looking every inch a little boy lost.
‘I think she may be speaking the truth.’ Old Bess said. ‘The power here is setting my teeth on edge.’
His and Tyvain’s both. This whole place made her skin itch.
‘My magick is still with Pitch.’ Sybilla had one arm thrown about Jane’s shoulder. She was back at the window after her strangulation demonstration. Back at the burrow, or den, whatever the blazing hells it was. ‘If he’s in this cockaigne as Silas believes, then we just need to open this entranceway a crack, all I need is a fissure, so I can call my magick to me. I could break this seal, I’m certain of it.’
Jane glanced at Tyvain, sharing another of the looks they were getting well practised at today. The wind wound about her in restless twists, tugging at her long brown hair, flaring her cut-off skirt.
‘Sounds like a lot. You sure about this, Syb?’ Tyvain asked.
The angel turned on her. ‘Do you think me that far gone?’
‘Nah, course not. But I do think ya look like shite, and I ain’t gonna stand here and watch ya hurt yaself.’
‘My magick won’t hurt me.’
‘But the Morrigan sure bloody will.’
‘Tyvain, I can do this. I can get us in there. I can save them.’ Her desperation made Tyvain’s heart ache.
She slipped her hands in her pocket and touched the cards once more. Her fingertips tingled. Her stomach gurgled.
Tobias was alive, he had to be, and that’s all there was to it.
‘Hey! Best you all come take a look at this.’ Even when he was hollering, Isaac was lacklustre.
‘Feck, what now?’ Tyvain was closest to the door, where there was no longer a great pale horse blocking the way, so she was the very first to see the downright bizarre turnout in the graveyard.
Teratisms, a whole bloody lot of them–filling the green spaces between the headstones. She counted a dozen at a quick glance. Feckin’ hells they were an unsightly lot, with all manner of grotesque limbs, injuries, hanging skin, and ruined skulls. One stood forward, ahead of the motley bunch. Poor bastard had such a hunchback that his chin touched his chest. One of his ankles was clearly broken, and Tyvain was grateful she hadn’t eaten in a while.
‘What’s this then?’ Tyvain felt the others gather behind, Jane’s jasmine scent coming with her.
‘Don’t worry, they aren’t here to cause any chaos. Not for us anyway.’ Phillipa was perched upon the roof of the carriage, Isaac still in his seat. ‘They have followed after Silas, somehow, and I think they wish to help.’
‘You think?’
‘Yes, well–’
They serve the ankou.
The voice was a blast to the eardrums. ‘Fecking Jesus Christ.’ Tyvain jabbed a finger in her ear.
‘Tyvain? Are you all right?’
‘Oh, balls…don’t feel so good…’
