Devil’s Kiss

by Sarwat Chadda

  She’d been excited at first, being part of something big, mystical – the stuff of legend. Being part of the Knights Templar and their secret war against the enemies of mankind – the Unholy.

  The Beast Within. Mortals with the heart of the wild.

  The Hungry Dead. The corpse-eaters and blood-drinkers.

  The ghosts. The spirits of pain.

  The devils. The tempters of humanity.

  And the grigori. The Dark Angels.

  But soon she was lying to her friends, missing classes, gathering bruises and cuts, drifting apart from the other children. The cruel rumours emerged, about her dad and her mum’s murder, quickly circulating around the lonely playgrounds. She kept the teachers’ concerns at bay. She hid the worst injuries; she didn’t get so many black eyes now, and managed most days without nodding off at her desk. But Billi was drifting through her school years like a ghost, barely awake in class, all her life absorbed by her other duties. Could she have turned round and said she wanted out? Be normal? Have friends? Have no more bruises? No more nightmares? No. She’d never been given the choice.

  Billi gazed down the queue at the food counter, her stomach rebelling against the stale, lukewarm odours rising off the faded boiled carrots, the grey-looking gravy and the assortments of fried and coated offal. The shrink-wrapped sandwiches looked no more appealing, their corners curled and their fillings smeared under the plastic. All that was left was the fruit basket: a couple of wrinkly apples and bruised bananas.

  I should be at home. She felt flushed and clammy, maybe some of that ectoplasm was still there, bubbling away in her guts… The queue shuffled along and Billi picked through the sandwiches. The least offensive was cucumber on white bread. She took one and the two remaining bananas. She added a bottle of still mineral water and, tray balanced on one hand, dug into her blazer pocket for her purse.

  ‘Oh, look, it’s the free-meal freak,’ said someone to her left. Someone she recognized.

  Just fan-tas-tic. Like her day wasn’t bad enough. Billi turned towards the voice.

  ‘Lovely to see you too, Jane,’ she replied. ‘I see you’ve got your hench-bitches with you today. Didn’t realize the zoo had day release.’

  Jane Mulville leaned against a dining table, her skinny legs blocking Billi’s path. Michelle Durant and Katie Smith, her bottle-blonde clones, stood either side.

  ‘Jeez, what happened to your face?’ asked Jane. Despite the foundation, the bruise on Billi’s cheek still shone through.

  I really don’t need this, not today, thought Billi. She could rearrange Jane’s face with minimal effort and sometimes, like now, the urge to flatten that dainty little nose was nigh irresistible.

  ‘It’s her dad, I bet,’ giggled Katie. ‘He’s way mental.’

  Billi’s gaze dropped to where Jane’s legs still barred her way. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, we mind a lot, SanGreal. Why they haven’t expelled you by now I don’t know. Doesn’t say much for the standards in this school that they let the likes of you in.’ She looked Billi up and down. ‘I mean, even the other weirdos here don’t want anything to do with you.’

  ‘Have you met her dad? Not surprising she’s turned out this way,’ said Katie.

  Jane smiled. ‘Is it true, SanGreal? That your dad killed your mum? Cut her neck wide -’

  Billi’s tray clattered on the hard wooden floor, the sharp noise instantly quietening all the background hubbub. As one, the hall fell silent.

  They still believed that old lie, that her dad had murdered her mother. But then would they believe the truth? That she’d been killed by ghuls, the Hungry Dead? That she’d died protecting Billi, bloody handprints smeared over her bedroom door where she’d been hidden? No, they’d never believe that truth.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Billi. Her question was barely above a whisper. Her hands free, they curled themselves into tight, solid fists. In the silence Billi’s breathing seemed loud and she could hear the blood thundering in her ears. ‘Sorry, Jane, I didn’t quite catch that.’ She spoke slowly, pronouncing every word. She assessed Jane’s features, not as a seamless whole, but as an assembly of disjointed, breakable parts. The nose, the teeth, the jaw. It would be so easy.

  Katie and Michelle took a small step away from Jane, sensing the threat of violence radiating from Billi. The hall, silent already, now stopped breathing. Jane’s hands trembled, but she braced herself against the table, her nails, dark polished red, dug into the shiny white Formica surface.

  ‘Billi!’

  Billi spun at the shout as a pair of arms wrapped themselves round her. She tried to free herself, but all she could make out was a thick mass of silvery-blonde hair as the person embraced her. She finally pushed him off.

  ‘Miss me?’ the boy asked. He was tall, knife-lean and albino white. Any paler and she’d have had to have staked him.

  ‘Kay?’

  He winked.

  Billi stepped back. It couldn’t be. He’d been such a scrawny bag of bones when he’d left. There were the wispy beginnings of a beard collected on his chin, and his white lashes peeled back to reveal bright sapphire-blue eyes.

  ‘Look who’s back, the Thin White Puke,’ butted in Jane. Kay turned towards her.

  ‘Jane, what an unpleasant surprise.’ He frowned. ‘You put on weight?’

  Jane went white. It was probably the most insulting thing anyone could say to her.

  The frown twisted into a cruel smile. ‘A few pregnancy pounds, around the hips.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Jane, groping her belly. Katie and Michelle leaned closer. So did the six other pupils at the nearest table. This sounded good.

  Kay continued. ‘It’s Dave Fletcher, isn’t it?’

  Jane backed away, knocking over a plate of beans and mashed potato. The slimy orange sauce covered her skirt, and slid slowly down her black tights, smearing them in grease. Kay held out his hand.

  ‘Congratulations. You’ll make a beautiful couple.’

  Jane screamed and ran. Katie and Michelle stared open mouthed, then turned and ran after her. There was a long silence, then the hall erupted. Jane Mulville was pregnant!

  Kay bent down to retrieve Billi’s sandwich.

  ‘She’s really going to have a kid?’ she asked.

  ‘In a few months.’ He handed over the slightly dented packet. ‘Care to join me?’

  He acts like he’s never been away.

  Kay shrugged.

  ‘But now I’m back.’ He turned and walked towards a table in the corner of the hall.

  Billi bit her lip. Stupid mistake. Kay wasn’t just a Templar, he was an Oracle.

  A psychic. Reading minds was the least of his abilities.

  Billi emptied out enough change for her meal then followed Kay, painfully aware that the entire hall was watching her. The tray clattered on the table and she dragged out the chair opposite Kay. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to peek?’ she said.

  ‘You never answered my question, Billi.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘Did you miss me?’

  ‘A year, Kay.’ Billi didn’t look up from her meal; it was the only way she’d keep her temper. ‘And did you even once try to get in touch?’

  ‘Billi, you know why Arthur sent me to Jerusalem.’ His lips tightened before he spoke. ‘I had to learn how to control my abilities.’

  ‘And it took every waking minute? Why? Were you in the retard class?’ Billi ripped open the packet. The sandwich looked even more lifeless. She sighed. ‘No. I haven’t missed you. You might be surprised to learn the universe doesn’t actually revolve around you.’

  Billi chewed the limp bread. Yummy; cardboard flavour. ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘Few days ago.’

  ‘And you didn’t bother to tell me?’

  ‘I had work to do. For Arthur.’

  So even her dad hadn’t told her.

  ‘Once, Kay, us being friends was more important than us being Templ
ars.’ Billi raised her gaze from her food to Kay. He had changed, and not for the better.

  Bloody Kay, she thought.

  He stood up.

  ‘Same old Billi,’ Kay said.

  4

  That evening Billi marched up the steps to Father Balin’s house. So Kay was back. So she wouldn’t have to sit by herself in class any more. Big deal. She’d managed the last twelve months just fine without him.

  To think they’d found Kay through social services. She remembered him arriving, just before her training had begun. A stick insect of a boy, all nerves and jumping at shadows, nightmares every night and talking to things that weren’t there, or at least things normal people couldn’t see. And the fits that he could never remember, spouting out all sorts of gibberish in God knows what languages. He’d freaked her out big-time telling her about the ghosts he’d spoken to. In her bedroom. No wonder he’d been palmed off from one foster home to another. But that wasn’t unusual. Powerful psychics always had disturbed childhoods – visions, poltergeist activity, strange apparitions – it would spook most families. Unless taught how to harness their powers they’d eventually be driven mad. How many potential Oracles had the Templars lost over the years? How many had ended their days screaming in asylums, the voices in their heads drowning out their own thoughts?

  Father Balin lived in Chaplain’s House, an elegant Georgian building with whitewashed walls, guarded by a tall black railing fence, immediately adjacent to Temple Church. Billi walked along the garden path, between two lines of rose bushes and knocked on the black-painted door. The smell of garlic and roasting peppers breezed over her the moment it opened. Father Balin smiled as he saw her.

  ‘Italian tonight?’ asked Billi. ‘What’s the special occasion?’ Like she didn’t know. She’d survived her Ordeal and just got a box of chocolates. Kay’d come back from a year’s holiday and they were throwing a party.

  ‘Miss SanGreal. I’d been wondering when you’d turn up.’ The old man stepped aside. ‘Kay’s here.’

  ‘I know.’

  Balin perched his glasses on his high bald head. He was the Templars’ public face. As priest of the Temple Church he performed all the normal services and mundane operations. His official title was the Right and Reverend Master of the Temple, but to the knights he was their chaplain, in charge of religious duties.

  ‘Thought you’d be more pleased than that, Bilqis.’ Only Balin used her proper Islamic name.

  The noise of rattling pans, plates and cutlery came out from the kitchen. Percy came into the hallway carrying a bowl of steaming spaghetti. He winked at her before ducking his head under the chandelier and entering the dining room to the sound of chatter and further rattling. Billi followed him in.

  Moonlight shone in through the windows facing the garden, but the knights were too busy consuming the hot food to admire the colourful collage of plants, shrubs and flowers that were the priest’s masterwork. Billi squeezed on to a chair between Percy and Kay.

  Along with Father Balin there were only four others present: Gwaine, Percy, Kay and her dad, all elbow to elbow round the small dining table. She knew the others were out in Dartmoor chasing a Loony: a werewolf. Ever since the Bodmin Accord, following Arthur’s defeat of the werewolf pack’s alpha male, lupine kills had been limited to sheep and the odd cow. But one had gone rogue, and started attacking backpackers and hikers. The Templars had gone out to hunt it down.

  Her dad sat quietly, flicking through a pile of newspaper cuttings on his right, and occasionally glancing at his laptop on his left. Gwaine looked up, but didn’t acknowledge her; he merely swept his glance past her as though she didn’t exist. Gwaine, the Seneschal, the Templar second-in-command. He was a grizzled old warrior with cropped iron-grey hair, sparse beard and eyes settled deep within wrinkles. By all rights he should have been the Templar Master after Uriens had died, not her dad. Gwaine had recruited Arthur and couldn’t accept that his squire was now his Master. Billi knew the old man was waiting in the wings, waiting for his chance to take command of the Knights Templar. He just needed Arthur to die first.

  Billi caught a look from Kay who rolled his eyes; there was no love lost between him and Gwaine either. Gwaine thought Oracles were only one step away from witches, and the Seneschal had Old Testament views on witches.

  Thou shalt not suffer the witch to live.

  ‘Any news from Pelleas?’ asked Arthur, his eyes still on the screen. Percy sucked up a string of spaghetti before replying.

  ‘Just a whole lot of dead sheep so far. He and Bors are checking the farms, Berrant and Gareth are on the campsites. Reckon it’s a nomad, passing through, causing trouble.’

  The Beast Within. Even a single werewolf was deadly; that’s why her dad had sent half the Order. Half! She glanced around the table. Excluding Balin, who wasn’t part of the fighting Order, that made nine, just nine of them against the Unholy, against all the supernatural evil lurking in the shadows. And once the Knights Templar had numbered in their thousands. All it would take is one bad day and that would be it. Wipeout. It had almost happened ten years ago, during the Nights of Iron.

  When her mum had died.

  Why couldn’t she remember her? She’d been five, so she should remember something. There were just vague images, distant feelings and an idea that she’d been happy, nothing solid. But Billi knew from the others that the Nights of Iron had been twelve days of horror. The Templars had been hunted down by ghuls, starting with the old Master, then the Oracle Lot, and so many more until only Arthur and a handful were left. Arthur’s leadership had taken him from lowly Sergeant to Templar Master, but at a terrible cost. A few ghuls that had survived Arthur’s purges had found his home and murdered his wife. Maybe it had been so terrible that she’d blanked it out.

  ‘What have you got, Art?’ asked Percy. Arthur handed over a couple of photos. Billi caught a glimpse as they crossed the table. Bite marks on a person’s neck.

  ‘Our Hospitaller brothers took this last night. A girl fainted outside the Auto de Fe nightclub last night. Thought it might interest us.’ Arthur and the older knights still referred to their contacts within the St John’s Ambulance service as Hospitallers, even though the Order was no longer active in warfare. But they were useful in gathering information on ‘unusual’ attacks or injuries. Like vampire bites.

  A stake and bake, thought Billi. Just as long as she didn’t have to do it. The last thing she wanted was to waste a night hunting the Hungry Dead in some derelict graveyard. This was her last chance to get in her Maths, or else it was detention until Christmas.

  Percy inspected the photos. ‘The girl alive?’

  ‘Yes, just.’ Arthur looked around the table. ‘Let’s nip this one in the bud.’

  Percy passed the pictures over to Gwaine.

  ‘Any idea where he’d be laired, Art?’ Gwaine asked.

  Arthur shook his head. ‘No. But I want you and Percival to find him. Tonight.’ Then he turned to Billi.

  ‘Now Kay’s back, we’ll begin your training in psychic defence.’ He looked over at Kay. ‘How’s tomorrow?’

  ‘Ideal, sir.’

  ‘Good. Eight o’clock at Finsbury Park. You know where to take her, Kay.’

  Psychic defence? With Kay? Was he really that good now?

  ‘But, Dad, we agreed I’d have the next three nights down-time after the Ordeal. To catch up on my homework,’ Billi said. It’s not like she was wanting to have time off to enjoy herself. Oh no, having fun was not in the Templar Rules.

  ‘Not important. You train with Kay.’ Arthur collected the cuttings and slid them into his folder. ‘Any other business?’ Gwaine gave a curt twitch and Balin mouthed a silent ‘no’ but Percy stood up.

  ‘Just two things, Art.’ He raised his mug high. ‘First, welcome home, young Kay. Life’s been exceedingly boring without you. I’m looking forward to hearing all about Jerusalem.’ Billi didn’t miss the way the others looked at Kay. The wise and mighty Oracle. She was surprised
they weren’t all on their knees in adoration. Pathetic. Then Percy grinned at Billi. ‘And I’d like to propose a toast to the newest member of the Order. Only fifteen and, if you’ll excuse the vernacular, totally bad-ass. Won’t be long before we’re calling you Master.’ There was a snort from Gwaine, but Percy ignored it. ‘To Bilqis SanGreal.’

  Good old Percy. Always looking out for her. More than once she’d wished he was her dad, instead of just her godfather. The others rose, Gwaine last of all. Even Arthur lifted his tea cup, slightly.

  ‘To Billi!’

  Then Arthur clicked the laptop firmly shut and placed his folder of cuttings on top of it.

  ‘Well, if that’s all, I’ll leave you to your duties.’ He tucked them both under his arm and walked out. Balin and Gwaine followed moments after, while Percy helped Billi and Kay stack up the plates. He scooped up a pile then paused. He lowered his head down from where it almost touched the ceiling to the two squires’ level.

  ‘Play nice, kids,’ he said. He eyeballed Billi for a long moment, then left.

  Kay began lining up the blue china teacups on a tray. Billi didn’t help.

  ‘So you’re going to teach me some Jedi mind tricks?’ she asked.

  ‘You heard what your dad said. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy. I could help you with your homework afterwards, if you like.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t like.’ She wasn’t going to let him get away with it that easily.

  She had missed him.

  5

  It was seven the next night when Billi emerged from Finsbury Park station. Cold drizzle fell and the gutters were stuffed with soggy leaves, leaving swollen puddles on either side of the road. She flicked off her hood and spotted Kay by the bus shelter. His black woollen cap was pulled low down to his eyebrows, but his silvery hair seemed to glow under the stark white fluorescents of the shelter.