‘I did it for you,’ he whispered desperately. Billi felt him sob. She pulled back and looked up at him.
‘It’s OK, Kay. You’re OK. It’ll be all right now.’ But the fear in his eyes made her hesitate. He broke away from her and passed his hand over his face.
‘I did it for you,’ he repeated. What was he going on about? He looked over to the corner and Billi followed his gaze.
It lay against the wall, bright, deadly and silver. Her blood turned to ice.
The Silver Sword.
Billi walked over to it. Even without touching she could feel the power radiating from it. Slowly her fingertips touched the hilt and her hand gripped the weapon.
The spike of energy was stronger than before, a mainline of Ethereal power straight into her heart. Every atom of her burst with strength and the tenth plague evaporated instantly, burned off her by the sheer brilliance of the shining sword. Satan had told the truth after all: the sword did make her invulnerable to Michael’s powers.
She turned to Kay.
‘How did you get this?’ Fear inched its way through her and she tightened her grip on the hilt.
‘How d’you think?’ Kay reached out, pleading. ‘I did it for you, Billi.’
‘How, Kay?’
‘It’s me, Billi.’ Kay was a few metres away, but Billi could see the caution in his movements. He didn’t want to get too close. He was afraid.
Oh God. Billi felt her chest and pulled off her crucifix. She threw it on the flagstone floor between them.
‘Pick it up, Kay. Please.’
Kay bent down on to his knees, staring at the silver cross. Billi watched him, her heart tearing apart.
‘Please pick it up.’ If he picked it up everything would be OK. They’d be OK.
Kay reached out. His hand trembled as he got within a few centimetres, but by then his fingers shook terribly. They curled up and he drew his hand to his chest, cradling it.
‘What have you done, Kay?’ But she knew. He’d given away his soul to the Devil. For her.
‘It’s still me, Billi.’ He stood up and a change came over him. The light was gone. Billi could see nothing but a reflection behind the shining eyes and that smile that had once seemed to be in love with the world was just a few stretched muscles. He kicked the crucifix away. ‘It’s still me.’ He repeated it again as he strode forward, trying to persuade her it was true. Trying to persuade himself.
He grabbed her sword-wrist and the other arm went around her and he held her fast. His face hovered above hers and Billi saw the terrible struggle in the emptiness of his eyes. The hunger was already rising and he gave a feral growl that trembled up from deep inside. His body stiffened but his lips peeled apart and his teeth, already subtly sharpened into a row of razor-edged points, glistened.
‘It’s. Still. Me. ’ But his body shook with the lie.
‘I did it for you, Billi.’ And showed her as he sank his teeth into her neck.
TERROR
when the ground collapses and Kay tumbles down two floors, blinded by the dust and flames. He summons his will and floorboards tear away, hurled up at Michael like giant flaming spears. Michael rips down a wall and Kay dives between two half-collapsed beams. He covers his face and the smoke smothers him and he curls up, deafened by the roaring inferno around him.
PAIN
as the hairs on his neck crinkle, and blisters swell and bubble on his skin and he knows he’s going to die, burn to death. He coughs as the smoke tries to crawl down his throat and he is afraid. His shirt catches fire and the agony blanks out his mind as the building falls down and he’s held fast, unable to move, with the fire eating his arm.
AWE
at his appearance. He’s squatting on the burning support beam, oblivious to the fire around him. His eyes are empty sockets and Kay knows the Devil has come to witness his death. He must be brave and die a martyr. But he smells his arm burning and with it the sickening odour of fat and roasting pork.
ANGER
when the Devil admires his courage. Kay is a true Templar and will be remembered as a martyr. Satan has no wish to deny Kay his glorious death.
FIRE
eats at Kay’s limbs and wave upon wave of agony crash over him. His breathing is shallow, petrified gasps, but he grits his teeth. He must bear it for a little longer and then it will end, forever…
PEACE.
But what of Billi? asks the Devil. At least Kay chose to martyr himself. Poor Billi will die, like the other firstborn, in sickness and agony till the last. The deaths will be countless and there’ll be no martyr’s headstone for her. She will go in a mass grave, dumped into the cold soil with thousands of others, nameless and forgotten. A mere statistic. She will not die easy, but over the night each moment will be a fresh eternity of pain as the tenth plague gradually consumes her.
DOUBT
worms its way into his mind. What of Billi, indeed? asks the Devil. He reaches out his hand. Take it, Kay. If not for you, then do it for Billi.
BILLI.
Kay takes it.
‘No!’ Billi screamed, and tore free. She clutched her neck, low on the shoulder and her hand came away red and wet.
She stared at him. ‘Oh God, Kay. What have you done?’
‘I did it for you, Billi!’ Tears swelled, but they were thick scarlet. He saw the horror on her face, and suddenly awoke to where he’d almost taken her. ‘Jesus, Billi. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.’ He took a step forward. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.’
‘Get away from me!’ The Silver Sword was in her hand, tip pointed directly at Kay’s heart. ‘Why?’
He stepped back. ‘Oh, did you think he’d just give it to me? D’you think I’d have just chosen this if it hadn’t been for you? I did it for you!’ His eyes blazed, like two gems caught in a furnace. He watched the deadly blade hovering between them. ‘Now you’re going to kill me?’
She wanted to say no, but the word caught in her throat. A flicker of – what? Fear? Doubt? Sorrow? – crossed his face.
‘He saved me, Billi. Saved me. You left me there, dying in the flames. I saw you run, you, your dad and Elaine. You left me.’ Kay spread out his arms. ‘But… I forgive you. I do. Look, Billi, it’s me. It’s Kay.’ But all Billi could stare at was the blood in his mouth, and the wild hunger in his eyes.
No, this wasn’t Kay.
Not any more.
‘Let me help you,’ she said, stepping closer.
‘How? Ease my suffering?’ He thrust out an accusing finger at the Silver Sword. ‘With that? I’ve given you everything, Billi. Everything.’ He was backing away, fading as though the darkness was sucking him in. He halted, his body blending with the shadows. He stretched out his hand, reaching for her, but Billi didn’t move. The hand recoiled and Kay stared at her with his white face stretched into a bestial snarl. ‘You treacherous bitch.’
Then he ran into the night. It was a long time before his screams faded away.
33
Five in the morning and the streets were packed. Dawn was less than an hour away. Billi had the Silver Sword wrapped in a sheet, tied across her back in what the squires called ‘ninja-style’. She had truly lost Kay now. There was only one place to go – one thing to do. She gazed up into the rain-filled sky and saw it above her, not far now.
Elysium Heights.
A woman sat on the edge of the kerb, rocking back and forth, slapping her head. Her face was frozen in a silent, endless scream, her eyes screwed tight, but void of tears.
She looked mad, with that dumb, repetitive rhythm. It was only when Billi passed in front of her that she understood.
Cradled in her lap, still dressed in a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh pyjamas, lay a pale, limp baby. Dead or alive, Billi didn’t know. She pushed herself back into the crowds, away.
Billi walked through the people, the abandoned cars, the screaming children and hysterical parents. Headlights illuminated the bedlam as thousands took to the streets. Horns beeped endlessly, i
gnored sirens wailed and the hundreds upon hundreds of despairing mothers and fathers cried, yelled and fought for some little help, some little hope.
The roads to St Paul ’s Cathedral were gridlocked. People climbed over the cars, abandoned in the middle of the road when they couldn’t get any closer, carrying semi-conscious children in their arms. The entrance was under siege, hundreds of people all crowded around and trying to clamber over hastily erected barricades, exhausted priests and policemen trying to hold them back. Above them the skies echoed with church bells and thunder.
Billi stared around, bewildered.
Michael’s masterpiece.
The gates into the building site lay crumpled in the mud. The van had been driven through them and was abandoned a dozen metres further, engine still running and its front driven into the side of a Portakabin.
The rain and wind attacked her with greater ferocity; the elements seemed determined to keep her from entering. The heavens roared with thunder, but above the screaming gales she heard cries and the clashing of steel.
She threw the wrapping off the Silver Sword and entered.
Billi’s heart pounded. The sprawling site, dominated by the immense black tower, was dark and full of cold, fathomless shadows, any one hiding a murderous angel. The huge diggers, the countless cabins and storage containers seemed to have no logical order, creating a maze. The mud squelched and sucked at her boots. Deep puddles had formed in the troughs caused by the tractors that sat empty across the site, forcing her to drag herself, foot by foot. She tightened her grip on the hilt as she turned a corner into a small opening.
Father Balin sat leaning against the wall. Rain dripped off his white hair and his chin was resting on his chest. His clothes were filthy with blood and mud. She knelt down beside him and touched the wide gash across his chest. The mace lay on his lap and his crucifix was dangling in his right hand.
He hadn’t been much of a fighter. She looked at the kind wrinkled face; his eyes were closed and a faint smile remained. It wasn’t tears running down her face – it was only rain. Only rain. She kissed his forehead and left.
The clouds above boiled and spat down lightning, momentarily filling the sky with shocking white. The rain came at her like a solid sheet of icy water, but ahead Billi could just make out figures moving through the half-assembled tower, encircling a band of men.
This was it, then. For nine hundred years the Templars had kept the darkness at bay. They had fought, they had died, and it had come down to this: a fight to save London ’s firstborn from Michael, fallen archangel of the Lord.
This was their last stand. Their last hour.
And their finest.
Gareth, atop a lorry, calmly notching his bow and launching arrow after arrow, black-fletched death unerringly seeking out hearts and necks and eyes among the bright and shining and howling angels.
Bors, wild and savage, using his pair of short swords like a butcher’s chopper, and Pelleas, almost submerged beneath white bodies and claw-like hands that fought back with tooth and red nail.
Gwaine stood bloody, battered and defiant to the last. His left arm dangled uselessly, ripped open to the bone, but he fought on, waving his axe in wide circles over his head.
And Arthur.
They said Arthur brought nightmares to the monsters, and now Billi saw how.
He stood on top of a large steel storage crate, the size of a double garage. His heavy jacket was torn and the steel mail beneath tattered. Blood ran from a dozen cuts across his arms, chest and legs, but his face was a mask of berserk fury, his lips torn into a snarl as he raised his sword and howled.
‘C’mon!’ he cried. About him lay the dead, and around him circled the living. Two Watchers, each armed with machetes, leapt a dozen metres across the air. The first didn’t even land, his torso sliced by Arthur’s sword in mid-air so each half tumbled either side into the blood-drenched mud beneath. The second faltered, stunned by Arthur’s savagery, and that hesitation cost her everything. Arthur swept his weapon across hers, knocking the machete away. The angel turned to flee, but Arthur grabbed her flowing golden hair and snapped her back. She didn’t even have time to scream as he drove his blade through her.
Still weak, having just entered the Material Realm after centuries of imprisonment, the Watchers didn’t yet have Michael’s supernatural ability to survive the blow of a mortal weapon. The knights were drawing a dreadful slaughter, but the Watchers had numbers on their side. They just needed to hold the Templars at bay for a short while longer. Dawn was coming and then all the firstborn infected by the plague would die.
Billi stood, frozen. The noise, the terror and the chaos of the battle was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to do. Should she help her dad, or protect Gareth? Or aid Bors? Each moment could be their last, could be her last, and panic and uncertainty gripped her.
Watchers scuttled like insects along the black steel beams and columns. There were dozens of them. The lightning erupted again, and silhouetted against the raging white was a lone figure, poised on the highest point of the skeletal frame of the tower.
Michael.
She knew. It was down to her. It had always been. She was a Templar, and in the end it was as simple as that. And if this was to be the Knights Templar’s last hour, so it would be hers too. She knew it and, finally, was not afraid.
You shall keep the company of martyrs.
Had this moment always been planned? Kay’s prophecy? A freak meeting on the train? Destiny?
No, simpler than that.
Billi raised her sword high and it blazed in the storm light. Supernatural energies coursed through her from the weapon as it trapped the sparks of lightning and blazed. The others turned towards the blinding light as Billi cried:
‘Deus vult!’
She ran now, straight for the goods lift. The other Templars saw her, and understood. They broke their way out of the attacking Watchers, converging on her. The dark angels sensed it too. They screamed and howled, leapt from steel girder to girder, but she was there. She threw herself into the steel cage as Arthur reached her. Their eyes met. Streaked with blood, he smiled. She stood up, steady despite the way the fragile steel cage trembled in the tempest. He didn’t speak – there was nothing to say – he merely nodded. Then Arthur stepped back and slammed the gate shut.
Billi twisted the red handle and the lift rattled and sprang upwards. She gazed down into the swirling muddy battlefield as the Templars formed a circle at the bottom of her lift scaffold. Around them, merging into the darkness, gathered dozens of Michael’s followers. Billi stared down until they were lost in the rain.
34
The lift jolted as it stopped. This was the end of the journey. Billi dragged her sleeve across her face, ridding herself of the blinding rain. She tightened her grip on the Silver Sword, feeling its energy pulse through her. She rolled the door open and stepped out. Half the floor had been cast with concrete, but she could see it was broken up with black empty holes. One misstep and it was two hundred metres before she’d stop.
‘Billi, how appropriate,’ said Michael. He stood on the very top of a steel column, barely wide enough for both feet. Despite the winds screaming around him he did not falter, but waited, perfectly balanced. He wore only a pair of rain-sodden black jeans, his torso bare; glistening like silver. His elaborate tattoos writhed like serpents over his white skin, alive and eager. The two long scars on his back bled.
‘Come down,’ she said. Her eyes were set on his, but she did not tremble under their unearthly gaze.
A Templar does not tremble.
‘And what?’
‘Engage in an orgy of violence.’ She stepped out into the centre of the half-concreted floor. ‘It should be most cathartic.’ She held the sword in both hands, but low. ‘Or are you scared?’
Michael sighed deeply. ‘What do you see out there?’ He held a sword in his own hands and pointed it westwards.
Towards St Paul ’s Cathedral.
Lights. She saw thousands of lights, even from so high up. The city which had twinkled the first time she had looked down from this very spot was now flooded in a flickering yellow haze of light.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said.
But she knew what those lights were, what they meant. They meant a family with a dying child. Someone they loved and adored, who was going to die at dawn. They congregated around St Paul ’s and if she was down there she’d see it wasn’t beautiful like Michael thought, but ugly, vile, horrific.
‘See, Billi? See how I’ve brought God back into their lives? They will never again stray from the Path of Righteousness.’
‘And what of the millions you’ll kill?’
‘They will pass into Heaven. They are my sacrifice.’
‘You are beyond insane. You’ve not brought God into their lives; you’ve brought nothing but fear.’
Michael smiled to himself. ‘And that is the beginning of faith.’ He gestured to the eastern sky. Despite the dark storm clouds, there was the faintest hint of colour, just a thin dash of grey and purple. ‘Not long now.’
Billi tapped her sword tip against the floor; she’d had enough. ‘Come down and die.’
He spread his arms. And dropped.
Gravity didn’t take him; Michael was made of something other than crude flesh, bone and gristle. He was a being of light and glided to the floor, his toes first brushing the surface before settling himself firmly down.
‘Remember this?’ he said, holding aloft the Templar Sword and slowly turning the polished blade in the growing light. It had changed. Billi couldn’t see the difference, but she felt it. Power radiated from it, no longer mortal-forged steel, but something more, imbued with angelic energies.
Billi raised her own weapon. ‘Remember this?’ she asked.
Was it her imagination, or did Michael go pale?
Devil’s Kiss Page 20