Devil’s Kiss

by Sarwat Chadda

  ‘A Silver Sword. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one. How did you get it?’

  ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ Billi replied.

  Michael opened his mouth in a silent ‘ahh’ and nodded. ‘Satan. How ironic you should make a treaty with the Morning Star to destroy me.’

  She stepped over a crossbeam, wary of the gaps in the concrete floor, carefully shifting her weight from one foot to the other, eyes never leaving Michael’s.

  The swords touched, deadly edges stroking each other, testing for that first opening. Billi’s heart hammered with concentrated adrenalin, and minute jewels of sweat rose on her forehead as she sized up her opponent.

  St Michael.

  Archangel of the grigori.

  Angel of Death.

  God’s Killer.

  Michael flicked her tip aside, swapped grips and Billi’s instinct took over. She didn’t even see the attack, but turned her wrist and the steel screamed. Flying sparks leapt from the killing edges as they both fought to drive their blades into each other’s flesh. Michael’s hot breath washed her face as they butted together, then sprang apart.

  His offensive was unrelenting. The sword caught her arm, but she barely felt its sting. Billi backed away, deflecting attacks that came on like an avalanche. Michael’s blows smashed against the Silver Sword, and her arms ached from each assault.

  The blades locked; her quillion caught the other’s hilt. She tugged hard, hoping to rip the weapon from Michael’s grip.

  Michael grinned. ‘Is that the best -’

  Billi screamed and headbutted him. Michael’s legs wobbled, just for a second, but it was enough.

  As he fell Billi grabbed his sword-wrist and drove her knee into it. There was a jolt – it was like kicking a tree – but his fingers loosened their grip. She twisted her sword hilt; the Templar Sword slipped free and spun away.

  Michael roared, ignoring the Silver Sword as it ripped across his ribs, and grabbed Billi’s head. Iron-stiff fingers covered her face. Muscle, bone, flesh, all flexed under the vice-like pressure. White-hot pain swelled in her skull, and her eyes bulged, ready to pop like grapes. But she wouldn’t quit. She hissed, consumed with battle madness.

  The Silver Sword touched his stomach, and she pushed, deeper and deeper. Even as her jaw cracked and nerves screamed, she pushed.

  Michael let go. He stumbled back, clutching his side. Billi gasped, suddenly free of the crushing fingers, and the ground rocked unsteadily as she tried not to faint.

  Michael’s hands were sticky with his blood, but the stomach wound wasn’t fatal. His eyes searched for a weapon. He moved towards the discarded Templar Sword like lightning.

  But Billi was faster and slammed the pommel into his face. Michael crashed backwards into the fallen debris, splashing into a puddle. Jagged spikes of pain shot through Billi’s head, and her vision was hazy, blurred by tears. She stumbled forward, holding the quivering sword tip directly at Michael.

  He looked up at her, face frozen into a twisted grimace. The Silver Sword touched his chin, and bobbed above his throat. He snarled.

  ‘So here you are. And now you intend to kill me?’

  ‘As you killed the Egyptian.’

  Michael smiled.

  ‘Not quite.’ He raised his hand. ‘Help me, my friend.’

  The darkness beyond the strange forest of girders quivered like a heatwave off tarmac. Billi thought she heard something, but under her own heaving breath she couldn’t tell from which direction. Then she heard it again, and realized it was in her head.

  Billi.

  A black silhouette framed itself and stepped out of the shadows, his face startlingly white against the darkness surrounding him.

  Kay.

  35

  Kay smiled. Billi’s heart clenched as he stepped closer.

  He’s changed so much already.

  His skin shone like pearl under the ghostly light, smooth, translucent, flawless. His eyes burned bright and sharp with desire, with hunger.

  With hate.

  ‘I’m happy you’re here, Billi. We can spend your last few moments together,’ he said.

  ‘Kay -’

  He roared and flew across the gap between them. Billi dodged sideways, caught her foot on uneven concrete and crashed down hard. She raised the sword, but Kay slammed his boot into her wrist; the nerves screamed and went numb. Tears swelled and through the blur she saw the Silver Sword hurtle away.

  Too fast, how did -

  His foot hit her chest like an iron sledgehammer. She gasped, breathing in jagged ice and fire; her ribs cracked.

  ‘Kay. Please,’ she murmured. Her head was tumbling, her legs loose like wet rope.

  He’s too strong.

  I can’t stop him.

  ‘Kay, don’t.’

  ‘What, don’t you like it? Why not? All this is thanks to you.’ He hoisted her up, one handed. ‘Because of you.’

  He gave a broken, insane laugh. Billi saw red teardrops sprinkle his cheeks. He lowered his head against her and whispered. ‘I can’t bear it. It’s too much.’ He raised his head and grinned maniacally. ‘Help me. I want to kill you so much.’ He punched her in the face.

  Billi blacked out.

  She could taste the metallic-edged blood, her blood, swilling in her mouth. She opened her eyes, but her vision reeled and the ceiling above spun round and round. She couldn’t get up. She lay among the debris, barely able to move. ‘Kay, I’m so sorry.’ She slid her hands out, hoping to find something to help her up. Her right palm touched steel, cold, hard, familiar.

  The Silver Sword.

  Slowly, they both looked at it. A stream of power dribbled through her palm into her arm. Her grip firmed.

  Then relaxed.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  Not Kay.

  ‘Take it, Billi.’ He stared at her, eyes blazing with madness. His fingers were hooked like talons and he snarled. Tears, thick and red, smeared his face. ‘I can’t stop myself.’ He grabbed her and Billi witnessed the struggle within him. ‘You have to do it,’ he whispered. ‘Stop me.’

  Kay had been true, to her, to them both. He’d given his soul, damned himself, to save her. In that moment she looked at him and she knew what the prophecy meant.

  She will sacrifice the one she loves to save them.

  It wasn’t about her dad.

  It was Kay.

  Billi’s hand tightened round the sword hilt.

  ‘Forgive me, Kay.’

  The groan escaping his lips rose like a banshee wail. The sky turned white with lightning and she saw him, saw him as close and as clearly as she’d seen anyone.

  The soft, gentle contours of his jaw, the downy white hairs on his chin, his lips. She could still feel their touch on hers.

  Billi closed her eyes. There was warmth from the blade, the pain receded and dawn was coming.

  ‘Finish it!’ screamed Michael.

  Kay dropped to his knees. He cradled her and wrapped his hand round hers and the sword hilt.

  Billi settled herself in his lap. She looked into his eyes and saw courage there. She had to be as brave as Kay, if the firstborn were to be saved. If Michael was to be stopped a sacrifice was needed.

  They looked at each other, and he gently pressed his lips to hers.

  ‘Do it, Billi,’ he whispered.

  Billi’s hand trembled, but Kay tightened his round hers and together they held the sword steady. He pulled her tightly against him, squeezing his lips hard against hers. A thin rasp of air slipped through.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said.

  Billi pushed the sword into Kay’s heart.

  Blood erupted from the wound and Kay’s body went limp. Billi pulled the sword out and it slipped from her fingers as she cradled his collapsing body. She pressed her hands over the wound.

  ‘It’s OK, Billi.’

  Thick, sticky blood clogged her hands and soaked his shirt. Kay choked; frothy red bubbles burst from his mouth and nost
rils.

  It’s OK, Billi.

  ‘Kay,’ she whispered. His scarlet hands cupped her face, and held her steady. The bloody handprints were warm against her face. Handprints like her mother had left on her bedroom door. She looked into his eyes, willing him to hang on. It didn’t matter how long, but every second was one second more.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kay,’ she said. He was dying, but she wanted to know every last moment.

  He stared back, eyes clear, focused. His bloody mouth split into a smile, that secret smile.

  Beautiful.

  His last breath was just a sigh. She stared, waiting, waiting for him to breathe, just a little.

  Just a little.

  Please, Kay.

  Just a little.

  But nothing came.

  Billi squeezed his body against hers. She covered his lips with hers, tasting the salty blood, vainly hoping for the slightest breath.

  But nothing came.

  She looked at him, but Kay was gone. Those big blue eyes faded, open but empty. He wasn’t looking at her any more. She heard the scrape of metal sliding on the stone floor, and the creak of a foot on timber. A shadow fell over her. She didn’t look round.

  ‘What d’you think he sees, with eyes so wide?’ she asked.

  The cold, silver blade touched her cheek. ‘You will know soon enough,’ said Michael.

  Billi raised her head. Michael held the Silver Sword to her throat. He looked at her, not with triumph, but a strange resignation. Like he’d always known it would end like this.

  Billi touched her cheek and felt Kay’s sticky blood marking her, protecting her, just as her mother’s had done. She stared at the dark red stains on her fingers, and stopped.

  Her mother had known how to stop Michael. He hadn’t abandoned Billi that night he’d come to their home. He couldn’t reach her. Jamila had marked the door with the blood of sacrifice.

  Back then, her mother had died to save her, and now, Kay had too. She pressed her bloody fingers against her lips. Kay had died to prove his prophecy right, and now it was her turn. But if she was wrong she would die. Strangely she didn’t mind.

  Kay would be waiting.

  ‘It’s better this way,’ said Michael.

  ‘Just do it.’

  The sword bolted up and swept down. Billi held Kay against her heart as the blow struck.

  The Silver Sword shattered into thousands of sparkling lights, a silent eruption of diamond stars that blew bright, then gently vanished, gone before they touched the ground.

  There was a sting on her neck, and she could feel the warm trickle of blood rolling down her cold skin.

  She touched the wound: a small, shallow cut. Shallow, but she knew she’d bear it forever. She turned towards Michael. He stared blankly at his hand, the sword utterly gone.

  ‘How?’ muttered Michael.

  Sacrificial blood. The most powerful magic there is; that was what Elaine had said. Michael stumbled away, shaking his head. Lightning flashed and the building shook with thunder. The huge steel columns groaned and cracks erupted along the concrete. The Jews of ancient Egypt had protected their homes with the blood of sacrifice and the Angel of Death could not cross.

  The Watchers’ one immutable law.

  ‘You should have Passed Over, Michael,’ Billi said as she cradled Kay. Michael had tried to cross a barrier protected by Kay’s sacrificial blood. ‘You broke covenant.’

  The look of horror said it all. Michael raised his offending hand and wailed. He tore at his rain-sodden hair and ran his nails deep into his cheeks. Throwing his arms up towards the heavens he pleaded, ‘Forgive me! Forgive me!’

  Lightning shattered the sky, ripping apart the dense curtain of clouds. The sky filled with unbearable brightness and the roar was deafening. The wind almost threw Billi over as it swept across the city. Deep within this cyclone Billi heard a million voices crying and caught in the centre she saw Michael, his essence evaporating in the knife-edged strips being carved off him. He stumbled and cringed beneath the onslaught; down on his knees he begged.

  ‘God Almighty!’ he screamed, and then it consumed him, his scream dying away into the chorus of the damned tempest.

  Billi hugged Kay as the storm raged, but its brightness, too fierce and too powerful to linger, sucked into itself, and when she finally opened her eyes it was dawn, true dawn. The storm had passed and through the clouds she saw daylight at last. She looked into the sun, tingling with the warmth of a new day. ‘God Almighty indeed.’

  Somewhere, in some small city farm, a cock crowed.

  And a million children slept on.

  36

  They buried Kay a week later at a small Norman church on the Kent coast. It sat on a cliff overlooking the still and silent sea. White-winged seagulls circled against the sharp blue sky. Percy, Berrant and Balin had been buried in London, but Billi wanted something special for Kay.

  He’ll like the view, she thought.

  No family, and the stone just had his name, birth and death, and a brief epitaph:

  A Poor Soldier.

  Elaine stood at the head of the grave. Billi had thought Arthur would give the eulogy, but knew Elaine had been a mentor to Kay in a way her warrior father never had.

  ‘We’re all poor soldiers,’ said Elaine. ‘What’s life but bitter struggle, and pain? You have to be a soldier to bear it. To bear witness to what life brings: loss, despair, defeat. Our victories are few, and fleeting.’ Billi watched the tears sparkle on the woman’s wrinkled cheeks, sliding down the deep grooves. Elaine continued. ‘We have to have faith. Faith that something good comes out of our sacrifices. I think we can say Kay proved just that.’ Billi took her dad’s hand, and he gave it a brief squeeze.

  ‘Kay wasn’t a warrior. But when he was called he was not found wanting.’ Elaine’s hands covered her eyes. ‘We can only hope that his reward is a just one.’

  The sun shone on the polished oak coffin lid as the other knights lowered it into the grave. They were all there. The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon. The Knights Templar.

  Four weary men and her.

  Bors and Pelleas stood one side of the coffin while Gwaine and Arthur stood on the other, holding the ropes slung under it. Her dad was sweating, grimacing from the pain of his stitches, as centimetre by centimetre they lowered Kay to his final resting place. Billi closed her eyes, and saw the lingering ghosts of Percy, Balin and Berrant.

  And Kay.

  Billi felt hollow. This morning her heart had leapt when she’d seen a tall, skinny blond boy. For a fraction Kay was alive, but the boy turned, and it wasn’t him.

  Kay is gone. The thought shrivelled her inside. How could he be gone so quickly? She’d cried in the morning, shocked she couldn’t remember everything about him. She couldn’t bear to think her memories might fade so she forced herself to recall every single feature. His pale skin, the silvery hair, the soft bristles of his beard, just gathered around his chin. And his eyes. They were the one thing she’d never forget.

  Blue, they were very blue.

  The coffin scraped the bottom of the pit. The knights reeled in the ropes.

  Don’t leave me, Kay.

  The others lined up and each paused by the grave, giving a silent prayer, a final farewell. Then it was Billi’s turn.

  I can’t do this.

  Arthur stopped and looked at her. She blushed with shame. He’d buried his wife, and it hadn’t stopped him.

  How could she do less? And what else would Kay expect of her?

  ‘Say goodbye, sweetheart,’ Arthur said.

  But she couldn’t move. She stared at the coffin. A tiny patter of loose earth dropped on to the lid.

  Don’t go.

  Billi.

  She jolted, glancing around, heart suddenly pounding hard and rapid.

  ‘Billi.’ Arthur touched her shoulder. ‘Let him rest.’ Then he walked away down the green slope. She looked into the dark hole and undid her crucifix chain. She
held it over the edge, then it slipped and clattered on his coffin.

  The others queued along the gate as she walked. She looked at each, and one by one they nodded in greeting. This was where she belonged. Arthur stood last. He put his arms round her and pressed her close to his heart. She heard it beating fiercely against hers. Her father kissed her tear-stained cheeks and whispered softly:

  ‘Welcome to the Knights Templar.’

  Sarwat Chadda

  ***

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