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First published 2009

Copyright © Sarwat Chadda 2009

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-141-93782-3

PUFFIN BOOKS

DEVIL’S
KISS

Sarwat Chadda has travelled widely in the Far and Middle East, but there’s no place like home, and home is London. There’s nothing he enjoys more than getting lost in its ancient paths and alleyways, and it’s on these streets that Billi SanGreal was born. Who needs fantasy worlds when you’ve a city like this? He shares this place with many other souls, but most of all he shares it with his wife and two daughters.

devilskiss.co.uk

Books by Sarwat Chadda

DEVIL’S KISS

To my wife and daughters

Who made thee a prince and judge over us? Intendest thou to kill me, as thou killedst the Egyptian?

Exodus 2:14

Killing him should be easy; he’s only six.

Then why the bilious, twisting feeling deep in her guts? Why the cold, clammy dampness down her back?

He’s only six.

Billi waded through the tall, spiny grass towards the back of the park. The autumnal night wind whispered to her, down here in The Pit.

What a name for a playground.

But no one played here, hadn’t for years. The low fence around it had long since fallen, leaving rotten planks jutting out of the earth like crooked black teeth. The animal rockers watched her with blank, hollow eyes and their old springs creaked as they nodded their heads in greeting.

The boy sat on the swing, the middle one of three.

Only six.

Billi approached with a Maglite in her hand, its beam aided by the full moon and the red lights on the Crystal Palace radio aerial. It loomed over her like a giant black spike stabbing the sky.

The rusty chains groaned as he swayed back and forth, watching her.

Maybe it’s not him. Maybe he’s just some normal kid.

Maybe I don’t have to murder him.

He looked normal. Tatty Nike trainers, a pair of jeans with an elasticated waist, and a burgundy and blue striped Crystal Palace top.

A local boy.

Normal, except for the marks on his neck. His white throat was bound with dark purple bruises.

Billi drew a long, deep breath and crossed over the old fence boundary, her heart hammering hard against her ribs. The playground was gravel and scattered with litter: old cans, mouldy newspapers and brittle brown leaves that had blown down from the skeletal trees at the top of the hill. But the corruption was more than just gentle ageing. All the signs were here.

Of a Desolation: a place of evil. Innocent blood had been spilt, tainting the soil itself. Billi thought, if she dared to listen, she might still hear dying screams echoing in the wind, and the leaves rustling with a child’s last breath. The earth seeped with a sweet, oily vapour. It tinged the air, but as Billi passed the threshold it doubled in thickness, until after a few steps her lungs felt they were drowning in it. The few flowers and weeds that had broken through were grey and malformed. Beetles, glossy black, scuttled their armoured bodies over the stones, and fat, white, luminescent worms writhed under her feet.

‘Hello,’ said the boy.

‘Hello,’ said Billi.

The boy looked at her. He was missing a lower front tooth, but otherwise his baby teeth formed a soft, easy smile.

Just like the photo.

I could still be wrong.

But with each step closer, she knew she wasn’t. It was the bruises.

Billi stopped a few metres in front of him. The marks still held the impressions of fingers, even after all this time.

‘Have you come to play?’ he asked.

Look into his eyes. That’s what they’d told her. Wasn’t it one of the first lessons she’d learnt in the Order? The windows of the soul. She’d often stared at her own black orbs, wondering what really lay through them. Maybe only more darkness.

The boy got off the swing, and Billi stepped backwards; she couldn’t help it.

He looked up at her, catching the moon full on his plump, gap-toothed face. His eyes shone like mirrors, like cats’ eyes. Billi stared into them, but there was nothing there, just an empty reflection.

It’s him.

‘I’m sorry, Alex. I’ve come to take you back.’

‘How do you know my name?’

What didn’t she know about him? She’d read the old newspapers, trawled through the library archives for a week. Even watched the faded 8mm home movie, a flickering yellow-tinged illusion of life on a white bedsheet.

Alexander Weeks. Six years old. No. 25 Bartholew Street. Pupil at St Christopher’s Primary School. Brother to Penny.

Last seen in 1970.

‘But I’ve only just got here. I want to see my mummy.’

Only son of Jennifer and Paul Weeks. Billi remembered them sitting with her dad in the church, showing him their old photo album. Telling him of how they still dreamed of Alex, even now.

How they saw his face outside their window some nights.

‘I know you do. But you can’t stay here.’

She’d argued she was only fifteen, a year below age. But her dad had insisted. It was time. The Ordeal. Her last test before she was initiated into the Order.

And no one argued with Arthur SanGreal.

She’d expected some Hot Meet. A fight, lots of sound and fury. Why else all those extra lessons sword-fighting with Percy? Her arms and legs were a busy map of bruises and cuts and already attracted enough attention at school. She’d thought there’d be a duel against one of the real Unholy. A Loony, Fang-face, even an Infernal maybe.

Not this.

Not killing a little kid.

Billi took another step.

‘Why? It’s not fair!’ The swings either side of him rattled on their chains, agitated. Billi tensed. Goosebumps crept along her arm, even under her fleece. Alex radiated coldness.

‘I know, son.’

Billi spun round.

Her father strode over the broken fence and walked towards them. He wore his suit, his one and only suit. Dark blue and shiny with wear. In his left hand he held a scabbard, in his right, a sword. A metre and a half long, its pommel was a thick iron disc bearing the Order’s symbol: two knights on a single horse. The broad blade gleamed ghost-silver in the moonlight. It was a brutal weapon made for hacking.

The boy looked at him. ‘Have you come to kill me too?’

Arthur stopped halfway between them and the fence and discarded the scabbard. He smiled at Alex, but it was tired and wan. And there was no gentleness in his icy blue eyes.

‘No, lad. You know I can’t.’ He glanced at Billi. ‘You’re already dead.’

‘It’s not fair!’ The swings were thrashing and clanging now, the roundabout creaked to life, turning slowly, grinding its rusty axle against its corroded socket.

‘The man said I could feed the birds! The man said –’

‘He’s been punished for what he did,’ said Arthur.

‘Is he in Hell?’ asked Alex.

‘I promise you he is.’

The boy wailed. ‘I didn’t want to die!’ He held up his hands. ‘Please, let me stay.’ Crystal tears dribbled down his face, and his mouth and chin wrinkled in misery. ‘It’s dark and I’m all alone! It’s dark and I’m scared!’ He stepped nearer, begging.

He’s just a little boy…

‘No, Billi!’ shouted Arthur, but too late. Billi dropped to her knees and embraced Alex. She pulled him close to her heart and –

the chill seeps into her pores, saturating her skin with ice. Like venom, black ichor floods her veins, pumping her with Alex’s despair, envy and

HATE

that he was snatched from the sunlight by sweaty hands and crushing fingers, in the dirt and fallen leaves never to feel the

WARMTH

he misses so much and wants more than anything and so he sucks it from her, leaving only coldness that is brittle-bone deep, sucks the air out of her lungs, white frost, and her

FLESH

blisters and tears freeze on her cheeks as she stares into Alex’s eyes, black and malice-filled, remembering only the

AGONY

that he cannot forget and it eats him, an abysmal virus that he can’t contain so she must

SUFFER

like he did and the cold burns her heart as he burrows deeper, clawing at her to join him in the darkness, far, far –

Powerful fingers dug deep into Billi’s shoulders and ripped her free. Arthur tossed her away from the boy and she tumbled in the gravel, slamming down hard on her cheek.

She couldn’t move, frozen. Her fingers were crooked claws, trembling with the deep chill.

Possession. It had tried to possess her. It wasn’t Alex. Not any more. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t bend; they felt as brittle as icicles.

‘Billi!’ shouted Arthur.

There was a loud crack as the wooden swing seat broke apart, and the two loose chains lashed out. Billi ducked as one whipped out above her, but Arthur took a blow across his forehead. The sword flew away, he stumbled, then was lifted off the ground as the chain wrapped itself round his neck.

And tightened.

He dangled from the swing’s A frame: a perverse playground gallows. Arthur clawed at the noose, his face turning deep red.

‘Let him go!’ screamed Billi. She bent forward, hoisting herself on to her feet, legs quivering like spaghetti.

But Alex wasn’t listening. There was a black, savage fire inside him and he freed a bestial howl as her dad dangled on the end of the chain. The cry sliced Billi’s skin like daggers.

Alex could never have made a sound like that. No child could.

The sword stood between them, point buried into the ground, upright like a steel crucifix.

‘Please, Alex!’ Billi begged. Arthur’s hands dropped and he went limp.

But Alex, or the thing pretending to be a living boy, just laughed and waved his arms, a mad puppeteer with her dad’s body as his doll.

Billi charged, ripping the sword free in a shower of dirt and insects. Alex turned and she kicked him in his chest, knocking him over.

Grip reversed, she held the sword above him, tip pointed down.

‘God forgive me,’ she whispered.

Then plunged the blade into the child’s heart.

The shriek tore the sky apart and Billi shuddered, but her fingers tightened round the wire-bound sword hilt. Black bile erupted from the wound, alive almost, saturating her clothes and face. She choked as droplets of ectoplasm splashed into her mouth and down her throat.

She drove the sword deeper, pinning Alex to the earth.

Leaning on to the pommel, she fumbled in her pocket with one hand and pulled out a small silver vial. Her sweaty fingers wouldn’t open the lid so she bit it off. Then she smeared the clear oil on to her fingers.

Alex stared, eyes huge, as she tossed the empty bottle away. Billi released the sword and dropped to her knees beside him.

‘No, Billi! Please! I don’t want to go!’ He punched and screamed and scratched as she tried to hold his head still enough to mark it with the cross. He pulled her short black hair and spat out stinking oily gore.

‘Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis,’ she intoned. Locking his head still with her left hand, Billi pressed the first two fingers of her right on his forehead, then chin and finally both cheeks.

‘Please, Billi. Let me stay. Just a little longer,’ he whimpered.

Billi tried to ignore the desperation in Alex’s voice. She had to finish this. ‘Ego to linio oleo salutis in Christo Jesu Domino nostro, ut habeas vitam aeternam!’

Billi leapt away as Alex’s body spasmed. Bile poured out of his eyes, nostrils, ears, mouth, great jets of bubbling, noxious fluid that filled the air with the stink of brutal death. Alex’s cries weakened as the outpouring diminished, his body eroding before her.

‘What have you done?’ the boy hissed, eyes blazing with demonic madness.

‘Deus vult,’ Billi whispered. It was the Order’s battle cry, but right now it seemed more like a curse.

God wills it.

He gave a final scream then the last of Alex faded away; a pale outline lingered for a moment before, in the sigh of a breeze, it disappeared. Billi stared at the empty spot, only the black stain remained, and the vile odour. She pressed her hands against her face.

I killed him.

She’d passed the Ordeal; she should be elated. She’d trained so long and hard for this.

Instead she felt sick and hollow.

Arthur crashed to the ground, free from the now lifeless chains. He shook with a dry, rasping cough, then slowly rose to his feet. He stumbled over and stood beside her, inspecting the dark outline.

‘Well done. A clean kill,’ he croaked, rubbing his bruised neck. Then he saw Billi, covered in slimy gore. ‘Figuratively speaking.’

Arthur wrapped his fingers round his sword and worked it back and forth until it came free. He wiped the blade with an old rag, inspecting the edge centimetre by centimetre for any new nicks or cracks. Finally he nodded with satisfaction and, on retrieving the scabbard, slipped the weapon in.

‘How was school?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘School. You did go, didn’t you?’

‘School? How can you talk about school after what I’ve just done!’

‘Done? What you’ve done is free a tortured soul. Whatever it looked like, whatever it said, that was not Alex Weeks. It was an evil spirit, corrupting that child’s darkest emotions, his soul.’ He glanced at the broken swings. ‘The dead should not linger.’

‘Jesus, how can you be so cold-hearted?’

‘Don’t blaspheme, Billi.’

The ground swayed as she stood, and her guts churned. She sucked in the cold night air, but something putrid bubbled in her stomach. Arthur put his hand, awkwardly, on her shoulder. ‘How d’you feel?’

She wanted to laugh. Feel? After what had just happened? She stumbled towards the boundary, clutching her belly. The ectoplasm writhed inside like serpents, slithering up her throat.

‘I feel –’

She dropped to her knees and puked. It was black.

Her body buckled under each discharge, and Arthur squatted down beside her and drew out a crinkled packet of cigarettes. ‘Yes, it was the same for me, the first time.’ He lit one. ‘Welcome to the Knights Templar.’

Billi crashed down on to the rear car seats of her dad’s battered grey Jaguar. Her eyelids began to droop the moment her cheek hit the familiar worn leather. The seat shivered as the engine chugged into life, as though the old car needed an awakening shrug before moving. Her father was still talking, but she couldn’t make any sense out of it, what with Radio 4 crackling out of the speakers and the dull drone of the engine. It was all Templar stuff he was talking about anyway, and she’d had enough of that tonight. More than enough.

Welcome to the Knights Templar.

Like she’d even had a choice.

The vehicle began to rock rhythmically, and her eyes closed and Billi finally gave in to the exhaustion.

Welcome to the Knights Templar.

She pretends to be asleep. She hears the door creak open, and a sliver of light cuts across the room and her bed. Billi keeps her eyes closed and lets her breath slip in and out, ever so gently.

The floorboards groan, despite the visitor’s attempt at silence. She doesn’t need to see to know who it is. A hand brushes her hair away from her face, and she picks up the familiar scent of sweat, oil and old leather.

Dad.

‘They’re waiting, Art,’ comes a loud whisper from beside the door. The voice is deep and soft: Percy, her godfather.

The hand straightens her duvet, and rests momentarily on her shoulder. Then her dad sighs and turns away. Moments later the door closes, darkness returns and the latch falls into place.

Billi waits unmoving for a minute, then slides out of bed. She’s tall for her age, but light. The floorboards don’t squeak even as she crosses them. Then she’s beside the door, listening.

Muffled voices murmur from beyond. She can’t make out any words, but there’s the scrape of chair legs on bare wood and the sound of taps running: they’re in the kitchen, downstairs.

Billi knows what she’s doing is wrong, but she must know. Her dad is lying to her.

Why?

Why are there half-burnt bandages in the fireplace? Bloodied bandages.

Where does he go when he thinks she’s asleep?

And why does she fear that he might never come back?

Billi opens the door and darts through the narrow gap. She scurries along the short corridor, then crouches at the top of the stairs.

And listens.

‘If the boy is right, we’ve got no choice.’

It’s her dad; he sounds tired. What boy? It can’t be anyone from school – none of the other parents let their children play with her any more. Maybe it’s that boy Father Balin brought last week. That skinny boy with the huge blue eyes and white hair. What was his name? She remembers.

Kay.

‘A girl? In the Order? That’s not foolishness, that’s heresy.’ The voice is hard and full of rage: Gwaine. Why is he always so angry? He and her father used to be friends.

‘Art, at least give her a few more years of freedom – she’s only ten,’ says Percy.

They’re talking about her! Billi catches her breath. She wants to hear everything. She puts a foot on the step and shifts her weight slowly on to it. She takes another silent step, then another and soon she’s at the bottom, waiting beside the door.

The tap runs and water rattles inside a kettle.

‘You know what the Jesuits say,’ says another, in the slight Welsh-tinged accent of her babysitter, Father Balin. ‘Give me a boy of seven and I’ll give you the man.’

There’s a snarl from Gwaine. ‘We’re not bloody Jesuits. We’re –’

‘Enough. I’ve made my decision,’ says her dad, and everyone shuts up. It’s like they’re afraid of him. Why? He’s not important. He’s just a porter, here at the Middle Temple, like Percy and Gwaine. He fixes things. He tends the gardens and waters the plants in the halls. Doesn’t he?

Or maybe Billi doesn’t know her father at all.

‘D’you think I’m happy with this? With what she’ll have to go through?’

Why are they talking about her? Is she going to have to move school again?

Peeking through the narrow gap, she sees Father Balin put the old steel kettle on the electric hob. Percy, Gwaine and her dad sit round the kitchen table. She glimpses something metallic and bright on top of it then Percy, who’s the biggest person Billi knows, shifts his seat and blocks her view. But as he moves she spots something else. Something wrapped up in a black plastic bin bag.

And dripping blood.

Gwaine shakes his head. ‘Just because you’re Master doesn’t give you the right to make such decisions, Art.’

Master? What’s Gwaine talking about? Master of what?

‘Actually, Gwaine, being Master gives me exactly those rights.’

Gwaine jerks forward. ‘For the last nine hundred years the Order has followed the Templar Rules, ever since Bernard de Clairvaux. You can’t just discard them and make up your own.’

Arthur leans back into his chair, arms folded across his chest.

‘I can, and I have.’ He points to the priest. ‘Balin, she’ll study Latin, Ancient Greek and Occult Lore with you.’ He slaps Percy’s massive shoulder. ‘Percival, weapons training.’

Billi sees a thin smile on Percy’s lips.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Any preference? Swords, daggers, quarterstaff?’

‘Everything,’ replies Arthur. ‘I’ll teach her unarmed combat.’

‘Arthur, I’m begging you. Please reconsider.’ Gwaine. He won’t give up. ‘Remember what happened to Jamila.’

Billi starts as he mentions her mum. The room is silent and she looks towards Arthur. Even now, five years after her mum’s murder, she can see the pain splashed across his face.

Arthur jabs his finger at Gwaine. ‘History and Arabic.’

Gwaine leaps to his feet, his face bright red. ‘Your arrogance killed your wife and your arrogance will kill your daughter as well!’

Billi screams as Arthur’s fist blurs the short distance across the table, smashing Gwaine’s jaw and hurling him off his stool. Gwaine crashes down hard, knocking Balin and sending the tray of mugs into the air and down on to the tiled floor. Billi screams again as the mugs shatter and the tea splashes everywhere.

But the others ignore the broken crockery.

They all stare at her.

Chair legs screech harshly as they slide across the floor and Arthur stands. His face is cool, blank and frightening. He points at a spot in front of him. ‘Here. Now.’

Gwaine struggles to stand, ignoring Percy’s offer of help.

‘Little sneak. How long has she been listening –’

‘Shut it, Gwaine,’ says Percy.

Billi and Gwaine’s eyes meet and red anger wells up in her chest. He’s wrong. Her mum’s death was not her father’s fault; he’d loved her. He’d never have hurt her. And he’d never hurt Billi. She knows what they whisper at the school gates, but it’s not true. Her dad was found innocent. The judge said so.

It takes forever for her to cross the room. She looks up at Percy for reassurance – nothing bad will happen to her if he’s here – but the West African’s usually friendly face is gone. Instead it is hard, emotionless rock.

She stops before her dad and forces herself to meet his stern gaze. When she does she can’t control her legs from shaking.

‘Why were you spying?’ he asks. It’s strange how when her dad is angry his voice becomes quiet and flat.

‘I… just wanted to know.’

‘What?’

Billi takes a deep breath. Everything. She wants to know everything. But where to begin? Why did Gwaine say that? Why are they talking about her like this? That’s where she’ll begin – with him.

‘Where you go. What you do.’

Arthur gazes silently at her for the longest time. It’s as though he’s searching her eyes for something. Finally he gives a curt nod.

‘Then look,’ he says, ‘at what I do,’ and steps away from the table.

Billi gasps. Lying across the dark oak table is a sword. It’s huge. The blade is wider than her hand, and the whole thing’s as tall as her. The pommel is nearest, and she can see its face is engraved with an image: two knights astride a single horse. Though the blade has been wiped, traces of blood smear the polished steel.

Next to the sword is a large, long-barrelled revolver. There are three bullets lined up. Made of silver.

She stares at the weapons. Then turns to her dad.

‘You’re not… bank robbers are you?’

Arthur looks scornful, but says nothing. He unwraps the black-plastic package.

Billi barely holds in the scream when she sees the severed limb within.

It’s a dog’s forepaw. Thickly muscled and grey-furred, with savage yellow claws as long as her fingers, the dog must have been the size of a lion!

‘You killed a dog?’

‘A wolf,’ says Arthur. ‘Show her, Balin.’

Balin gently lifts the silver crucifix off his neck and with it clenched tightly in his right fist he touches the paw with his left palm.

‘Exorcizo te,’ he whispers, then stands back.

Billi watches the paw. Nothing happens.

Is this some joke? Did they know she was spying? She half expects them all to burst out laughing at how they’ve managed to scare her.

The paw curls. The thick nails retreat into the flesh and the wiry grey hairs thin and sink into the skin. The limb twists and mutates, changing form and colour. The hairs have now all but gone, leaving pallid white skin. The paw is now a five-fingered hand, and the limb no longer the front leg of a giant wolf, but the forearm of a man. Billi’s entire body trembles and her skin is coated in a chill sweat. She wants to run away and bury her head under her pillows, but she can’t take her eyes off the severed arm.

‘Touch it,’ says Arthur.

‘No!’

‘Touch it.’

Billi looks at it. It’s stopped changing now. She can see the fingernails, though overgrown and encrusted with dirt, are normal nails, not claws. The arm, the same. She stretches out her hand, wary that it might spring to life and grab her.

But it doesn’t. She lowers her hand and rests it on the skin. It feels dead… like meat. Not so different from the chicken fresh from the butcher’s. Cold, a bit hard, but now not an arm, just dead material. Her heartbeat, running at a hundred miles an hour seconds ago, slows down and the shivering gradually stops.

Just dead meat.

She moves back and Arthur wraps it up. He rests his hand on her shoulder, and looks deep into her eyes.

‘Fear makes the wolf seem bigger,’ he says.

The pre-dawn chill nibbled the back of Billi’s neck and dragged her out of her dream. No, not a dream, but an old memory. Five years ago and still crystal sharp. She remembered Gwaine glowering at Arthur afterwards, and the half-hearted apology for the accusation he’d made. But the bad blood between them lingered, even now. She didn’t remember much else before then; it was like that night had been the beginning of her life. She groaned and curled up on the seat, trying to block off the draught coming through the open door.

‘We’re home,’ said Arthur. ‘Grab some breakfast. It’ll be matins in an hour.’

Billi glanced at her watch: 5.33. The birds weren’t even up and he wanted her at dawn prayers? Wasn’t it enough she’d spent the night fighting a ghost? She watched him open the boot and lift out the Templar sword. He half drew it from the scabbard, then slammed it back.

‘Can’t I get special dispensation? Y’know, after the Ordeal?’

Arthur shook his head.

‘All the more reason you should be at prayer, giving thanks.’

Thanks? Thanks for nearly being possessed? Thanks for what she’d done? She tried to remind herself that she hadn’t killed a six-year-old boy, tried to believe it had been a bitter, malevolent spirit in the guise of a child, but it was hard. Billi slid off the seat and on to her feet, arms wrapped round her chest. It was still dark and the cold breeze carried the hint of winter. She shivered.

‘Stop that,’ Arthur said. ‘A Templar does not tremble.’ Their eyes met. He couldn’t look down on her the way he used to: she was too tall. Maybe he wasn’t really her dad. It would explain a lot – they couldn’t be more different. She was like her Pakistani mum, tall, skinny and dark-eyed. He was broad with a pale, craggy face made hard from years of fighting, dominated by those psycho blue eyes. His hair wasn’t as black as it used to be, but heavily spiked with grey. He gave the slightest shake of his head then turned and walked off.

Billi fought the urge to give him the finger. ‘Coming,’ she muttered.

She crossed the cobbled courtyard of King’s Bench Walk, weaving through the few cars still parked there and chased after her dad, towards their house in Middle Temple Lane. The Templars still owned a few dwellings in the Temple district, and the narrow Edwardian house was one of them. The paint of the window frames was peeling, the brickwork needed repointing and the roof tiles were uneven and patchy. Above the red-painted door was a small alcove. In it sat a carving of St George slaying a dragon. Arthur unlocked the door and Billi hopped in behind.

Her dad flicked on the hallway light. The soft golden glow lit the dark wooden floor and warmed the faded carpet that led to the wrought-iron spiral stairs at the far end.

‘What, no balloons?’ Billi asked drily.

‘You want balloons, join the circus.’

Typical. This was what he had wanted. But not a word of praise. All the other Templars had been recruited as adults, only she and Kay had joined as children. Kay, the one friend she’d had. But even he was gone now, sent away by her father.

Billi walked along the dimly lit hallway, passing portraits of the ancient Grand Masters of the Order and scenes of famous battles. She paused by Jacques de Molay, the last Templar Grand Master, and hung up her coat on the nearby hook. There he stood, splendid in his armour and white mantle, the bright red cross upon his white tabard, hand resting on a sword.

What would he make of the Order now? A handful of warriors, near destitute, living in secret and led by her dad, an ex-criminal and altogether rubbish parent? She shook her head. He’d make nothing of them. The original Order was long gone, with Jacques de Molay dying a heretic and devil-worshipper, burned at the stake by the Inquisition.

Arthur disappeared into the kitchen on the first floor, but Billi continued upwards to the second and kicked off her boots before wandering into the bathroom. The pipes rattled as she spun the hot tap of the bath fully on.

As the steam rose she inspected tonight’s bruises. The one on her cheek was a fluorescent purple; there was no way she’d hide that with make-up.

Damn. The school welfare officer was suspicious enough.

The cut across her knee, from Monday’s sword practice, had almost closed – she was lucky she hadn’t needed stitches – but there was a fierce red welt across her ribs, courtesy of Percy and his quarterstaff. She twisted slowly, wincing as her muscles slid under her glowing dusky skin.

At least there are no broken ribs. Billi stared at herself until she vanished into the hot fog. Then she turned and, bone-weary, climbed into the bath.

Dressed and fed, Billi set off for matins. She’d found a box of chocolates from Percy in her bedroom, a ‘congratulations on surviving the Ordeal and not being dead’ present. Nothing from Dad – quelle surprise.

She’d hoped there’d be something from Kay. She hadn’t heard from him in over a year, but she thought he’d try to get in touch for this, at least. But not even a card or a text. Some friend. Billi kicked a can across the courtyard. Friends, she didn’t need them.

She gazed up at Temple Church and, like always, paused. It stood wrapped in the dawn mist, the pale yellow and orange walls glowing like eggshell in the weak autumn dawn. The flagstones glistened with frost and the tall vaulted stained-glass windows along the high walls seemed like portals to the underworld, gates of polished black marble.

‘This way! Quickly, Mrs Higgins.’ Billi glimpsed a dash of scarlet from beyond the columns of the cloisters off Church Court. Suddenly a dozen figures spewed out, led by a tall woman wearing a bright red mackintosh. She headed for the Templar column, a ten-metre-high stone post bearing the Order’s emblem.

Half past six. It must be a Monarch Tour. Only they started this early.

The tour guide did a quick head count, then clapped her hands as if she was addressing a bunch of school kids instead of a group of white-haired tourists. She cleared her throat.

‘The building behind you is Temple Church and was once the heart of the London Preceptory: the English headquarters of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ of the Temple of Solomon, better known as the Knights Templar. Founded by Hugues de Payens in 1119, they took their name from their base on Temple Mount in Jerusalem, believed to be the ruins of the original Temple of Solomon. They were warrior monks sworn to protect pilgrims in the Holy Land. Originally comprising only nine men, the order soon grew to become one of the most powerful organizations in Europe.’

Hands began to wave frantically. One woman, hair a pale blue, with silver-framed glasses, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, arms flapping.

‘We’ll find you a loo in a minute, Mrs Higgins,’ said the guide. ‘This church was consecrated in 1185, but has been extensively modified since, not least of all by the Luftwaffe, who bombed it in 1941. But it was from places such as this that the Order declared its crusades and holy wars. Yes, Mrs Higgins?’

The woman pushed her chin up.

‘They say they found treasures in the Holy Land. Is that true?’

The guide snorted.

‘There are hundreds of conspiracies and legends regarding the Templars, but the truth is very mundane. They were a highly trained, fanatical military force that grew very rich and very envied.’

Billi suppressed a laugh. Fanatical wasn’t half of it. A Templar wouldn’t retreat until outnumbered three to one. He would accept no ransom nor allow himself to be captured alive.

‘What happened to them?’ shouted someone from the crowd.

The guide looked up at the two iron knights on top of the column. ‘Rumours regarding the Templars had been rife from the very beginning. Some said they were black magicians, others said they had made pacts with devils and other supernatural beings. How else explain their meteoric rise?’

Oh God, that rubbish. Billi couldn’t believe people still thought that. The Templars were sworn to fight all the Unholy, not to ally themselves with them.

The guide pointed at the church. ‘But it’s clear the Templars had heretical leanings. This was to be their undoing.’ She turned back to the crowd. ‘On Friday the thirteenth of October 1307, the entire Order was arrested. Its Grand Master was brought before the Inquisition and the Templars were tried and found guilty of heresy and devil-worship. The Templars were exterminated.’

‘But I thought some of them escaped,’ continued Mrs Higgins as she gazed around the courtyard. Billi’s ears pricked up at the question. Was it her imagination or did the old woman look at her?

‘Rumours. Only rumours. The Knights Templar are ancient history now.’ The guide clapped her hands again and moved through the crowd back towards the cloisters. ‘Quick now. We’ve got to be at Buckingham Palace in thirty minutes.’

How many times had she heard that story? A hundred? A thousand?

Some of it was true, of course. The Order had been formed to defend the Holy Land, but that battle had been lost, long ago. Their war wasn’t for Jerusalem, not any more, but for mankind’s soul. Their war was against the supernatural evil that preyed on humanity. A war they called the Dark Conflict.

The Bataille Ténébreuse.

Billi watched the party head back up towards Fleet Street and their waiting coach. All safe in their cocoon of ignorance, unaware of the shadow war being fought around them. A cold wind carried twisting ribbons of mist across the flagstones, like restless ghosts. She stood alone in the courtyard, but the presence of the old knights lingered in their great preceptory. Who but her, her father and a few others now remembered the reasons they’d died for, or the sacrifices they’d made? Billi pulled her coat tightly around her. Would her own spirit one day haunt these stones?

After all, what was the promise made to all Templars?

You shall keep the company of martyrs.

Vomit-worthy. It was the only way to describe her day and it was only lunchtime. She’d fallen asleep during Geography and earned herself another detention. Billi had made up some excuse about her Maths homework being late, better than telling Ms Clarke she couldn’t even remember being given any. How could she? Every evening was bloody Latin, Ancient Greek and Occult Lore – the hierarchy of Hell – and every morning was weapons practice and unarmed combat. Maybe the reason school always slipped her mind was because of all the blows to the head she’d received over the last five years. Fifteen and punch-drunk. And these were meant to be the best days of her life.

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 Templars.’ 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.

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.

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.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘Detention. Again,’ Billi said. She shrugged. ‘But didn’t you get my message?’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘I thought it really hard, “Kay, I’ll be late. Kay, I’ll be late –”’

‘You think this is some joke?’ He stood and turned up the collar of his coat. ‘Let’s get a move on. I’ve wasted enough time already.’

They walked down the high street, lined with shops hidden behind metal gratings and graffiti-coated roller shutters. The only unit open was the off-licence. A bald man with tattooed arms folded across his hefty stomach stood at the door, a growling pit-bull at his heel. It barked at them as they passed and pulled at the heavy chain round its neck. They turned the corner and Billi saw it ahead – Elaine’s Bazaar – lit by a lone street light.

It was a pawnshop, and had been there since the nineteenth century. The paint on the three golden orbs hanging above the door was flaking off, but they were the originals. Heavy steel bars covered the dusty windows, displaying hi-fi equipment, DVD players, a set of chrome weights and a kid’s bicycle; the flotsam and jetsam of a thousand bankruptcies and repossessions.

It was also the Templar reliquary.

Here lay hidden the last of the treasures of King Solomon. Billi couldn’t believe this old hovel was home to one of the greatest magical artefacts of the ancient world. But that was the point – who would ever suspect it?

The ground floor was dark. There was a single lit window in the flat above. Kay rang the bell and after a few moments the window slid open and an old woman stuck out her head, her grey hair a tangled mess.

‘Piss off!’

Kay stepped backwards into the glow of the street light.

‘Elaine, it’s me, Kay!’

The woman stared, mouth hanging open.

‘Kay?’ Suddenly she grinned. ‘Kay! I’ll be right down!’

Billi waited in the doorway as Elaine came downstairs and unlocked the door and then the steel mesh gate.

‘My sweet angel! C’mere and give us a kiss!’ She threw her bony arms round Kay and planted a fat wet one on his cheek. Billi saw him go rigid as her lips slurped free.

‘Hi, Elaine,’ he said, blushing. They stood in the unlit doorway of the rundown old shop. The wallpaper was faded and peeling, the paint of the ceiling crumbled into tiny flakes, and the carpet worn down to wiry threads. Elaine admired Kay, her legs apart and hands on hips like a pirate captain.

‘As handsome as ever. The girls must be dropping at your feet.’

Billi pushed past Kay into the cluttered shop.

‘Yes, dropping dead,’ she said. It annoyed Billi intensely how Elaine, who acted like a cranky old witch with everyone else, turned all soppy with Kay. Just because she’d been in charge of his early training.

‘Brought her majesty, I see.’ Elaine scowled. She had the face for it – weathered, wrinkled and stained by fifty years of heavy tar cigarettes.

Billi switched on the light.

Junk filled the interior. It had accumulated without any sense of organization: battered old trunks, doorless wardrobes, a penny farthing bicycle and a thousand other useless treasures that Elaine refused to get rid of. They’d probably been in this shop for generations.

‘How was Jerusalem?’ asked Elaine. ‘Who did you work with? Rabbi Levison?’

Billi smiled to think what the early Templars would make of their secrets being protected by a Jew. But after the last Templar Oracle had been killed, the Order didn’t have anyone psychically trained to guard the reliquary. Gwaine had gone mental when Arthur had nominated Elaine, but Arthur was Master. The old religious war didn’t concern the Templars any more, he said. The only thing that mattered was the Bataille Ténébreuse.

‘Him, and others,’ replied Kay.

‘Like who?’ Elaine’s eyes narrowed with curiosity.

‘The Sufis on the West Bank. Spent a month with the Nestorian monks in the Sinai. I learnt a lot, Elaine.’ He glanced away, embarrassed. ‘How emotions cloud my focus.’

‘More than I could ever teach you,’ said Elaine. She had some psychic talent, but wasn’t in the same league as Kay. No one was. Her skills in Tarot, astrology and the occult had come from years of hard graft. Skills Kay had been born with. She sighed. ‘But I suppose this ain’t a social call?’ She fished out a battered packet of Benson & Hedges from her faded pink dressing gown.

‘You suppose right,’ said Billi. Elaine lit up a cigarette, wrinkling her eyes against the first bite of bitter nicotine.

‘C’mon then. I haven’t got all night.’ She shoved aside a dusty stuffed bear to reveal a small stout door set deep in the wall. She fished out a key from the cord round her neck and needed both hands to turn it in the lock.

The door groaned open. Steps led down into a cold damp basement, thick with the smell of slow, ancient decay. Elaine flicked the brown Bakelite switch and there was a long faint hum before the bulb came to life, gradually filling the catacomb with a soft golden glow. Ahead of them stood a large black cabinet. The dim light lit its bronze hinges and the ornate patterns laid on its surface with tissue-thin gold leaf, silver and mother-of-pearl. The images were faded, but Billi could just make out the imps, demons, animal-headed monsters, winged nightmares and the celestial hordes at war across an ebony field. In the centre, where the two doors met, was a large corroded copper disc, broken in half, bearing a six-pointed star.

The Seal of Solomon.

The mystical ward and the first defence against the supernatural. It was the principle symbol in the High Art, the magic of the Ethereal Realm. But the Seal was just the protection. Against what was inside the cabinet.

Billi felt a chill as she stared at it. She’d read the earliest Templar diaries, of how Hugues de Payens had found the cabinet and the treasure inside soon after the end of the First Crusade. How he’d taken it and made the Knights Templar the most feared organization in the medieval world. She’d often wondered how exciting it would be to see the treasure for herself. But now, with it in arm’s reach, Billi realized it wasn’t excitement buzzing in her heart. It was fear.

‘It’s in there, isn’t it?’ she whispered. The black cabinet seemed to shimmer, as though it radiated light from within. The chill deepened and Billi wrapped her arms round her body. What lay behind those ebony doors had been both the source of the Order’s power, and the reason for their near annihilation by the Inquisition.

‘The Mirror?’ Elaine nodded. ‘Of course. Where else would it be?’ She turned to Kay. ‘So, any luck with, y’know, next week’s lottery numbers? What about the Grand National winner?’

Kay shook his head. ‘You know I can’t do that. Prophecies aren’t my thing.’

She paused and looked at him curiously. ‘No, of course not.’

Kay dusted off a stool and slung his coat over it.

‘This’ll do.’ He stretched out his arms. ‘Thanks, Elaine. We’ll give you a shout when we’re done.’ Elaine looked at both of them, then nodded and turned away.

Billi waited until Elaine had left. ‘Why here?’

‘To help you.’ Kay pointed into the corners of the room. Billi squinted in the gloom and could just make out markings on the top row of bricks, all the way around the room. They were in cuneiform, the oldest writing in the world, and similar to those on the black cabinet. Talismanic protections from maleficia: black magic. Kay rummaged around in his coat pocket.

‘This chamber is psychically sealed. It prevents anything in this room being detected. It also dampens any supernatural or psychic powers. Gives you a bit more of a chance.’

‘Chance?’

He tossed a small red packet to her. Billi caught them: a pack of playing cards. ‘Shuffle them,’ he said.

‘I didn’t know we were here to practise your magic tricks.’

‘No tricks.’

Billi peeled off the shrink-wrapping and gave the deck a cursory mix.

‘No. Shuffle them properly. Use the table.’

Billi reluctantly did as she was told. She spread the entire pack over a small coffee table and swirled them around until they were totally jumbled.

‘What exactly is the point of this?’ she asked.

‘Various types of the Unholy have the power to… influence thoughts. They can take command of our senses, our memories. Remember what happened with you and the ghost of Alex Weeks?’

‘How d’you know about that?’

‘I’m an Oracle, remember?’

Billi bristled. Obviously nothing in her life was private any more.

Kay motioned for her to collect the cards and turned his back on her. ‘I’ll teach you to strengthen your mind against undesired intrusion.’

‘Like yours?’

He sighed. ‘Just pick a card. Hold it in front of you but try not to think about what it is. Think about anything else, try and prevent me seeing the card through your mind.’

Billi picked a random card off the table. ‘Tell me when.’

‘Three of clubs. Next.’

‘I wasn’t ready!’ She threw the three on to the floor. She took the next and held it in front of her.

‘Five of diamonds. Next.’

‘Wait!’

‘Four of diamonds. You did shuffle them properly, like I told you?’

Billi shuffled them again. Right, think about anything except the card.

‘Queen of hearts. Next.’

Damn it, this isn’t working.

‘Don’t swear, concentrate on the cards.’

She cut the pack twice, then a third time and snapped one out and –

‘Ace of spades. Next.’

‘You’re not giving me a chance!’

Kay spun round. ‘Why should I? This isn’t a game, Billi! If we were in a fight, would you back off? Take it easy? No, you’d go for the kill.’ He looked into her eyes, his eyes narrowed as he searched her face. ‘Of course you would. Start again.’

‘I’m not playing this game,’ Billi snapped. Who did he think he was? Her dad? She knocked the table over and kicked the cards so they scattered away into all the corners of the room.

‘You are such a child,’ he said. ‘You don’t like it so you’re going to leave, is that it?’

‘Well, Kay, you’re the one that knows all about leaving.’ There. It was out.

‘So this is what it’s all about, is it?’

Kay put his hand on her arm but Billi stepped away.

‘Do that again and I’ll break it,’ she said. ‘While you’ve been off on your holidays d’you know what I’ve been doing? Getting beaten up, getting bruised, battered and cut. All for the greater glory of the Knights bloody Templar. You remember how bad it was with my dad? Well, after you left – the one person I really had looking out for me – it got a thousand times worse.’

‘I’m sure he has his reasons, Billi.’

Reasons? The reason was simple: she was a Templar. They fought, they struggled, they suffered and they bled. But she could never bleed enough, not for her dad. He pushed her harder and harder, and she had no choice. Not like the others, not like Kay. He’d picked this life. She hadn’t. She’d been given no choice, no praise, no affection and definitely no reason.

Billi zipped up her jacket. She wasn’t going to waste her time here any more.

‘Where are you going?’

She raised her hood over her head. If she rushed she’d still be home before midnight. ‘You’re the psychic one – can’t you tell?’

‘Stop.’ The door ahead of her slammed shut. The table beside her began to shake, hopping up and down and the old swords hung on the walls clattered against each other.

His wild talent. Telekinesis. This was what first alerted the Templars to Kay’s abilities. When he’d been angry as a child objects had flown across the room.

‘Stop it, Kay.’

The table settled down and the swords stopped rattling. Billi looked at him.

His jaw was set hard and Kay slowly wiped the sweat off his forehead. He’d lost control.

‘What is it you want from me, Billi?’

‘What makes you think I need anything from you? I’ve passed the Ordeal. Have you?’

She might as well have slapped him, the way he reddened.

‘You know Oracles don’t have to pass the Ordeal. We’re too…’

‘The word you’re looking for is “afraid”, isn’t it?’

‘I am not afraid.’ But Kay looked uneasy.

It hurt him. Good. Now he knows how it feels, Billi thought.

She’d been afraid all those times in the past year when he hadn’t been there, when she’d needed him. Well, she didn’t need him now – not when she was searching for vampire graves and following werewolf tracks and he was tucked up at home. Afraid.

‘I said I’m not afraid!’ The table flipped and smashed itself against the wall. Billi flung her arms over her head as she was showered with splinters.

When she lowered them Kay was standing in front of the black cabinet. His fingers traced over the Seal.

‘You don’t know what I can do,’ he said, eyes fixed on the six-pointed star. ‘You think waving a bit of steel around and beating people up is all that matters.’ His fingers curled round the edge of a door. ‘You have no idea.’ He opened it.

What on earth was he doing? Billi grabbed his arm.

‘This is stupid,’ she said. ‘Don’t do it.’

Kay snatched it away.

‘This room’s safe, Billi. The wards will protect us.’ He pointed at the carved symbols on the edges of the wall. ‘Stop anything from getting out.’

He drew out a flat dark-blue velvet box, the type that might contain a necklace. He flicked it open.

Lying inside was a simple highly polished copper disc, about twenty centimetres in diameter. The Seal had been delicately engraved on its surface and the edges were slightly corroded and green-tinged, but otherwise it glistened in the low light. Kay stared at it, and slowly sat down on a stool, holding the box from underneath. He laid it on his lap, then gently touched the copper surface.

It rippled.

The Cursed Mirror.

The last of the Templar treasures. Legend had it that King Solomon had used it to perform his great magics. In Islamic lore he was master of spirits and commanded angels and devils. All through this Mirror. John Dee, the Elizabethan sorcerer and Templar Oracle of the day, had apparently contacted the Ethereal Realm through it. Heaven and Hell had opened up to him. But nobody had that sort of power any more. Nobody. Kay wouldn’t achieve anything. But looking at the cold emptiness of his eyes, Billi felt a prickling chill run through her.

‘I’m not joking, Kay. Put it back – now.’

‘I’m just looking,’ he whispered, more to himself than to her. He tilted his head backwards as his fingers stroked the metal surface and his eyes rolled back revealing only the whites. He let out a deep, long sigh.

And stopped breathing.

The Mirror shimmered and soft, sparkling trails of multicoloured lights followed the path of his fingertips like oil in sunlight. The surface swirled and within Billi thought she could see into dark, distant depths as though gazing into an infinite whirlpool. The streams of light threw out spinning patterns and the walls and ceiling became tapestries of dancing, chaotic colour. A small smile turned the edges of Kay’s lips. Billi stared at the kaleidoscopic display, hypnotized by the ever-transforming melange of reds, yellows, oranges, greens, golds and so many other twisting tinctures that she became dizzy, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She wanted to laugh, to cry; she’d never seen anything so beautiful. It was as though the walls, the world itself, was falling away into a universe of colour and grace. She turned to kiss Kay for showing her something so utterly amazing.

Kay sat there, his body quivering and froth bubbling out of his mouth. His teeth were clenched together so hard his gums bled, tainting the froth pink as it dribbled down his chin. The air around him trembled like a desert mirage, and as the colours spun faster and faster Billi saw shapes forming out of the infinite hurricane of light. They were indistinct, vaguely humanoid, but growing and taking on more solid form by the moment. She could see arms, legs, heads taking on even, solid human proportions, fingers growing out of the blobs for hands.

Who summons us?

The voices echoed in her head and out of the shapes eyes, bright and keen, peered out at her.

We come, welcome us.

‘Stop,’ Billi whispered. She gazed around, awestruck.

But Kay didn’t hear. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was lost in some distant realm, his mind and soul roaming. More shapes began to form, growing more distinct and taking on human form.

Call to us and we will come.

Suddenly furnace-hot air roared out of the disc. The wards along the walls glowed an unbearable bright white and the forms began to take features. She saw the black silhouettes build faces, eyes, noses, mouths smiling with delicious eagerness and voices raised and multiplying until the cacophony became unbearable –

The door crashed open and Elaine charged across the room. Billi saw her mouth wide in a scream, but was deaf to everything bar the cries piercing her mind. Elaine swatted the Mirror out of Kay’s hands. He fell backwards as the disc spun into the air, crashed against the wall and rattled on the floor until it finally came to rest.

All the lights had vanished, all except the dull glow of the single bulb above her head. Kay lay on his back, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, panting like he’d run a marathon. His body dripped with sweat and his white hair lay plastered against his scalp. He forced himself up, though his legs looked like they were about to give way. He gazed about him, utterly lost. Elaine stared at him, eyes wide with shock. She touched Kay’s face, checking he was OK, then slapped him. A row of thin red welts rose on his cheek, but Kay hardly noticed.

Around them the engraved wards glowed an intense red, like bricks just out of a kiln, then dulled and, with a hiss, cooled back to their usual brown clay. Billi’s ears echoed with the sudden silence.

She’d been wrong. She’d thought that power no longer existed. Billi looked at Kay as he swept his hand through his sweaty hair. Their eyes met, and his burned with feverish excitement. In four hundred years no one had picked up so much as a radio signal with the Mirror. No one since Dee, the Templars’ greatest Oracle.

Greatest, that is, until now.

‘I just don’t believe it,’ said Elaine. Her hands were still shaking when she poured out the tea. ‘Those wards should have held.’

They’d retreated upstairs into her living room. It was the complete opposite of the ramshackle shop below. The furniture was modern, plain wood with no frills, as if she’d just bought it from Habitat. The lights were a row of spots that sparkled in the clean white ceiling. The only decoration was a menorah, a seven-branched candelabra, on the window sill, and two large reproduction paintings. The first was a Caravaggio, of Abraham about to sacrifice his son, Isaac. An angel on his left stays the knife hand. Billi was caught by the mix of terror and determination in Abraham’s face. What must he have felt, asked by God to kill the one he loved above all others? The second was Islamic calligraphy, the name of Allah entwined to form a circle.

‘My mum had a picture like that,’ said Billi.

‘It is your mother’s,’ said Elaine. Then, catching Billi’s curious look, ‘What? We were friends, you know.’

Elaine handed a mug to each of them, and pulled out a stiff-backed dining chair.

‘What just happened?’ asked Billi. She took the mug and realized it wasn’t just Elaine’s hands that were shaking.

‘Kay opened the portal to the Ethereal Realm,’ said Elaine. ‘And almost let something through.’

‘But what?’ asked Kay.

‘What do you know about the grigori?’ asked Elaine. Billi hadn’t thought it possible for Kay to become any whiter, but she was wrong. He went ashen.

‘The Dark Angels,’ he said. ‘The Watchers.’

‘They’re mentioned in the Book of Enoch.’ Elaine looked at them both. ‘You heard of it?’

Kay gave a slow, thoughtful nod.

‘It’s one of the apocryphal texts,’ he said. ‘Early Christian lore deemed… too dangerous to go in the Bible.’

‘Not long ago you’d have been burned at the stake for even reading it,’ said Elaine.

‘Why?’ asked Billi.

Elaine continued. ‘It discusses the true nature of angels. There are three classes of them.’ She pointed to the Caravaggio. ‘The malakhim, the Messengers. They’re led by Gabriel and the most common form of Ethereal being. But there are two others. Each given their specific role in testing mankind.’ Elaine looked at Billi. ‘Did your mother ever tell you the Islamic story about Satan? About Iblis?’

Billi frowned. She’d spent the last ten years learning to be a Christian and here was Elaine asking her about her Muslim past. There were hundreds of stories, though she could barely remember some of them. But there were others deep in her bones.

‘When God created Adam, God asked all the angels to bow down before the First Mortal. Satan, or Iblis in the Quran, refused. He said he bowed only to God.’

‘Very good. Satan showed both his disobedience and his loyalty to God. He was then given the role to tempt mortals, to test them.’ Elaine raised her head. ‘He took with him other angels who likewise thought mankind didn’t deserve its special status as first among God’s creatures. Those angels became the devils.’

‘And the third class of angels? The grigori?’ asked Kay.

‘The Watchers.’ Elaine glanced at the door as though she half expected someone, or something, to burst in just because she’d spoken their name. ‘They were the Judges. Sent to Earth to teach man righteousness and to punish him should he transgress. They were… are led by the Angel of Death himself.’ She got up and walked over to the Caravaggio. She drew her finger round the face of the young boy, arms held behind his back, the look of utter terror on his face as his father raised his knife, ready to slit his throat. ‘The grigori are the most terrible of God’s angels. Two hundred of them descended on Earth. It took only three to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. It was they that unleashed the Flood. And it was the Angel of Death who walked Egypt and delivered God’s most fearful judgement, the tenth plague. The death of every firstborn child.’

Billi shivered at the thought. ‘What happened to them?’

‘They were summoned back to Heaven,’ answered Kay. ‘But not all went. Seventy rebelled. They turned their back on Heaven and cut off their wings.’

Elaine smiled, impressed. ‘They’d grown too fond of the Material Realm. And why not? Beautiful, powerful, immortal, they were in every way superior to humans. They thought they should remain on Earth and rule over us. They became monsters, tyrants. Feared. Loved. Worshipped.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Billi.

‘No. Bloody Earth. The Watchers ran amok. Righteous justice became righteous slaughter. They threatened to turn the Earth into a charnel house.’ Elaine left the painting and crouched down in front of Kay. ‘It was King Solomon that eventually defeated them. Given perfect wisdom by God, only he was strong enough to trap the grigori.’ She drew a circle in the air between them. ‘In the Cursed Mirror.’ She shook her head. ‘And that’s where they are, to this day. All of them that is, but one.’

‘The Angel of Death,’ said Kay. ‘The Right Hand of God.’

Elaine nodded. ‘Too powerful for even King Solomon to bind, he alone escaped. Vastly weakened, to be sure. But not in the Mirror like his brethren.’

‘So that’s who we saw, wasn’t it? The banished Watchers?’ asked Kay. He sank his head into his hands. ‘Oh my God. I thought I’d just try to make contact with the Ethereal Realm. Just see if we could hear something.’

‘Oh, we heard something all right,’ said Billi, her anger spilling out over her fear. ‘I told you not to do it, but you didn’t listen. You thought you’d just show off. For God’s sake, Kay, you could have freed them.’

He looked up, his face drawn. ‘But I didn’t, did I? Nothing escaped. The wards –’

‘Are apparently useless,’ snapped Elaine. ‘I should have checked, but I never suspected you’d be that strong.’ She put her hand on Kay’s shoulder and Billi caught the mixture of awe and dread in the old woman’s face. Even she looked at the boy through new eyes. Kay, who used to be afraid of shadows, now able to contact agents of God Himself. He had powers they couldn’t measure or imagine. Elaine was right to be afraid. They should all be afraid.

‘Lot, the last Oracle, carved those wards, and I assumed he’d done a half-competent job.’ She looked out of the window, eyes narrowed as though searching the darkness beyond. ‘But no, nothing got out. I’m sure of it.’

‘So what has happened? Isn’t it all OK?’ asked Billi, unable to hide the desperation in her voice.

Elaine’s eyes didn’t leave the window. ‘The cry went out, Billi. Those trapped in the Mirror have lingered in silence so long and Kay has allowed them to call out.’ She turned and she wasn’t just scared, she was terrified. ‘And I’m afraid that someone heard.’

Who had heard? One of the Unholy? Another Ethereal? Arthur was going to do his nut when he found out what had happened. It wasn’t like they didn’t have their hands full already, what with the werewolf attacks and vampire bites. Still, for once this was not her fault.

The night had been seriously insane. She just needed to get the hell out of there. Billi left Kay and Elaine to repair the wards – she was going home. Billi ran across the road. She had five minutes before she missed the train and she wasn’t going to waste another second.

She slapped her Oyster card down on the reader and raced down the white-tiled tunnel towards the southbound platform. If she was lucky she’d be home by eleven, an early night for her. The air rattled with the noise of the approaching train and she leapt up the steps, two at a time.

Bloody Kay! She wished he’d stayed out in Jerusalem. It would have been safer. And what was he trying to prove? How powerful he was? The boy was dangerously delusional. Billi saw the carriage doors opening at the far end of the corridor and picked up her pace.

She slipped through the doors just before they shut, collapsed down on an empty seat and tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, but instead of darkness she saw the after-image of the chaotic patterns and dancing lights radiating out of the Mirror. Billi pressed her shaking fingers into her skull to stop the dizzying sensation. It took a few minutes for the colours to fade and the spinning in her head to settle back into the regular rocking of the train. She leaned back and sighed. She’d catch a short nap now and count on her internal clock to wake her at Holborn. It was a ten-minute walk back home from there.

But sleep wouldn’t come. All she could think about was what Kay had done.

Who did he think he was? Obi-Wan Kenobi? True, he wasn’t the same scrawny geek he’d been before, but he was still Kay. And that meant weird. How could she have forgotten?

Billi fished out her iPod and plugged in her small white headphones. She dialled Nirvana up to the maximum and let the music drown out everything. A few minutes’ break from her Templar duties – and Kay – was all she wanted.

The tracks ticked over and she was relaxing into the steady rhythm of the carriage rocking back and forth when the sudden slamming of a door made her eyes flick open and her muscles tense.

They’d come through the interconnecting carriage door and made their way towards her. Three of them, swaggering like they owned the place. Two dropped down either side of her, the third opposite, his legs as wide apart as his grin. She slid her gaze up and down the carriage. It was empty but for them.

‘What you listening to?’ he asked as his fingers brushed the back of her hand. Billi flinched.

What was this? Bully Billi Day? Maybe if she acted dumb they’d leave. Three to one were bad odds, even for a Templar. She said nothing, just lowered her eyelids a fraction. The one on her left slid his arm over her shoulders.

‘C’mon, guys, it’s late. I just want to get home.’ She knew it was hopeless to appeal to their good sense; they didn’t look like they’d recognize good sense if it kicked them in the teeth.

‘Sure you do, just after you give us your ’Pod.’ The boy on the left grabbed for her music player.

Billi twisted her wrist and drove the heel of her right hand into his face, smashing his nose with a satisfying crunch. An instant later her foot snapped out into the stomach of the thug opposite. He gasped and curled up in agony. Billi spun sideways, but the third tackled her and they both crashed down, Billi winded by the impact as he landed on top of her. No time for finesse. She had zero room to manoeuvre so slashed at his face with her fingernails, her fingers hooked like talons. He fought to keep her from getting his eyes, punching her clumsily in the scuffle. Then he reached into his waistband and out came a knife.

Chill terror shot through her veins. The blade wasn’t long, but getting dead was suddenly on the agenda. She tried to grab his wrist, but got a cut across her hand instead. Distracted by the shining steel blade, she didn’t block the next punch; it caught her square on the cheek and suddenly Billi had lights exploding in front of her eyes. The knife came in and she couldn’t stop it. There was a scream.

But it wasn’t hers.

Billi blinked as she stared up directly into the overhead light – the thug was gone. The edge of a dark coat brushed her face as someone stepped over her.

‘He’s got a knife,’ she croaked, still dizzy from that last punch, and turned to see the thug drive the blade into the new combatant. The guy blocked the attack and took the wrist, twisting it sharply. The knife spun away. Then he kicked the attacker’s feet away and the thug smashed down on the floor.

The guy paused. Then he turned to Billi and held out his hand.

‘Let me help you up,’ he said.

‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t need his help. Not now anyway. The train was slowing and Billi gripped on to the side of the seat to steady herself.

‘I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,’ she said.

The guy shrugged. ‘Not too shabby yourself.’

The train came to a halt. Holborn.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Billi said. She stumbled a few steps towards the door, the ground swaying under her feet even though the train had stopped. She was more battered than she’d thought. A pair of hands took her by the arms.

‘I’ll just help you out, OK?’ he said.

Billi nodded reluctantly. She needed to get out.

He led her off on to the platform. The doors closed behind them and the train rattled away. Billi watched its lights disappear into the darkness. She turned and looked up at her rescuer.

He was tall with raptor’s eyes, slanted and amber almost, half hidden under unkempt black hair. A T-shirt was taut over his muscular torso and a tattoo of spiky vines climbed from his right hand to his throat. The thorn along his jaw stretched as he smiled. Billi didn’t think he looked much older than her.

‘Shall we call the police?’ he asked, breaking the silence.

She’d been staring. How embarrassing. She shook her head, trying to turn away from the boy’s gaze. ‘Not worth it.’

The last thing she, or the Templars, needed was the police sniffing around. ‘And anyway –’ she couldn’t help a wry smile at the memory of the thug’s face making contact with the floor – ‘I think you’ve shown them the error of their ways.’

‘Can’t take all the credit, Ms…?’

Billi held out her hand. ‘Billi SanGreal.’

He gazed at it for a moment, then reached out. Billi felt a shiver as they touched. Getting weirder, she thought. But not in a bad way.

His fingers wrapped round her hand.

‘Mike Harbinger.’

‘Y’know, I can walk home by myself. I’m not some damsel in distress,’ Billi said as she and Mike walked along the Strand. There was no one else out, just a rubbish truck collecting bin bags from outside the shops.

‘And I’m not a white knight,’ Mike replied. ‘But it’s en route for me too.’

Billi stopped at the gatehouse. In it was a black door that led to Middle Temple Lane, back home.

‘You live down in there? I thought that was just for lawyers and stuff.’

‘What makes you think my dad’s not a lawyer?’

Mike laughed. ‘No lawyer’s daughter fights like that.’ Billi pulled out the key.

‘He’s a porter. Part of the deal is that you get a place to live. So there’s always someone around if the lawyers run out of gin and stuff.’ She turned round and offered her hand. ‘Anyway, thanks.’

Mike didn’t take it. ‘Billi. Short for what?’

‘Bilqis. My mum was a Muslim.’

‘Was?’

‘She died when I was five.’ She shook her head, dismissing the memory before it took hold. ‘I don’t really remember her.’ She unlocked the door. ‘Listen, I really, really appreciate what you did. But I’m all right now. My house is just down there.’

Mike glanced at the door. ‘Then it’s goodbye.’ He smiled briefly. ‘See you around,’ and he turned and walked away.

Billi watched him, torn, not knowing what to do. The guy had just saved her life.

She never invited anyone home. Hadn’t for years. Too many secrets, too many little lies she’d have to make, the pretence of being ‘normal’. That’s how her dad had taught her. She was a Templar. Friendships were a dangerous luxury.

‘Wait!’ Billi ran after Mike, catching him at the corner before he’d be gone for good. ‘Wait.’

He stopped and Billi skidded to a halt in front of him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Now what? Oh, say something, Billi. Don’t just stand there like a moron. ‘I’m sorry. It’s raining.’

‘That’s hardly your fault.’

‘What?’ Oh, that was a joke. Damn. Should have laughed. Billi took a deep breath. ‘Come in for a minute. I owe you a cuppa at the very least.’

There, not so hard after all. Mike’s golden eyes narrowed as his lips curled. Was he laughing at her?

Then he nodded. ‘Thanks. That would be nice.’

Billi led him down the dark, tunnel-like alleyway; it was always as though you left one world behind and entered another. They passed the courtyard beside Middle Temple Hall to her front door. Her heart raced as she unlocked the door. Inside it was dark and Arthur’s heavy jacket was missing: he was out. Billi sighed with relief.

‘The kitchen’s upstairs,’ she said.

Mike inspected the row of paintings of ancient warriors and battles that lined the hallway. He stopped in front of one.

‘What’s this?’

‘Waterloo. An ancestor fought there.’ She pointed out a crowd of besieged soldiers in blue. ‘For Napoleon.’

‘Family of heroes, eh?’

‘Glorious losers more like.’

Once in the kitchen, Billi got busy with the kettle. There were a few teabags left in the PG tin, and just about enough milk in the carton. She had to grind the sugar out of the pot using the knife as a chisel, but eventually the water was boiled and two steaming cups were down on the table.

Billi dragged up a stool and sat down opposite. She was suddenly painfully aware of the faded tablecloth, the yellow-stained tiles and the lopsided cabinets. The lino on the floor was torn, revealing the old, warped floorboards and even the mug she held was chipped.

‘I’m sorry. Bit of a mess,’ she mumbled, embarrassed.

‘Just needs a lick of paint,’ said Mike generously. ‘Your dad’s obviously not into DIY.’

Paint wasn’t going to cover it up. This wasn’t anyone’s home. It was a place of Templar business and she just happened to sleep here. She glanced at the wall. Where had the photos gone? She couldn’t even remember when they’d been taken down. There used to be loads: of her, Dad. And Mum. All gone now.

‘My dad’s not very handy around the house.’

‘Sounds hard.’ He sighed. ‘I know how you feel.’ Billi looked up at him. Mike was gazing away, far away. ‘My father is… distant. I left home ages ago.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Every day.’

The crash made Billi jolt out of her skin.

Tea splattered over the table as she looked up to see Arthur, standing at the doorway. A heavy bergen bag lay dropped at his feet.

‘Who’s this?’ Fiery embers crackled in his gaze.

He’s been fighting. She shuddered to think what might be in the bag. She had to get Mike out.

But Mike was already up. He crossed the room and held out his hand. ‘Mike Harbinger.’

Arthur ignored it. He went to the sink and began washing his hands.

‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘We need to talk, Billi.’

Billi was mortified. She knew her dad would be like this.

‘Thanks for the tea,’ said Mike, smiling and apparently unconcerned by her dad’s rudeness. Billi jumped out of the chair.

‘I’ll show you out.’

She took him downstairs, and to the front door. She checked over her shoulder to make sure her dad was well out of earshot.

‘I’m sorry about that. My dad’s a bit funny with strange visitors.’ Mike raised an eyebrow as Billi realized what she’d said. ‘Not that you’re strange. At all.’ Oh God, what is wrong with me? Mild concussion from the fight. Had to be.

‘You’re a strange one yourself, Billi,’ said Mike. ‘Most girls would be pretty freaked out after a night like this. You sure you’re going to be OK?’

The rain was heavier now. Billi spotted a glistening drop roll down Mike’s neck, getting tangled in the thorn tattoos.

‘Yes, yes. You’d be surprised how rough some of these lawyers get around here.’ She shifted awkwardly at the door. ‘Well, thanks for everything. Y’know, for saving my life and everything.’

Oh, that was so totally cool. Stop speaking. Now.

Mike grinned. ‘Shame I never got to finish my tea.’ He looked up towards her kitchen window on the upper floor. ‘Why don’t we try that again, somewhere else, maybe?’

He’s asking me out. At least she thought that’s what he was doing. Unsurprisingly, boys usually never came anywhere near Billi, let alone asked her out. Her dad’s reputation made sure of that.

Not sure how to respond, she just nodded. Mike handed her his mobile so she could enter her number and she was instantly aware of the touch of his hand on hers, surprisingly warm despite the cold rain.

Billi’s fingers stumbled over the tiny keypad and she had to take a deep training breath to calm herself enough to get the stupid digits right. Mike inspected the screen before flicking his mobile shut.

‘Then I’ll see you soon, maybe?’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ She only just managed to get the words out.

Mike waved before retreating into the darkness, his shape fading into the hazy gloom between the pools of orange under the street lights. Then he was gone.

Billi lingered, watching the sparkling raindrops catch the lamplight as they fell like gold over the cobblestones.

Back in the kitchen, her dad had emptied out his bergen. Newspaper covered the table and he was wiping down a savage-looking kukri with a cloth and some oil. A steaming mug lay beside it.

Billi could barely look at her dad as she came in. ‘He’s gone, thanks to you.’

‘People like that only complicate things.’

‘People like what?’

‘Like that. Boyfriends.’

Billi turned abruptly and faced the sink, hoping her dad couldn’t see the tell-tale redness of her face.

‘He’s only a friend.’

Arthur just looked at her. ‘Elaine told me what happened.’ He put down his knife. ‘Are you all right?’

Billi almost fainted with shock. Was her dad being ‘concerned’? Her tongue momentarily died on her. She nodded.

‘Good. I need you focused. There’s work to do,’ he said.

How stupid. Not concerned at all. He was just worried she wouldn’t be fighting fit.

‘Nothing ever matters to you except this bloody Order.’ Billi grabbed the side of the sink, digging her nails into the old wood, trying hard not to explode. ‘You don’t want me to have anything else, do you?’

Arthur’s face was impassive. He didn’t bat an eyelid.

Billi walked away towards her bedroom; she was so tired now.

‘I did not choose this life,’ she said. But before she could leave the room she heard his reply.

‘None of us ever do,’ he said.

A few days passed and still nothing from Mike. Her dad had won – again. He bullied everyone and now he’d scared Mike off and, with him, a chance Billi might have had of a life outside the Order. She should accept it, like the others.

But she couldn’t. She kicked off the duvet. This was not the life she wanted.

She leaned over to her bedside table and flicked open her mobile for the millionth time, hoping some text or message might have come while she’d been asleep. Nothing. Damn it! She shouldn’t be surprised: who in their right mind would want to go out with a girl who had a psycho for a father?

She slid out of her pyjamas and into her tracksuit. It was six, the birds outside hadn’t even woken yet and here she was, too angry to sleep. There was only one solution.

The catacombs ran everywhere under the Temple district. Secret warrens, tunnels and chambers had been excavated by the Templars of old, and all record of them had conveniently vanished over time so only the knights themselves were aware of their existence. There was even a secret access to the underground Fleet River, unbeknown to all above. Few realized how the ancient bones of the city slept under the steel and glass towers of modern London. Billi entered the underground armoury and switched the lights on. The harsh white fluorescent tubes glowed along the walls, illuminating the ancient bricks, the low vaulted ceiling, the cold flagstone floor and the weapons. It had once been the Templar ossuary. Even now the bones of the ancient knights rested in crudely carved alcoves along the walls. After all this time Billi still felt the slight tremor of dread as she entered the gloomy chamber under the gaze of those old bones. In a hundred years would her own sightless skull sit there, watching some new squire training, perhaps with the very same weapons? She shivered, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

The smell was a dusty mix of seeping damp, oil and polish. How many thousands of hours had she spent down here? Last August she’d hardly seen the sun. She’d returned to school in September as white as a ghost. All that time she’d worked with whetstone and cloth on weapons maintenance. All those nicks and cuts, and bruises and black eyes, all those strange looks in class – all those excuses.

Oh, I tripped.

I ran into the door.

Fell down the stairs.

The vase dropped on my head.

The dog/cat/goat bit/scratched/kicked me.

She walked along the row of swords, all neatly stacked on wooden racks. There were Scottish claymores, German bastard swords, French rapiers, Indian patas – deadly steel from around the world. She needed to master all of them. Arthur had taught her there was no glamour in weapons: they were tools, no more, no less. Even the katanas, the very souls of the samurai, lay beside the crude and battered bronze khopesh blades. Billi snatched up a bokken, a wooden Japanese practice sword. Templars didn’t train with modern kendo equipment, with armour and hollow bamboo sticks. Percy thought nothing trained reflexes better than the risk of serious injury. The heavy cedar stave of the bokken was lethal. She turned the weapon slowly, loosening her wrists, getting the blood pumping, building up speed as she started with jabs, cuts, parries and slices against imaginary opponents. She twisted, turned, dived, darted back, forward, her feet sliding and leaping across the cold stone. Fire burned in her veins as she slashed off arms, heads, cut open arteries and burst hearts apart. The bokken reacted before she thought, as though alive in itself. The dance was pure instinct, completely formless. Billi lost track of time as she moved across the empty floor, mesmerized by the unending motion of the wooden blade. She could lose herself in it and was ready to dive in when she felt a breeze, a wrong breeze, and stopped.

She turned towards the steps and saw a shadow descend. Her dad stopped at the edge of the practice area, dressed in a black T-shirt and wearing a pair of faded grey tracksuit bottoms.

Why wouldn’t he leave her alone, just for a minute?

‘Don’t stop,’ he said.

‘I’ve just finished. It’s all yours.’ She couldn’t bear to be stuck in the same room as him.

Arthur chose a bokken from the rack. His wrists clicked as he repeated the same warming-up exercises as Billi.

‘Percival says you’ve come a long way this year.’ He stopped in the centre of the armoury. ‘Show me.’

Fight her dad?

Of course he’d taken some of her lessons, when Percy had been out on business. They’d even had mock duels, but for some reason this… this felt different.

Arthur stood, legs apart, slightly bent, slightly springy, in the low guard: hilt waist high, sword tip point upwards towards the target’s throat.

Fine, if that’s what he wants. Billi came forward, moving into high guard, the standard position against her dad’s own stance and primed for the principle blows to his unprotected head. Speed and control. The essence of the mock duel was to strike fast and pull the blow at the last possible second. Maybe she could pull it a moment too late? The image of her dad with a big purple bruise on his forehead brought a smile to her lips. She slowed her breathing down with long, deep breaths, subduing her rapidly beating heart and took control of the adrenalin bubbling in her body. They were a metre apart.

‘Do you hate me, Billi?’

The question was so unexpected that she faltered and in that second her dad attacked without hesitation. He feinted with a jab, drawing Billi’s sword down, and then he slammed his blade hard across hers: the Fire and Stones Cut. The impact jarred her arms and Billi loosened her grip to let the energy dissipate. But Arthur sensed the weakening grip. His tip darted up and with a twist of his wrist Billi’s bokken leapt from her hands. She watched it spin in the air, then clatter to the ground.

‘Well?’ Arthur asked.

‘Well what?’

‘I asked you a question. A simple one.’

Simple. Was he mad? Billi stared at her father, straight into those bright, fierce blue eyes, and wondered again if he really was her dad. The similarities began and ended with the black hair. They said she was more like her mother. Not as beautiful – she had her dad’s genes to thank for that. He’d never been handsome, and over the years the broken nose and the criss-cross of scars had only made him uglier.

And easy to hate.

‘Why should I hate you?’ She walked away from him when she said it, just in case he could read her face. Billi picked up her sword. When she turned round he was waiting, low guard again.

‘For ruining your life.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘That’s what you think, isn’t it?’

‘I’m a Templar – that’s all the life I need,’ she intoned.

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’

‘What if I do hate you?’

Now it was Arthur’s turn to hesitate. Billi smirked, let him deal with that. But the smile withered. Did she? Did she really hate him or had she just come to hate this life? She shook her head and took the high guard again.

‘Why do we have to be part of this?’ she asked.

‘We’re Templars. We have a duty.’ He focused his attention along the sword.

‘To protect the masses from the Unholy.’ She tightened her grip round the hilt; she wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice. ‘But we’re not doing such a great job, are we? How d’you expect us to win this fight when there’re only nine of us?’

‘The Order began with only nine.’

Billi swept down and Arthur drew his blade up and parried, barely, but enough. Billi jabbed, then let the battle guide her, no thought or strategy, no plan, just the subtle shifting of moves, positions, attacks and parries. He was stronger; she was faster. Attacks came deadly and close, but in the gaps between seconds Billi moved and would knock a blow aside or launch one of her own. They crossed the armoury floor, back and forth, back and forth, neither giving the other a moment’s respite. Billi drew in close, hilts jammed together. Her dad smiled.

And headbutted her.

Sparks filled her vision and she couldn’t keep upright. The ground pitched suddenly and Billi tottered backwards.

Her dad caught her.

‘You bastard,’ she whispered, shaking her head clear. She checked her nose. If it was broken… no, not even bleeding. But her eyes were watering heavily. ‘Bastard.’

If she hadn’t hated him then, she hated him now. He couldn’t even fight fair! He lowered her to the ground, then squatted down beside her.

‘You hate this life, don’t you?’

‘Yes! Of course I do!’

Arthur nodded. He gazed at the bokken in his hand. ‘Good. It’s right that you should.’

Billi shook her head again. She wasn’t hearing right. ‘What?’

‘You’re right, Billi. There are so few of us, but we keep the darkness at bay. Why? Because we’re ruthless. We bring nightmares to the monsters.’ He leaned closer so he could whisper it. ‘Fear is a powerful weapon.’

Billi froze. She’d never felt so cold in her life. Her heart must have turned to ice. Arthur stood up. He didn’t look at her.

‘You need to be ruthless. Nothing must stop you from fulfilling your duty. One day you’ll have to make a terrible choice and pity will fill your heart and you’ll hesitate. You’ll think there has to be a better way.’ He sighed. ‘But sometimes there isn’t. You’ll be up close, you’ll feel a person’s warm breath on your face, see the glow of life in their eyes and know you have to end it. Like you did during the Ordeal.’ He pulled Billi up. ‘You hate what we do. You’re right to. Who would want this life? Sometimes we must do terrible things, make huge sacrifices. But we must. Because the alternative is so much worse.’ He cupped her face and leaned forward, Billi tensed and thought he was going to kiss her forehead, like he used to, a long time ago.

Or maybe headbutt her again.

Instead Arthur dropped his hands and turned away. ‘Tidy up. When you’re finished I’ve got a job for you.’

Kay was waiting for her after school. She made her way through the crowds spilling out of the school gates and slung her backpack over her shoulder. He sat up on the high wall.

‘What’s going on?’ Billi asked.

‘Read this,’ said Kay as he passed Billi a sheet of paper. It was an email from the head of the children’s ward of some hospital. She scanned it. Four kids had died in the last two days. Their hearts had simply stopped. The autopsies had brought up nothing. Each child had only been in for minor operations, tonsillectomies, grommets and one, Rupresh Patel, just for an in-growing toenail. But it didn’t seem much to go on.

‘Dad thinks it’s something supernatural?’

‘That’s for us to find out.’

The main building of China Wharf Hospital, a tall six-storey Victorian structure, reeked of decay. There was a damp odour clinging to the walls, green mould coated the drainpipes and the wooden window frames were rotten and cracked. The hospital never saw direct sunlight. It was forever cringing in the shadows cast by the titanic towers of nearby Canary Wharf. A couple of sallow-faced patients sat in wheelchairs, numbly staring up at the glass-faced bastions of wealth. Beside them a trio of weary nurses having their cigarette break, clustered together under the entrance canopy.

‘Let’s go to work,’ Billi said, and entered through the hospital gates.

They pushed their way through the outpatients reception area. Every seat was filled, and almost every patch of floor space too. There were lots of kids, some in buggies, others being cradled by their parents, while a seriously harassed-looking registrar was trying to make his way through the dense mass to prioritize the worst. It looked like something out of a Third World news story. Billi ploughed through the crowd towards the lifts. Kay hadn’t moved. He stood in the middle, eyes narrowed.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

Kay frowned. ‘Do you hear something?’

Billi concentrated. ‘A bunch of screaming kids. Why?’

He shrugged. ‘Can’t tell. Maybe nothing.’

‘Fine. Let’s get a move on.’

Kay had checked the building plans on the web; the children’s ward was on the top floor. They slipped into the lift with a party of visitors. Kay pulled out a box of Quality Streets, wrapped in a bow. In case anyone stopped them, they’d pretend they were visiting a friend.

They made their way up floor by floor. Through a pair of large wooden doors they entered a grim series of rooms. Someone, a long time ago, had tried to decorate the walls with scenes of cartoon characters, colourful rainbows and portraits of cheerful patients. But over time, and through lack of care, patches of damp now discoloured the ceiling tiles. The smiling portraits had sickly, cancerous skin as the paint had aged, flaked and yellowed. There were four wards on either side, then the special care unit containing a regiment of occupied incubators with the maternity unit beyond.

‘You check down there –’ Kay pointed at the west-end ward – ‘and I’ll look here. Give me a shout if you see anything strange.’

Billi had expected there to be some life, some ambient noise of natural childish laughter and excitement. But there was none. A single ward nurse sat at the viewing station, almost hidden behind the high battlement of the desk. In the staff room beyond Billi could hear Eastenders crackling through the speakers of an old telly, and there were two other nurses within, lying almost comatose on their armchairs, each staring dumb-eyed at the flickering screen.

Billi moved down the corridor, fighting down the feeling of cold unease.

From their beds the children seemed listless, while others watched her with icy distrust.

What was she looking for? There were beds, there were sick kids. What else did she expect? It was a hospital. Another one of her dad’s paranoid fantasies. She couldn’t see Kay – where had he gone? She wanted to wrap this up and go home.

‘Excuse me, dear, but are you a visitor?’ A ward nurse had appeared out of nowhere. ‘These children need rest and if you’re not visiting you should leave.’ She spoke with a weary firmness, not harsh, but certain.

Billi pointed at a door and headed to it. ‘I’m here to see –’ she got closer and noticed a sign, REBECCA WILLIAMSON – ‘my friend, Becky. Just for a minute.’ And she went in.

The lights were off and the curtains drawn, but there was enough illumination from the pallid glow of the monitors to see a girl asleep in the bed. She was small, seven or eight, with a drip in her arm, a pulse sensor tapped to her finger and a breathing tube threaded through her nose. Her hair was thin and Billi could see her skull, the skin thin and lined with blue veins. Billi would wait here a minute then sneak out and find Kay.

The girl opened her eyes. When she breathed it sounded like she was trying to suck air in against the will of her body.

‘Hello,’ said the girl. Her voice was fragile and weak.

Billi wanted to leave, but she looked into the girl’s eyes and saw the life burning fiercely within. The girl wanted to do something other than just wait in the dark.

‘Hi… Rebecca.’

Rebecca let out a long breath, then with great effort sucked in a new lungful. Her skinny body trembled under the sheets.

‘Are my mum and dad here?’

‘No, I’m sure they won’t be long, though.’

The girl started crying. Her head jerked slightly and her tears bubbled then trickled down. There was hardly any sobbing, just a short feeble panting sound. Billi looked around the room and found a box of tissues. She passed Rebecca a handful. She watched as the girl limply lifted them and the effort to wipe her face exhausted her. The damp tissues floated to the floor.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m afraid.’

Billi didn’t know what to say. Comforting the sick was work for Hospitallers, not Templars. She just stared at the way Rebecca’s skeletal chest rose and sank. She could see the ribs beneath the white nightdress.

Rebecca turned to face her. Her focus settled on the silver crucifix round Billi’s neck. ‘Do you believe in God?’

Did she? Billi touched the cross out of habit. She’d spent half her life praying to Allah, the other half to Jesus. She’d asked her dad early on how she should pray. Arthur’s answer, for a Templar Master, had been a heretical one. He didn’t know, and thought God, whoever He was, probably didn’t care.

‘I… suppose.’

‘Why?’

Billi looked at the dying child, at how her brittle fingers gripped the sheets. ‘I guess… there has to be a reason why the world’s the way it is. A reason why –’ she listened to the terrible sucking noise as Rebecca fought on – ‘a reason why bad things happen.’

Rebecca closed her eyes. ‘My mummy never used to pray –’ her breathing setting into the shallowest, quietest ripple – ‘but she does now, all the time.’

‘Billi?’ Kay’s head appeared round the door. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere –’ He looked at Rebecca, eyes widening. He came in and grabbed Billi’s arm.

‘Leave. Now.’

‘What is it?’

‘We’ve got to tell Arthur,’ said Kay. He was already backing away, dragging Billi with him. He was terrified. His eyes darted into the corners of the room, into the shadows.

Billi tugged her arm free. ‘Stop freaking. What is it?’

Kay looked like he was going to run. Instead he took Billi by the shoulders and turned her round, facing the sick girl. He stood behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. Billi felt their coldness on her eyelids.

‘What are you do–’

‘Look.’ He separated his fingers, letting the sight slowly filter in. Billi blinked as the cobwebs of reality gently tore apart.

The lonely child sat shrivelled in her bed wrapped in shroud-white sheets and gazed at her with maggot-filled eye sockets. Things wriggled under her tissue-thin skin. Grotesque skeletal flies sat feeding off dripping, oozing flesh, and rank odours and putrescent vapours wheezed out of the girl’s lungs. The child breathed through an opened mouth lined with yellow teeth loosely bound to decayed, blackened gums, and her slime-coated tongue hung limp over her white lips.

‘No,’ Billi whispered, backing away from Kay, shaking her head free of the hideous image. She stumbled out of the corridor, fighting down the bitter, metallic bile climbing up her throat. Kay caught up with her and pulled them both through the doorway into the stairwell. Billi leaned against the wall, teeth clamped together, and waited for the nausea to pass.

‘What is it? What’s happening to her?’ She’d never seen anything like it. She couldn’t remember anything like this in any of the old manuscripts, the old Templar diaries. Kay squeezed her, his chest touched her back.

‘I don’t know.’ He turned back towards the door. ‘But I think this is only the beginning.’

Billi called her dad while Kay got the teas. They’d found a greasy spoon cafe off the high street, empty but for some old guy with a beard stirring his coffee endlessly and muttering at a blank spot on the wall. Faded posters of Caribbean beaches and white Alpine mountains decorated the walls, corners curled and ochre from cigarette smoke. She couldn’t get through; the phone went straight to messaging. She’d finally got Percy. He’d told them to sit tight; he was on his way.

When she went back in Kay had the teas and a bun waiting. He clutched the mug tightly, but his fingers still trembled.

‘You OK?’

He smiled weakly. ‘Been better.’

‘What’s happening to her?’

‘It’s a sickness, a disease, attacking her through the Ethereal Realm. Those… flies are slowly eating her soul. I could see her aura, but it was barely there. Once they’ve done it the body will just die.’

‘Can’t you do anything?’ she asked. Her stomach twisted at the memories of those flies. Kay didn’t even look up.

So the little girl was going to die, and there was nothing they could do about it. Billi thought about her, just lying there blankly gazing at the ceiling. That was how it was going to be, a small, pointless death and her last memory, the one she took with her to the grave, was going to be of a light bulb in the ceiling. Maybe Arthur would know a way to save her. Hold on, hadn’t she read somewhere that people could live, even without their souls?

Kay’s eyebrows arched, sensing her thoughts. ‘Without her soul it’s better that she dies, Billi.’

She tried not to think about the little boy from her Ordeal, Alex Weeks.

Kay leaned across and tilted her chin up gently so that she had to look at him. ‘Billi, without a soul we lose that one part of us that’s divine, the Breath of God. The path of the soulless leads only to damnation. Only the vilest, most evil person would consider it.’

‘Or the most desperate.’ Billi couldn’t get Rebecca out of her mind.

‘Without a soul, a void is left that creates a terrible, endless hunger. One they’ll try desperately to fill…’

‘With blood,’ Billi finished for him.

Kay nodded. ‘The taste of a person’s soul lingers in their lifeblood, in their flesh. The Hungry Dead feed on that. It sustains them for a while, but the taste is never enough. Then they kill again. And again. Each time, the soul they briefly sup on becomes less and less sustaining. The worst are reduced to eating corpses.’

Vampires. Nosferatu. Lamia. All cultures had their own name for them, the Hungry Dead. The Templars used the old Arabic word.

‘Ghuls,’ said Billi. ‘You think Rebecca will become one of the Hungry Dead?’

Kay shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, you need to choose to surrender your soul to become a ghul, that’s clearly not what Rebecca’s doing.’ He frowned, mockingly. ‘But don’t you pay any attention to Occult Lore? Balin must be pretty disappointed.’

‘You must offer your soul, willingly, to someone capable of consuming it, an Ethereal. It’s usually a devil, and it then passes some of its own essence into the now soulless body. It’s not an easy transfer. It takes a lot out of the Ethereal. Even a single trade can weaken one for years. That’s why these sorts of deals aren’t that common. Otherwise devils would be creating ghuls all over the place.’

‘So you sell your soul. For what?’

‘For wealth. Power. Immortality.’ Kay stared out of the window. ‘Nothing important.’

Billi looked at his reflection, half lost in the darkness beyond.

‘How can you stand it?’ she said. ‘To see such things?’ She’d been shaken badly, but Billi knew even the horror she’d witnessed was a faded and weak image of what was really happening to the girl. Kay would have seen it ten times more clearly. If that was what his gift gave him she was thankful she wasn’t an Oracle.

‘You have to take the good with the bad.’ He smiled, but the smile was drawn and desperate.

‘Meaning?’

Kay sat, looking at his mug. The brown liquid gently quivered in unison with his own shaking hands. He let out a slow, cooling breath and the tea settled and was still.

‘You don’t know…’ He looked up at her, as if he was going to say something, then dropped his head again. ‘Not everything I see is ugly.’

‘What else?’

Kay stretched out his arms, his fingertips spread as far as they would go. ‘Amazing sights, Billi.’ He smiled at something and Billi couldn’t believe it was Kay. The smile was so sincere, so full, she felt almost ashamed she’d seen it. It was too personal. Someone’s secret smile. ‘Sometimes, Billi, sometimes we shine so very bright.’ He folded his arms back around himself. ‘It sort of restores your faith in things, y’know?’

‘Kay, you are très strange.’

‘But in a good way, right?’

Billi laughed. Maybe some of the old Kay was still there after all. She looked into his blue eyes and was caught by the deepness of their colour. She fell silent, her laugh snatched away.

Billi’s mobile rang. Saved by the bell. She pulled her gaze away from Kay. She didn’t recognize the number.

‘Hello?’

‘Billi? It’s me, Mike.’

Mike, she couldn’t believe it. Nothing all week and he calls now?

She looked awkwardly at Kay. ‘It’s… not a great time, Mike.’ Any second Percy was going to come barging in, probably with half the Order in tow too. Kay hadn’t taken his eyes off her so she gave him a half frown and walked away from the table.

‘You busy?’ Mike asked. ‘Just thought we might have that tea. There’s a great cafe round the corner from you. Interested?’

Billi hesitated. After what she’d seen at the hospital she knew things were going to hot up back at the Templar preceptory. She needed to keep her nights free. Then she thought back to how her dad had treated Mike – had treated her even – and made a sudden decision.

‘Yeah, I’d love to.’

They made plans to meet tomorrow evening, not far from the Temple. Billi snapped her mobile shut and waited for her heart rate to slow down.

She’d made a date. It had been easy.

Then why was she feeling so flustered? She put her mobile away and wondered if this wasn’t the beginning of something new: something of her own outside of the Templars – beyond her dad’s control.

‘Who was that?’ asked Kay. He was just behind her. Not at the table like he should be.

‘Just a friend.’

‘Who?’

‘For God’s sake, Kay, you are not my keeper!’ As soon as she’d said it she wished she hadn’t. She saw the darkened look. She had no time to pander to his fragile ego. He’d left her by herself for a whole year and now he’d just have to deal with the fact that she had a new life.

‘You don’t need to pander to my anything,’ snapped Kay.

‘You prick.’ She couldn’t believe it. How dare he read her mind? And just when she was beginning to like him again. Well, she was an idiot.

Kay stood up, his palms open. ‘Look, I couldn’t help it. I can’t just turn it off and on like that. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘Get lost.’ She wrapped her scarf twice round her neck and crossed over to another table. She’d wait for Percy there.

When Percy collected them Billi made sure she got in the front seat next to Percy so she wouldn’t be near Kay or even have to look at him. She didn’t need to be psychic to feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, but she refused to budge even when he accidentally-on-purpose shoved the back of her seat.

God, he was so irritating! If he could steal into her mind at any time how could she trust him with anything? Or keep her feelings to herself?

Billi concentrated hard on trying not to think anything at all, and certainly not about Kay.

She heard him huff with frustration. Maybe her being angry helped block him out. Good. She could stay angry at him for a long, long time.

They pulled up in King’s Bench Walk and went to Chaplain’s House, where they told Percy and Balin everything they’d seen. Billi was surprised her dad wasn’t around, but didn’t comment. Kay remained with Father Balin, so Billi wandered home with Percy.

‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked as they reached her front door. Percy frowned and looked down his huge chest at her.

‘Can’t say, sweetie. But he’ll be back in the morning.’

‘What’s going on, Percy?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t know for sure, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Now you get some rest.’ He pushed the door open for her and left.

The hallway walls seemed close around her, trying to trap her. The ancient faces of the past Templars peered down, judging her, as she walked by. She hung up her coat beside the portrait of Jacques de Molay and glared at the Order’s last Grand Master. De Molay was seen by the Templars as a hero. A martyr. He’d been burned alive, willingly going to the fire, because he believed in the Order and refused to abandon the Templars. But Billi didn’t want to be a hero. And she certainly didn’t want to be a martyr. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to hang out in cinemas, go to clubs, go on dates…

She would see Mike tomorrow. The Templars had managed without her for the last nine centuries, they could manage without her for one night, at least. She turned her back on the old Grand Master.

The kitchen was empty but for a cold cup of tea Arthur had left. She opened the fridge, but there was just a packet of sausages and a pint of skimmed milk. Even now she couldn’t bring herself to eat pork. Maybe Gwaine was right: once a Muslim always a Muslim. So Billi poured herself a glass of milk, and went to bed.

‘Billi, wake up.’

Billi shuffled under her duvet. Was someone knocking at her door?

‘Wake up, sweetheart.’

She wiped her hair out of her face and found her clock.

4.15 a.m. She rubbed her eyes. Yes. 4.15 in the morning.

The knocking on her door became urgent.

‘Get up, you lazy squire. Immediately.’

‘Percy?’

The door opened and Percy switched on the light. Billi grimaced at the glaring brightness.

‘Ah, the princess awakes at last. Get dressed. Art wants you down at the church, like right now.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Something important.’

They were all there. Arthur had sent word and they’d all come back that very night. He’d called a Council of War.

In the round of Temple Church stood nine chairs. High backed, engraved with ancient images of war and faith, they’d been arranged in a loose circle lit only by candlelight that flickered on the grim faces of the men that sat there. Thin ribbons of smoke spiralled from the candles into the lofty, dark ceiling. Beyond this circle was gloom.

Billi took her seat. Kay was beside her, his face impassive but eyes bloodshot; he obviously hadn’t slept. On her right side was the other squire, Bors, Gwaine’s nephew. He glanced at Billi, his eyes hooded and lips curled in slight disdain. At twenty he was the second biggest warrior in the Order. Next year he’d qualify as a knight and he clearly resented still being seated among the squires.

Arthur’s hands gripped the armrests. Behind his chair stood Father Balin, pale as a midnight ghost. He wasn’t part of the fighting order so did not have a seat. But as the Chaplain he had a right to be present, even at a Council of War. To Arthur’s right was Gwaine, as Seneschal he took the next most honoured position to the Master. On Arthur’s left was Percy, the Templar Marshall, the Master of Arms. Billi looked round the circle at the others.

Pelleas looked tired. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage and he struggled to keep straight in his chair. The werewolf hunt must have gone badly, no doubt she’d hear all about it soon enough. But that could not be why the Council had been called; they were used to dealing with werewolves. Beside Pelleas sat Gareth, small but with powerful shoulders. He nodded briefly at Billi. He seemed relaxed but his fingers nervously fiddled with a short length of black feather, fletching from his signature weapon, the bow.

Berrant sat opposite him, between Gwaine and Kay. The youngest of the knights, he polished his glasses on his sleeve before sliding then back on his straight narrow nose. He was the Order’s computer expert and hacker. He was also one of the deadliest duellists alive. His high cheekbones gave him a sunken, skeletal appearance in the shadowy light.

‘Where’s Elaine?’ asked Pelleas. Billi checked over her shoulder to the pews, where Elaine usually sat, but they were empty. Being Jewish she couldn’t be a member of the Order but given that Arthur had summoned them all, it was odd she was missing.

‘She’s busy,’ said Arthur. He looked towards Kay. ‘The Oracle has something to tell us.’

Not squire Kay any more. Oracle. Chairs creaked as the others all turned to Kay. Billi watched him steady himself before speaking. He was the same age as her, but his responsibilities were a hundredfold greater. The Templars were counting on him and this was his chance to prove his worth.

‘Billi and I witnessed a girl, Rebecca Williamson, having her soul devoured.’

Father Balin crossed himself, and a long silence followed Kay’s statement. Percy and Arthur exchanged a concerned glance and Billi wondered why. What did they know?

‘How?’ asked Gwaine. ‘What will become of her?’

Kay shook his head. ‘She won’t become one of the Hungry Dead, if that’s what you mean.’

‘You sure, boy?’

Kay’s eyes locked on the Seneschal and there was steel in his gaze. The old man held it, but not for long. Arthur watched, and leaned back into his chair.

‘Explain,’ he said.

‘A ghul can only be created voluntarily. To become such an abomination you must renounce all that is holy and give up your soul through your own free will.’ He sighed, and Billi wanted to say something. He looked so tired. ‘That’s certainly not Rebecca’s case. She’s fighting it all the way.’

‘So she might survive?’ asked Balin.

‘No.’

Gareth tucked his feather behind his ear. ‘And what of the other children?’

Billi stiffened. She’d forgotten. As well as Rebecca there had been four others.

‘They’ve been cremated. We don’t need to worry about them.’ Arthur was chillingly matter of fact.

‘We’re avoiding the key issue,’ Berrant said, straightening his glasses. ‘Who’s behind it, and are these four the only ones?’ He lifted up three fingers. ‘Soul taking can only be done by an Ethereal, an angel. We all know that.’ He counted them off. ‘Either one of the malakhim, or a devil or a Watcher.’

‘A devil, surely?’ said Gwaine.

Billi shot a look at her dad. Was this to do with the Mirror? His face was stony blank.

‘But it’s a direct attack. The devil would be breaking his covenant.’ Balin stepped into the circle of chairs. ‘The devils are tempters. They can only lead man off the path of righteousness to commit evil. They can’t perform evil directly.’ He gestured to Kay. ‘What the Oracle describes is a violent attack.’

‘A covenant?’ Billi muttered to herself, confused.

Balin heard. She fought the urge to sink into her chair to escape his frown. Maybe she should have paid more attention at Occult Lore.

Balin spoke. ‘Each class of angel, Bilqis, is bound by an immutable law, a covenant.’ He went into lecturing mode, nodding to himself as he recounted the facts. ‘The Watcher must pass over where a sacrifice has been made; the malakhim can only deliver God’s Word. To change even a syllable would lead to their utter destruction. Likewise devils, as powerful as they are, cannot directly cause harm. They will tempt you, persuade you, to kill your brother, but they cannot wield the knife themselves.’

‘It’s not the work of a devil,’ said Kay. ‘We’re dealing with a Watcher.’

‘How d’you know?’ asked Gwaine suspiciously.

‘Because I used the Cursed Mirror.’

Gwaine leapt from his chair and pointed accusingly at Kay, but Billi couldn’t hear what he was saying because everyone was shouting at once. Balin stood in the centre, his mouth agape. Gwaine barged past him and Percy sprang up to protect Kay.

‘SILENCE!’

Arthur’s word froze time. No one moved except to look towards him. He stayed seated, but his eyes meant that each one of them, including Gwaine, returned to their chairs. Balin seemed to wake from a trance and, after straightening his cassock, moved back to his place behind the Templar Master’s chair.

Arthur stood up and walked to Kay. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and a pang shot through Billi’s heart to see it.

‘The damage has been done,’ said Arthur, seeming almost resigned to what might lie ahead. ‘Nothing escaped, of that we’re certain. But, still, it’s more than a coincidence that a day after the Mirror’s been used we have a Watcher destroying souls. It seems he’s not strong enough to attack indiscriminately. We suspect it’s only by touch.’

‘Wait a minute – a Watcher?’ Balin interrupted. ‘Then we know who he is, Arthur.’

Of course they did. There was only one Watcher free.

‘The Angel of Death,’ whispered Percival.

‘Oh, this just gets better and better,’ said Gwaine. ‘God’s Killer himself.’

Arthur ignored him and carried on. ‘He’ll be after the Mirror. He’s weak. Most of his powers are still trapped in the Mirror, have been since the time of Solomon.’

‘And where is the Mirror now?’ Gwaine’s voice was scathing.

‘Safe. We’ve reinforced the wards around the reliquary. It’s invisible to supernatural detection.’

‘First you let that fool of a boy tamper with it and now you trust something this important to Elaine? Don’t be stupid, Art.’

‘I do and have. I’m setting up watches, around the clock, on China Wharf Hospital. That girl isn’t dead. We’re to protect her.’

‘And use her as bait, yes?’ said Billi. If Rebecca was still hanging on the Watcher might come back and finish her off – tear her young soul from her. She looked into her dad’s eyes. They were dead of compassion. Utterly ruthless. Was there anyone he wouldn’t sacrifice?

‘Yes. Bait. Berrant has hacked into the hospital files. Each dead child was the eldest sibling. Firstborn.’

‘Christ Almighty,’ muttered Pelleas.

Billi stiffened. She was firstborn. ‘So this sickness…’

She didn’t even dare finish her sentence. So Arthur did.

‘Is the tenth plague.’

Billi couldn’t concentrate on anything the next day. She sat there, trying to listen to the lesson. Trying to be part of something normal like everyone else in the room. But she’d been forced into knowing, and being part of, such terrible things that it made the possibility of a normal life – life outside the Order – move further and further away from her.

There’d been so many questions, but Arthur hadn’t had any time to answer them. They were to set up a rotation watch on Rebecca at the hospital, and leave the rest to him. But Billi couldn’t get rid of the suspicion that things were happening behind her back. Arthur was up to something – keeping things from her.

Well, sod him. She didn’t want to know any more anyway. She checked the time. She had three hours until her hospital watch. But before then Billi was going to live her own life.

There weren’t too many familiar faces at the local cafe by the time she got there. A couple she recognized from her year, but fortunately no one from her class. She glanced around the low-lit tables: no Mike.

Billi bought a latte and a blueberry muffin then hid herself in the corner, deep in a dark red armchair facing the door.

She flipped her mobile open and shut nervously. Was this an actual date? She wasn’t sure. It felt like one but Mike had been so casual about it. Funny, she’d spent her entire life surrounded by men, but she’d never had to, or ever wanted to, understand them in that way.

She looked around the cafe. This was home to the popular crowd from school. Pete Olson, the school sports star, all toned pecs and gelled hair, stood with Tracy Hindes by his side. She was giggling like an imbecile and wearing a flimsy red dress that would have given Arthur a cardiac if Billi had worn it.

Billi wondered if this was how girls were meant to behave on dates. Was that what Mike was expecting? She began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all. She grabbed her phone and got up to leave, then saw a girl stumbling out of the toilet door. The girl was wiping her tear-swollen face with a long stream of toilet roll that dragged thick black lines of mascara down her face. Billi’s heart sank as she recognized her.

Oh no.

Jane Mulville stared back, horrified. Then she stormed over.

‘What d’you think you’re looking at?’ Jane snarled. She rubbed her red-rimmed eyes, smearing her mascara further, creating big panda eyes. ‘Think it’s funny, do you, you freak?’

Once Billi would have stood up and just knocked her face in, but she sat there, curiously sorry. Jane was fifteen and pregnant and absolutely everyone knew.

‘Listen, Jane, I’m really sorry, but…’ What could she actually say to make it any better? ‘I’m just sorry.’

God, that was exceedingly lame.

‘I just bet you are,’ Jane spat.

‘Is everything OK?’

It was Mike. She couldn’t leave now.

He shook the worst of the rain from his dark curls.

‘Hi, Billi. Sorry I’m late.’

Mike slung his coat over the sofa opposite her. She had forgotten how good-looking he actually was. The forest of black tattooed vines and spiky thorns crept out from underneath his T-shirt up towards the nape of his neck where his skin was still glistening wet from the rain.

‘That’s OK,’ she mumbled, not knowing what to do with Mike smiling at her and Jane glowering. Maybe now would be a good time for the ground to open up and swallow her.

Mike held out his hand towards Jane. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t catch your name.’ The smile remained, transfixing Jane. Billi knew how she felt.

‘Jane,’ she whispered.

‘Good to meet you, Jane.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘I think your friend’s waiting.’

Dave Fletcher stood by the door, Jane’s white coat over his arm and an ugly jealous stare directed at Mike.

Realizing she’d been dismissed in favour of Billi, Jane turned to her. ‘Just stay away from me, freak.’ She smiled maliciously at Mike. ‘And you’d better watch out for her dad. Wouldn’t want him slicing up that pretty face of yours.’ Then she stalked off towards Dave and out of the door with an attention-grabbing crash.

‘My mistake,’ said Mike, watching the pair leave. ‘Not a friend.’

‘No, you could say that.’ It was, in fact, the understatement of the year. ‘Thanks for stepping in – I’m, um… glad you’re here.’ Oh no, did I really say that out loud?

Mike gave her a long, slow smile, his golden eyes shining with amusement. ‘So am I.’

And suddenly Billi realized she meant it.

Normal. It was a normal conversation. Nothing about Templars, about plagues and Watchers. Nothing but the sort of conversation normal people have. Mike told Billi a bit about his dad, sounding so much like hers. Strict, judgemental and pushy. She asked about the tattoos and he laughingly said he’d been born with them.

‘When I came in and saw you with that girl you looked like you were going to totally rearrange her face.’ Mike made a mocking fist. ‘Who taught you to fight like that?’

‘My dad.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow. I thought most daddies wanted their daughters to become ballerinas, not bouncers. Normal, boring stuff.’ He tilted his head across the table so his bright eyes were close. ‘But there’s nothing normal about you, is there?’

‘I assume that’s a compliment?’

‘I’d never insult you. I’d be too scared.’

His hands were on the smoky glass tabletop, his fingertips a centimetre apart from hers. Just the tiniest touch forward… Billi hesitated, trying to summon up the brazen courage that the other girls in the cafe seemed to have no problem with.

Too late. Mike leaned back in his chair and moved his hands on to the armrests.

Billi didn’t quite know where to look.

‘What did Jane mean, about your dad?’ asked Mike, breaking the awkward silence. ‘Overly protective, is he?’ There was a hint of a smile, but Billi’s heart still sank.

He didn’t know. Not about her mum or her dad’s trial. What should she tell him? Billi looked down at the dark glass and could see her gloomy reflection. If she didn’t tell Mike he’d pick up the malicious rumours soon enough.

‘Y’know I told you that my mum had died?’ She looked up at Mike and could see how his face had subtly changed. The laughter was gone. ‘I didn’t tell you how. She was murdered.’

‘Jesus, Billi. I’m sorry.’

Billi closed her eyes; she couldn’t think with him looking at her like that. ‘There was a break-in at our house. Mum was stabbed. She died.’

She was lying. She had to. This was the official story.

‘Did they ever find who did it?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s more complicated than that. The police arrested my dad. He was tried for her murder.’

Mike leaned over and put his hand over Billi’s. She couldn’t look up, but could feel the tenderness of his hand resting softly on hers.

‘Why did they think your dad did it?’

There were so many reasons, except for the truth. No one would believe it had been the work of the Unholy. But it was easy to believe a man like her father, a soldier who’d been court-marshalled, a man who’d spent a year in a psychiatric hospital suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, might turn into a murderer.

‘The police just wanted to solve the crime. My dad was an easy suspect.’ She looked up at him. Did he believe her?

Mike smiled gently, but there was something holding him back.

‘He didn’t do it, Mike.’

‘No, of course not. I believe you.’ But she could see he wasn’t really looking at her, not directly. He was looking at her bruises: the one on her cheek from the Ordeal, the one on her forehead from her dad’s headbutt.

Did he believe her lies? She couldn’t tell.

‘My dad’s a hard man. And he wanted me to be like that too,’ said Mike as he unconsciously trailed his finger along a thorn on his neck. ‘He had plans for me, wanted to control every moment of my life. That’s the thing about parents, isn’t it? They don’t really want you to live your own life; they want you to correct their mistakes.’

‘What happened?’

Mike laughed bitterly. ‘Whatever I did, it wasn’t good enough. He just wanted more and more.’ He spoke again, so quietly it was almost a confession. ‘So I left.’

He caught her gaze and his amber eyes flashed with the pent-up frustration. Billi couldn’t look away. It was like having all her own feelings reflected back at her.

The doorbell chimed again and Billi caught the unmistakeable dash of white hair under a black woollen cap.

Kay.

He came straight over.

‘Billi, you’re needed.’ He looked at Mike and the suspicion was obvious. ‘Now.’

‘Kay, I’m busy. Can’t it wait?’ She felt strangely guilty. But I’m not doing anything wrong!

Mike stood up. He was actually a few centimetres shorter than Kay, but his bulk and physical presence made him seem bigger. Billi hoped Kay wouldn’t do anything stupid. As far as she knew Kay couldn’t fight a marshmallow.

‘Another friend of yours?’ said Mike.

‘Yes.’ Kay snapped.

‘Me too.’

Kay edged forward. ‘Funny, she’s not mentioned you.’

Billi took Kay’s elbow. ‘Outside,’ she snapped. She looked at Mike. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

Billi had to drag Kay outside. He stood with his hands buried in his pockets, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, back at Mike.

‘Why are you here?’ asked Billi.

‘D’you know what time it is?’

What was Kay going on about? She had ages. They’d only been talking for about an hour. She checked her watch.

That can’t be right.

‘Oh yes it is,’ said Kay. ‘You should be on duty by now.’

‘Then why didn’t you just call me?’

Kay shifted uneasily. ‘I thought it best I come tell you.’

‘No, you thought it best to come and spy on me. To see who I was with.’

He stepped back, frustrated. ‘We used to look out for one another, remember?’

‘Used to. Not any more. I can look out for myself. What d’you think I’ve been doing for the last year?’

Kay jerked his head in Mike’s direction. ‘He’s not one of us, Billi. You’re a Templar and you’ve got bigger responsibilities than hanging out in cafes.’

‘Jeez, listen to you, Kay. You sound just like Dad.’

‘And what’s wrong with that?’ he snapped.

Billi gritted her teeth. Kay was the sort of Templar Arthur wanted. Devoted and blind. That’s why her dad was so hard on her – she was never going to be like that.

All she wanted to do was turn round, go back to Mike and not think about the bloody Templars just for one solitary evening. She shook her head. She obviously wasn’t even going to be allowed that.

‘Just give me a minute.’

‘Now.’

‘Just give me a minute!’ Billi shouted. Kay almost said something, then turned away.

Billi wandered back into the cafe.

‘I have to go, Mike.’

‘You in trouble with your boyfriend? Sorry, I didn’t realize.’

Boyfriend? Kay? ‘No! It’s just… my dad wants me home.’

Mike put his hand on her shoulder, but she gently pushed it away. She’d never have any peace and it wasn’t fair to get him caught in the middle.

‘Goodbye, Mike. I’m sorry.’ Yes, really sorry. She glanced over at Kay, fuming by the door. She hated what he was turning into: a Templar through and through.

‘Listen, Billi. If things are hard at home with your dad, I understand.’ He smiled. ‘Been there, done that, if you know what I mean.’ He took her coat and helped her put it on, a curiously old-fashioned gesture that took her by surprise. Billi could feel Kay’s blood boiling from here.

Good.

‘Just give me a shout if you want a break. Get away from… whatever,’ Mike added.

He leaned forward and their faces were a few centimetres apart. She could see her reflection in his golden eyes. Mike’s neck muscles tensed and she stared at the long curve of his throat down into his T-shirt. She stepped away, flustered. Suddenly it was all too hot and stuffy in here.

‘I’ll see you around, Mike.’

He just wanted more and more. Billi couldn’t get Mike’s words out of her head. She sat in the back of Berrant’s van, hunched over the small monitor, watching the corridor of the children’s ward in ghostly black and white.

Gareth was sitting in the driver’s seat under a blanket, eyes half closed. He’d stir every few minutes, take a sip of ebony-black coffee, then drift off again.

More and more. No matter how much time she dedicated to the Templars her dad always wanted more. Did he treat the other knights like that? She couldn’t even have a few hours to herself without the Order smashing it all up.

And Mike understood. The only thing good about being on watch was she could go over the date again and again. She really wanted to see him again. But how? Her dad would never let her be free. The harder she worked the more responsibilities he piled on to her. She was trapped.

So I left.

Billi got home after the watch and was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She made it through the next day only because it was Saturday. She thought about calling Mike, but seemed to have left her mobile in Berrant’s van. And, anyway, what use would it be? But the more she thought about how her dad dictated every minuscule aspect of her life, the more she thought about what Mike had said.

Evening came around too quickly. Billi crossed the dark, empty courtyard and made her way down into the catacombs.

The armoury was alive with the clatter of weapons and thumping of punches and kicks. Billi chucked her bag in a corner and found a spot to perform her warm-ups. Even Kay was here – that was a first. He was red faced and absolutely soaked in sweat, practising unarmed combat with the hulking Bors. There were no weight categories in real fights, so Arthur made everyone train against everyone. Billi winced as Bors slammed his shoulder into Kay’s chest, catapulting him across the practice mat.

‘He won’t be much good as an Oracle if you knock his brains out,’ said Billi. Bors just grunted; when it came to Oracles he felt the same way as Gwaine did. Kay lifted himself off the mat and waved at her. She ignored him.

She looked around the catacomb. Still no Arthur, and Percy was at work fighting Pelleas. Percy wielded a heavy axe as though it was made of balsa wood. Pelleas, bandages now gone, darted under and between blows, weaving a web of steel with his rapier and main gauche. Gareth sat on a stool, carefully wrapping fresh fletching to a quiver of arrows. An array of arrowheads lay on the table. Armour-piercing bodkins, barbed tips, even the forked rope cutters. All brightly polished and razor sharp.

Pelleas broke off and stepped away so Billi lifted up a quarterstaff. The straight two-metre pole was about as thick as her wrist and made of heavy oak. It was smooth and oiled from years of use. Billi raised it over her head and listened to her shoulder blades click.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ said Billi. She slid the staff through her loose grip and waited. Percy dropped his axe and reached for one of the bokkens. It looked half-sized in his hand.

She went into guard, holding her weapon at waist height, an end pointed at the centre of Percy’s chest.

‘Where’s Dad?’

Percy circled her. He held the sword in a single grip, and tapped it against hers. ‘Out. Where else?’

‘Nice of him to mention it.’

Percy snorted. ‘Why would he do that? You know Art.’

Yes, why would he? She was made to miss out on her own life for these watches and training sessions, but her dad could do what he bloody liked.

‘Has he always been like this, Percy?’

Percy had known Dad since they’d served in the Royal Marines together. He’d been best man at her parents’ wedding and had been chosen to be her godfather. If her dad had a friend, it was this man in front of her. Percy slowly took the sword in a two-handed grip. Billi watched his fingers flex round the hilt.

‘Like what, honey?’

‘Selfish and heartless?’

Percy stopped dead. His grip tightened and Billi saw his jaw stiffen. Then he took a deep sigh, stepped back and focused his attention on his weapon.

‘We’ll start with light sparring. Upper-body cuts first,’ he said. He shifted his position to high guard.

‘Percy, didn’t you hear me?’

‘Left strike to head.’

His kiai shout shook the stones and Billi swept up her staff but even though she blocked the attack the impact knocked her to the ground. Her hands stung. Percy stood over her, sword tip directed at her throat.

‘More flexibility in the shoulders; absorbs the shock better,’ he said.

Billi didn’t get up.

Percy paused. He tucked the bokken under his armpit and lifted Billi up to her feet. He stood in front of her and his brown eyes softened.

‘Billi, I wish it could be different, but Arthur has no choice.’ He glanced up, checking no one was near, then leaned down so he could whisper. ‘Never doubt he loves you. You’re everything to him.’

Then he put away his wooden sword and left.

Two hours later Billi was in the kitchen clearing away dinner when Arthur returned home. He dropped his gym bag against the washing machine and went to the fridge.

‘You were late for watch,’ he said.

Oh, nice to see you too, Dad.

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

‘I thought I’d made myself clear, right here –’ he pointed at the spot in front of him – ‘about you wasting time in cafes… socializing.’

So Kay had grassed her up. Some friend he’d turned out to be. ‘I wasn’t wasting my time.’

His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened round the fridge handle. Arthur stood, eyes locked on hers, and Billi marked the paleness in his face.

‘What exactly do you think this is?’ he asked. ‘Some sort of game? That you can drop out of any time you like to go holding hands with a boy?’ He slammed the door shut and the table jumped. ‘Yes, the training’s hard but it’s for your own good.’

‘My own good? This is nothing to do with me! The Knights Templar – it’s all you care about. Everything’s about the Order. You don’t care about me.’

Arthur stared back at her stonily, but he didn’t deny it.

‘You are a Templar, Billi. Never forget that. We, you, have no choice. Deal with it.’

And he turned his back on her.

Percy had been so wrong. Billi slammed the front door and wiped her face. She just had to get out. She didn’t care where, just out.

‘Hey, SanGreal.’

Billi spun around. Mike stood in the shadowy doorway behind her. His eyes shone warmly in the street light.

‘For God’s sake, Mike, you almost gave me a cardiac.’ What was he doing here at this time of night?

He pulled out his mobile. ‘I’ve tried calling.’

‘Sorry, but I’ve lost mine.’

Mike came closer. ‘So it wasn’t because of our talk? I’m sorry if I got too personal. It’s none of my business.’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with you. It’s just… things aren’t that great with Dad.’ Gross understatement.

Mike saw her tear-stained face. He bit his lips and Billi could see he was struggling not to say something. He just nodded slowly. ‘You OK?’

Billi stared at her door. The paint was worn and flaking. She turned towards Mike. God, she so desperately wanted to run away from all this.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, almost reading her thoughts. ‘I want to show you something amazing.’

They made their way along the dark streets into the City. It was dead this time of night. Though the oldest part of London, it was a maze of narrow alleys and glass towers, old bones with fresh new flesh. The unlit wine bars, dull pubs, the monolithic Victorian banks, the glass and steel skyscrapers, they all jostled and pushed at each other, vainly reaching for what little sky there was.

Mike brought Billi to a building site. Barbed wire topped the whitewashed hoarding, and floodlights cast their stark white glare over the skeletal black frame of a half-erected tower. Billi stopped in front of the display board.

‘Elysium Heights,’ she said. She followed the spine of the building upwards. It looked like the skeleton of some ancient giant, reaching out of his grave and grasping for Heaven. The sky hung low and brooding over it like an angry thought. ‘Who’d want to live up there?’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Mike. ‘Haven’t you noticed how you can’t see the dirt from up high?’

Billi shook her head. ‘It’s unreal. Living up so high… it just cuts you off. But some people might want that.’

‘Want what?’

‘To be above everyone.’

Mike smiled. ‘You might feel differently once you’ve seen for yourself.’ He made his way to the gates. ‘Follow me.’

The gates were steel mesh, and Mike scrabbled up and over them in seconds. He dropped down on the opposite side. ‘Come on.’

Trespassing. It was trespassing.

‘No. This is stupid, Mike. Come back.’

Her dad would flay her alive if she got caught.

Mike looked up at the tower. ‘We’ll be quick. I’ve done it before, Billi. Up there you get a different perspective on things. Your troubles don’t seem to matter so much.’

She shouldn’t do it. She should be a good little girl and obey her dad.

Billi hooked her fingers into the chain-link, and jumped over. She stumbled as she landed, but Mike caught her. His arms lingered round her and Billi could sense his strength, just held in check.

Then he straightened her up and moved further into the dark.

Portakabins, stores and temporary sheds lay scattered across the muddy pitch-sized site. Tractors, bulldozers and yellow-painted lorries stood idle and menacing like dormant monsters. The harsh floodlights threw deep shadows as well as glaring brightness, and it didn’t take long for Billi to get lost in the labyrinthine alleyways between the piles of cement and steel.

‘This is it.’ Mike stopped beside the goods hoist. The steel cage took men and materials up and down the building, fixed to the side via a rickety-looking yellow scaffold.

Billi stared awestruck at the scale of it all. The frame rose out of huge concrete columns, each a couple of metres wide. A complex web of steel beams climbed higher and higher into the darkness. Spotlights erected on the elevated platforms drew her gaze: small isolated islands in the tower grasping at the darkness.

Mike pointed upwards. ‘The view is awesome.’

‘You’ve been that high?’

Mike looked into the sky. ‘Oh, much higher.’ He lifted up the steel cage door of the lift.

Billi followed him in and slammed the gate down. Mike took hold of the red handle and pulled. The lift trembled as it shook itself free of the earth, then climbed upwards.

The city spread out under her. The roads were golden ribbons twisting through the diamond-sparkling darkness, the buildings glowed in the floodlights and the Thames wound through it all, as black as marble. The wind-wrapped raindrops stung her cheeks and the cold air electrified her skin. Higher and higher they rose, the lift rattled and shook, the noise of the gears on the scaffold was deafening. The city and all her problems were so far below. Mike was right: it was beautiful.

The lift halted with a jolt.

Mike rolled up the gate. ‘Follow me.’

‘Are you insane? I’m not going out there!’

‘C’mon, Billi. I’ll take care of you.’ Billi hesitated. No one had promised her that before.

She walked to the edge of the lift. The floor hadn’t been fully cast yet. It was just a matrix of beams with patches filled in with concrete, like a massive crossword. She gazed downwards and had to clutch the side as her head swam with vertigo. There wasn’t much between her and the ground, two hundred metres below. She slowly crossed the solid section of floor, keeping well away from the edge.

But Mike was already out there. He stood waiting for her, standing on the narrow flange of an ‘I’ beam, maybe less than ten centimetres wide. The wind howled through the steel, cut and sliced by the metal so it sounded like screeching voices calling in the dark.

Mike proceeded to a ladder and started to climb up it. ‘The view is to die for.’

‘I bet it is,’ said Billi, but Mike didn’t hear her.

She put a foot out on the beam. It wasn’t wide, but she’d worked on narrower in training. She’d take one step at a time, not rush, concentrate and try not to worry about the rain. Or the gently swaying tower. Or gravity.

One foot, then the next, she worked her way, shuffled her way, to the ladder. It was further from the lift platform than she’d thought, or at least seemed that way. But she reached it. Her hands gripped the ladder rails tightly, and she could see it was clamped firmly to the vertical column. Maybe she’d just stay here for a while. Until they finished building the tower.

‘We can go back down if you’re scared. I don’t mind.’ Mike looked back down the ladder at her.

Scared? Billi scowled. If only Mike knew what she did at nights. She carried on climbing up. Her fingers were freezing and she had to force them to close round the rungs. But she climbed.

Mike stood at the end of a beam, suspended alone in the sky, his coat flapping in the wind like the wild wings of a giant bat. He was lost in the sight of London below him. Billi could see the pale white dome of St Paul’s, the gleaming lights, the black star-sprinkled sky. And Mike, poised above it all.

‘Careful,’ she said. Like that was a great piece of advice. She held on to the column; the tower was definitely swaying.

‘Come out here, to the edge.’

‘The view’s fine from here, thanks. It’s a long way down. Don’t fall.’ Oh, very helpful thing to say.

Mike shook his head. ‘I can’t fall. I’ve never fallen.’

‘It may not be up to you. Accidents happen. Earthquake, sudden wind.’ She wasn’t helping, but she thought he was an idiot to be up here. ‘Things beyond our control. Force majeure. Acts of God.’

Mike stiffened. ‘Why is it they call them that? Acts of God?’

‘Call what?’

‘Disasters. Catastrophes. When something terrible happens it’s always an Act of God. Why is that?’

Billi started to feel nervous. Mike obviously still had as much stuff to deal with right now as she did. But this really wasn’t the place to be doing it. ‘Come back, Mike. Let’s talk on the ground.’ But he wasn’t listening. He leaned out; it looked as if he was ready to jump. Or fly.

‘I’ll tell you why. It’s because when people are afraid, they turn to Him. They remember their lives continue purely on His whim.’ He snapped his fingers. The loud crack was like a gunshot. ‘Lives that could end in an instant.’

This sounds like seriously Crazy Talk. Billi reached out, one hand on the column, the other stretched towards his back. ‘Mike…’

‘It takes a terrible thing to remind people of their obligations to God. The more terrible, the better. Wouldn’t it be something if that happened?’

‘What happened?’

‘Something so terrible that everyone returned to Him. To fill the churches on Sunday instead of Ikea. To fill the mosques, the synagogues.’ He spread out his arms. ‘An Act of God that would restore faith.’

Billi hung on to the ladder. It wasn’t the night cold that made her shiver.

‘Mike –’

‘Your father, he’ll make you suffer – you know that.’

Billi said nothing. Mike was crossing the line – that was her business. She wanted to get down. The wind picked up and invisible claws pulled at her. She wrapped herself tightly round the column.

‘You owe him nothing, Billi.’ Mike stroked the long spike along his neck. ‘Help me, Billi, and I’ll make you free.’ Mike turned towards her, those golden eyes peering down at her like an eagle’s. Predatory and surging with power. ‘Where’s the Mirror, Billi?’

Billi’s blood went cold. It couldn’t be. Mike stood up and the black coat spread out, not like wings of a bat, but like those of an angel. A Dark Angel.

‘Betray him, Billi. For what he’s done to you. For what he did to your mother.’

‘I told you – you’ve got it so wrong. My dad didn’t kill my mum.’

‘I know.’

‘What?’

Mike leapt.

He launched himself out into the sky and he seemed to halt, impossibly, at the apex of the jump. Then he dived down and slammed into the beam next to Billi. The ladder shook loose and fell away, and Billi tottered on the narrow edge before she came off, touching only empty air. Her heart froze and she flung her arms out, staring in horror as the ladder disappeared down into the deep darkness. Terror robbed her voice of air, and all she could do was stare as the lights blurred and the sky turned and the wind screamed in her ears.

OhGodohGodohGodohGod –

Mike’s hand locked itself round her left wrist and she almost dislocated her shoulder at the sudden halt. He held her with one hand without effort. Their eyes met and for the briefest moment Billi thought he was going to let go. Instead he let her dangle. Billi felt her left shoe slide off and it was gone; the air tickled her foot.

‘I know he didn’t kill her.’ His eyes lit up and there was nothing human in them. ‘I did.’

Billi felt like she was on the rack and her arm was being ripped out of her socket. She could barely focus through the blinding agony as she swayed, high above the city, dangling from Mike’s grip.

‘The Mirror, Billi, it’s all I want. Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you go.’ He laughed at his weak joke.

Billi groaned. Hot waves of pain raced along her arm and down her spine.

‘My brothers and sisters have been imprisoned long enough.’ He tightened his grip and Billi screamed.

‘No,’ was all she could say. The ground, so far below, revolved slowly, sickeningly.

Mike’s face was twisted in demonic rage, the skin waxen and pallid in his fury. He caught her looking at him, exposed, then the moment passed. Suddenly he was back to the friendly, human Mike. But the mask had slipped and his true self had been revealed.

The Unholy.

How could she have been so stupid?

‘I almost had it, ten years ago.’ He raised Billi up so they were eye to eye. ‘Would have got it, if it hadn’t been for your mother.’

The Nights of Iron. In spite of the pain, Billi couldn’t help but listen, awestruck.

‘But they were ghuls. The Templars were attacked by ghuls.’

Mike pointed to himself. ‘Created by me. You’d be amazed at how many people would sell their souls for a little immortality.’ Mike let out a sigh. ‘Twelve nights of war and bloodshed. It was glorious. I killed Uriens. Crushed his skull between my palms, but he didn’t tell. If he didn’t know how to live like a Templar Master, he knew how to die like one.’

Billi gritted her teeth and forced herself to look around. Maybe she could reach another beam, or maybe drop to the floor below. There was a ledge about two metres away. But a glance told her it was hopeless. The only solid ground was two hundred sickening metres below her.

Mike winked. ‘And when I found out Arthur had stepped into Uriens’s shoes I came to your home. Thought I’d hold both of you hostage. Force Arthur to hand the Mirror over in exchange for his darling wife and sweet daughter.’

Fire blazed in Billi’s eyes. She was staring at her mother’s killer. Every fibre of her burned with hatred. Mike didn’t seem to mind.

‘Your mother looked at me with those very eyes. So black and so very full of hate. If it’s any consolation she fought till the very end. She just wouldn’t play along and sit tight. I was almost sorry to kill her. Especially since it was clear that you alone wouldn’t be enough to make Arthur hand over the Mirror. It occurred to me, after ending your mother’s life, that the pair of you had been left at home defenceless and yet still no Arthur… He obviously didn’t care about you. Just like he doesn’t care about you now. So I left you, snivelling under the bed.’

‘No, that’s not true,’ Billi whispered. No matter what he did to her, her dad had to love her. She was his daughter – he had to! But as she dangled in the icy winds Billi felt the coldness soak into her heart. Mike leaned closer.

‘See? You believe me, don’t you? And this is the man you want to protect? You owe him nothing, Billi.’ Mike’s fingers locked round her wrist. ‘I only let him go last time after discovering he’d killed all my ghuls. I decided then I would wait and save all my strength for this very special moment. Now it’s your turn, Billi. Tell me where the Mirror is and you’ll be free. Free of your father. Of the Templars. Just tell me.’

‘I’ll tell you something. You’re scum. Murdering scum,’ Billi hissed. Mike’s eyes darkened and for a split second Billi felt his grip loosen and her heart jumped. But then he scowled and instead squeezed her wrist harder than ever until she could feel her bones about to crack.

‘I am Michael, the Angel of Death. It was I that rained fire on Gomorrah. It was I who stalked the streets of Egypt and slew the firstborn. I cast down Satan. I and I alone.’ He stared at her with a mixture of pride and anger. ‘I will bring people back to the light. I am God’s Killer and I will not be judged by the children of clay.’ He shook her wildly. ‘Where is the Cursed Mirror?’

‘So you and your wingless siblings can unleash the tenth plague? I don’t think so. I don’t even understand why.’ She thought about Rebecca and the ones he’d managed to infect with his touch in the hospital. If he got his hands on the Mirror the death toll would be immense. Britain would become a mausoleum overnight. ‘They’re innocent children.’

‘Then rejoice, for they will soon be in His Kingdom. Do you know that Rebecca’s mother prays constantly now?’

He knew? He knew they’d been to China Wharf Hospital? Oh God, what a fool she’d been.

Michael leaned closer. ‘Just think how much harder she’ll pray once Rebecca dies. Think of the thousands, millions of prayers and souls I’ll send to Him after I release the tenth plague.’ He looked up into the cloud-swollen sky. ‘God cannot ignore me then.’ He reached upwards with his free hand, gazing, lost, into the darkness. ‘He will take me back. He must.’

Billi spat in his face. Her muscles were numb now; just a residual dull ache ran down her arm. Her feet hung over empty air and she knew she was going to die. Michael had killed her mother and that hate overcame the fear. He wiped the spittle off his chin, and laughed.

‘A fighter, just like Jamila. I like that.’ He swung her in long arcs like she was a rag doll. Billi thought she’d overcome the pain, but a blaze of fresh agony ran into her shoulders and down her back and she couldn’t help letting out a short scream. Michael continued. ‘Truth be told, I knew you wouldn’t tell. Two stubborn parents – no wonder you’ve turned out this way. Totally pig-headed.’ He smirked and turned his head aside, though his eyes were still on Billi. ‘Isn’t that true, Kay?’

Billi’s eyes were blurred with tears, but she saw Kay, standing at the lift. He stared at them, horrified.

‘Run!’ Billi screamed. What was he doing here? Oh God, he was going to get himself killed.

Michael tutted.

‘Now, now, Billi. That’s not very nice. Kay’s come to save you. How… heroic.’ Then Michael showed her something: her mobile. ‘You left it at the cafe. I just texted him. Thought it was a message from you and here he is. Sweet, don’t you think?’

‘Let her go!’ Kay edged his way across the beams to a flat cast square of floor. He was shaking, but there was a tight grimness to his face.

‘I want the Mirror, Kay. Tell me or you’ll be soaking Billi up with a bucket and mop.’

She felt so helpless! She was so helpless. She thrashed out with her foot, but it just shot wildly in the air, striking nothing. How could she have fallen for it? Fallen for Michael? It had been a con from the beginning.

‘All right, all right,’ said Kay. He was at the edge of the ledge. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’

Mike swung Billi towards the ledge and let go. Her stomach flipped as she tumbled through the air. Then she smashed into Kay and the two of them rolled, banging heads, elbows and knees, over and over on the floor.

Billi couldn’t move her left arm. Ten thousand pins and needles stabbed and poked her muscles and it felt like it was on fire. The sky spun overhead and she was gasping for air. But she had to get up. She wasn’t going to be beaten by the man that had killed her mother. She rolled over and Kay was beside her, groaning.

‘Jesus, Kay. How stupid are you?’

‘But I thought you texted me. You wanted to meet me.’

‘Here? Like under the big sign saying “TRAP”?’

‘I wasn’t the one dangling off the side of a skyscraper.’

Billi spotted a toolbox pushed up against the wall. ‘Listen,’ she whispered. ‘When I move I want you to dummy left. Leave Michael to me.’

‘I can fight.’

‘Trust me, you can’t. Just dummy left, OK?’ But Kay’s face was rigid. He wanted to fight. Billi wanted to slap some sense into him. ‘Dummy left.’

‘OK,’ he said finally.

Billi crossed over to the toolbox and pulled out a large spanner. Her left arm dangled uselessly by her side, but she raised the tool high with her right. Somehow she had to stop him. Michael paused, watched her grit her teeth and stride forward. Kay darted in, on the left, but Michael didn’t respond. Billi brought the spanner down with all her strength. Michael still didn’t respond. The spanner head, a square chunk of steel, shattered the side of his skull.

Michael stumbled backwards. Billi gaped at the deep crevasse, oozing thick blood. Sticky clots hung to his hair and the top shoulder of his coat was sprinkled with red droplets.

But then the bleeding stopped. The gap of broken bone began to reform and the deep dent bulged back out into shape. Within seconds the bone had repaired itself and the skin began to seal, leaving only a thin pink scar. That too vanished within seconds.

‘Is this how you dump all your boyfriends?’ said Michael. Then he struck. Billi tried to block, but her left arm wouldn’t respond. She ducked under the hammer-like fist, but it caught her dead centre in the forehead. Sparks exploded around her and she felt herself falling. She collapsed and edges of darkness crept into her vision, gently turning everything black.

Arms half lifted, half dragged her and she felt soft, warm fabric against her face. Billi’s mind drifted in and out of consciousness and deep down a small part of her screamed that she should wake up, but she couldn’t. She was trapped in this nightmare and couldn’t get herself out. She moaned in despair.

‘Oi, your girlfriend’s not going to puke in my taxi, is she?’ A voice filtered through, someone she didn’t recognize. A door slammed and an engine rumbled to life.

‘Don’t worry, sir. She’s just had one too many shandies,’ said Michael. ‘Isn’t that right, Kay?’

There was a strained murmur. At least Kay was with her. She let the blackness take her again.

Billi…

Billi stumbled as she exited the taxi. Kay grabbed her before she fell. She tried to stand, but the ground pitched and rolled and her sense of balance was precarious.

‘This is it?’ asked Michael. He didn’t sound impressed. ‘The Templar reliquary?’

Billi glanced up. Oh no. Elaine’s Bazaar. Kay really had brought them here. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. What was he doing? The lights were out on the first floor flat. Was Elaine in? Maybe she could shout a warning?

No, it was too late now anyway.

The three of them stood by the shop door. Michael took the handle and with a sharp pull ripped it, the lock and the surrounding wood out.

‘After you,’ he said.

Kay went first, Billi next. Michael kept his hand on her neck, prompting her with a squeeze as she tripped in the dark.

‘The door to the basement’s at the back,’ said Kay.

What was wrong with him? Didn’t he realize what would happen if Michael got the Mirror? Oh God. Was he doing this for her? She shot a glance at Kay. He just stared ahead, devoid of emotion. If only she could think of something. Billi’s fingers wound themselves into fists. But Michael just pushed her along.

Michael smashed the lock of the small door. Kay switched on the light and descended.

Michael’s fingers tightened round her throat. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he whispered. But his voice was tense, excited. The Mirror was almost in his grasp.

The reliquary was as cluttered as before, but there were fresh changes. The wards on the walls were cleaned, re-carved and reinforced with long rows of painted calligraphy and reams of parchment. There was barely a square of wall without some symbol painted on to it or sheet of prayers stuck there. It was like her dad had said. The magical protections had been improved.

A lot.

Michael’s attention wasn’t on the walls; it was on the large black lacquered cabinet. He peered closely at the broken Seal of Solomon on the doors. His eyes, those brilliant amber eyes, now burned with demonic hunger. He tossed Billi aside and she collapsed against the wall.

She’d been so wrong. So wrong. She’d been conned all along. He’d charmed her and tempted her and she had given in to that temptation. And now they were here. A Watcher brought right into the Templar’s reliquary.

Michael ran his fingertips lightly over the bronze circle, as though he’d expected it to be red hot. But the cool metal didn’t reject him, and he smiled.

‘Solomon, you old fool,’ he said to himself. Then he took the two bronze handles and pulled the doors open. ‘At last.’

Then he reached into the cabinet. When he turned back he held the dark-blue velvet box and his eyes were on that alone. He raised it towards the light. ‘Soon, my brothers, my sisters.’ He flicked open the latch and gazed in. He stared and stared, and Billi saw his face transform. The confident beauty faded and instead his visage became grotesque, monstrous.

‘I don’t like games, SanGreal,’ he said. He spun the box round.

It was empty.

Michael grabbed an old sword off the wall, strode over and pressed the tip against her throat. ‘Where’s the Mirror?’

‘Far from here, Harbinger.’ A shadow formed on the steps and slid into the dimly lit chamber. Arthur walked in. ‘I moved it the minute I knew your pitiful siblings’ cries had been heard.’ He glanced over at Kay. ‘We thought you’d come looking for it sooner or later.’

Billi stared at Kay. He knew?

Arthur had the Templar Sword in his right hand, and dangling from his left fist was a small silver crucifix. He stopped at the bottom of the steps, but he was in easy striking distance. Mike tossed the empty box away.

‘No closer, Templar.’ He pressed the tip against Billi’s neck until it drew a blood drop. ‘Arthur SanGreal. D’you know, Billi, they say Satan himself only fears two things in all of existence? The Judgement of God and Arthur SanGreal. Tell me, Arthur –’ he stepped back from Billi, moving away to keep a wary distance between him and the Templar Master – ‘what did you do to make even the Devil afraid?’

‘Come here and I’ll show you,’ said Arthur, edging forward.

Billi took Kay’s hand and held him against the wall.

She’d fouled up beyond measure in trusting Michael. Maybe Kay had been right not to tell her.

‘He killed Mum,’ she said. Arthur ignored her, but his eyes narrowed and his fist tightened round the sword hilt.

‘Do you miss her even now, Arthur?’ Michael’s smile was twisted and foul. ‘She’s waiting for you. In Hell.’

Arthur attacked. His sword moved like a lighting storm, far faster than she could follow. Michael parried as they clashed and the hammering steel echoed loudly between the dense walls. In the poor light their movements were a blur, and she could only stare in mute shock as they fought. Her dad’s face was cold, impassive and intensely focused. He didn’t watch anything but Michael’s eyes, judging his attacks, ripostes and blocks on instinct and the touch of the blades. The Dark Angel’s concentration was no less, but he never lost that arrogant smile, even up to the end. Then their hilts caught, just for a second. Arthur twisted his wrist sharply and Michael’s blade snapped. They stared at each other, the fight over, sweat dripping off in heavy beads, then Arthur stepped back and slashed his blade downwards, catching Michael at the back of his neck. His head slipped off, turned over itself a couple of times then bounced into the corner. The body swayed, then sank to its knees and finally fell forward.

Billi stared as the blood began to pool around the severed neck. The body lay there on its front, arms either side. Michael’s skin was already turning pale as the blood drained out of it. Arthur pulled a dusty sheet off a table and threw it over the corpse. ‘Call Percival. We need a clean-up.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Billi. She couldn’t take her eyes off the head. Its eyes stared up blankly. ‘You sure he’s dead? I caved his head in an hour ago and that didn’t stop him.’

Kay stood beside her. ‘He’s dead all right. We’ve reinforced the wards down here. Michael’s powers should have been negated once he entered the reliquary.’

‘You planned this?’

Kay looked uneasy. ‘I wanted to tell you, Billi, but Arthur thought –’

‘Percival and I have been rotating watches on this place for the last week, not knowing if anyone would come.’ Arthur sounded strangely hoarse. ‘Though I was surprised that your boyfriend turned out to be the Angel of Death.’

She thumped him on the chest. ‘And you trusted Kay with your little scheme and not me? You wonder why I hate all this…’

Arthur dropped his sword and bent. She hadn’t punched him that hard. He coughed and spat out a bloody glob on to the floor.

‘Dad?’

His face was pallid and he was gasping for breath. Billi pulled open his jacket.

And saw the dark red stains spreading on his shirt.

‘Billi,’ he said, frothy pink foam dribbling from his mouth. His stomach was slick with blood and only now did she see the tear in his jacket. He smiled weakly. And collapsed.

Billi grabbed him, but he was heavy and she stumbled backwards as his legs failed him. Kay rushed beside her and they both eased him down on to his back. His body shook as a spasm of coughing overtook him. The bubbles of blood-flecked spittle were darker now.

‘Call an ambulance, now!’ she shouted.

The wound was just below his ribs, to the right. It had missed his heart, but given the froth it must have taken a lung. He was drowning in his own blood.

But it looked so small! She tried to cover the injury, but her hands just slid all over the place because of the blood. Tears dripped out, and her dad took hold of her hand. Each time he breathed there was a grotesque sucking sound coming from the hole. Her fingers trembled over his cold belly. The blood looked so black under the dim light, and there was so much of it. She couldn’t stop it. He was going to die. Oh God, what had she done?

‘You have to plug it, Billi,’ he whispered. He struggled to hold his eyes open; they were fluttering and hugely dilated. Billi searched the chamber frantically. She needed to seal the lung. She emptied out a desk and found what she wanted: a reel of Sellotape and a sheet of plastic. When she turned back her dad was unconscious. She could just hear the sticky hissing as air bled out of his lungs. Eyes blurred with tears, she bit off strips of the tape and squared the plastic, covering the hole. She used almost the entire roll to fix the sheet into place until eventually it held. Her dad looked white and his breath was only the slightest breeze. She took his hand; she didn’t know what else to do. It sat in her palm like dead meat, no warmth, no life. Just dead meat.

Then she heard something humming: her dad’s mobile. She found it in his pocket and flicked it open. She recognized the number immediately.

‘Percy, come quickly! It’s Dad!’ She looked at the pale, sweat-soaked face. ‘It’s my dad.’

‘What happened?’ Percy’s voice was tense and the line crackled.

‘He’s been stabbed. It’s bad, Percy, really bad. An ambulance is coming.’

‘An ambulance? Billi, you know you should have checked with me, or Gwaine. The Rules –’

‘Dad’s dying! I don’t give a damn about the bloody Rules!’

‘All right, Billi. That’s all right.’ She could hear him talking to someone, who? Gwaine? ‘How? What happened?’

‘We’re at the reliquary. Dad’s killed the Watcher.’ She forced herself not to look over at the headless body in the corner.

‘There’s a body there? Listen, Billi. You’ve got to move Arthur.’

Move him? She couldn’t. What if he started bleeding again?

‘Percy, he has to stay here. I can’t.’

There was a long pause on the other side. ‘Billi, you’ve got to understand. Your dad’s just murdered someone. That’s how the police will see it. You’ve got to get him out. It’ll be prison otherwise.’

Jesus, this is insane. But Percy was right. She looked at her dad. ‘OK, Percy. But be quick. Be quick.’

‘I’ll be there in five.’ The line went dead.

Somehow, between them, they got Arthur outside. They laid him down just in front of the shop door and soon Billi heard the unmistakeable roar of Percy’s motorbike and, true to his word, he was there in five. The wheels screamed to a halt, he tossed his helmet on to the ground and ran to their side. Only then did Billi let her dad’s weight fall and with Percy eased him to the ground. They folded Percy’s biker’s jacket under Arthur’s head, and finally shifted him in to the recovery position.

‘Hang in there, Art,’ Percy said as he took his pulse. He put his hand on Billi’s own. ‘Now listen, we’ve got to get our story straight. Nothing complex. What have you got?’

Kay pointed at the broken door. ‘We’ll say we were walking with Arthur when he saw someone trying to break into the shop. He crossed over the road, there was a fight and he fell.’ Kay looked over at Billi. ‘We were too far to have a good look at the attacker. Average height, average build. Just average.’

Percy nodded. ‘That’ll do. Got it, Billi?’ She couldn’t believe it; they were making up stories while her dad was dying.

‘Got it,’ she said, her throat dry.

The ambulance sirens and lights brought people out on to the street. They loitered outside their porches and doorways, coats slung over their pyjamas and nighties, watching the paramedics bundle out of the ambulance and around Arthur. Percy pulled Billi back to let them work, and then the police arrived. The next few minutes were a blur of questions, flashing lights and conflicting emotion. Her dad had been stabbed. She fed the police the story: the mugger, a scuffle and then him collapsing. No, she couldn’t really remember what the mugger was wearing, or what he looked like, or which way he fled. The police constable soon got weary and took down her details; they’d be in touch.

Billi joined her dad in the ambulance, holding his hand while the paramedic hooked him up to the portable monitors. Percy hugged her. Kay stood some metres away.

‘I’ll be right behind you,’ said Percy.

‘What about Mike?’

‘I’ll take care of it. The others are on their way.’ He squeezed her one last time. ‘You just look after your dad.’

By morning they’d moved Arthur out of the operating theatre into a hospital bed. Billi stared at him; he looked so old. The dawn sun was weak, giving him a corpse-like pallor. He seemed so small and pathetic in the hospital bed. Ugly yellow tubes dribbled out of his mouth and nostrils. His eyelids were half closed, those bright blue eyes, usually so full of power and life, just dull and empty glass.

Had she brought this upon him? If she hadn’t been so consumed by hating him maybe she would have realized Mike was the Dark Angel. And now her dad was lying here.

This is all my fault.

Billi forced herself to look at him. His breath was a thin wheezing, followed by a brittle sucking; the sound tortured her ears as much as his pale face did her eyes. She hated hospitals. The tepid odour of pre-warmed food, the rattle of the steel-framed beds. She looked at her dad’s white hands, how thin the skin seemed now, and how blue his veins. She reached out and took them, frightened by their coldness. They were limp and damp. She squeezed as hard as she could, begging for some reaction. Just the smallest twitch, the slightest sign.

Please, just one sign. Just one.

There was a knock at the door.

Kay entered.

‘You OK?’ he asked. He held out his hand, stuck between touching her and embracing her. His eyes were narrowed, not like he was trying to read her mind, but like he was concerned, normal. Billi stared at his hand until he lowered it. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You really didn’t know?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘About Michael being the Watcher?’

Kay shook his head. ‘No. How could you think that? I would never have let him near you, Billi.’

‘So you weren’t even strong enough to see who he really was. Read his aura or something?’

‘You can’t read them just like that. And it’s not totally accurate.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘Anyway, I don’t go spying on everyone I meet.’

‘No, just me,’ Billi snapped.

That wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t. But Billi had to blame someone. She wanted to believe it wasn’t her fault, but, try as she might, she knew this mess was hers alone.

Kay stepped closer. ‘Billi, don’t torture yourself over this.’ He’d heard her thoughts. ‘No one could have known –’

‘That I would lead a Dark Angel straight to the Mirror?’ That’s what she’d done, wasn’t it? No matter how she tried to justify it to herself, she’d led him there. And Kay had saved her. Some Templar she was turning out to be. The longer she stayed the more harm she might do. She didn’t want that sort of burden.

‘Where’s Percy?’ she asked.

‘Downstairs with Gwaine and the others. They’re waiting for you.’

‘They’re all here? Why?’ She caught Kay’s guilty look, just before he turned away to look out of the bedroom window, and understood. ‘Jesus, they can’t wait, can they?’

They were there because Arthur was dying. They were there to select his replacement. The knights couldn’t allow the Order to be leaderless, could they? Well, sod them. Let Gwaine become Templar Master. The Order had brought her nothing but misery. First her mum, now her dad. She looked at him, sallow and so old suddenly. Nothing was worth this sort of sacrifice.

A vain hope sparked in her. Maybe if – no, not if, but when – when Arthur recovered Gwaine would have proved to be an excellent Master, and Arthur wouldn’t be needed. Maybe if the burden of the Templars was lifted Arthur might become like a normal dad. He might put her first, instead of the Order. He might even love her. It was a cowardly thought, but she’d always imagined her dad as being invulnerable. Seeing him like this she was gripped with fear. Billi had thought she hated him, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. He was all she had.

‘He’s a tough nut, Billi. He’ll make it.’ Kay put his hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll make it.’

She poured herself a glass of water. ‘How did the clean-up go?’

‘Best you speak to Gwaine about that.’

Billi stood. Kay’s tone set off alarm bells. ‘What’s going on, Kay?’

Kay grimaced, but checked the door was closed, then whispered. ‘Billi, something went wrong. There was nothing in the basement. Michael’s vanished.’

So much for all the pomp and grandeur of establishing a new Templar Master. Once the inner conclave of senior knights would have met at Temple Church, held prayers and all-night vigils before choosing who would lead them. Now they were going to vote on it in the hospital canteen.

Gwaine sat at the head of the white Formica table. He looked calm, but nothing could hide the eagerness in his eyes. With Arthur near death, he would replace him, and his dream would be fulfilled.

All because of her.

Percy stood up and hugged her.

‘How’s the old man?’

Billi didn’t know what to say. Dying? She buried her head in Percy’s chest. Then he offered her a seat at the table. There was a cup of tea waiting.

Bors looked up briefly from his bacon sarnie, then carried on tearing it apart with his teeth, chomping loudly. Berrant lowered his glasses and smiled at Billi. Father Balin carried on clicking his way through his rosary. Gareth and Pelleas were there too. Kay sat down beside her.

‘Now we’re all here, I think we should get down to business,’ said Gwaine. ‘First, the debrief. Kay’s filled me in and I’ve reached a conclusion.’ He spread out his hands. ‘It’s clear that Michael was destroyed. The body’s disappearance isn’t unusual. As an Ethereal being, he simply evaporated back into it.’

‘But what about Arthur’s sword? That’s gone too,’ said Kay. Gwaine shrugged.

‘Contaminated by Ethereal blood, that’s probably disintegrated too. Simple.’

‘It seems too simple…’ said Balin. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. What did Elaine say about all this?’

Gwaine scowled. ‘We can’t find Elaine. Or the Cursed Mirror.’ He looked around the table. ‘But we can’t solve that tonight. We’ve other business to discuss.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ snapped Percy. ‘First we should pray for Arthur’s speedy and complete recovery, don’t you think?’

Gwaine glowered at him, then cleared his throat. ‘Of course. Father, if you’d be so kind?’

They bowed their heads and Billi prayed. She prayed her dad would live. And that this would never happen again. It had been too close. And, next time, she could get someone killed. Billi reached a conclusion: there had to be no ‘next time’.

Gwaine lifted his head after a minute. ‘To business.’ He looked around the table. ‘With Arthur out, I formally request command of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ and the Temple of Solomon.’

‘Temporarily,’ said Gareth. He was right; Arthur was still alive so Gwaine could only be acting Master. Gwaine grimaced and looked around the table.

‘I know we all love Arthur, but we must accept his methods are high risk. Look what happened tonight. I’ve… plans regarding the Order. We need to rebuild our strength. Recruit new members.’

‘Like who?’ Percy’s eyes narrowed.

‘The Red Knights.’

The others gasped. Billi couldn’t believe it. The Red Knights were a bunch of religious thugs, the worst sort of fanatics. Little better than a street gang that went around beating up immigrants and firebombing newsagents. Was he serious?

‘There’s no way Arthur would allow that,’ said Balin. ‘That’s a battle that’s long finished.’

Berrant nodded in agreement. ‘The Bataille Ténébreuse is not against fellow men, only the Unholy.’

Gwaine raised his hands. ‘I know they’re somewhat overzealous, but they could be guided. Trained and tempered.’ He looked over at Percy. ‘They’re no worse than Arthur was when I recruited him.’

‘Arthur did not go around burning down mosques,’ Percy replied.

Gwaine glanced at the others, looking for support. Instead all he got was cool looks. ‘OK, we can discuss the Red Knights another day. But the question remains. Will you declare me Master?’

Balin sighed, but bowed his head. Bors nodded eagerly, the juices of fat dripping off his chin. Gareth and the others agreed. So did Kay, even though he knew Gwaine would make life hard. He was a Templar and there were the Rules, the ancient laws laid down when the Order had been founded. Percy just shrugged and they looked at Billi.

‘Just one thing,’ she said.

‘This isn’t a deal to be negotiated, squire. It’s yes or no,’ said Gwaine. His voice was low, but couldn’t hide the anger bubbling beneath. The vote had to be unanimous.

Billi took a deep breath. She’d risked not just herself, but Kay and her dad too. Sooner or later, it would happen again and she didn’t want anyone’s blood on her hands.

‘You have my vote, Gwaine. But only on one condition.’ Billi closed her eyes and lowered her head. ‘I want to leave the Order.’

Percy leaned over. ‘Billi…’

‘No, Percy. It’s for the best.’ She didn’t want to open her eyes. If she did she might change her mind. The table fell silent. Eventually she looked up and met Gwaine’s gaze. He smirked: victory was his.

‘Granted.’

So Billi was out. Just like that. Dazed, she left the hospital. The doctor had suggested she get some rest. She could visit again after school. She barely noticed the crowded hospital reception, or the rows of sick children lined up in the corridors in wheelchairs, waiting for ambulances to move them to other hospitals because there were no beds left in this one. Billi glimpsed the tired, frightened faces of the parents, but she was too empty to feel anything for them. Dimly, she wondered if this was Michael’s doing, but he was dead now. It was over.

The house was cold and silent when she entered. Billi dropped her coat on the floor and went straight up into the kitchen, functioning on automatic. She switched on the kettle and tossed two slices of bread into the toaster. She looked around the sparse, ugly room. This is where they’d decided her fate five years ago: that she should be a Templar.

Balin by the sink, Gwaine on the stool opposite, Percy by the cupboard and her dad on this seat. The severed arm in the bin bag had lain right here. Billi stroked its stained surface with her palm. There were old, dark patches, well soaked into the wood. Blood? She wouldn’t be at all surprised.

The front door opened and Billi’s heart jumped. Dad? For a mad moment she thought it was him, somehow recovered and home, and she was up out of her chair and ran to the kitchen door.

‘Billi?’ shouted Percy. He stamped his feet on the mat. ‘Where are you, sweetheart?’

‘Up here.’ She bent over the banister. Maybe he had some news. ‘Anything? How’s Dad?’

‘He’s resting.’ The steps creaked as Percy came up. ‘Don’t you worry about him.’

Billi turned back towards the bubbling kettle. She took out two mugs, and the teabags. A lump of sugar for her, a squirt of honey for him. She smelt the milk before pouring it in.

The floorboards creaked as Percy paused at the doorway. She knew what he was waiting for. But she’d quit and wasn’t going back. She plonked the mug down at the far end of the table, took hers back to the other end, and sat.

‘And how are you?’ he asked. He lowered himself on the stool; he looked ridiculous. His knees knocked the underside of the table.

‘I know what you think. But it’s better this way, Percy. I can’t do it.’ She looked up at him. ‘I led him there. Because of me Dad was almost killed.’

‘Arthur would have faced him eventually, Billi. This is not just your doing. The war against the Unholy takes its toll.’

Like she didn’t know. Her mum, her dad, almost. The Knights Templar were just one bad day from extinction. But that was not her problem any more.

Percy drained his mug. ‘I’ve asked Gwaine to keep watches on Art. It does seem that Michael’s dead, but something doesn’t feel right. It’s better to be safe than sorry.’

‘Think someone might try something?’ Arthur had a lot of enemies. A Hell of a lot.

‘That’s why I want him guarded.’ He looked around the kitchen. ‘I’ll base myself here.’ He grinned at her. ‘Play babysitter for a while. I’ll bring my stuff over tonight. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it?’

Billi nodded. She didn’t want to be here alone. Percy would look after her; he always had. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. ‘You get some sleep.’

Billi watched the people from the study window that evening. The Inner Temple was busy. She’d never seen so many out here, especially this time of night. Kay peered out over her shoulder, his hair gently brushing her cheek.

‘Balin will be pleased,’ he said. ‘Don’t think the church’s been so busy.’

He was right; they were all headed to Temple Church. Or St Bride’s. Or St Paul’s. Maybe off to Regent’s Park mosque. The stream was steady, dozens of people all making their way through the darkened street. Lots with kids.

‘The faithful,’ said Kay.

‘The fearful.’ replied Billi. The newspapers were full of stories about mysterious sicknesses. Was it some new superbug? Or some new food scare? No one knew. Every kid with even the smallest cough or temperature was being rushed to hospital. They’d only touched the tip of the iceberg. Michael had managed to infect a dozen places while they’d been watching China Wharf, and not just hospitals. Billi felt sick at the thought that he’d probably been doing it just before he met her in the cafe – before he’d tempted her up on to the tower.

She looked down at the people on the streets and wondered how much worse it would have been if he’d got his hands on the Mirror. But this hysteria wouldn’t last. Now that Michael was gone the kids he’d infected would recover. The panic would pass and the churches would be empty again.

‘Billi…’

‘Forget it, Kay. I’ve had this talk with Percy already.’ She turned from the window. ‘I’ve quit.’

‘But why? We beat Michael. We saved all the firstborn. You did good.’

‘Did I?’ Then why did she feel that dreadful hollowness inside? It didn’t seem like a victory. It had been the same after the Ordeal. ‘Dad said we must make hard choices. I did and almost got him killed. I can’t make those sorts of decisions.’

‘So you leave them to be made by people like Gwaine?’ There was a bitter edge in the way he said the name.

‘He making life difficult already?’

Kay sighed wearily. ‘He doesn’t trust me. Thinks my time in Jerusalem may have tainted me.’

‘How?’

‘I didn’t train with Christians alone, did I?’ Kay shrugged. ‘He’s a bit old-school on the religious front.’

Billi watched Kay as he sat on the window sill, fingers hooked round his knee. The moonlight on his already white face made him glow. His hair hung like strands of silver thread, framing his deep-blue eyes.

The study was in the eaves, low-ceilinged with small windows in the pitch of the roof. Densely stacked shelves filled every wall, and barely a sheet of wallpaper wasn’t covered either by books or old maps and paintings. The carpet was faded red, and a large, black-oak desk dominated the room, its upper surface covered in pale green leather. A bronze stand sat in the middle, a plain block with a shallow groove for a pen and two half-filled ink bottles, one black, one red. Her dad’s laptop sat to the left, its screen glowing a soft blue, adding its light to that of the hazy wall lamps. Thick drapes hung alongside the windows, and deep shadows lurked in their folds.

They’d spent hours in the room. Here Balin had taught them Latin. They’d read the old Templar diaries and imagined what it must have been like to be heroes. The stories read like fairy tales and were full of battles, monsters and heroic death. But the tales lied. Battle was stomach-churning terror and no death was glorious or noble. It was lonely, frightening and brutal. She looked at Kay and suddenly she felt fear creeping in her heart.

‘Quit, Kay.’ She looked down at her hands. They were stark-white clean. She’d finally got her dad’s blood out from under her fingernails. ‘Quit the Templars.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Gwaine doesn’t want you. Elaine’s gone. You can leave.’ The more she thought about it the better it sounded. Both of them with her dad, out of the Order.

Kay shook his head. ‘I’ve duties to the Order. With or without Gwaine.’

‘They’re your priorities, are they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why did you come to the tower? That sounded personal.’

Kay faltered. He looked up at her, then quickly away, as if he was worried she’d see something.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

‘What did Michael say in the text?’

Kay stood up suddenly. ‘I said it doesn’t matter.’

‘Did you miss me, Kay?’

He stalked about the room, glancing at the door handle. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the knots.

‘It’s too hard.’ He shifted uneasily, his back to her, and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘An Oracle can’t have emotional attachments. It clouds our judgement. That’s why Michael tricked me. I wanted to… believe.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t think clearly with you around.’ He spun round. His face was centimetres away and his partially open lips let his warm breath tickle her eyelashes. He didn’t touch her, but Billi sensed his closeness and it paralysed her. This was Kay. They’d grown up together. She didn’t think of him like… this.

Did she?

He stepped away.

‘I can’t, Billi.’ The pain was obvious as he spoke. ‘I can’t care about you.’

Billi stood there, stunned.

‘It’ll destroy me,’ he whispered.

The door opened and Percy entered, carrying a tray. His sleeves were rolled up on his tree-trunk thick forearms, and he wore an apron, though it barely covered his stomach. He put the tray down on the desk, then eased himself into one of the armchairs, mug in hand.

Billi sank down in her dad’s chair, an old leather-bound seat. How could Kay say that? Not him too – he’d chosen the Order over her. Just like her dad.

‘Any news on Elaine?’ Kay asked Percy, his voice strained. He couldn’t look Billi in the eye.

Percy shrugged. ‘Nope. Art must have told her to hide in case he didn’t beat Michael.’ He looked towards Kay. ‘Couldn’t you, y’know, pick her up?’

‘No. Elaine’s not one of the gifted, but she knows a few tricks. She’s off any radar. If she’s got the Mirror she’s probably in some protected location. There’ll be wards and charms all over it.’

Percy checked his watch. Just gone midnight. He pointed at the phone on the desk. ‘Let’s give Berrant a call. He’s on duty at Crow Street Hospital. Find out how your dad’s doing.’

At least I have Percy. She’d seen her father after school, and Percy had just been there. The big West African, for all his strength and determination, was soft-hearted when it came to her dad. He was probably the only true friend her father had. The only true friend she had.

Percy dialled. ‘Berrant? Everything OK?’ He nodded. Then froze. ‘What d’you mean he moved you? Who’s looking after Arthur?’ Billi jumped up, knocking the mug on to the floor. Panic set in and she stared at Percy’s horrified face. Percy slammed the phone down. He stared at it for a second then ripped off his apron.

‘Gwaine’s moved the watch on Art. Berrant thought I was meant to replace him.’

Billi tried to steady her shaking hands. ‘Where’s Berrant, then?’

‘Kent. Gwaine’s sent him down there tonight to look into some haunting.’

‘Where are the others?’ asked Kay.

‘Not bloody near enough,’ cursed Percy. There was no one guarding her dad.

They took Arthur’s old Jaguar, but were forced to crawl along. A dense fog had descended over the streets, cutting visibility down to a few metres. Shrouds of ghostly white mist rolled over the windscreen as they made their way towards Crow Street Hospital. The car park was filled to overflowing so they went round the back to the secluded loading bays and ‘PERMIT ONLY’ areas. Percival parked up near a fire exit. Kay and Billi clambered out.

Percival reached in and unhooked the hidden latches beneath the rear seat. It tilted upwards revealing the weapons cabinet. Tightly packed in foam and plastic to stop them from rattling, he picked out a wakisashi, a single-edged Japanese short sword. He adjusted the sheath behind him under his jacket, and slid the blade in. Billi took a pair of hiltless bayonets and a chest holster, shortening the straps in well-practised moves, then clipped her two daggers in place. She threw on her coat, and by crossing her arms across her chest, drew out her weapons once, twice, three times so eventually they could pop into her hands in an instant. They divided up a set of holy water vials and crucifixes each, then she slammed the seat back down. It clicked shut.

‘What about me?’ asked Kay.

Percival laughed. ‘We get into a fight, Oracle, I want you to run.’

‘That’s not fair! I can fight.’ He reached out a hand. ‘C’mon, give me something.’

Billi and Percival glanced at each other. Their reply was simultaneous:

‘No.’

Kay muttered something under his breath, and Percival put his hand on Billi’s shoulder.

‘Nothing flash, OK? If it all goes pear-shaped go for the easy kills: chest, throat, stomach, in that order. Understood?’

Billi nodded. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Percy looked at the building ahead. ‘We’ll go up, I’ll lead. We grab Art and get out of here. The Canterbury preceptory has medical facilities. We’ll look after him there.’

‘What about Gwaine?’ said Billi. The bastard had abandoned her father.

Percy zipped up his jacket. ‘I’ll worry about Gwaine. Kay, you with us?’

Kay was staring into the fog. If anything, it had got thicker. The dim, hazy street lamps barely penetrated the heavy blanket of cold, white mist; it seemed to surround them like a ghostly army. He shuddered, then looked back at Billi and gave a wan smile.

‘Ready,’ he said.

The rear of the hospital block was open twenty-four hours a day with minimal security. There were two large roller shutters, wide open, and a lorry backed into each. Bright lights shone out from the loading bay, and two laundry men were pushing overloaded laundry trolleys into the back of the vehicles. The driver leaned against the cabin, smoking. Percy ducked under the short barrier and made his way towards one of the rear delivery doors. He acted casually, waving at the guy smoking, and went in. Billi and Kay were a few footsteps behind.

More trolleys lined the corridor, some stuffed with soiled sheets and stained towels, others fresh-smelling and neatly stacked. But the laundry smell gave way to the stinging odour of strong antiseptic. Arthur was up on the sixth floor, but they didn’t take the lifts. Kay groaned as Percy pushed the doors to the stairwell open. The stairs rose up the entire building and were only lit on alternate floors, leaving dark shadowy bands. Billi gazed upwards. The steps were two-man wide, wrapped round an open well. One wall was glass, with vents every other level. Percy took two steps at a time, surprisingly lightly given his size. Billi followed with Kay stumbling behind, cursing. They stopped on the sixth, and Percy gave them a minute to catch their breath. He gently turned the handle – it wasn’t locked – then faced the two of them.

‘You wait here. I’ll grab Art.’ He pointed down the stairs. ‘Keep the escape route clear. Give me five minutes.’

‘And if you’re late?’ asked Billi.

‘Wait some more.’ With that he pushed the door open, winked at Billi, then left. Billi paused at the door, staring down the dark corridor until the door finally closed.

‘Gwaine’s done this on purpose,’ she said. Just wait until Arthur found out.

‘Maybe he had his reasons.’

‘Yeah, getting Dad killed so he could stay Master.’ Billi checked her pair of daggers. She flipped one out and held it over the balcony, trying to catch some light from the bulb on the floor above.

Kay shuffled. He put his hands in his pockets, then out again, then crossed them. Then back in his pockets. All in the space of about thirty seconds.

‘Relax,’ Billi said. She was used to this, the waiting. She didn’t like it, but she knew there wasn’t any other choice. But, of course, Kay never went out on Hot Meets. He looked embarrassed.

‘Sorry, not used to all this,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. About… us.’

‘There is no us,’ Billi snapped. She didn’t need him to ‘care’ about her. She could look after herself. Let Kay stay with the Templars. More fool him.

She checked her watch: three minutes gone. She pressed her ear against the door. She couldn’t hear anything. ‘What d’you reckon, should I –’

Kay jerked his hand up. He took two steps down, moving silently, and slowly turning his head, scanning. Suddenly his eyes widened. ‘They’re here.’

Billi’s heart skipped a beat. She touched Kay’s hand; it was stone cold. He pulled away, going to the floor below. She hurried after him, and grabbed him just as he reached for the door knob.

‘Wait, Kay! Who?’

Kay closed his eyes, sighed deeply and pressed his palms over his face. ‘I can’t tell. Two of them, but I can’t pick anything up except anger, rage. And hunger. A terrible hunger.’ He dropped his hands and went for the door. ‘They’re… oh no. It’s the children. They’re after the children.’

Billi pulled Kay away from the door before he did something dumb, like run in and fight. She held him close. ‘Listen to me, we go and get Percy. Now.’ This was no time for stupid heroics.

‘This is no time for cowardice,’ he snapped back.

Billi stared into his eyes, blazing blue, and she couldn’t hold his gaze. He was stupid, but he was right. She pointed up the stairs. ‘Get Percy.’ Then she creaked the door open. ‘I’ll look.’

‘Be careful,’ he said.

Oh, he cares now, Billi thought.

It was cold, much colder than it should have been. It wasn’t like the heating had failed; it was like someone had left a fridge door open. Frosty mist formed out of her mouth. She didn’t need to be an Oracle to know something was way wrong. Most of the lights along the corridor were out, so she moved slowly, keeping low and her stance wide. Her skin prickled as she passed along the silent route. Ahead was a pair of partially opened double doors. The sign above read: PICU.

Paediatric Intensive Care Unit.

Where the hell was everybody? Shouldn’t there be nurses out and about? She reached the doors and drew out her a dagger, tightening her fingers round the hilt until they hurt. She pushed the door open with her foot.

A body lay collapsed on the floor: a nurse. A row of deep bite marks along her neck oozed blood made black by the moonlight. Her chest still rose and sank, so Billi ignored her for the moment. Instead she scanned the room.

Six incubators were parked along two sides of the room. Above each was a monitor. Glowing patterns and lights flickered on each screen and a multitude of cables ran from the monitor’s control unit to the screen and to the small body within the transparent box. The curtains were open, and above the fog there was enough moonlight pushing through to give the room a strange pearly luminance. But beyond the cast of the moonlight the darkness was intense. Billi focused in the blackness, fighting the urge to shiver. She stared hard into the inky shadows that surrounded the small, fragile baby in the furthest incubator.

It was as though the darkness around the incubator trembled. Slowly the shadows peeled back like dripping oil, slick and thick, revealing them moment by moment until two women stood in the centre of the room, almost identical sisters. With ivory limbs and curling black hair, they were inhumanly perfect until their red lips parted too wide, almost splitting their faces apart, revealing mouths grotesque with jagged fangs.

Ghuls.

‘Templar,’ said the first. She ran her nail along the edge of the incubator. The baby inside began to cry. ‘Hush now, little one. Soon we’ll sing you to sleep.’ The other giggled.

‘Get out,’ Billi said. Where the hell were Kay and Percy? Billi backed away, watching the two women. They seemed to glide, and each movement was controlled and purposefully small, as though huge energies were barely being held in check.

‘Why, Templar? Why deny these innocent ones our kisses?’ The woman fluttered her hand high above her head. ‘To carry them into eternal bliss.’

She needed to use her wits. She backed towards the door; they’d have to come one at a time. Nothing flash. Suddenly she was painfully aware of the steel in her hand.

‘Don’t be scared – there’s only one of me,’ she said, goading them.

It worked. There were four metres between Billi and the two sisters, but they crossed it so fast they seemed to fly. In their eagerness to be first they collided trying to pass through the door opening. Startled by their speed Billi stumbled back before instinct took over. Instinct and training.

Nothing flash. Just quick kills.

Billi jabbed with the blade, making one of them flinch away from the weapon, only to tangle herself with her sibling. Billi slammed the doors shut and heard them crash into the heavy steel panels. She jammed her dagger through the handles and ran out towards the staircase door, not daring to look over her shoulder. She was so close.

It flew open. Percival grabbed her and pulled her in, almost ripping her arm off. She just had a chance to glimpse her dad, arm slung over Kay, already half a level below her when something crashed into her back, hurling her into the steel banisters and smashing the air out of her lungs. She slipped to the ground and all she could see was a tangle of legs and limbs as Percival grappled with one of the sisters. The woman screamed and clawed and snarled. She looked so slight and frail against the giant Ghanaian, but her blows sent Percival reeling. One punch caught him in the temple and he stumbled down the stairs, legs loose and wobbling. He still held on to the woman’s arm, and Billi couldn’t believe she didn’t fall, instead she balanced at the top of the stairs, feet braced against Percival’s weight.

Billi kicked out, sweeping the woman’s legs away. She half turned, grabbed at the banister rail and missed.

The ghul screamed as she fell down the five levels of the stairwell. She turned over and over, arms wheeling madly and legs kicking. Billi watched in horror as the woman tumbled like a doll and smashed on to the bare concrete twenty metres below. She lay there, terribly still. Her beautiful limbs bent unnaturally. A black pool of blood spread from her head.

Billi pushed herself away from the edge, from the view.

‘Come on!’ ordered Percy. He caught up with Kay and slung Arthur over his shoulder. Billi got to her feet and followed, still shaking from the fight. The others were already well ahead of her.

She heard the door at the bottom of the stairs slam open.

‘Billi!’ shouted Kay from ahead. Billi dropped to the ground floor to see him run out into the car park. She was a few paces behind, but she couldn’t leave, not yet.

She couldn’t help it – she had to look.

The landing light shone cruelly bright on the woman’s shattered body. Her torso and limbs were grotesquely twisted and distorted. Her face was turned away, but her hair was a black sodden mess. Billi covered her mouth to hold down the bile.

Then the woman’s hand twitched. There was a sickening sucking as she turned her crushed and blackened face towards Billi. The woman’s face twisted into a grin. A few teeth fell out.

‘Praise God!’ she croaked through a crushed windpipe. Billi screamed and ran.

Outside Kay was dropping her dad in the back seat then diving in after him. Percival crossed over in front and waved frantically at her. ‘Get a move on!’

She shoved the door shut behind her, then saw an abandoned trolley nearby. She pulled it against the door, tipped it over and wedged it in place. She turned.

They came out of the mists. Ripples of fog broke apart and they crept towards the car. Five, six, a couple near the gate, she couldn’t tell how many. They didn’t rush, didn’t shout or yell, just approached with steady confidence, their fierce eyes glowing with some atavistic killer’s desire. Just glancing at them, they could have been anyone off the street. Except…

Except for their predatory grace and their too-wide hungry smiles. Despite the darkness, they seemed lit from some unearthly source.

Billi lowered her head and raced towards the others. The engine revved and she dived in through the passenger door. Percy shoved the gears and the wheels screamed as he squeezed the pedal down. In the furious glare of the headlights she saw the strange figures step warily apart as Percy put his palm on the hand brake.

‘Let’s go.’ He pressed the release.

The car rocked, just gently. A pair of bare white feet landed softly on the bonnet, and a silhouette covered the front windscreen as a large dark coat spread over them. A sliver of light caught the bright, terrible edge of a broad-sword, one with a hacking blade and so familiar, then the windscreen shattered.

Billi screamed and threw her arms over her head as glass exploded over her. The car juddered and she felt something splash her face. She kept her eyes shut while the last few shards fell free, and the car stopped as the pressure slipped off the accelerator.

Slowly she opened her eyes.

Percival sat beside her, hands loose either side. His fingers trembled for a moment, then stopped. His eyes stared empty and wide ahead, and his mouth hung slack. Minute cubes of broken glass lay sprinkled like diamonds over him, some caught in his hair, a few embedded in his skin. Billi gazed down and her breath died.

A sword jutted out of his chest.

The Templar Sword. His jacket was awash with his blood. It covered the dashboard and it covered her; she could feel it trickle down her face. The sword had been driven straight through him into the car seat, pinning him. A single, powerful thrust and he’d died instantly.

Nothing flash. An easy kill.

The person on the bonnet hopped off. He walked round to the passenger door, opened it and peered in. He smiled at her and Billi’s heart froze. He slid his dark locks away from his face with his long, slim fingers and tilted his head lower, so their faces were close. Close enough for his breath to chill her, close enough for a kiss. Then those lips curved in cruel amusement.

‘Did you miss me terribly?’ said Michael.

A young woman, hair pale gold, with small delicate hands, grabbed Billi by the throat and wrenched her out of the car. She wasn’t even as tall as Billi’s shoulder, but she carried her as if she was a doll and dumped her on the black tarmac.

‘Gently, Eliza,’ said Michael. ‘Billi’s had a hard day.’ The woman grinned at him. Michael smiled back. ‘But I guarantee it’s about to get so much worse.’

Billi lay in a puddle, staring up at Percy.

He can’t be dead. Can’t be.

She waited, urged with all her heart, for his eyes to blink. But no, they gazed far into eternity. Some invisible force squeezed her chest, crushing her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.

Percy. She’d never really been alone – she’d always had Percy. When her dad would vanish for days upon end she’d had Percy. He’d babysat her, he’d cooked, he’d remembered all her birthdays. Billi sank forward until her forehead touched the wet ground.

‘What is it they say about Templars?’ Michael crouched down, pulling her hair sharply so they were eye to eye. ‘You shall keep the company of martyrs.’ He stood up, dragging her alongside. Arthur and Kay were likewise dropped into the circle of surrounding ghuls.

They stood silently, watching their victims, craving to kill. The Hungry Dead, it suited them so perfectly. Including Michael, there were about eight of them; Billi’s eyes were too filled with tears to be sure. Michael walked into the centre of the circle and tore off his coat. His T-shirt was gone and his bare upper torso glistened in the light drizzle as the black web of tattoos twisted and stretched, spikes and thorns growing over his heart. Down his back were two vertical scars, red, swollen and poorly healed.

How? She’d seen his head cut off. Cut off! Michael caught her staring. He stretched his neck so she could have a better look.

‘Can’t even see the join, can you?’ He laughed. ‘Honestly, did you really believe I could be killed by a mortal weapon?’

Billi got to her feet, fighting the fear threatening to drown her. Mike looked at her, amused. Then she slapped him. It wasn’t the strongest blow she could muster, but the most contemptuous. She felt sick, not just for Percy, but with herself. They’d reached this point because of her attraction to Michael. What had she seen in him? Ever? Every molecule in her body recoiled in disgust. He put his hand against his blushing cheek, and slapped her back so hard the blow knocked her down.

‘Never touch me again, mortal.’ He spat out the last word with venom. He strolled over to the car and reached for the Templar Sword. He gazed at Billi as he jerked the blade out of Percy’s body. Billi knew she shouldn’t succumb, she shouldn’t show any weakness to the enemy, but she couldn’t help it. Tears trickled down her face. Percy’s upper body leaned slowly forward, and his face rested on the dashboard. He looked terrible and pitiful with his huge soft brown eyes. She couldn’t bear to look any more.

Arthur lay on his back. He’d lost his slippers and he looked like some doddering old fool, lying there in his dressing gown and pyjamas, wheezing. His top was only partially buttoned and she could see his chest, white and lined with old scars, the ribs pressed hard against his skin. Billi helped him up. She couldn’t believe how thin he was. She’d always thought him so much bigger.

‘Get away!’ Kay was up, brandishing his silver crucifix. He stood in front of Billi and Arthur, vial of holy water in one hand, cross thrust out before him.

Michael circled slowly. Then laughed.

He turned to the ghuls and they laughed too, though Billi saw their hesitation. Only Michael’s presence gave them the courage to face the cross.

Michael shook his head and held out his palm. ‘Kay, give me that.’ He was laughing so hard he was crying. ‘I’ve stood at the right hand of God. I am an angel. An archangel. Do you honestly think that little trinket will protect you?’ He snatched it from Kay’s hand and tossed it away. ‘God gave me a duty. Should man stray, I was to chastise him.’

‘It’s murder,’ said Billi, painfully aware of Percy’s blood splashed over her.

Michael lifted his hands skywards. ‘It’s righteous punishment.’

Arthur laughed. It was a rattling croak pulled out of his chest and it collapsed into a coughing fit. ‘You abandoned Heaven. Cut off your wings.’ He pointed at his own back. ‘That’s why those scars have never healed. You’re a fool, Michael, an arrogant fool. Man hasn’t fallen, it’s you. Do you honestly think God will ever take you back?’

Michael leapt the short distance and grabbed Arthur’s throat, dragging him to his feet. His face transformed, momentarily, into a snarling beast, lips peeled back, his eyes wild and face contorted with rage.

‘It is not I that has fallen, but you!’ He tossed Arthur back to the ground. ‘Once I have the Mirror, and the power of all my brothers and sisters, I will sacrifice every firstborn and God will know how much I love Him.’ Michael gazed upwards into the obscuring mist. ‘I will send Him a million souls to sing His glory.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘You kill and call it prayer. A sacrifice is done out of love. Everything you do is fuelled by hate.’

Michael’s jaw tensed, and for a second Billi thought he was going to strike her dad’s head off, but instead the Dark Angel approached her.

‘You dare criticize me?’ He pressed the flat of the red blade against Billi’s cheek, smearing it with Percy’s blood. ‘I could threaten you, Arthur. Torture you to reveal where the Mirror is, but somehow I think you’d welcome that.’ He nodded at one of the others. ‘You don’t value your life at all.’

Suddenly two of the ghuls grabbed Billi. One across her chest, the other her left arm. Their hold was stone-solid, locking her rigid. She tried to resist, but centimetre by centimetre her arm was pulled out straight in front of her. Mike rested the sword on it, just above the wrist. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur.

‘But what about Billi? Would you sacrifice her?’ He looked towards Billi, eyes shining with savage lust. ‘Sacrifice your beloved child?’

He raised the sword.

Billi tried to pull her arm back, but she couldn’t break the grip. She looked from the blade to her arm, then back to the blade. It would slice through her muscle, through her bone, like a razor though tissue paper. She of all people knew how deadly it was: she’d spent hundreds of hours sharpening it.

‘Well, Arthur?’

Billi tensed. She fought to control her breathing and bound her left hand into a fist. Sweat soaked her back and her arm trembled wildly. Michael had killed her mother and now he was going to kill her.

A Templar does not tremble.

But she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t a Templar. She was frightened and weak. She couldn’t be ruthless the way she should be. Not the way her dad wanted her to be. She bit her lip and looked at her father and in that terrible moment she knew. He gazed back, blank and cold. It was a simple choice. Save Billi or the lives of a million innocent children. Arthur turned away from her. He wasn’t going to save her. Kay groaned in despair, but he couldn’t help: he was flat on the ground with one of the ghuls pressing his foot down on his head.

Michael sighed in mock sadness.

‘See, Billi? Didn’t I tell you? He cares nothing for you. You’re right to hate him.’ He sighed again. ‘Last chance, Arthur. The location of the Mirror or your daughter loses her arm.’

The only noise was Billi’s desperate panting. Michael looked at her.

‘So be it.’

Oh God.

The blade stung her wrist and Billi screamed. She tore her arm free and collapsed, cradling it in her lap. She stared and saw –

Her wrist. It bore only the slightest cut. Fear gripped her, but she forced her trembling fingers to bend. They did. She opened and closed them. She was OK. Her dad had called Michael’s bluff. Tears ran down her face. Thank God. Michael had been bluffing.

Michael laughed and strolled over to Arthur. ‘That’s what I love about you, Arthur: you’re an ice-hearted bastard. You remind me of me.’ He handed the sword over to one of the ghuls – a big, blond guy – beside him. ‘Take this, Ryan.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘There’s one guaranteed way to find out the truth.’

The ghuls ignored Billi; their attention was focused on Arthur and their leader. Michael put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and forced him to his knees. He ran his hands over Arthur’s head, drawing them together so he cupped his face. Arthur snarled, but couldn’t break free of the angel’s grip.

‘Open your mind to me.’ His fingers caressed Arthur’s cheeks. ‘You’ll fight; I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now, to tell you the truth, I’m not as subtle as your Oracle. I can’t dip softly in and out.’ His nails dug into Arthur’s flesh and drew tiny beads of blood. ‘I will ravage your mind. Tear it to shreds. When I’m done I’ll know where the Mirror is and you’ll be a drooling vegetable.’ He looked over at Billi. ‘It might even improve your relationship with your daughter. God knows it couldn’t get any worse.’

They stared at each other: Michael’s fiery eyes glowing with fever; Arthur’s chilly and pale. A feeble groan slipped out of Arthur, then he locked himself rigid. The change was immediate as his eyelids half sank, and his blue orbs radiated intense concentration. Sweat bubbled across his forehead and his breathing slowed as he fell into a trance.

Michael pressed his fingers deeper into Arthur’s face. ‘Open to me,’ he whispered.

Even Billi, with no measurable psychic power, felt the tremor of energy ripple from the two of them, angel and Templar Master, locked in motionless battle. Waves of quivering emotion washed over her, over them all, as the two minds fought for dominance. Arthur’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth.

The psychic explosion ripped through her like a super-nova. Billi cried as the raw shockwave tore through her mind. Her senses screamed as they burned out and what was left was crystal clear and terrible.

The desert wind at night is cold, but he savours the sharp, prickling sensation of it on his flesh. He stretches out his long, powerful arms, gazing at his moon shadow upon the sand. Though he has no pride, he knows he is beautiful.

What it is to have mortal form! Mankind is truly blessed with such gifts.

He waits on the hilltop above the city. A man wrapped against the bitter night makes his way slowly up the goat track towards him.

The prophet. Moses.

Below them the city lies asleep. A few torches blaze along the palace battlements, and among the patrols of soldiers making their way through the narrow streets between the mud-brick huts and houses. The city has been disturbed by omens and supernatural signs.

But they think the worst is over. They are wrong.

The prophet stops some yards away. He’s dressed in simple, heavy cotton and carries a tall stick, the branch of a cedar. Once he would have worn the softest white linen and carried a golden sceptre. Like his brother. The pharaoh.

‘Is it done?’ asks the prophet. ‘Are they… dead?’

Michael gazes at his companion. It is a foolish thing to ask and almost worth his silence. But he sees the man tremble, though he fights it. He should be afraid, the archangel thinks. Moses is merely a man while he is… Michael.

‘Yes. They are dead. The firstborn of every Egyptian family.’

‘And what of my people?’

‘They did as they were bidden and marked their doors with blood.’ Michael motioned across the sky. ‘And I did pass over.’

The prophet covers his face. Perhaps the deed, now done, weighs more heavily on his soul than he had expected.

‘And now?’ he asks.

Michael crosses his arms and sees lights appear in windows and doorways beneath them. ‘And now they know to fear the Lord God of Israel.’

The Angel of Death smiles.

And, far below, the screaming starts.

The screaming got louder, and Billi shifted her head towards its source. Dazed by the psychic assault, she was on her knees, her head pounding with the worst migraine she’d ever had. It felt as though someone was hammering nails into her eyes, each blow driving a brutal shaft of agony through her skull. And the screaming…

Two fierce white glowing eyes stared at her out of the mists, some demon awoken by Michael’s awful memory, roaring at her. The others gazed about, bewildered and confused by the onslaught. The eyes grew larger and brighter and the screams rose to ear-splitting levels.

A van burst out of the fog, its headlights on full beam, blinding her. The horn was being held down as it accelerated into the crowd.

Billi leapt to her feet. She had to get her dad.

‘Kay!’ she shouted, barely heard over the van horn. She shot a look at him as he broke free from the stunned captors, the van heading straight at him. Billi kicked Michael square in the chest. Michael stumbled back a metre and that was enough. The van smashed into him and jerked up once, twice, as it drove over him.

Billi grabbed her dad. The Templars! It had to be them! They had come to the rescue. The driver pulled a savagely sharp handbrake turn. Any second now the doors would fly open and the other knights would storm out.

The door crashed open and a crazed figure waved frantically from the driver’s seat, her iron-grey hair loose and wild like some ragged old lion’s mane.

‘C’mon!’ cried Elaine. The wheels steamed, and burnt rubber saturated the air as she revved the van, ready to flee the instant she released the brake. Kay took hold of Arthur’s other arm and between them they got him to the vehicle. Billi slid the side doors open and threw him in.

‘Billi!’

She turned and ducked instinctively at Kay’s warning. The Templar Sword hissed over her head, tearing the side of the van. The blond guy raised the weapon up, but before Billi could respond Kay charged. He knocked the ghul over and brought two big kicks into his ribs. The Templar Sword clattered away. Kay went for it, but Billi grabbed his collar.

‘Leave it!’ she cried, pulling him back. The other ghuls were almost upon them. But where was Michael? She glanced over to where he’d been hit.

He was slowly lifting himself off the tarmac; she could see his chest was obscenely crushed and white bone jutted out of his black, blood-soaked flesh. His face was one big bruise and his head deformed. It seemed impossible.

He can’t be stopped.

She jumped into the van and Kay slammed the door shut. The van shook as Elaine burst off. One ghul leapt at the windscreen but a sharp turn of the steering wheel threw him back off. Visibility was practically nothing, but that didn’t stop Elaine. Foot hard down on the accelerator, they roared away from the bloody scene.

They made their way north. Once out of immediate danger Elaine slowed down and the fog gave way to light drizzle. Billi clambered into the passenger seat. Elaine’s eyes were red with tears as she weaved the old van through the streets. Billi glanced at the signs.

‘Stoke Newington?’ she asked.

‘Safe house. No one knows about it but me.’ Elaine shook her head. ‘I ran over him. And he got up. Bloody hell.’

‘Where are the others?’ Something like this needed the other knights. She couldn’t believe they’d not turned up. Where were they? Especially now Percy was dead.

The thought made her shiver. ‘Elaine, you know that Percy’s…’

‘Yes, I saw.’ Elaine sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. ‘How’s your dad?’

How was he? Billi closed her eyes in despair. She’d almost died back there, and he hadn’t done anything to save her. Anything! Mike was right – he didn’t love her at all. She’d risked losing her life to save him, but had lost Percy instead. Was that a fair exchange? No matter what she did or where she went she could never escape. And it was her dad’s fault. She looked over; he had to know how she felt.

He sat in the corner, a blanket over his shoulders. His head was sunk in his hands, and Billi noticed how small he looked. Her dad was old. Old and worn. His hands were square and powerful, but the skin thinner, the veins more prominent. His shoulders weren’t so broad, not as broad as she’d always thought they were.

He looked… defeated.

He raised his head and wiped his hand over his face. He gazed despairingly out of the rear window. He didn’t focus on anything; he was lost. He took a deep sigh and Billi watched the way his chest rose and fell. His body seemed to shrivel as the air went out, as if he was empty. He turned and their eyes met.

Billi almost lowered her eyes, almost tried to pretend she hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t seen him weak. But she didn’t. This was a part of Arthur she didn’t know existed. The human part. Then as she gazed at him the mask fell back. His face hardened, the small glimmer of frailty vanished and an impervious steel face replaced the human one. Father and daughter looked at each other for a moment longer. Then Arthur’s gaze shifted to Kay.

‘Well?’ he asked.

Kay was texting. He nodded, then closed his mobile. ‘It’s done. I’ve sent the thirteen-ten code to everyone.’ He then threw the mobile out of the window.

Of course, thought Billi. Silent Running. Arthur had established this new Rule after the Nights of Iron. If ever the Templars were threatened again an alarm code would be sent out: 1310, symbolizing Friday the thirteenth of October, the day the Templars had been captured by the Inquisition. Every Templar was to immediately abandon his position and retreat to a safe house. Each safe house would comprise three knights, called a lance. Billi and Kay were meant to have gone with Percy to an apartment in the East End. From there safe communication would be re-established.

But not with mobiles. If any lance was compromised it had to be assumed the enemy might use their mobiles against them. The way Michael had when he’d texted Kay. Instead they’d meet at prearranged rendezvous points. Places open and very public. Almost impossible to be spied upon or trapped in.

Elaine brought them to a row of garages near Abney Park Cemetery. The huge graveyard was a Victorian necropolis, designed to absorb the sudden boom in London’s population in the nineteenth century. Now it was derelict and overgrown due to decades of neglect. The rusty iron railings surrounding it were wrapped in ivy and beyond was a black labyrinth of broken gravestones, graffiti-covered mausoleums and a wild mass of out-of-control bushes, trees and long grass.

‘Home sweet home,’ said Elaine. ‘Do open up those doors, would you?’

The rear of the garage was cluttered with old furniture, overspill for Elaine’s pawn shop no doubt. The safe house was the floor upstairs, but they entered it through a side door beside the garage. As Billi helped Kay with her dad she noticed a small alcove in the right door post. It contained a black box. A mezuzah. Elaine touched the box and kissed her fingertips. She caught Billi looking at her. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ she said.

Billi inspected the box. She knew that inside was a scroll bearing a Jewish prayer, Sh’ma Yisroel. A ward against evil spirits. But would it protect them against Michael and his ghuls? Billi wondered.

A steep, narrow staircase rose from the front door to the floor above. The wall was lined with old photographs, but Billi concentrated on getting her dad up, not easy given the space, but they managed after almost ten minutes. Turning right, they entered a small sparsely furnished living room. Against the far wall was a kitchenette made of plain wooden cabinets, a stove and a small fridge, which hummed loudly.

‘Drop Art in the main bedroom,’ said Elaine, and pointed at a door in the corner. Billi nodded to Kay and they hauled Arthur the last few metres. The bedroom had a wardrobe, a desk and a futon bed with some grey army blankets.

‘Dad’ll feel right at home,’ she said as they lowered him down. He lay there, coughing.

‘Water,’ he said. Kay went out to get some. Billi lifted her dad’s legs into the bed and then looked around the room.

So this was Elaine’s little getaway. A Tibetan mandala hung over the bed and several North American spirit traps dangled from the ceiling. It looked like the bedroom of some hippy. She inspected the photographs and suddenly stopped.

It was her mum. She had her arm over Elaine’s shoulders and was leaned back, her belly huge and pregnant. Elaine grinned at the camera and her mum was caught mid-laugh.

‘Who took this?’ asked Billi.

The bedframe creaked as Arthur looked over. ‘I did,’ he sighed. ‘Ages ago.’

Billi stared at the photo. It made sense that they’d been friends. She’d thought about it since seeing the calligraphy back at Elaine’s Bazaar. They’d both been outsiders. Elaine looked centuries younger, her hair was black and the wrinkles shallow. Billi couldn’t stop looking at her mother. The laugh was big, but it didn’t spread to her eyes. They were clear and locked on the photographer: her dad. Jamila cradled her bulging belly and Billi’s mouth went dry. That was her in there, about to be born. What was her mum thinking? Could she have imagined the events that were to unfold – what would happen to her and her child? Those black eyes didn’t reveal anything, the eyes Billi had inherited.

Kay entered and Billi stiffened. Kay passed Arthur a tall glass of water and then he left. Arthur drained the glass in one, put it down and looked as though he was about to speak. But he didn’t, instead he sank into the pillows and closed his eyes.

What were they going to do? They had no idea where the other Templars were, or if they’d even survived. Michael might have already eliminated them.

It looked hopeless. Billi gazed at her father sleeping and wanted him to tell her the answers. But she wasn’t sure he’d even have them. She closed the door quietly as she went out.

Kay was slumped on the sofa. Billi couldn’t be sure, but he looked paler than normal. She kicked his heels and he shifted over.

‘Thanks for that,’ she said. ‘Taking out the ghul.’

‘Told you I could fight.’

‘Let’s not get too carried away. Knocking someone over does not make you Bruce Lee.’

Elaine came back from outside and tossed a stuffed bin bag in the centre of the room. ‘There are a few spare sleeping bags and sheets in there. Make yourselves comfortable.’

‘Where are we sleeping?’ asked Kay. Elaine pointed at the sofa, and then the floor.

‘Take your pick.’

The acrid sting of cigarette smoke woke her. Billi shuffled on to her side, careful not to fall off the sofa. It was lumpy and uneven, half the springs were missing and it sagged in the middle. Now that she was awake Billi felt the twinges and aches along her back. She rose slowly and stretched.

The curtains were thin cotton sheets, and glowed faintly from the moonlight. Kay lay sprawled on the floor, his pale foot sticking out from under the unzipped sleeping bag. His black T-shirt made the whiteness of his face all the more stark and icy.

He sleeps with his eyes open.

Just a sliver of blue peeked through Kay’s parted eyelids, sparkling. His chest rose and dipped, his breath a soft whisper.

Her dad’s door was ajar. She saw his silhouette beside the desk, and a red tip burning along his fingers.

He’s smoking. He’s just had a lung punctured and he’s having a fag.

She went to the door and pushed it open.

‘It’s not like you have a lung to spare,’ she said. ‘You should quit.’

Arthur raised the cigarette to his lips, stopped, then put it back in the ashtray. ‘Like you?’

If this was his attempt to make her feel guilty, after everything that had just happened, well he was going to be disappointed. Billi took the smouldering stub, and squashed it out.

‘So, why did you quit?’ he asked.

‘I’m not a Templar.’

‘You sure? Not doing too badly.’

Billi laughed. ‘Except for hurling my guts during the Ordeal. Except for bringing the Angel of Death to our home. Except for getting you almost killed. Except for –’ the image of Percy, his body beside her and his blood over her face, sprang up – ‘except for Percy.’

‘We all make mistakes.’

‘Yeah, but mine are fatal.’ Billi looked at her father’s gaunt face. ‘I can’t take it, Dad. I don’t want this life. This responsibility. My mistake got Percy killed.’ She sank her face into her hands. ‘He’s dead because of me.’

‘It’s not a duty you can just abandon. For better or for worse it’s the life you lead.’

‘No.’ She raised her head so they were eye to eye. ‘It’s the life you lead.’ She stood up. ‘I’m not going to become like you.’ As she said it, her breath caught in her throat. He didn’t feel anything, for anyone. She looked down at the minute cut on her wrist. He didn’t care about her, so why should she care about him?

‘One day you’ll understand, Billi. You’ll make hard choices and you’ll need this life to make them.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Billi went towards the door. She looked back at him, battered, scarred, his chest wrapped in fresh white bandages. Arthur should have died a hundred times over; maybe, deep down, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to destroy himself. She wasn’t going to let him destroy her.

‘Billi, I know you’re angry at me. I wish there was another way.’

Billi turned the handle. ‘It’s not anger I feel.’ She opened the door and her eyes fell again on the picture. ‘It’s pity.’

She is dreaming. She knows it but cannot do anything but be carried along by the ancient phantoms lingering just the other side of life. These streets she walks have long vanished under the sands, and the hot white sun, the Eye of Ra, has sunk and risen across the horizon countless times since. But the heat of it burns her face and the coarse grittiness under her bare soles feels real and immediate. She scrunches her toes in the bleached white sand and lets the particles tickle her feet.

They come out on to the streets bearing their terrible loads. The poor wear simple tunics of tan-coloured cotton while the rich and powerful are wrapped in sparkling white linen.

But whitest of all are the burial shrouds.

Somewhere in the palace the pharaoh lays out his dead firstborn child at the foot of Anubis. These gods, once so mighty, will fade like this city into legend as a new, greater and more terrible deity takes their place. But religion requires sacrifice, Billi knows this to be true, and somewhere deep inside she fears the price yet to be paid.

The dead line the streets. Rich and poor, slave and noble, made equal. The rows of white bundles seem to go on forever.

But one draws Billi closer. She drifts through the mourning Egyptians like a ghost, pulled towards this one single shrouded figure. Her hand acts of its own accord as it reaches out to touch the familiar face, covered by the thin cotton. Her fingers trace over the cheeks, cold despite the desert heat. Thumb and forefinger pinch the corner of the cloth and she pulls it back –

Kay held her tightly to him as she screamed. Billi’s skin dripped with sweat and her chest ran hard and rapid with fear. She grabbed hold of him and they hung on to each other as she fought down the nightmare.

A dream, just a dream. It’s just a dream.

Eyes squeezed shut she pressed her forehead against Kay’s chest as he knelt beside her on the sofa bed. She wasn’t an Oracle; her dreams didn’t mean anything. Anything. She tried to focus on the back of her eyelids, but couldn’t. Kay smelt. Not in a bad way, but it sparked off old memories, back when they were little, sneaking into bed together while the other Templars talked downstairs. It was the closest she’d felt to being part of a family. Touching him this close, she picked up the warm, slightly oily scent of his skin, not dry and cold as she’d imagined, but strangely earthy, moist. She felt how his chest slowly rose and settled back and realized he wasn’t quite as skinny as she’d always thought. He didn’t have the inhuman physique of Michael, the shape of a marble statue brought to life, but there was hidden strength under his skin, and maybe more than bone and sinew. His arms fitted around her and his hands were soft. Maybe she could rest here just for another minute.

Kay coughed and pulled back. ‘You OK?’ He was blushing. On someone that pale it looked pretty extreme.

Oh God, he was reading my mind. What had she been thinking? Billi nodded and looked around, anywhere but at him. Dawn light filtered in through the small windows filling the lounge with a soft golden glow. Billi slowly stretched from the toes, legs, torso, shoulders, arms and fingertips, reaching upwards as far as she could go, letting the kinks and knots in her muscles slip out. Kay sat there, watching.

‘Why don’t you stop gawking and get me some breakfast?’ Billi wore an old T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. She grabbed a sweater and added that, uncomfortably aware of his presence. She slipped her feet into her trainers and went over to the table while Kay crossed the lounge to the kitchenette. He fumbled around in a cupboard and began putting out the butter and plates. He was all fingers and thumbs, spilling the milk and burning the toast.

‘Dad and Elaine?’ she asked.

‘Still in bed.’ Kay almost dropped the bowl. ‘Separately. Obviously.’

She took a plate off him. ‘Obviously.’

Kay mixed up a bowl of muesli with a thick heavy spoonful of honey, then pushed it over to her.

‘My favourite. Now how on earth did you know?’

Kay ignored her taunt. ‘What’s next?’

Billi took a mouthful. If nothing else Kay mixed a mean muesli. ‘No idea. But I’m sure Dad’ll have a plan. And knowing him it’ll probably be insanely dangerous.’

Billi glanced at her dad’s door. ‘What I don’t understand is why it hasn’t affected me. The tenth plague. I’m a firstborn.’

‘Michael wouldn’t have wanted to give the game away by infecting you. I would have seen it.’ Kay’s fingers curled into a fist. ‘But I’ve marked him, Billi. I know what he’s made of.’

‘What?’

‘What’s for breakfast?’ asked Elaine as she came out of the spare room. She held a cigarette between her fingers and switched on the gas hob. She slowly rotated the end of the cigarette until it caught light and then took a long, deep drag. ‘Better.’

Arthur’s door creaked open.

‘Morning.’ He shuffled to the table and sat. He looked better, but not by much. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks, and his eyes didn’t look as sunken as they had been, but his jeans and tatty green jumper looked two sizes too big and hung loose over his frame.

He looks so feeble, Billi thought. A strong breeze would knock him down.

Eggs came out of the fridge and were soon frying with mushrooms, onions and a spoonful of chilli. The teas were poured out when Elaine cleared her throat.

‘What’s the plan, boss?’

‘Simple. We regroup and take the fight to Michael.’

Billi rolled her eyes. What a bloody surprise. She looked around the table. Didn’t they get it? There was no way of defeating Michael. This was suicide.

She had to get them to see sense. ‘I think –’

‘We know what you think,’ snapped her father.

‘Have some sense, Dad!’ Billi bolted to her feet. ‘We don’t know if the others are even alive!’

‘Oh, they’re alive,’ said Kay. Everyone turned to him. He shrugged. ‘To draw something out of a person’s mind you need to open your own.’ He pointed at Arthur’s forehead. ‘When Michael was trying to open yours I entered his. He’d hoped to take us out first, then sweep up the others. Big mistake.’

‘Well done, Kay!’ Arthur slapped his palm on the table, his old strength suddenly returning as he sensed the battle turning in his favour. ‘I’m proud of you.’

He might as well have kicked Billi in the guts.

I’m proud of you.

Of you.

Her dad never spoke to her like that.

Hadn’t she done anything he’d been proud of? No. As far as Arthur was concerned if she wasn’t a Templar she wasn’t anything.

I’m proud of you.

Billi reached the door. Her heart shrivelled with misery, but she quashed that. She wasn’t going to go to pieces. Instead blackness swelled and that filled her heart now.

I’m proud of you.

He’d asked her if she hated him, back in the armoury. Why?

Because it would be easier if she did. Easier for him.

She meant nothing to him.

‘Billi?’ started Kay.

She slammed the door behind her.

Billi ran. She ran down Stoke Newington Church Street. Past the dustmen loading up their lorry, past the old Sikh arranging fruit outside his grocery shop, past the office workers at the bus stop. Billi’s feet hardly touched the ground and her rage wouldn’t let her stop. The gates of Clissold Park stood open and the park beyond was carpeted in a low, white mist. Billi ran in. She didn’t care where, just away.

I’m proud of you.

She couldn’t get it out of her mind, the way her dad had smiled. At Kay.

Oh, yes. She should have known; Kay was the Oracle after all. He was important. And she? What was she?

She wasn’t a Templar.

Billi barged past two joggers in their Day-Glo Lycra outfits, and overtook a trio of nannies with their designer prams and designer babies. The west exit on to Green Lane suddenly appeared ahead out of the mist, mere metres away.

As did Kay.

Billi was almost on top of him when she realized he was there. He raised his hand and smiled and found himself lying on the dewy grass, groaning and clutching his face. Billi stood over him, the knuckles on her right fist hot and bruised.

‘What the hell d’you do that for?’ he cried.

Would Arthur be so proud of him now? She wanted Kay to be angry, to get up and fight. Just so she could smash him in the other eye.

Some Templar.

She nudged him with her foot. ‘Get up.’ He didn’t respond. She kicked him.

‘Ow!’

‘Just get up.’

The three nannies passed by, giving Billi long sideways glances, no doubt memorizing her face in case of a police line-up later.

‘What the hell are you looking at?’ she shouted, then slumped down on a bench, her fists still tightly clenched, struggling to get her rage under control. But all she could see was everyone praising and adoring Kay. Marvellous Kay.

It wasn’t his fault, though. Not really. She tried hard to believe it, but the urge to punch his pasty white face in remained incredibly strong.

She had to take it out on someone!

She lowered her hands and stared at the ground. And at Kay’s boots.

‘Why?’

He shuffled, perhaps wary of a second attack. ‘Why what?’

‘Why did you come after me? You always do. Like some…’

‘Guardian angel?’ Kay suggested.

‘Like some stalker.’

Kay laughed and the bench creaked as he sat beside her. He’d lowered his hands and Billi could see the dark purple swelling around his left eye. It was going to be a big, fat, ugly bruise.

Really big.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

Kay sat very close beside her, but for some reason she didn’t feel like moving away. She looked at him sideways. He was actually quite good looking, in that malnourished indie pop-star kind of way. Kay watched the magpies flutter from the bare branches to search among the damp soil. Those bright eyes took in everything; he seemed to be amazed by it all. There was that secret smile again, that one of seeing things Billi wished she could see, just once.

‘Looks like it’s clearing,’ said Kay. The mist had evaporated, leaving only wispy tendrils stubbornly clinging to the ground and the morning sun was bright in the sharp blue sky.

‘Why do you think my dad’s like that?’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask what she really wanted.

Why doesn’t he love me?

‘You’re wrong about your father.’

‘You know that? For certain?’

Kay held up his hand, blotting the sun from his face. ‘Have you ever stared straight into the sun, Billi?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘It hurts. Sometimes brightness can be painful. Sometimes we need to live in the shadow, to protect ourselves.’

Billi frowned. ‘And what’s that, in English?’

He moved closer. His voice was quiet and Billi could feel his breath move in and out, gently caressing her cheek. His hand touched the side of hers and she sat very still. She waited, heart pounding, part of her telling herself this was just Kay, the boy she’d grown up with.

But it wasn’t. This Kay was very different. She turned her head slightly so his breath was on her lips. She lowered her eyes, looking at the curve of his throat down into his T-shirt and the way his chest moved as he breathed.

Kay stood up.

Billi sat there, stunned, as he broke away. What had just happened?

He pushed his hand through his hair and, not knowing which way to look, he stared down at his feet.

‘Just that you’re wrong about your father.’

No one commented on Kay’s black eye when they came back. Arthur and Elaine were still at the table, but the breakfast had been cleared away. Instead there was a plain pristine white linen cloth over the table. On it sat a large round biscuit tin and a leather-bound book, small, wrinkled, old.

‘There’s a packet of peas in the freezer,’ said Elaine. It took a second for Billi to realize she was talking about Kay’s eye. Kay found it himself and pressed the saggy bag against his bruised face.

Billi moved to the other side of the table, putting as much distance between her and Kay as possible. They hadn’t said a word to each other on the way back from the park.

The biscuit tin had a coppery tinge, and the lid was engraved with a profile of Queen Victoria and Albert. But Billi didn’t think there were digestives within. The book she didn’t recognize.

‘A diary?’ The bindings were similar to the others she’d seen in the Templar library, though this one was far older. It bore small bronze clasps, and the title was in gold leaf. Billi leaned over to read it. But as her eyes passed over the minute, faded letters a cold, creeping dread crawled into her.

‘The Goetia,’ she said. She looked up at her dad. ‘It’s not possible.’

The Lesser Key of Solomon. King Solomon’s occult writings on how to summon and bind Ethereals: devils, malakhim and Watchers. She didn’t know the book still existed. It was a book of the necromancy: the darkest maleficia.

‘Where’d you get it?’

‘Off some fool who thought he could summon the Devil,’ said Arthur.

‘You’re joking, of course.’

Arthur looked at her. It wasn’t his joking face.

‘What happened to him?’

‘Something bad,’ said her dad in the tone that meant this conversation was now over.

He pulled off the lid of the tin. Inside, covered in bubble-wrap, was the Cursed Mirror. Its surface seemed to ripple like oily water.

This was what it was all about, this small copper disc. How much pain, torment and slaughter was bound in its surface? Billi thought about the trapped Watchers, about the Nights of Iron, and about Percy, sitting there with his lifeblood dribbling down his chest. How many had already died because of it? And how many were still to die?

‘This is the only way,’ said Arthur. ‘We can’t kill Michael. But we can bind him. Trap him in Limbo forever.’

‘You can’t. Even Solomon never managed that. Michael’s an archangel.’

‘Solomon faced Michael at the height of his powers. He’s not the archangel he used to be.’

Billi shook her head. ‘Still, there’s no one powerful enough to try.’

Arthur’s stood up. ‘Yes, there is,’ he said, and slid the small, deadly book across the white tablecloth.

To Kay.

Elaine summoned up a programme on her laptop. Billi stood behind her while Arthur and Kay sat either side and watched a star chart appear on the screen. Elaine put on her spectacles and began clicking through the time icon in the corner.

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Billi.

‘We need to optimize Kay’s chance of success, so this –’ she tapped the screen – ‘is a programme mapping the movement of the planets over the year, for the northern hemisphere.’ She clicked open another folder and Billi saw a list of files, one for each of the Templars. Elaine double-clicked on Kay’s. A spreadsheet appeared, annotated in Hindi.

‘And these?’

‘Vedic astrological charts based on the date and place of birth.’ Elaine highlighted a row of numbers. ‘A Brahman mate of mine calculated one for each of you.’

‘What religion don’t you dabble in?’ asked Arthur. ‘Lot made do with just Christianity.’

‘Which was why, as you know, he was crap and always needed my help,’ said Elaine. She went back to the map of the heavens, opened up a scroll and pasted the numbers into it. She hit return and leaned back. ‘Give it a minute.’ She waved at the kitchenette. ‘Someone put the kettle on.’

Kay got up and Billi took his chair. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Elaine wasn’t a Templar, yet here she was in charge of its most precious treasure. She wasn’t even the right religion, and yet they were depending on her to beat their greatest enemy. They always depended on her.

Elaine tapped out a fresh cigarette. She offered one to Arthur, but he declined.

‘Oh, that’s easy: somebody has to.’ Elaine smiled to herself. ‘You knights are obsessed with dogma, doing things one way and one way only. If it’s not in the Templar Rules you’re not interested. That’s why you end up in such deep trouble. Your approach is blinkered.’ She pointed at Arthur. ‘Art on the other hand just wants to win, don’t you? So, you hire the best – me.’

‘But you’re not an Oracle.’

‘Thank God. I sleep badly enough without being disturbed by mad dreams. I’ve a tiny bit of psychic ability –’ she turned her head towards Kay – ‘but not like Golden Boy there. Enough to know what’s right and what works. The rest is just keeping an open mind.’

It was just like Billi’s combat training. Arthur and the others hadn’t taught her karate, judo, kung fu or anything that could be labelled. She’d been taught how to punch hard, kick harder, grapple, lock and hundreds of moves taken from all styles, all disciplines.

‘That’s why we sent Kay east.’ Elaine sighed. ‘Once he’s trained he’ll take over.’

‘So you’re training your replacement,’ said Billi.

Elaine glanced at Arthur. ‘Aren’t we all?’

Arthur put his hand on Elaine’s shoulder. Billi watched the two of them. There was a lot of unknown history between those two and she knew she’d never get to the bottom of it. Despite the casual way Elaine had put it leaving a Jew in charge of the reliquary would have created a major scandal within the Order. Even as Master, Arthur must have fought hard for the others to agree. Her dad cleared his throat as Kay came over with the teas.

‘We need to make contact with the other knights,’ he said. ‘If Kay succeeds… There are ghuls still doing Michael’s bidding. We’ll need to strike them the moment Michael’s been bound into the Mirror.’

‘How?’ asked Billi.

‘When I know who’s survived I’ll be able to tell you.’ Arthur pointed out of the window. ‘Trafalgar Square is the rendezvous point.’

It made sense. Lots of people, lots of ways in, lots of ways out. Michael would need hundreds to cover all the possible escape routes.

Arthur continued. ‘We agreed that any surviving parties would meet at six p.m., rush hour. I want you to touch base with the others and tell them what we’re planning and gather what news they might have. Report back to me and I’ll formulate a strategy.’

‘Gwaine’s in charge now, Dad.’

‘No, he’s not.’ Arthur scowled and turned to Kay. Despite his frailty Billi saw the fire in his eyes. This was Arthur doing what Arthur did best. ‘You’ll need to step warily.’

Kay touched his temple gently, but Billi caught the nervous excitement in his voice. ‘I’ve marked his aura now. I’ll spot him before he spots me.’

‘Good man.’

‘I’m coming,’ said Billi.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is Templar business; it’s not your problem now.’

‘I’m not doing it for the Templars.’

‘Surely not for me?’

‘You’re right. Surely not.’

For herself. For revenge. For how Michael had used her. And maybe… maybe for Kay. He’d need her if things turned violent. Which, given the situation, was exceedingly likely.

The laptop chimed.

‘What have you got?’ Kay asked. He looked both eager and apprehensive. This would be his Ordeal. A test an Oracle was never normally given. Billi could see Kay wanted this too much and it made her nervous.

They all stared at the map. Lines were drawn from star to star marking out astrological patterns, but to Billi it just looked like random shapes. Elaine took a deep breath and highlighted a series of points. These nodes lit up red, and a date appeared at the bottom of the screen.

‘Seven days,’ said Elaine. She put her hand on Kay’s. ‘We bind Michael in seven days.’

*

A dull, low grey sky hung over a packed Trafalgar Square. Billi was glad to be off the bus. She’d been feeling sick all the way, trapped under some bloke’s stinking armpit for the entire journey in the crowded, juddering vehicle. Drizzle spat on her cheeks and she pulled up her hood, then walked through a band of tourists, Kay right behind her, weaving through their backpacks and avoiding their cameras.

‘Sense anything?’

Kay shook his head. ‘All clear.’

In the centre rose Nelson’s Column, fifty metres high and guarded by four immense bronze lions. In each corner of the square was a pedestal. Three bore statues of the great and good, but one was empty. She kept to the north pedestrianized road in front of the National Portrait Gallery, a huge neo-classical building that ran the length of the square. Street entertainers directed small crowds to watch their performances: some guy was dressed as Charlie Chaplin, playing out a routine almost a hundred years old. A couple of rollerbladers weaving in and out and between a row of upturned cups. A Roman soldier painted silver standing statue-still with a bucket at his feet and children making faces at him. Billi watched them laughing as their parents tried to get them in order and into the gallery.

There were children everywhere. She watched a small boy in blue chase a cloud of pigeons off the ground. The air filled with flapping grey and black feathers, but the birds were too canny and experienced to collide with anyone. The flock took off, circled widely, then landed not a dozen metres away. The boy set off after them again.

She watched the happy crowds and shivered. It was cold up here, alone.

No, not alone any more. Kay stood silently beside her.

‘It’ll be OK,’ he said. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself.

‘Kay, the eternal optimist.’ Billi laughed.

‘True, very true.’ He gestured at the people below them. ‘If you could only see, just for a minute. Really see. Then you’d never give up.’

She watched him. Kay’s face held a gentle calmness, a certainty of purpose. He never doubted. It wasn’t the vicious fanaticism of her dad’s, just an unshakeable faith in what he did.

‘Do you think you can do it? The binding, I mean.’

‘I have to try.’

‘Kay, if you’re not ready then you’ve got to tell him. If it’s too dangerous you’ve got to say. Getting killed isn’t heroic.’

‘Billi, aren’t you afraid? When you go out on a Hot Meet? During the Ordeal?’

What sort of stupid question was that? She’d spent half her life scared out of her wits.

Kay frowned, then turned to look at her. ‘Do you know how I feel, when I see you go out?’ He lowered his head. ‘Unworthy.’

‘So, it’s just about heroics?’

‘Some things are worth fighting for.’

‘What things?’

Kay pulled off his cap and twisted it. ‘That dream of yours.’

‘But I didn’t tell you – oh.’

‘All those bodies in the streets, all that grief.’ He took hold of her hand. She tried to ignore how good it felt. ‘Can you imagine what it’ll be like here? How many dead? If we don’t stop Michael who will?’

‘You’re willing to risk dying to stop him?’

‘Could you live with yourself if you didn’t?’

A couple walked past. They held hands and the young man had a balloon, though he was in his twenties.

‘What do you see, Billi?’ He reached over, and touched her arm lightly. ‘He’s just proposed to her. You can see it by the light. He’s thrilled, but scared. They’ll love, they’ll live and they’ll die. Like all things.’ He seemed lost in thought. ‘But isn’t that enough? Isn’t that worth dying for?’

‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘Billi, you need to be –’

Billi kissed him. She didn’t want to hear any more.

She did it without thinking, because if she had her courage might have failed. She darted forward and pressed her lips to his. He was warm, and that heat flooded through her, a tingling sensation that sank into her bones. Her fingers tightened on the balcony edge so Kay was trapped between her and the low wall, their bodies squashed together. He cupped his hands around her face and Billi felt his eyelashes flutter against hers. Then, with a slight sigh, he drew away. Away, but not far. Not far at all.

His gem-like eyes were huge, clear and flawless. Billi could see her own dark orbs floating in them. Kay’s palms were hot against her cheeks. She gently leaned back and touched her tongue over her lips. Kay tasted nice.

‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’

They broke apart and Billi saw Bors standing in front of them, hot dog in his hand.

Doesn’t he ever stop scoffing?

Bors leered and ran his tongue over his ketchup-smeared mouth. ‘Because if I am I could come back later.’

‘We’d finished,’ said Kay, acting unfazed and leaving all the blushing to Billi. ‘You the only one?’

Bors shook his head. ‘Master Gwaine and Gareth are with me.’

‘Seneschal Gwaine, you mean,’ said Billi.

Bors pushed the last of his snack into his mouth. He talked as he chewed, spitting gobs of pink meat and onion over the floor.

‘Was it Arthur who gave the thirteen-ten? Needed his bed pan changed, did he?’

‘You shut your mouth.’

‘Try it, little girl.’

Billi stepped forward, but Kay raised his hand.

‘This is pointless. Arthur’s in charge and it’s as simple as that. Gwaine will toe the line if he knows what’s good for him.’

Bors wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve. ‘Think I’m scared of Arthur?’

‘Of course you are,’ said Gareth, emerging from the crowd. ‘The Devil himself is scared of Art.’ He signalled to Pelleas, who stood leaning against the wall, on guard.

They’d made it, thank God. There were smiles and hugs all round. Even Bors, despite himself, looked relieved.

Kay explained Arthur’s plan and they all listened silently. Billi stood beside him, amazed at how confident and sure of himself he was. He told them about the binding and she could tell they were impressed.

‘Why not now? Why in seven days?’ asked Bors.

‘The alignment of planets. Technical stuff,’ said Billi. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Kay interrupted before Bors could reply. ‘We need to optimize my chances of success.’

Pelleas and Gareth looked at each other. Billi noticed Gareth shake his head.

‘What? What’s wrong?’ asked Billi. ‘Hold on, isn’t Berrant meant to be in your lance? Where is he?’

Pelleas looked at her, stuck in indecision. Then he frowned. ‘Berrant’s dead, Billi.’

She stared at him. The words took a long time to register. ‘Dead?’

Pelleas nodded, his eyes downcast. ‘Michael found our safe house.’

‘But how?’ asked Kay. Bors butted in.

‘The wards on our safe houses aren’t strong enough. We might as well have a neon sign on our roof saying “TEMPLARS HERE”.’

‘Are you sure it’s because of the wards? Maybe one of his ghuls spotted you?’ asked Kay.

‘Your wards didn’t stop him in the reliquary, did they? What makes you think they’ll stop him now?’ said Bors. He spat some gristle at Kay’s feet. ‘You may want to take your own sweet time performing your mumbo-jumbo, but Michael’s picking us off. In a week there won’t be any of us left.’

Bors was right, though Billi hated to admit it. She looked at Kay, knowing the question only he could answer.

Kay’s face was grim. The survival of the Knights Templar depended on him.

‘Then we can’t afford to wait seven days to do the binding, can we?’ He turned to Billi. ‘We’ll do it tonight.’

‘No, I forbid it,’ said Arthur. The moment they’d returned, Kay had explained the danger they were all exposed to. Arthur was completely unmoved.

‘But, Dad, Berrant’s dead. The others –’

‘Knew the risks when they joined. We all do.’ He looked at Kay, Elaine and finally at Billi. ‘You thought about what might happen if we rush this and get it wrong? What might happen to Kay?’

‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ said Kay.

‘Are you?’ Arthur’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you willing to take responsibility for all the dead firstborn if you foul it up?’ He shook his head. ‘No, we wait.’

Billi peered out of the window. Fat dark clouds hung over the city, swollen with rain. The window hadn’t been cleaned in God knows how long. There were black smears where the raindrops had left their sooty tracks.

‘Then that’s it. The Knights Templar will be wiped out,’ she said.

‘Better we lose a handful of men than all the firstborn children of Britain.’

Elaine tossed a newspaper across the table. ‘But they’re dying already. Michael’s been busy while we’ve been sitting here on our arses.’

The headline was bold white on a black page.

WHAT KILLED THEM?

There was row upon row of photos. Some taken from holiday snaps, others were school pictures, kids in their uniforms self-consciously grinning at the camera. Billi scanned the article and stopped at a name she knew.

‘Rebecca Williamson.’ She barely recognized her in the photo. The face looking up at her was a cheery blonde girl with plump cheeks and dimples. Nothing like the skeletal child she’d spoken to in the hospital.

‘He’s killed them all.’ There must be fifty or more of them. Now the news was out, panic would follow. Already schools were shutting down. Soon the hospitals would overflow with worried parents bringing in their kids. And no one could stop it except them.

‘That’s what he wants, don’t you see?’ Arthur took the paper from her. ‘He’ll force us to confront him, to play our hand too early, just because of these deaths.’

‘Jesus Christ, Dad, we have to do something.’ Billi stood up in front of him. ‘You think after Michael’s killed the others that he won’t come after us? We can’t hide here forever.’

Elaine gently pulled Kay round to face her. ‘Can you do it?’ she asked.

‘I have to.’

Billi saw Kay swallow hard.

Arthur sat down and turned his ring round his finger. The other three stood around him, waiting. Eventually, with a sigh, he nodded.

‘Fine. Tonight.’

The only illumination in the loft was a single, bare light bulb, suspended from a low rafter crossing the underside of the roof. The air smelt of dust and fresh paint. Billi crawled in behind her father, and tucked herself in an alcove beside him.

The loft had been swept clean and the dormer windows painted in. Elaine and Kay were on their hands and knees putting the finishing touches on a two-metre-diameter circle, the Binding Seal. Within it was the six-pointed star with the Cursed Mirror lying, polished and gleaming, on a black velvet pillow in its centre. Despite the cold Kay was bare-chested and sweating. Across his forehead, around his neck, arms and chest, were small silver talismans, maqlu, tied in place with thin leather straps. He copied cuneiform wards off the Goetia beside him, a pot of white paint in his right hand, a delicate narrow pointed brush in his left. He looked up at her briefly, winked.

He looks shattered. He was constantly wiping sweat off his forehead, and balanced his left hand on his right wrist to hold it steady. The concentration was intense.

It had to be. A mistake now would be worse than fatal.

He blew on the finished calligraphy, then inspected the scroll, checking line by line for any mistakes. Elaine, bent double beneath the low ceiling, peered over his shoulder. Satisfied, she tapped him on the shoulder and nodded.

The ladder clanged noisily into place and Arthur pulled up the hatch, sealing them in the loft. Elaine joined them at the side, just outside the Seal. All three knelt there, watching Kay.

But was he ready? She’d read enough about necromancy to know what might happen if things went badly wrong. The theory was dangerously simple. Kay would open a portal into the Ethereal Realm, trying to locate the path to Limbo. If he got it wrong he might choose the way towards one of the other aspects of the Ether: Heaven or Hell. Once the portal was fully open, he would seek Michael out, possible now that he had marked him psychically, then draw the Dark Angel through it, and shut the door. But in the dim loft space with the dense shadows around them she was scared for Kay. What if it did go wrong? He’d cast himself out into the ether, among the countless things that dwelled there, many of them hateful of mankind. They could tear his soul to shreds. She looked across at Kay, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t lose him too. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe they should wait another seven days. Maybe…

Kay glanced up. He smiled at her and, exhausted as he was, there was that lightness in his face, in his smile, that seemed to brighten the room and push the shadows away. He turned to Elaine.

‘I’m ready,’ he said.

With Elaine’s help he tightened the straps and lashes, adjusting the plate on his forehead. Three of these small silver talismans hung round his neck. He unhooked one and clenched the metal between his teeth. His breath hissed fiercely through his nostrils.

Then he sat in the lotus position, the Mirror on his lap. The bulb, directly overhead, threw weird shadows and reflections against the sloping inner walls of the loft. Kay tilted his head back, eyes unfocused, and let his breath drop to the slightest breeze.

This was it.

The bulb hummed and dimmed away to nothing, sinking the loft into utter blackness. Billi felt her dad shift and goosebumps rose along her skin as though someone had stroked her with ice.

Kay moaned.

And the Mirror began to glow. First it was just a dim, pulsing hue of orange, red, gold, fading and rising over long intervals. It was barely bright enough to light Kay, its eerie sheen rippled over his gloss-white torso. His muscles stood rigid and the veins trembled. His teeth bit hard into the silver and his lips were drawn back into a silent, feral snarl. His breathing was coming in and out in sharp, desperate pants.

A chill breeze rose from nowhere and frost crept along the ground. The floorboards turned white as icy ribbons formed on their surface. In the increasing brightness Billi watched her breath form white clouds.

Intense light poured out of the Mirror. The blaze was steady and multi-hued. The patterns thrown against Kay’s flesh showed shapes moving against the light source and Billi almost jerked forward. Kay’s chest rose and dropped like a marathon runner’s, and the sweat glistening on his body had turned to minute ice droplets, clinging to his skin.

Voices whispered in the air, a distant babble of tongues that swam and flickered in Billi’s ears, incoherent, but urgent and urging.

Kay’s body jerked like it had been hit with electricity and the talisman spat out of his mouth.

Tendrils of black smoke seeped out of the Mirror, creeping cautiously along his quivering muscles, wrapping themselves about his arms and neck, probing at his eyes, his ears, his mouth…

Kay screamed and in that moment the smoke was sucked into him. His eyes stared out in horror and their blueness faded as the dark filled his body. He shook as the smokey, thick mists funnelled into his mouth, choking him.

‘You can do it, boy,’ whispered Arthur. He gripped Billi’s wrist, guessing, rightly, she wanted to jump in and help Kay.

Elaine began reciting in Hebrew, ‘Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad…’

Kay’s body pulsed and gross swellings bubbled and rippled under his white skin. Shapes, things, seemed to swim along his veins and black tears dribbled from his ebony eyes.

The roof tiles creaked and cracked, tiny ceramic slivers sheared off in the intense cold. The wooden joists were brittle with icicles and the floorboards moaned as they twisted under the terrible chill.

‘No,’ murmured Arthur. He looked around at the growing ice. Billi’s chest shook. What did he mean? Something was wrong. This wasn’t the multitude of colours she’d seen when Kay had inadvertently opened the portal to Limbo, and this certainly didn’t feel like a path into Heaven…

Oh no. They were trying to come through.

From Hell.

Kay’s eyes rolled sightlessly – they were black marbles – and oily tears streaked his face. A face, twisted and grinning, pushed against his chest from the inside, then sank away, leaving red welts where its teeth had pressed against his flesh. Large tumours rose over his body and Kay arched his back, unable to scream. He was battling spirits of the ether and losing. Any second now they would tear his soul apart.

Billi leapt across the Seal. It was like she’d jumped naked into the freezer; the coldness seized her lungs and made her gasp. The black smoke, now a solid, tentacled mass, sensed her presence and twisted towards her. Billi pushed her silver crucifix into her mouth and bit hard, then grabbed Kay. She tried to lift him, but invisible forces held him down. The tentacles began to crawl up her legs, and she felt their freezing touch sink through her skin into her bones.

Oh God, I can’t –

Arthur grabbed the Mirror and tossed it out of the Seal. The voices screamed, but only for an instant.

Billi collapsed in the dark. She felt Kay’s body go limp beneath her. He was ice cold. She wrapped her arms round him, pressing her body against his back, shivering but gripping him tightly.

C’mon.

Kay coughed and jerked. He let out a long, aching groan. Billi felt his hands squeeze hers.

‘Billi,’ he whispered. His voice was dry and cracked.

There was a gentle humming in the air. The bulb came back to life.

Arthur knelt beside her. His face was white with fear.

Elaine turned Kay over and stared into his eyes. She touched the silver plaque against his forehead. Then she rocked back on to her haunches and let out a long sigh of relief.

‘Well, bollocks to that idea,’ she said.

‘Put him in my bed,’ said Elaine. Kay hung slumped between Billi and Arthur. He was heavier than he looked and Billi grunted as she finally dropped him on to the mattress. Arthur was sweating heavily, and favoured his left side.

‘How are those stitches holding up?’ asked Elaine. Arthur waved her off, but it was clear he was in pain. So she checked Kay again instead, inspecting his eyes, his mouth and ears. She’d removed most of the talismans off his body, and arranged them round the bed instead.

‘Is he OK?’ asked Billi. ‘He’s not, y’know, possessed or anything?’

‘If you’re wondering if his head’s going to rotate all round his neck…’ Elaine stepped away from the bed. ‘No, he’s not. Some rest and he’ll be fine. Have bad dreams, though, I wouldn’t wonder.’

They retreated into the lounge. Billi collapsed on to the sofa, sick and exhausted. Kay’d failed. She’d been so sure he’d do it. They all had been. But it had been too soon – it was the wrong time to have done it. She knew he’d feel that he’d failed the Order when he woke – she knew how that guilt felt. But it wasn’t Kay’s guilt to bear alone. They’d all blown it – big-time. And would he be strong enough to try again, in seven days’ time? She didn’t know. That’s assuming they had seven days.

What were they going to do? Spend the rest of their lives running? Hiding in different holes every night? Always looking over their shoulders for the Angel of Death? They only had their lives. Michael had all of eternity.

‘That’s it, then,’ said Arthur. ‘My own stupid fault.’

‘It’s not, Dad. You were right; we were wrong. We forced you into it.’

He laughed, not for long because he went pale and bent over, cramped. He hissed through gritted teeth as he straightened.

‘Forced me, did you? I just… hoped.’ He almost laughed again and Billi watched his face brighten. Arthur finding something funny – now that was a first. ‘Foolish. To have hope.’

Elaine put her hand on Arthur’s arm. Billi caught her look, one of deep concern.

At least it can’t get any worse, thought Billi.

Elaine pointed at Arthur’s chest. ‘Don’t be shy. Let’s have a look, then.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. He grinned, but it wasn’t pleasant. ‘Had worse.’

Elaine wasn’t having any of it. She got him to take off the dressing gown and lift off his sweatshirt.

Blood caked his stomach. The bandages were brown with encrusted blood and fresh scarlet wept through them, thin trails dribbling along his abdomen.

‘You stupid, stupid idiot,’ Elaine said. She jerked her thumb towards the cupboard. ‘Billi, get my kit. It’s at the bottom.’

The first-aid kit was military issue: full of bandages, morphine and needles. Elaine began cutting off the useless old bandages.

Billi winced as Elaine tore off the dressing.

Arthur scowled at her as she then popped the plastic sheath off the syringe needle. ‘No drugs.’

‘Martyr till the last,’ replied Elaine. ‘Shut up and lie down.’

Arthur ignored her and lifted himself up on to his elbows and summoned Billi nearer. ‘The others will be waiting. They’ve got to know the Binding’s failed. Don’t want them going off half-cocked thinking we’ve taken care of Michael.’

‘Leave her be, Art. The girl’s done enough.’

That’s right, I have. What right did he have ordering her about? Not her problem. Hadn’t she made that clear? She tried to get Kay to quit, and look what had happened to him. Billi checked the bedroom door. Maybe after this Kay would see sense and realize the Templars were just bad news all round.

But was there any ‘after’? Michael was slaying throughout the city. Arthur looked up at her, face feverish. He demanded her obedience and she wouldn’t give it. She wasn’t a Templar any more. He couldn’t order her around. But…

If this wasn’t her problem whose was it? She’d do it for herself, not them.

‘Waiting where, Dad?’

‘Southwark. At the cathedral.’ His voice urgent. ‘They’ll be there for matins.’

Then the needle went into his leg and he sank back into the sofa. Elaine spared a moment’s glance at Billi. She wanted to say something, Billi was sure of it. Instead Elaine bit her lip and set to work.

Five in the morning. It was five in the morning and matins was in an hour. The world was asleep, and here she was, again. Billi stared empty-eyed at the fog outside the window, willing herself to get up, get her coat on and get out.

She found an old racing bike in the back of the garage. The rust on the chain wasn’t too bad, and she dug up some spare batteries for the lights out of a toolbox on the shelf. Billi zipped up her jacket and pulled the hood down so only her eyes peered out.

The icy fog broke over her in ghostly waves and the night was silent but for the creaking pedals. Billi fell into a semi-conscious, mechanical daze, just letting her legs turn the wheels, focusing on the spot of hazy lamplight ahead of her. The black tarmac ran under her wheels as she made her way into the City of London.

Killing Time, that’s what the other Templars called the misty gap between the night and dawn. How many times had she lain half sleep in bed, listening for the front door to open and the clatter of her dad’s weapons on the kitchen table? Then the prayers and the muttered discussions of killing and murder?

The chain rattled off the gears and shook Billi out of her dreamy memories. It dangled loose on the ground. She stopped by the roadside and inspected her bike.

Bugger, bugger, bugger.

It had broken. No way to fix it. She looked around. Fleet Street. Southwark was still a couple of miles on.

She’d dump the broken bike and get the night bus. Billi patted her pocket, relieved she’d remembered her purse. She really couldn’t be bothered –

Laughter drifted out of the darkness and Billi’s blood froze. It was harsh, cruel and laced with malice. It echoed between the walls and through the grey mist.

‘Welcome home, Templar.’ The voice, a woman’s, seemed to come from behind Billi’s shoulder. She spun round. There was nothing. Another laugh, just as vicious.

They glided out of the darkness, first indistinct, hazy shaped, then forming the shape of two women – the shadow-wreathed sisters she’d first seen in the hospital. They stood just within the glow of the orange street light, each moving with a predator’s patience, eyes glowing with eagerness. The one that had broken herself at the bottom of the stairwell walked clickety-click with her imperfectly healed body, her left leg and part of her hip at right angles, her face still swollen and black. The mist hung in white tendrils around her long, slim limbs: a ghostly embrace.

Instinct took over, instinct and fear. Billi ran through the side alleys off Fleet Street, her feet guiding her south without any thought, running along bare, slippery cobblestones that echoed hard with her fleeting steps. The terror overcame any pain she felt.

She looked round, just for a moment.

Nothing.

Where are they?

She turned into Pump Court and there they were. The blank glass windows looked down at her like faceless spectators, and she saw the sisters part, one move behind to stop her backtracking, the other ahead of her.

Perfect hunters, forcing the prey to them.

Billi dodged left, then immediately spun right. She dived past the ghul, and felt hard, sharp nails slash through her sleeve, but she was too hot and too frightened to feel the bloody cuts. She ran through the cloisters with its low ceiling and white-painted rows of columns. She had only one driving thought.

Sanctuary.

She saw it, suddenly looming over her. Despite the fog, despite the darkness, the pale stone building with its tall, lofty, stained-glass windows and massive black doors seemed to hold the fog and darkness at bay. Temple Church. No Hungry Dead could profane a house of God. If she could reach it she would be safe.

Billi ran across the flagstone courtyard, sprinkled with pre-dawn frost. The two ghuls screamed, and she saw a blur of movement ahead.

Billi fell down the steps to the entrance. Iron-stiff fingers dug into her shoulders, but somehow she wrenched free.

Sanctuary! She stretched out to touch the broad, arched west door, her only hope. Suddenly she was jerked backwards. One of the sisters locked her fingers round Billi’s throat, hoisted her off the ground and her head pounded with trapped blood.

‘Sanctuary,’ Billi whispered, hands straining out, fingers fully stretched, their tips so tantalizingly close.

The church doors exploded outwards, hurled apart by a hurricane. Devastating white light consumed them and the sisters let out a hellish, banshee-high scream before being swept away by the brilliant roaring wave.

Billi crashed to the ground, paralysed by the brightness. The light wiped out everything around her and it carried thousands of voices, a deafening cry of rage. She curled into a ball, eyelids squeezed tight, fists covering her face, but she could not escape the light. It burned through her eyelids, searing her retinas.

And then it was gone.

She lay there, too terrified to move. Her head echoed with the sudden absence of noise, and it was a minute or two before she dared lower her hands and, slowly, open her tear-swollen eyes.

A door creaked on one hinge. The wood was warped and its surface coated with ash. Behind her jagged splinters had embedded themselves in the wall. Of the ghuls, nothing remained except dirty black smears where they had last stood. Inside, the church walls were streaked with soot, and the flagstones cracked and polished black, as though exposed to immense heat. Thousands of tiny pieces of burning paper, torn from the hymn books, floated in the air like sprites at a ball. Glass tinkled like a shower on to the stone. Every single window had been shattered, leaving jagged glass teeth sticking out of the stone. Thin columns of smoke spiralled off the smouldering remains of the pews, each now a deformed, ash skeleton.

But within this devastated, burnt-out shell, Billi saw someone.

Standing in the centre of the choir, alone and bright in the darkness, as though glowing from within, was a man. Billi squinted, narrowing her eyes because he shone so brightly, as though a star made human. But slowly he dimmed, his energy spent, and she gasped.

He could have been Michael’s twin. The same flawless, marble-chiselled features, the same thick, sensual lips. The only difference was the eyes: they were hidden behind black glasses. The smoke coalesced around him into a suit of dull black. He walked towards her, the floor hissing as his bare feet trod the polished superheated stone.

‘Hello,’ he said.

He had shone so bright, the brightest star.

The Morning Star.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Billi.

He smiled. ‘Exactly.’

Then the Devil reached out his hand and helped Billi up.

Billi expected to feel pain or intense heat as he touched her. But, no, it was just a simple, lukewarm palm. Nothing special about it at all.

‘Well, SanGreal?’ He watched her. He stood in the centre of the molten holocaust and the vapours of steam and smoke ravelled around his limbs like serpents. His lips hinted at the merest smile, but the way he licked them was with an eager hunger.

Billi stepped into the centre of the round. It was the oldest part of the church, and where she’d been initiated into the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Jesus Christ, the Knights Templar. She remembered the candles, the nine empty chairs and the others, standing among the stone effigies of former and ancient patrons of the Order.

They were still there. On the floor around her were eight carved stone knights. William Marshall. Geoffrey de Mandeville. Gilbert Marshall, among others. But now their features had buckled and melted into grotesque, worm-like shapes, all nobility deformed and destroyed.

Satan drummed his long nails against a smouldering marble column.

‘You tried to come through, during the ritual. But we closed it down. How?’

He drew a circle in the air. ‘I need no trinkets to come to Earth.’ He pressed his foot on one of the effigies. The face melted like wax. ‘I am not bound to the Mirror. My kind can come and go as we please.’

‘Aren’t you trapped in Hell?’

‘What is Hell, SanGreal?’ He spread out his arms. ‘Hell is the cry of a starving infant. Hell is the begging for mercy then denied. Hell is the betrayals between man and wife.’ He pressed his hands together and the smile stretched. ‘The lies between father and child.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Hell is where the heart is.’ The Devil looked around the ruined church. ‘If God hears every prayer who hears the curses? The cries of pain? The bitter lies? We do. Eventually the torment is so great the Ether tears open and a devil enters the material world.’

‘You’re lying. If that was true the streets would be full of devils.’

‘And how do you know they are not?’

Billi backed away, but she had nowhere to run. As she retreated into the church, into the chancel, Satan stepped closer. Suddenly Billi felt her back against the altar. He stopped.

‘I am here to help you,’ he said.

‘How?’

He pointed at the altar behind her.

A sword had been driven into the large marble block. It stood proud, bright and high. Two metres long, the blade was only a thumb wide. It seemed more a rapier and likely to snap with the slightest impact. The hilt was neatly wrapped in silver wire and long enough for two hands, the pommel a plain walnut shape. Light slipped over its cutting edge like quicksilver.

‘What is it?’ she said, unable to take her eyes off it.

‘A Silver Sword.’

‘Who made it?’

‘I did. During the Rebellion.’

The Rebellion.

The War in Heaven.

‘That sword will kill Ethereals. I guarantee it,’ said Satan.

Billi climbed on to the altar. The sword was plain, elegant and without adornment. No jewels, engravings or runes of power. But it radiated a purity of purpose that all other swords merely hinted at. The first and most perfect weapon.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said.

‘Him too.’

She touched the hilt and a wave of energy ran up her arm, electrifying her body. She shook once as the fire burst through her heart and then the pain evaporated and she felt swollen with power. Her fingers wrapped themselves round it and she gently pulled. The blade drew out of the stone with no effort. She’d expected it to be unwieldy given its odd proportions; instead it sat in her palm with the lightness of a paintbrush. She carved her name in the air and it responded to the merest suggestion of wrist movement.

‘That sword will make you invulnerable to Michael’s powers.’

‘You’re giving me this?’

‘No, exchanging it. A deal.’

‘For my soul?’

The Devil grinned. He was close and the faint odour of old, putrid meat trickled from his mouth. He walked out of the ruined west door. ‘Come with me.’

Out of the fog crept a rusty old car. It could have been black, but was so covered in grime it was impossible to tell. The paint was peeling off the body like crusty old skin and the engine rumbled deeply like a snoring giant. Billi felt the vibrations travel through the ground and into her bones. The driver wore rags and was little more than a skin-covered skeleton. His eyes, mouth and even his ears had been stitched shut. Old brown blood encrusted the torn skin.

Billi’s hand tightened round the Silver Sword.

The Devil stepped in and settled himself in the patched-up leather seat.

‘I won’t hurt you, SanGreal.’

That’s what Elaine had said. Devils couldn’t directly hurt humanity. But Billi knew she was entering terrible danger. The low lamps of the car’s interior shone warm gold, the engine rumbled softly and the cold outside prickled her.

She stepped in. The Devil sighed as she shut the door.

She watched the city glide by, lit by the orange sodium glare of the street lights, lost and diffused in the fog. The darkness surrounded these hazy spots, deepening in the crevasses of the architecture. Blackness gathered under the bridges, in the empty doorways and many side streets that ran through the city. Billi saw a young girl, not much older than she was, curl up with a patchy sleeping bag in the dark open mouth of an alleyway. Billi wondered if she would still be there in the morning or would the shadows have claimed her? Maybe the Devil was right and Hell was here, just the other side of the windowpane.

The car drove the empty streets and it seemed as though light shrank from it. The darkness crept alongside the wheels, and just out of sight Billi sensed the chill of other things, perhaps the devils that did prowl the dark, answering cursed prayers and promising damnation. They lurked invisible beside her and in the presence of their master. The city beyond the window seemed to fade until all was mist.

Then the car stopped and the door opened. The driver bent low as the Devil stepped out. Billi went next and looked around.

They were outside Elaine’s.

‘Why are we here?’ The upstairs windows were dark. Everyone must be asleep.

‘So you can fulfil your part of the bargain.’

‘You want my soul?’

The Devil laughed, but shook his head. He touched the lock and the apartment door swung open. He pointed up the stairs.

‘I want you to kill your father,’ he said.

‘No!’ What else could she say?

‘Are you sure? Don’t you want to save the firstborn?’ The Devil raised an eyebrow. ‘Or Kay? Doesn’t he deserve to be saved?’ He wrapped his hand round hers and tightened his grip, squeezing her fingers against the sword hilt. ‘If positions were reversed do you think Arthur would hesitate?’

She wanted to say yes, her dad wouldn’t choose duty over his daughter, but the words refused to come out. She remembered Michael’s words – and how he’d brought the Templar Sword down on her arm. Arthur had done nothing.

Her life, or the life of every firstborn.

That would be no choice at all, for him.

‘That’s right.’ The Devil lifted her hand, raising the blade. Billi pushed with all her strength, but she couldn’t fight him. The weapon’s edge brushed her neck. The slightest pressure and it would open her throat wide. ‘He wouldn’t pause for a moment, would he?’ He released her.

Billi stood at the doorway, looking up at the bare bulb at the top of the narrow flight of steps. The fog around her rolled into the doorway, eddies of mist turning slowly in the entrance.

‘No.’ She couldn’t. Maybe her dad would choose duty over her. But she wasn’t like him. She may hate him, but if she wasn’t a Templar she certainly wasn’t an assassin. ‘Why d’you want him dead?’

‘They say that I am afraid of Arthur SanGreal. They are right.’ The Devil took off his glasses. His eyes…

He had none. Blood encrusted the edge of his sockets; the lids were wrinkled and curled back, revealing two empty dark holes. He gripped her cheeks and pulled her so their faces were a few centimetres apart. ‘That’s because I’ve finally met a mortal more ruthless than I.’ He gestured to the empty sockets. ‘Your father’s work.’

She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t help herself. Staring into them she saw endless darkness, an abyss. The more Billi gazed into them the more she felt she’d fall, fall forever.

‘I was summoned, years ago, by a bishop, who thought he could command me. But as I appeared the Templars intervened.’ He put his fingers in the two holes. ‘Coming out of the Ethereal Realm into this world of clay isn’t easy, and isn’t gentle. Tearing through the caul of reality takes immense effort and we arrive weak, disorientated. Otherwise your father could not have done what he did.’

That was how the Templars had got the copy of the Goetia. From this bishop. ‘So you killed the priest?’

‘I? Not I, SanGreal.’ He pushed the glasses back. ‘It was Arthur that punished the poor man.’ Billi’s reflection shone in the dark lens. ‘And his passing was not gentle.’

Billi dropped the Silver Sword and it clattered on the cold stone. ‘Kill him yourself,’ she said.

The two of them held fast, Billi pressed against the wall and the Devil hard against her. He slowly released her, leaving a row of bloody nail marks along her cheeks. He dipped his finger into his mouth. ‘Do you know what went through your mother’s mind as she lay bleeding to death in the hallway? Alone and abandoned? She realized, sooner or later, that would be you.’ He smiled cruelly. ‘You shall keep the company of martyrs. Isn’t that the fate of all Templars?’

‘But I’m not a Templar.’

The Devil laughed. ‘Do you really believe you have any choice?’

Did she? She’d quit and yet here she was, doing her father’s will.

He would never let her be free. She had to free herself.

Billi reached for the sword.

‘No, not with that. You must find your own way to do this. Leave it here until it’s done.’

Billi went up the stairs.

She unlocked the door and entered the lounge. She’d thought they’d stay up, but Elaine was slouched on the sofa, snoring. The table lamp was on and a copy of a book, The Talisman, lay open on her lap. Billi crept past her and took a knife from the kitchen drawer. It was a narrow-bladed skinning knife, stiff and softly curved. It would slip between ribs easily.

An assassin’s weapon, that’s what Percy would have called it. He’d hated knives because they could be hidden in a smile. He’d said the assassins killed as they embraced their victims.

Billi entered the bedroom.

The curtains fluttered in the breeze; her dad never completely closed his window, not even when it was snowing outside. Just enough light slipped through the gap to see he was asleep. Lying on his back, the blankets lay half hanging off the bed, his upper torso covered in fresh white bandages. Old thin scars decorated his chest. He’d been fighting his entire life, first in the Royal Marines, and then as a Templar. He’d survived all those battles, all those midnight Ordeals with ghuls, werewolves, ghosts, demons.

The Unholy rightly feared him.

Moonlight caught the long sharp edge of her knife. Any chest wound deeper than seven centimetres was fatal; Billi had ten.

‘Jamila?’

She froze as he whispered her mum’s name. Did he miss her so much that even now, instead of seeing her, he saw first his dead wife? Was Billi always going to come a poor second to a ghost? He loved death, not her. Arthur’s head shifted as he rose and leaned against the wooden headboard and his face fell into a shaft of moonlight. His eyes were red-rimmed, still dilated from the morphine, but they came into focus. ‘Billi,’ he grunted. ‘I thought it was… never mind.’

Then he saw the knife.

His gaze stayed on the weapon, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Perhaps his brain just couldn’t register it.

Assassin.

The best assassins were loved by their victims, until it was too late. How else could you get close to your target unless they trusted you? Unless they loved you?

How else could you kill Arthur SanGreal?

One life against thousands. It was one life against hundreds of thousands. The Devil was right: if their positions were reversed Arthur wouldn’t hesitate.

Slowly he raised his gaze until those blue eyes of his met her black orbs. His cheeks creased ever so slightly and the wrinkles around his eyes bunched up. He smiled at her. ‘I understand,’ he said. He looked down at his chest, then turned his face towards the light through the window. And waited.

Billi stood beside the bed, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it. Sweat coated her back. She’d only walked a few steps, but her legs quivered with effort. Only her hand was steady. She closed her eyes. She thought about Rebecca Williamson, dying alone and afraid. Like her mother. Like he would, one day, let her die.

One life against all the firstborn.

Her dad’s life.

She slammed the knife forward.

The knife stood jammed in the headboard.

Arthur looked up at her. Tears lined his weather-beaten cheeks.

The door crashed open and the light came on. Billi blinked in the sudden brightness. Elaine stood bracing the doorframe. Her hair was as wild as a witch’s and she stared at them, then at the knife a few centimetres beside Arthur. Her mouth hung open, then clamped into a furious grimace. ‘Tell her, Arthur! Tell her!’ she hissed through her gritted yellow teeth. She then straightened her baggy pyjamas and slammed the door shut as she stormed off.

‘Oh God.’ Billi stepped away from the bed, her entire body trembling. She stared at the bright blade quivering in the wood. ‘What? What, Dad?’

Arthur straightened up. ‘I’m sorry, Billi. I’m sorry about all of this. I just wish there’d been another way. But you couldn’t know. It was Kay.’

Suddenly it seemed so hard to breathe. Arthur took a deep breath, then spoke. ‘Kay said this night would come.’ He took hold of her hand; it was the only way to stop it shaking. ‘He prophesised you would kill me.’

Billi shook her head wildly. ‘No, Kay doesn’t have that power. He said so himself.’ Telekinesis, telepathy, aura-reading, all the extra-sensory perceptions, but not this; he couldn’t see into the future.

‘She will sacrifice the one she loves to save them. That was what Kay said, back when we first found him.’ His voice was just above a whisper. He’d kept the secret so long he could barely speak it. ‘Those fits he used to have, they were visions. We didn’t understand at first. But this one kept coming back.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I couldn’t, sweetheart. I couldn’t.’

Sweetheart? The word seemed so wrong coming from him. Arthur looked at her, imploring, his face pale and bloodless in the moon-glow. It looked like the face of a dead man. He continued.

‘Kay knew something was coming, something terrible. And he knew only you could stop it.’ He struggled out of bed and leaned heavily against the bedpost. ‘But I would have to die.’

Oh my God. Of course. All to try to stop the tenth plague.

‘That’s why I’ve trained you the way I have, Billi. I had to. D’you think I’d wish this life on anyone, most of all you?’

Kay had tried to tell her. You’re wrong about your father. He knew, he could see, Arthur did love her.

‘But I couldn’t let it show how much it hurt being… cruel. I had to harden your heart. Towards me. Make you ruthless enough to do what was necessary.’

It was sick.

‘So I’d kill you when I had to.’ Billi closed her eyes; her head spun with all this. Her dad had brought her up to kill him. And the other Templars, even Percy, they must have known. She’d been lied to by everybody all her life.

‘Say something, Billi.’

‘Jesus, I never knew how completely insane you were, until now.’ She backed towards the door. She felt trapped and suffocated. ‘You sick, sick bastard! How could you have done this to me?’

Kay opened the door. His hair was tangled, half covering his face, and he looked more dead than her dad. He tried to say something, but instead just stared at the pair of them with bewildered fear. Billi turned on him.

‘And Kay? Did Kay know?’

Arthur shook his head. ‘No. Those visions were driving him beyond madness. Elaine worked endlessly to draw him back. But the power of prophecy was lost.’

She covered her face, not able to cry, not able to scream; trapped between hate and pity. Arthur went to wrap his arms round her.

‘Don’t you touch me.’

He lowered his hands and backed away.

Lies, lies, lies.

The Knights Templar.

Bastards.

*

They migrated into the lounge. Elaine had pulled the curtains back, letting in the grey pre-dawn light. Arthur shuffled in behind her and Kay just stared.

She should be exhausted, but the trembling energies from the Silver Sword still surged through her, settled deep in the marrow of her bones.

‘Tell me, from the beginning,’ said Arthur.

Billi stared at them. There was a subtle change in each of their faces. Her father looked almost softly at her. The burden of his secret gone, she could see a lightness, only a slight lightness, but something new instead of that mask of iron. But Billi’s fury still bubbled. She couldn’t forgive him for the way he’d treated her. The way they’d all treated her.

Kay, still weak from the ritual, leaned against the wall, away from her. He was afraid.

‘Satan,’ he said. ‘You met Satan.’

Arthur stiffened. He’d pulled the knife out of the head-board and put it on the table. ‘Where?’

‘He’d been waiting for me at Temple Church.’

‘But why didn’t he just come through when I was performing the ritual?’ asked Kay. Billi wasn’t sure if he was pleased or disappointed.

‘He said that Ethereals are weak when they first enter the Material Realm.’ Billi checked the window; the Devil was long gone. ‘He offered me a Silver Sword, but only if I killed you.’

‘To fulfil Kay’s prophecy,’ added Elaine.

Kay suddenly moved. ‘I’ve never made any prophecies. You know I can’t.’

Elaine shook her head. ‘Not now, Kay. But when you first came to us. Should have bet on the horses back then.’ She laughed, but it withered as a poor joke. The sense of fear was thick in the room.

Arthur spoke. ‘Young psychics have an extraordinary potential. But it’s wild and will drive them insane. You were already in a bad way when we found you.’ He looked at Kay. ‘You’d been moved from foster home to foster home. Father Balin made you a ward of the Temple and that’s when Elaine began looking after you. But you’d made your prophecy. Something deadly and terrible was coming, and you said “she will sacrifice the one she loves to save them”.’ He turned to Elaine. ‘We argued about what it meant. Prophecies, especially ones looking well into the future, are dangerously ambiguous.’

‘And you thought it meant you?’ asked Billi.

‘Who else could it mean?’ he asked.

Billi closed her eyes. She wanted to shut off from everything. It was too much. Because of a boy’s vague prediction she’d spent the last five years being beaten, tested, trained and taught how to do terrible things. All so she’d be ready to kill her father. She struggled with her breathing. It was as though a giant invisible vice was crushing her from all directions.

‘I never wanted this for you, Billi,’ said Arthur. He sounded sincere, but so what? This was the life he’d given her.

Kay touched her hand. She looked up at him and there was such softness in his eyes, their blue light reflected his gentleness, and if Billi had been anyone’s child except Arthur’s she would have wept. His fingers wrapped round hers and Billi felt how smooth they were against her own, hard and calloused by years of weapons training.

Elaine cleared her throat. ‘What do we do next, Art?’

Her dad looked at her, then at Kay. He smiled, but it was sad. He was beaten.

‘You run.’

They were leaving. Elaine and Kay would take the Cursed Mirror to Jerusalem. Among the Sufis, rabbis and priests they hoped there might be someone who could stop Michael. Meanwhile Arthur would organize a feint, an attack that would distract Michael, hopefully preventing him from discovering the Mirror was long gone. Billi would go into hiding. With the prophecy proving a failure, Arthur wanted Billi far away from the oncoming battle.

Billi helped Kay pack. Elaine had grabbed two bin bags full of Oxfam clothing and dumped them on the bedroom floor. Billi picked up a brown polyester shirt with orange stripes and held it up against the light. Did Elaine pick these vile things on purpose?

It looks absolutely –

‘Don’t swear,’ he said.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘But you thought it really hard.’

Billi found a packet of thermal pants. She didn’t want to know how Elaine had guessed their size. She swiftly stuffed them in the suitcase.

‘You’re leaving, again,’ she said. ‘We could go together, if you want.’ And she would. No matter what her dad said. If Kay wanted. He shook his head.

‘No. It’s safer this way.’ He didn’t look at her; he just kept his attention on the clothes. ‘I had missed you, you know.’

Billi nodded. ‘If you’d told me that at the beginning things would have been a lot less complicated.’

‘You’re the only friend I’ve had, Billi.’ He paused. ‘Maybe more than friends?’

Billi thought about how she’d felt when she’d kissed him at Trafalgar Square.

She smiled. ‘I was hysterical then. It doesn’t count.’

Kay put the last of the jumpers in the suitcase then closed it. Billi could hear Elaine and Arthur getting supper ready. There were plates clattering and cutlery banging against each other. A kettle whistled.

‘You can do it, Kay.’ Billi held his hand. ‘You’ll beat Michael. I know you will.’

Kay frowned. ‘Then what?’ He spoke quietly. Billi remained silent. Even when he did return they wouldn’t be together. She wasn’t a Templar – he was. The Order meant everything to him.

‘It doesn’t, Billi. Not as much as other things.’

Billi raised her eyebrows at Kay. He’d been reading her thoughts again. But somehow it didn’t seem to matter so much now. ‘Then maybe we’ll be like normal people?’

Neither of them said any more. They both knew that was never really going to happen.

Elaine banged on the door. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

*

They gathered at the table as the food was served. Arthur said grace, then Elaine began ladling out the vegetable hotpot. Billi watched the way Elaine and Arthur worked, he passing the food around as Elaine filled the bowls.

‘Y’know what this reminds me of?’ Elaine looked about the table. ‘Passover.’

The meal held to commemorate the night the Angel of Death delivered the tenth plague on the firstborn of Egypt. Billi glanced over at Kay. See? She did pay some attention in her Templar lessons. Kay smiled. He didn’t look great: the effects of the ritual had left him badly depleted. Billi touched his hand under the table, gently linking fingers with him for a moment.

‘I don’t think smearing lamb’s blood over doorposts will stop Michael this time,’ Arthur retorted dryly.

‘I know that,’ snapped Elaine. ‘It’s what the blood symbolizes that’s important: the blood of sacrifice. The most powerful magic there is. Just killing a lamb wouldn’t mean anything now. The sacrifice –’ she glanced at Billi – ‘needs to mean something.’ Elaine took a tray of spinach and handed it across the table. ‘I used to love getting the food ready for the Seder meal. The horseradishes, all the chopped nuts and apples floating in the wine.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Do you know what we used to do? Do you know about the Elijah’s Cup?’

Billi nodded. ‘You fill an extra cup, in case he should appear at your door.’

Elaine clapped her hands. ‘Exactly! When I was a child we would pour the cup, then wait. But as we waited for the prophet all eyes would be turned to the front door. It’s an old trick, but the best. When no one was looking my dad would knock on the table! You should have seen the way we’d jump!’ She laughed and raised her fist above the table –

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Someone was knocking at the door. Hard, firm and steady. Kay stared towards the direction of the noise, his face ashen. Billi got up and in the silence left the room and entered the stair landing. A hot film of sweat ran down her back, clinging to her blouse.

Driven by an irresistible dread she descended, turned the doorknob and slowly pulled it back.

He smiled at her, waiting in the doorway. No threats, no sudden movements. He didn’t need to. With shocking, sudden clarity Billi knew she had lost. Truly, utterly and completely lost.

It was Michael.

He smiled at her, one foot on the threshold. ‘May I come in?’

She wanted to run. Her hand was frozen to the door-knob. Legs trembling, unable to respond. It took a few seconds to force her mouth to open and a huge effort to speak.

‘No.’ It was all she could manage.

Her eyes focused on the mezuzah in the wall.

Could it stop him? Elaine’s dwelling was guarded by dozens of wards, the mezuzah one of the most powerful. Maybe –

Michael smashed the box with his fist. He pulled out the small, delicate scroll and held it between forefinger and thumb. The paper spontaneously combusted. It was ash within seconds.

Like all Billi’s hopes.

‘You couldn’t stop me at the reliquary. What makes you think this –’ Michael shook the ashes away – ‘would stop me now?’ He stepped into the corridor.

She backed away slowly. A trickle of icy sweat rolled down her back, and every inch of her skin shivered with Michael’s oncoming steps.

‘Who is it?’ Elaine shouted from upstairs.

Run. She had to run. They all had to run. Run! She couldn’t get the shout out. Her throat was dry, tight.

She backed up the stairs, towards the open door. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him as he came in, matching her, step by step. But when she came through the apartment door she shot a look over her shoulder. Her terror-filled eyes were all the warning necessary. She turned and ran, stopping between her dad and Kay.

Michael paused by the entrance. He surveyed the room.

‘Hugues de Payens would surely be disappointed to see the Knights Templar sunk so low.’

‘Sometimes we enter the filth to find our enemies,’ said Arthur. He held a carving knife; Billi didn’t think it would do much good. Kay stared at Michael, his face pasty and sickly. He looked ready to collapse, leaning heavily on the table. Elaine had her hand on the biscuit tin. Michael moved into the centre of the lounge, savouring his victory. Billi had no doubt he’d kill all four of them with little effort.

‘It’s best this way, firstborn. Give me the Mirror and I’ll finish you fast and painlessly.’ His eyes didn’t leave the tin. ‘The plague’s not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.’ His eyes shone with anticipation. ‘At dawn, with the crowing of the cock, all those infected by it will die and I will watch the world reborn. From up on high.’

‘You can take your offer and shove it where the sun don’t shine,’ Billi snapped. Her dad slipped his hand into hers. Michael saw it and laughed.

‘How sweet, Arthur. I didn’t think you were that sort of man.’

He wasn’t. Billi felt him squeeze with his first two fingers. Once, twice, three times. A charge. She would break left, distract Michael and he wanted to charge him. With a bread-knife. Suicide didn’t even begin to describe it.

‘No,’ she said. Her dad tensed, but didn’t move. Billi stepped forward. ‘Look, Michael. You know it’s wrong. You can’t bring people back to God like this. This isn’t what it’s all about.’

He laughed. ‘Ah, is this the appeal to my better side? To my humanity?’ He pushed himself off the wall. Heat and light radiated from his body. Waves of hot air trembled between them. ‘You forget, mortal, I have no humanity.’

Kay lowered his head, groaning. The plates and cups on the table shook and jumped about, spilling tea over the yellowing tablecloth. Billi, still holding her dad’s hand, stepped away. Then Kay screamed.

The dining table catapulted across the room smashing Michael against the wall. Plaster tumbled off the ceiling as the wood exploded, sending jagged splinters across the room. Billi caught a few across the face before diving behind the sofa. A moment later that too flew into the air and crashed into Michael.

‘Run!’ shouted Kay. He stood in the centre of the room as chairs, plates, knives, spoons and practically everything that wasn’t nailed down flew like leaves in a hurricane around him. Even the floorboards creaked and groaned; their nails rattled and shook as they dragged themselves out of the floor, summoned by his will.

Michael rose, brushing off the dust then turned to face Kay. Heat erupted around him and Billi gasped as though she’d been pushed against an open furnace. Flames flickered along the wallpaper and the edges of the flapping curtains.

Kay glanced at the kitchenette. The drawers flew out and a shower of steel knives, forks and skewers burst across the room into Michael. He stumbled as the blades tore into his body, sprinkling the walls with his blood. But he did not fall.

She wanted to help, but Arthur grabbed her arm and fled, ripping Billi off her feet and through the door, Elaine a second behind her, biscuit tin clutched to her chest. Their ears popped with an implosion of fire and wind. The floor rippled and the walls slid half a metre sideways. The entire building shook violently.

Billi covered her head as chunks of plaster tumbled down. The stairs lurched and cracked. The front door at the bottom was ahead, but the building seemed to be sucking them in. The ground tilted and she fell forward, only grabbed by her dad a moment before tumbling headlong down the flight of stairs. Broken chips of brickwork spat on her face, stinging her cheeks with minute cuts. She didn’t know which way was up. Elaine rolled into her, knocking heads. A deafening wind howled down the staircase as though they were downstream of a jet engine.

Get up!

She threw herself at the door, which was already half out of its frame, and it crashed open with a jolt. Half crawling, Arthur and Billi lifted Elaine from under the armpits and together they fled out on to the street.

Elaine’s apartment was a blinding white inferno. The roof was a frame of black skeletal ribs, and half the walls had fallen.

‘Kay!’ Billi shouted. She’d thought he’d be right behind them, but she couldn’t see him. He was still in the apartment! She turned, but her dad grabbed her.

‘It’s too late, Billi! It’s too late!’

‘No!’ She fought him, screaming and swinging her fists at him. She had to save Kay. Arthur ignored the blows and wrapped his arms round her. ‘It’s too late.’

He pulled her away from the blazing building. Half a dozen people, dressed in pyjamas, dressing gowns or hastily tossed-on coats, stood in the road staring at the flaming building. Some took photos.

The final explosion threw them all off their feet. The ground rippled underfoot, breaking the black tarmac into thousands of chunks. The air filled with a blaze of white fire and Billi couldn’t get up. All she could do was try to gaze into the awesome light.

He walked down the street, stepping over the bodies writhing in pain. His clothes smouldered and ribbons of smoke twisted off his body. The light dimmed and there he was: Michael. Blood caked his body from hundreds of cuts and there were still knives jutting from his body, like some hideous St Sebastian.

The biscuit tin lay a few metres away where it had rolled out of Elaine’s grasp. Billi tried to stand, but even the air seemed too heavy. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop him.

Michael picked up the tin and tore off the lid. The glow from within bathed his face.

‘At last.’ He ripped off the bubblewrap and lifted the Cursed Mirror above him. ‘At last!’ Golden light poured out, brighter than the sun and he bathed in it. First, they whispered. Then they sang. Then the Watchers trapped beyond screamed as they poured their energies into the Material Realm. The heat doubled, then trebled, multiplying second by second as the portal to Limbo opened. Billi covered her ears before her eardrums burst from the devastating noise of the countless choirs. The light was unbearable and she buried her head under her arms. The tarmac beneath her began to melt and steam.

A thunderclap ended it. The heat was so intense that the air just exploded. The final shockwave passed, and Billi realized she wasn’t dead. The sky rumbled and the first spitting drops of rain landed on her face. She raised her head cautiously.

Michael stood in a blackened crater of molten tarmac. And the others gathered around him.

They appeared as hazy shadows, trembling against the fiery light, slowly taking form and substance. Each one screamed as he tore his way through the final barrier between realms and returned, at last, to this one. Billi watched them stumble, naked and exhausted, and collapse on the ground, black vapours rising off their still forming bodies. Dozens and dozens took the same journey and the street was littered with white, tattooed bodies. Michael walked to one and helped lift him up. They stared at each other, their golden eyes filled with Ethereal power. Michael embraced him.

‘Araqiel,’ he said.

The others stood. The shadows about their bodies rippled and wrapped their bodies with dark cloth. Against this their white faces shone with angelic light. Dark angels indeed.

The Cursed Mirror. Michael had dropped it. Billi crawled towards it. With it there may still be a chance. She stretched out her hand.

Michael picked it up. He looked down at her and cupped the disc in his hands. It melted like butter though his fingers and long strands of glowing molten copper dripped on to the floor, hissing and solidifying into a formless blob.

He then bent down and lifted her face gently. Those eyes that she’d once thought so beautiful and brilliant were now the eyes of a pitiless hunter. They reflected no warmth, no compassion. He lowered his lips and kissed her. Billi flinched, but his fingers clenched her jaw, holding her fast. It felt like she was pressed against a boiling kettle. She wanted to scream, but his lips held hers shut. Then Michael dropped her.

The other Watchers gathered around him.

‘Come, we have God’s work to do,’ he said. They turned away and vanished into the darkness.

Billi got up, took a few steps, then tumbled as her head spun and the ground swayed. She turned towards the sky, desperate for some cool rain on her face, but she was burning. She felt as though the raindrops were boiling off her skin the moment they landed. She couldn’t breathe. The air thickened around her. Her ears filled with an endless high-pitched buzzing and the ground gave way. Hands grabbed her as she fell and her dad was shouting at her, his eyes wide with terror, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Steel nails raked her belly and she doubled over, vomit gorging her throat, spilling out of her mouth. Elaine rushed to help and her hands passed over Billi’s eyes, just briefly.

She saw them, the cloud of black crystalline necro-flies, descending on her. She screamed as they infested her face, crawling over her mouth and her eyes, their drone echoing deep in her skull. She thrashed wildly, trying to fight them off, but they swarmed thicker and thicker around her until she was covered in them and her eyes filled with darkness.

The plague was unleashed.

I’m dead.

Kay’s dead.

We’re all dead.

She floated in the air, warm and weightless. She felt safe and secure, something she hadn’t felt in years. If this was death it wasn’t so bad.

But as Billi senses returned so did the pain. Each breath was like dragging broken glass down her throat, and white-hot needles dug into every joint.

Wasn’t all that meant to end when you died?

‘Billi?’

Her dad was close, looking down at her. He was carrying her in his arms. He hadn’t done that since… when? Ages and ages. He wiped her face with his sleeve.

‘Don’t cry. We’re almost home.’

Home? Where was that?

She looked up into the dark sky and floating above him were two knights, riding a single horse. The Knights Templar.

My God, the Templars have a Heaven all to themselves.

Just great.

She’d thought once she was dead she’d have a break from all that. But as her eyes focused the two knights became a small, black iron statue, atop a plain white stone column.

Home. What other home did they have?

Temple Church.

Elaine threw her coat on the pedestal at the foot of the Templar column and Arthur laid Billi on to it. Drizzle tickled her face, its coolness dampening the red fever boiling her skin.

From here crusades had been declared. From here the greatest military order of medieval times had made holy war. Nobles, princes and even kings had come here on bended knee and trembled under the gauntlets of the Knights Templar.

Now it was a fire-blackened shell. The windows all shattered and the doors boarded up with plywood. The rain merely smeared great streaks of soot down its white walls. Distant flashes of lightning lit the thick black clouds that loomed over London. The air trembled with thunder.

But there was another sound, almost drowned under the violent sky. Billi lifted herself on to her side, straining to separate the sounds.

Church bells. The city echoed with them. The noise rose as more and more bells joined the summoning. The black clouds seemed to shake with anger and thundered back. For a brief moment Billi hoped. She hoped that something would happen, anything.

Summoning the faithful. The fearful.

The rain beat down hard, wind screamed across the courtyard and Billi could hear the bells no longer. She sank back on to the hard, cold stone. What good would it do them? Michael had won. And tomorrow all the firstborn would be dead.

Kay was dead. She would be dead.

Arthur sat down beside her and stroked her hair. He leaned against the column and smiled weakly. There was a gentleness there that she hadn’t seen in years. He looked so different.

‘Art,’ said Elaine, pointing into the darkness ahead.

They came. Black silhouettes moving cautiously through the wall of rain. Arthur stood up and pulled out the breadknife.

The Watchers. They’d come to finish the job. A half dozen or so, but that would be more than enough. They moved with warrior confidence, not rushing, but approaching with a deadly sureness.

Arthur stepped forward.

‘Close your eyes, Billi,’ said Elaine. She bunched up her bony fists, determined to fight till the last. Billi wanted to laugh; she wanted to cry. Elaine hadn’t been a Templar in life, but she was going to die one.

No. She would not go eyes closed and on her back. Billi forced herself up. Her muscles spasmed, but she gritted her teeth and forced them under her control. If this was the end she’d fight. The black shapes came closer.

‘Art?’

She peered into the darkness. Hold on…

‘Gwaine?’ said Arthur.

He stepped out into the weak pool of street light. Gwaine’s face had aged, his cheeks sunken and deeper grooved than before. But his eyes shone wetly. He stopped an arm’s length from her dad. Billi watched as the others appeared. The air about them went still and she held her breath.

‘Arthur.’ He took Arthur’s right hand in his and went to his knee. ‘My Master.’

They’d come. They’d all come. Bors, Gareth, old Father Balin and the others. Pelleas hugged Billi, squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe. Even Elaine got kisses from Bors, and Billi watched her blushing and laughing in relief.

They’d come. They were few but, to Billi, she realized at last they were everything.

It was inevitable. She’d tried and fought against it. She’d quit and almost abandoned them, but this was her life, her destiny. Kay was gone and this was all the family she had now.

The Knights Templar.

‘But I’m coming with you,’ said Billi. She sat on a stool with a dense brown woollen shawl over her shoulders, feeling a hundred years old. The pain had turned down from un bearable agony to merely unbearable. Maybe here, deep in the Temple catacombs, the bones of the ancient Templars were better wards than all the magic Elaine could manage.

‘No, you’re not,’ answered Arthur. He raised his arms up as Elaine checked his bandages. He looked ghost-pale and gaunt, but he was Master and would lead the Templars. He beckoned Pelleas over, who had a heavy steel mail hauberk slung over his shoulder. Arthur wrapped a padded silk tunic round his chest, knotting short red bows under his left side.

‘Gwaine will take Bors and lead the feint. I’ll take the others and spearhead.’ Pelleas lifted the hauberk over Arthur’s head like a jumper. Leather cords ran down from the nape to the mid-shoulder blades. Pelleas knotted them while Arthur loosened the neck-opening.

Gwaine. She couldn’t believe it.

‘You’ll give that to Gwaine?’

‘He’s Seneschal. Why shouldn’t I?’

Billi leaned closer and whispered. ‘Dad, after what he did? He betrayed you.’

Arthur’s eyes met Pelleas’s as he bound his Master’s waist with a broad leather sword belt. ‘The Seneschal has my full trust.’ But the words didn’t reflect the icy, sullen stare that crossed the armoury to where Gwaine sat, fixing the bindings to his battle axe. It wasn’t over between him and Gwaine, but it would wait.

Arthur rolled his shoulders and settled into his armour. ‘How do I look?’

The thousands of polished mail links glittered in the low light. It was short, ending just below the hips, infantry style. The cuffs and neck opening were lined with leather and Arthur wore a pair of black combat trousers and shin-high stout hiking boots. He took a heavy sword with a plain cross-guard and iron walnut pommel. The meaty blade wasn’t long and it looked more like a machete than the elegant blade of a knight, but Billi knew it wouldn’t blunt easily, could deliver awful wounds and was her dad through and through. Sharp and brutal. He slipped it into a scabbard on his left hip. On the right was a pair of narrow-bladed fifteenth century Milanese stiletto knives.

‘Dressed to kill,’ Billi croaked.

Billi glanced around the armoury. Elaine wandered around the dimly lit catacomb, mouth open. She stared at the collections of bones in the alcoves, the weapons and armour. She tested the weight of a sword, and her face swelled red with the effort.

All Templars could fight with any style of weapon, but each had a favourite. Gwaine with his axe, a modified fireman’s tool, steel-hafted and just as useful for smashing as chopping. Gareth strummed the tight bowstring of his composite bow like a lyre, then ran his palm softly over the black eagle fletching of his arrows. Bors: a pair of short swords strapped across his back. Father Balin sat under a table lamp, carefully scrubbing off any dust or grit from the flanges of his mace with a toothbrush. Finally Pelleas, the classic duellist: rapier and main gauche. He stood in the centre of the armoury floor, eyes closed, slowly reaching down to his toes, stretching his back. His thin black leather gloves were tucked into his belt.

The Templars were ready for battle.

‘What about me?’ Billi said. It was a thought spoken out loud. She hadn’t meant anyone to hear it, but Arthur had. He put his weapon down and walked over. He sighed and crouched down next to her. ‘Listen, Billi. You’re to stay here, with Elaine.’

‘You’re taking Father Balin and not me? He can barely lift that mace.’

Arthur looked over at the old priest. She knew she was right; he was knocking on seventy, and he hadn’t been much of a warrior to begin with. She could see her dad didn’t like it either.

‘Balin’s made his choice.’

‘But how are you going to beat the Watchers?’

‘They’ve just arrived, so won’t be at full strength. We’ll strike hard and fast. Maximum damage in minimum time.’

‘What about Michael?’

Arthur’s hand tightened round his sword hilt. ‘I’ve beaten him once already.’

‘But, Dad, that was then. Now he’s drawn down all his angelic powers. He can’t be beaten.’

Arthur turned to her and hissed through gritted teeth. ‘So we don’t even try?’ He leaned on the table, his head bowed. ‘What else can we do but fight?’

‘Even when it’s hopeless?’

‘Especially when it’s hopeless.’

‘Why, Dad?’

Then he smiled. The sudden warmth took Billi by surprise. ‘Deus vult.’ He took hold of her hand. His palm was coarse and hard from years of handling heavy weapons; thick callouses lined his thumb and fingers. Billi had a few like that too. ‘Billi, I’ve ruined enough of both our lives believing in Kay’s prediction. All those years I’ve not been able to tell you how I felt, just to make you strong. You can’t imagine the fear I’ve lived with.’ He kissed her forehead. His lips rested against it and Billi felt tears drop, slowly trickle, down off his cheeks and on to hers. ‘You’re my life, Billi. I can’t live without you.’

He stood back and looked at her. Not like a Master would his knight, but as a father would his daughter. Arthur’s eyes gleamed.

‘Billi, I’m so proud of you. I always have been.’

Gwaine stood discreetly nearby, Arthur’s leather jacket over his arm. ‘We’re ready, Art.’

Arthur wiped his eyes. He took the jacket from Gwaine and pulled it on. Billi stood up as the other knights gathered by the door.

‘Where to, sir?’ asked Bors.

Arthur looked towards Billi, his eyebrows raised.

Where else would he be? Michael had as good as told her.

I will watch the world reborn. From up on high.

‘Elysium Heights.’

Elaine brought Billi a bowl of soup. Steam rose out of the tin pot and she sprinkled some coriander over it before handing it to her.

‘I’m sorry about Kay,’ said the old woman, taking the seat beside Billi. She put her bony fingers on Billi’s hand and she felt the old woman’s sadness as they trembled with suppressed emotion. Elaine had loved Kay too.

Billi closed her eyes. The hot soup was making them water and she didn’t want Elaine to think she was crying.

Kay.

He’d only just come back and now he was gone. There was a black hole deep in her and Billi stood at the edge of it. She was frightened to look down in case it took her forever, but that hole was made the moment Kay had left. She loved him. She’d spent a year alone and now that would be forever. She looked up at Elaine who just nodded.

‘He was a valiant knight,’ she said.

They found some camp beds and old blankets so Billi and Elaine set them up in the corner of the armoury. Elaine shifted uneasily under her covers.

‘Don’t like sleeping with the dead,’ she said, jutting her chin out at the pile of bones sitting nearby.

‘I doubt even your snoring will wake them.’

Billi wrapped the blankets around her and closed her eyes. It wasn’t long, but Elaine’s snorting snore soon filled the darkness. It rebounded off the close walls until it seemed to be coming from all directions. Despite her exhaustion, Billi couldn’t sleep. Sharp knives prodded between her bones and one moment her body shivered, and the next it was dripping with sweat. No matter how much she drank, she was constantly thirsty. And the buzzing…

The noise of the flies echoed in the dark chamber. She couldn’t see them any more, but she cringed at the idea that they were crawling over her. Billi lifted her blanket over her, pulling it tight. Maybe they couldn’t get her down here. She turned this way and that, until eventually she sank into sleep.

Kay.

Images rolled in her dreams, the flames bursting from the apartment, Michael crushed under the sofa and Kay. The way he’d smiled at the world.

Kay.

She missed him. Missed him more than she’d thought she would. That hole grew inside her.

I’m here, Billi.

They’d kissed. She’d never kissed anyone before.

Come outside. I’m waiting.

Her fingers tingled as she remembered running them through his hair, silver in the moonlight.

Please, Billi. I’m waiting.

Billi blinked her eyes open. It had sounded as though he was right beside her, whispering to her. Just a dream. She rolled over.

Not a dream, Billi.

‘Kay?’

Yes, Billi. It’s me. Come outside.

It sounded like Kay. She shook her head. It couldn’t be. Delirious. That’s what it was, she was delirious. The tenth plague was affecting her mind.

How stupid are you? Just look outside!

Now that sounded like Kay.

Billi stumbled barefoot up the stairs and paused. Beyond the boundary of the armoury what little protection she had would be gone. Even now she could feel the pain pulsing stronger and the red-hot claws scraping at her insides. She glanced around the courtyard, afraid she’d imagined it and he wasn’t there and it was all a dream and he wasn’t ever coming back.

Then she saw him, standing under the cloisters. He leaned against a column, arms crossed, without a care in the world. Ignoring the creeping illness that began to pollute her veins Billi stepped out into the rain. It flew down in dense sheets and the cold winds stunned her face, but she didn’t care. She shuffled forward, though it felt as though she was dragging her bare feet over broken glass. Even in the weak lamplight his skin shone brilliant white, his hair like spun platinum. The blueness of his eyes made her heart leap.

Kay.

Billi dragged herself under the cover of the cloisters and leaned against a column, trembling. She wiped away burning tears and stared at Kay, afraid to come too close in case this was a dream and he disappeared.

‘How?’ She came closer, but Kay took a short step away.

‘I was… saved.’

The fire. The building had collapsed.

‘The fire brigade saved you?’ She reached out her hand. Her fingers shook, but she wanted to touch him, to see if he was real.

‘No, not them.’ He came suddenly forward and held Billi’s arms and looked at her. ‘I came back for you, Billi. I couldn’t leave you.’

He was real.

Billi launched herself at him. She wouldn’t let him leave her – not this time.

‘I thought I’d lost you, Kay.’ She was cold and shivering and Kay squeezed her. ‘Where have you been?’ But she didn’t care; he was here now.

‘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.

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, ignored 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.

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?

‘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.

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 nostrils.

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.

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.’

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright Page

Books by Sarwat Chadda

Dedication

Devil’s Kiss

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36