Devil’s Kiss

20

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.’