Devil’s Kiss

by Sarwat Chadda

  Greatest, that is, until now.

  6

  ‘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.’

  7

  ‘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.’