Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

Kay.

She could picture the white-blond hair, the albino-pale skin, the secret smile he used to have, like he knew all the answers. They’d grown up and trained side by side. They’d made plans to leave the Templars and be like normal people-to be together. It had been a lie, of course. There was only one way out of the Templars.

Kay would welcome Pelleas now.

“Pelleas?” asked Elaine.

“There was nothing I could do. There were two of them.” Billi waited for a response, but Elaine stayed quiet. Her fingers dug into Billi’s muscles, and Billi gritted her teeth, feeling the blood seeping down her back.

“Saved that girl, though,” said Elaine. She pulled out a box and opened it. The van was suddenly filled with the odor of rotten vegetables and oil.

“They wanted her badly,” Billi said. “Think she could be one?”

Elaine paused. “An Oracle?” She pressed a wet flannel over Billi’s cuts. “Maybe.” Elaine used the Templar term too, but they used to be called witches , or prophets . The modern secular word was psychic . It was children such as these the werewolves ritually sacrificed to their goddess, believing thatin return she would bestow on them a spring season full of good hunting.

Billi winced as Elaine got busy with a pair of silver tweezers, not too gently poking the open wounds to check that no claw shards remained. She tightened her hands into fists and buried her face farther down. Jesus, that hurts .

Elaine laid the wet poultice on Billi’s bare back, pressing it firmly into the channels of flesh, making sure the medicine soaked in deeply.

“It stinks,” said Billi.

“This, girl, is my own special recipe. Wolfsbane, a dash of holy oil, and ground-up werewolf bones. You know how hard it is to get werewolf bones? How much it costs?”

“Bet it cost some loony an arm or a leg.”

Elaine laughed. “Too true. An arm, in this case.”

“How long do I have to keep it on?”

“It takes a while for the herbs to soak in. So keep it on for a few days-long enough to suck the poison out. You don’t want to turn, do you?”

As if she didn’t know. Billi had spent the last few months studying nothing but lycanthropy. Anyone could turn into a werewolf if they were scratched or bitten by one. Everyone had the Beast Within. It was the savage part of their soul that reveled in slaughter and violence. It was bloodlust.

If injured by a werewolf, the Beast Within would awaken. First there’d be the dreams-of hunting, of running in dark forests and howling. Then the appetite would change-there’d be a craving for raw meat and red juices. The redder the better. Rage would come. Mindless and psychotic urges to kill and feed. Giving in to it accelerated the transformation process. So for some the change was swift; others-those with strong wills-held on to their humanity longer.

Eventually, though, everyone gave in, and a new werewolf would howl with joy beneath the moon’s ghostly light. Nothing human would remain except for the eyes. The eyes stayed human. Only Elaine’s poultice prevented the infection from taking hold. It had saved more than a few knights in the past.

“You…don’t think that’ll happen? Do you?”

Elaine tore off long strips of tape. “No, but call me if you have any strange urges.”

“Like what?”

“Like wanting to chase cats.”

Once the bandages were fixed, Elaine handed Billi a fresh shirt and unrolled a blanket. She stepped out for a cigarette break while Billi changed. Billi glanced at her watch: two in the morning. With any luck she’d get four hours’ sleep, then up for morning prayers and off to school.

Just great. PE tomorrow. How was she going to explain why she looked like Tutankhamen? The immense weight of tonight’s action bore down on her hard, squeezing her into the mattress. It seemed like her bones were made of lead; she couldn’t move for the exhaustion. Just a few hours’ sleep…

“Well?” came Elaine’s voice from outside.

“Too late,” said Arthur wearily. “Pelleas is dead.”

Even though she’d known it, it still hurt. Billi closed her eyes and tried to ignore the black hole in her stomach.

Arthur continued. “We’ll grab what we can, then get out of here. A bloody balls-up, Elaine. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent Billi out so soon.” He shuffled. “How is she?”

Billi heard the sharp rip of a match, swiftly followed by Elaine’s wheezing. They were just outside. The van softly tilted as someone, Dad probably, leaned against it.

“She’ll be okay.”

“Will she?” Billi heard him kick a stone in frustration. “She’s changed, Elaine.”

Billi’s eyes felt hot and watery. She blamed it on the wolfsbane poultices.

He sighed. “It’s been three months, but, if anything, she’s worse.”

“She loved Kay. You of all people should understand that.”

“But she’s just a child.”

“Sixteen in a few months,” Elaine said. “She’s young, Art, but I don’t think she’s ever been a child. Kay died, and she thinks it was her fault. She’s taken on a lot of responsibility.”

“She’s a Templar.” Elaine changed the subject. “What about the girl? Think she could be one?”

“An Oracle? Lot of effort’s been put in if she isn’t.” Arthur tapped his sword hilt against the van. “Werewolves aren’t usually wrong about this sort of thing. They did the same with Kay, remember? The Bodmin pack came looking soon after we found him.” The van rocked slightly as Arthur moved. “But they’ve stuck to the accord ever since.”

“Ever since you chopped their leader’s arm off.”

“Right.”

“And if she is an Oracle?” asked Elaine. Billi could hear the fear-and excitement-in the old woman’s voice.

“Then thank God we got to her first.” Arthur’s boots squelched in the slush as he walked away.

BILLI SLEPT IN THE VAN AND ONLY STARTED TO STIR when the tires trundled over the cobbles of Temple District.

Home .

She sat up and leaned over the passenger seat. It was still early, and the sun wouldn’t be up for a few hours yet. The van’s engine echoed within the narrow confines of the alleyways that dropped south of Fleet Street and into Temple District. Bors was slumped in the passenger seat, his twin swords beside him. Billi knocked them onto the floor with a clatter as she climbed up front.

“Oi, watch it,” muttered Bors as he rubbed the sleep out of his face. Blinking blearily, he searched the dashboard until his hand found a sausage roll, which he shoved into his mouth. He caught Billi’s stare. “Sorry,” he said, spitting flakes over his lap. “Did you want some?”

“God Almighty, d’you have a trough at home or what?”

They entered the main Temple parking lot and found Father Rowland waiting for them with Mordred, the new squire. The chaplain’s thin frame was lost in a huge black overcoat, his bald head and the tips of his frozen ears the only things visible above his scarf.

Bors jumped out the moment the van halted. He handed his swords over to Mordred. “Polish these.” He licked the last few crumbs off his fingers. “And before breakfast, mind.”

The two couldn’t be more different. Mordred, an Ethiopian refugee the Order had literally picked up off the streets, was tall and elegant, with jet-black skin and deep thoughtful eyes. Bors, bigger in girth if not height, was a cannonball of muscle. His neck was nonexistent, his jaw comprised of a patch of ginger bristles, and his eyes were piggy and close together. But he was a knight, and Mordred was a squire.

“Want him to run your bath while he’s at it?” said Billi as Mordred left.