Sarwat Chadda - Devil’s Kiss

‘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.