Sarwat Chadda - Devil’s Kiss

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.