Sarwat Chadda - Devil’s Kiss

Slowly she opened her eyes.

Percival sat beside her, hands loose either side. His fingers trembled for a moment, then stopped. His eyes stared empty and wide ahead, and his mouth hung slack. Minute cubes of broken glass lay sprinkled like diamonds over him, some caught in his hair, a few embedded in his skin. Billi gazed down and her breath died.

A sword jutted out of his chest.

The Templar Sword. His jacket was awash with his blood. It covered the dashboard and it covered her; she could feel it trickle down her face. The sword had been driven straight through him into the car seat, pinning him. A single, powerful thrust and he’d died instantly.

Nothing flash. An easy kill.

The person on the bonnet hopped off. He walked round to the passenger door, opened it and peered in. He smiled at her and Billi’s heart froze. He slid his dark locks away from his face with his long, slim fingers and tilted his head lower, so their faces were close. Close enough for his breath to chill her, close enough for a kiss. Then those lips curved in cruel amusement.

‘Did you miss me terribly?’ said Michael.

A young woman, hair pale gold, with small delicate hands, grabbed Billi by the throat and wrenched her out of the car. She wasn’t even as tall as Billi’s shoulder, but she carried her as if she was a doll and dumped her on the black tarmac.

‘Gently, Eliza,’ said Michael. ‘Billi’s had a hard day.’ The woman grinned at him. Michael smiled back. ‘But I guarantee it’s about to get so much worse.’

Billi lay in a puddle, staring up at Percy.

He can’t be dead. Can’t be.

She waited, urged with all her heart, for his eyes to blink. But no, they gazed far into eternity. Some invisible force squeezed her chest, crushing her lungs until she couldn’t breathe.

Percy. She’d never really been alone – she’d always had Percy. When her dad would vanish for days upon end she’d had Percy. He’d babysat her, he’d cooked, he’d remembered all her birthdays. Billi sank forward until her forehead touched the wet ground.

‘What is it they say about Templars?’ Michael crouched down, pulling her hair sharply so they were eye to eye. ‘You shall keep the company of martyrs.’ He stood up, dragging her alongside. Arthur and Kay were likewise dropped into the circle of surrounding ghuls.

They stood silently, watching their victims, craving to kill. The Hungry Dead, it suited them so perfectly. Including Michael, there were about eight of them; Billi’s eyes were too filled with tears to be sure. Michael walked into the centre of the circle and tore off his coat. His T-shirt was gone and his bare upper torso glistened in the light drizzle as the black web of tattoos twisted and stretched, spikes and thorns growing over his heart. Down his back were two vertical scars, red, swollen and poorly healed.

How? She’d seen his head cut off. Cut off! Michael caught her staring. He stretched his neck so she could have a better look.

‘Can’t even see the join, can you?’ He laughed. ‘Honestly, did you really believe I could be killed by a mortal weapon?’

Billi got to her feet, fighting the fear threatening to drown her. Mike looked at her, amused. Then she slapped him. It wasn’t the strongest blow she could muster, but the most contemptuous. She felt sick, not just for Percy, but with herself. They’d reached this point because of her attraction to Michael. What had she seen in him? Ever? Every molecule in her body recoiled in disgust. He put his hand against his blushing cheek, and slapped her back so hard the blow knocked her down.

‘Never touch me again, mortal.’ He spat out the last word with venom. He strolled over to the car and reached for the Templar Sword. He gazed at Billi as he jerked the blade out of Percy’s body. Billi knew she shouldn’t succumb, she shouldn’t show any weakness to the enemy, but she couldn’t help it. Tears trickled down her face. Percy’s upper body leaned slowly forward, and his face rested on the dashboard. He looked terrible and pitiful with his huge soft brown eyes. She couldn’t bear to look any more.

Arthur lay on his back. He’d lost his slippers and he looked like some doddering old fool, lying there in his dressing gown and pyjamas, wheezing. His top was only partially buttoned and she could see his chest, white and lined with old scars, the ribs pressed hard against his skin. Billi helped him up. She couldn’t believe how thin he was. She’d always thought him so much bigger.

‘Get away!’ Kay was up, brandishing his silver crucifix. He stood in front of Billi and Arthur, vial of holy water in one hand, cross thrust out before him.

Michael circled slowly. Then laughed.

He turned to the ghuls and they laughed too, though Billi saw their hesitation. Only Michael’s presence gave them the courage to face the cross.

Michael shook his head and held out his palm. ‘Kay, give me that.’ He was laughing so hard he was crying. ‘I’ve stood at the right hand of God. I am an angel. An archangel. Do you honestly think that little trinket will protect you?’ He snatched it from Kay’s hand and tossed it away. ‘God gave me a duty. Should man stray, I was to chastise him.’

‘It’s murder,’ said Billi, painfully aware of Percy’s blood splashed over her.

Michael lifted his hands skywards. ‘It’s righteous punishment.’

Arthur laughed. It was a rattling croak pulled out of his chest and it collapsed into a coughing fit. ‘You abandoned Heaven. Cut off your wings.’ He pointed at his own back. ‘That’s why those scars have never healed. You’re a fool, Michael, an arrogant fool. Man hasn’t fallen, it’s you. Do you honestly think God will ever take you back?’

Michael leapt the short distance and grabbed Arthur’s throat, dragging him to his feet. His face transformed, momentarily, into a snarling beast, lips peeled back, his eyes wild and face contorted with rage.

‘It is not I that has fallen, but you!’ He tossed Arthur back to the ground. ‘Once I have the Mirror, and the power of all my brothers and sisters, I will sacrifice every firstborn and God will know how much I love Him.’ Michael gazed upwards into the obscuring mist. ‘I will send Him a million souls to sing His glory.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘You kill and call it prayer. A sacrifice is done out of love. Everything you do is fuelled by hate.’

Michael’s jaw tensed, and for a second Billi thought he was going to strike her dad’s head off, but instead the Dark Angel approached her.

‘You dare criticize me?’ He pressed the flat of the red blade against Billi’s cheek, smearing it with Percy’s blood. ‘I could threaten you, Arthur. Torture you to reveal where the Mirror is, but somehow I think you’d welcome that.’ He nodded at one of the others. ‘You don’t value your life at all.’

Suddenly two of the ghuls grabbed Billi. One across her chest, the other her left arm. Their hold was stone-solid, locking her rigid. She tried to resist, but centimetre by centimetre her arm was pulled out straight in front of her. Mike rested the sword on it, just above the wrist. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur.

‘But what about Billi? Would you sacrifice her?’ He looked towards Billi, eyes shining with savage lust. ‘Sacrifice your beloved child?’

He raised the sword.

Billi tried to pull her arm back, but she couldn’t break the grip. She looked from the blade to her arm, then back to the blade. It would slice through her muscle, through her bone, like a razor though tissue paper. She of all people knew how deadly it was: she’d spent hundreds of hours sharpening it.