‘You don’t need to pander to my anything,’ snapped Kay.
‘You prick.’ She couldn’t believe it. How dare he read her mind? And just when she was beginning to like him again. Well, she was an idiot.
Kay stood up, his palms open. ‘Look, I couldn’t help it. I can’t just turn it off and on like that. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘Get lost.’ She wrapped her scarf twice round her neck and crossed over to another table. She’d wait for Percy there.
When Percy collected them Billi made sure she got in the front seat next to Percy so she wouldn’t be near Kay or even have to look at him. She didn’t need to be psychic to feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, but she refused to budge even when he accidentally-on-purpose shoved the back of her seat.
God, he was so irritating! If he could steal into her mind at any time how could she trust him with anything? Or keep her feelings to herself?
Billi concentrated hard on trying not to think anything at all, and certainly not about Kay.
She heard him huff with frustration. Maybe her being angry helped block him out. Good. She could stay angry at him for a long, long time.
They pulled up in King’s Bench Walk and went to Chaplain’s House, where they told Percy and Balin everything they’d seen. Billi was surprised her dad wasn’t around, but didn’t comment. Kay remained with Father Balin, so Billi wandered home with Percy.
‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked as they reached her front door. Percy frowned and looked down his huge chest at her.
‘Can’t say, sweetie. But he’ll be back in the morning.’
‘What’s going on, Percy?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t know for sure, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Now you get some rest.’ He pushed the door open for her and left.
The hallway walls seemed close around her, trying to trap her. The ancient faces of the past Templars peered down, judging her, as she walked by. She hung up her coat beside the portrait of Jacques de Molay and glared at the Order’s last Grand Master. De Molay was seen by the Templars as a hero. A martyr. He’d been burned alive, willingly going to the fire, because he believed in the Order and refused to abandon the Templars. But Billi didn’t want to be a hero. And she certainly didn’t want to be a martyr. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to hang out in cinemas, go to clubs, go on dates…
She would see Mike tomorrow. The Templars had managed without her for the last nine centuries, they could manage without her for one night, at least. She turned her back on the old Grand Master.
The kitchen was empty but for a cold cup of tea Arthur had left. She opened the fridge, but there was just a packet of sausages and a pint of skimmed milk. Even now she couldn’t bring herself to eat pork. Maybe Gwaine was right: once a Muslim always a Muslim. So Billi poured herself a glass of milk, and went to bed.
10
‘Billi, wake up.’
Billi shuffled under her duvet. Was someone knocking at her door?
‘Wake up, sweetheart.’
She wiped her hair out of her face and found her clock.
4.15 a.m. She rubbed her eyes. Yes. 4.15 in the morning.
The knocking on her door became urgent.
‘Get up, you lazy squire. Immediately.’
‘Percy?’
The door opened and Percy switched on the light. Billi grimaced at the glaring brightness.
‘Ah, the princess awakes at last. Get dressed. Art wants you down at the church, like right now.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Something important.’
They were all there. Arthur had sent word and they’d all come back that very night. He’d called a Council of War.
In the round of Temple Church stood nine chairs. High backed, engraved with ancient images of war and faith, they’d been arranged in a loose circle lit only by candlelight that flickered on the grim faces of the men that sat there. Thin ribbons of smoke spiralled from the candles into the lofty, dark ceiling. Beyond this circle was gloom.
Billi took her seat. Kay was beside her, his face impassive but eyes bloodshot; he obviously hadn’t slept. On her right side was the other squire, Bors, Gwaine’s nephew. He glanced at Billi, his eyes hooded and lips curled in slight disdain. At twenty he was the second biggest warrior in the Order. Next year he’d qualify as a knight and he clearly resented still being seated among the squires.
Arthur’s hands gripped the armrests. Behind his chair stood Father Balin, pale as a midnight ghost. He wasn’t part of the fighting order so did not have a seat. But as the Chaplain he had a right to be present, even at a Council of War. To Arthur’s right was Gwaine, as Seneschal he took the next most honoured position to the Master. On Arthur’s left was Percy, the Templar Marshall, the Master of Arms. Billi looked round the circle at the others.
Pelleas looked tired. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage and he struggled to keep straight in his chair. The werewolf hunt must have gone badly, no doubt she’d hear all about it soon enough. But that could not be why the Council had been called; they were used to dealing with werewolves. Beside Pelleas sat Gareth, small but with powerful shoulders. He nodded briefly at Billi. He seemed relaxed but his fingers nervously fiddled with a short length of black feather, fletching from his signature weapon, the bow.
Berrant sat opposite him, between Gwaine and Kay. The youngest of the knights, he polished his glasses on his sleeve before sliding then back on his straight narrow nose. He was the Order’s computer expert and hacker. He was also one of the deadliest duellists alive. His high cheekbones gave him a sunken, skeletal appearance in the shadowy light.
‘Where’s Elaine?’ asked Pelleas. Billi checked over her shoulder to the pews, where Elaine usually sat, but they were empty. Being Jewish she couldn’t be a member of the Order but given that Arthur had summoned them all, it was odd she was missing.
‘She’s busy,’ said Arthur. He looked towards Kay. ‘The Oracle has something to tell us.’
Not squire Kay any more. Oracle. Chairs creaked as the others all turned to Kay. Billi watched him steady himself before speaking. He was the same age as her, but his responsibilities were a hundredfold greater. The Templars were counting on him and this was his chance to prove his worth.
‘Billi and I witnessed a girl, Rebecca Williamson, having her soul devoured.’
Father Balin crossed himself, and a long silence followed Kay’s statement. Percy and Arthur exchanged a concerned glance and Billi wondered why. What did they know?
‘How?’ asked Gwaine. ‘What will become of her?’
Kay shook his head. ‘She won’t become one of the Hungry Dead, if that’s what you mean.’
‘You sure, boy?’
Kay’s eyes locked on the Seneschal and there was steel in his gaze. The old man held it, but not for long. Arthur watched, and leaned back into his chair.
‘Explain,’ he said.
‘A ghul can only be created voluntarily. To become such an abomination you must renounce all that is holy and give up your soul through your own free will.’ He sighed, and Billi wanted to say something. He looked so tired. ‘That’s certainly not Rebecca’s case. She’s fighting it all the way.’
‘So she might survive?’ asked Balin.
‘No.’
Gareth tucked his feather behind his ear. ‘And what of the other children?’
Billi stiffened. She’d forgotten. As well as Rebecca there had been four others.
‘They’ve been cremated. We don’t need to worry about them.’ Arthur was chillingly matter of fact.
‘We’re avoiding the key issue,’ Berrant said, straightening his glasses. ‘Who’s behind it, and are these four the only ones?’ He lifted up three fingers. ‘Soul taking can only be done by an Ethereal, an angel. We all know that.’ He counted them off. ‘Either one of the malakhim, or a devil or a Watcher.’
‘A devil, surely?’ said Gwaine.