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.
‘Well, Arthur?’
Billi tensed. She fought to control her breathing and bound her left hand into a fist. Sweat soaked her back and her arm trembled wildly. Michael had killed her mother and now he was going to kill her.
A Templar does not tremble.
But she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t a Templar. She was frightened and weak. She couldn’t be ruthless the way she should be. Not the way her dad wanted her to be. She bit her lip and looked at her father and in that terrible moment she knew. He gazed back, blank and cold. It was a simple choice. Save Billi or the lives of a million innocent children. Arthur turned away from her. He wasn’t going to save her. Kay groaned in despair, but he couldn’t help: he was flat on the ground with one of the ghuls pressing his foot down on his head.
Michael sighed in mock sadness.
‘See, Billi? Didn’t I tell you? He cares nothing for you. You’re right to hate him.’ He sighed again. ‘Last chance, Arthur. The location of the Mirror or your daughter loses her arm.’
The only noise was Billi’s desperate panting. Michael looked at her.
‘So be it.’
Oh God.
The blade stung her wrist and Billi screamed. She tore her arm free and collapsed, cradling it in her lap. She stared and saw -
Her wrist. It bore only the slightest cut. Fear gripped her, but she forced her trembling fingers to bend. They did. She opened and closed them. She was OK. Her dad had called Michael’s bluff. Tears ran down her face. Thank God. Michael had been bluffing.
Michael laughed and strolled over to Arthur. ‘That’s what I love about you, Arthur: you’re an ice-hearted bastard. You remind me of me.’ He handed the sword over to one of the ghuls – a big, blond guy – beside him. ‘Take this, Ryan.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘There’s one guaranteed way to find out the truth.’
The ghuls ignored Billi; their attention was focused on Arthur and their leader. Michael put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and forced him to his knees. He ran his hands over Arthur’s head, drawing them together so he cupped his face. Arthur snarled, but couldn’t break free of the angel’s grip.
‘Open your mind to me.’ His fingers caressed Arthur’s cheeks. ‘You’ll fight; I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now, to tell you the truth, I’m not as subtle as your Oracle. I can’t dip softly in and out.’ His nails dug into Arthur’s flesh and drew tiny beads of blood. ‘I will ravage your mind. Tear it to shreds. When I’m done I’ll know where the Mirror is and you’ll be a drooling vegetable.’ He looked over at Billi. ‘It might even improve your relationship with your daughter. God knows it couldn’t get any worse.’
They stared at each other: Michael’s fiery eyes glowing with fever; Arthur’s chilly and pale. A feeble groan slipped out of Arthur, then he locked himself rigid. The change was immediate as his eyelids half sank, and his blue orbs radiated intense concentration. Sweat bubbled across his forehead and his breathing slowed as he fell into a trance.
Michael pressed his fingers deeper into Arthur’s face. ‘Open to me,’ he whispered.
Even Billi, with no measurable psychic power, felt the tremor of energy ripple from the two of them, angel and Templar Master, locked in motionless battle. Waves of quivering emotion washed over her, over them all, as the two minds fought for dominance. Arthur’s breath hissed through his clenched teeth.
The psychic explosion ripped through her like a super-nova. Billi cried as the raw shockwave tore through her mind. Her senses screamed as they burned out and what was left was crystal clear and terrible.
The desert wind at night is cold, but he savours the sharp, prickling sensation of it on his flesh. He stretches out his long, powerful arms, gazing at his moon shadow upon the sand. Though he has no pride, he knows he is beautiful.
What it is to have mortal form! Mankind is truly blessed with such gifts.
He waits on the hilltop above the city. A man wrapped against the bitter night makes his way slowly up the goat track towards him.
The prophet. Moses.
Below them the city lies asleep. A few torches blaze along the palace battlements, and among the patrols of soldiers making their way through the narrow streets between the mud-brick huts and houses. The city has been disturbed by omens and supernatural signs.
But they think the worst is over. They are wrong.
The prophet stops some yards away. He’s dressed in simple, heavy cotton and carries a tall stick, the branch of a cedar. Once he would have worn the softest white linen and carried a golden sceptre. Like his brother. The pharaoh.
‘Is it done?’ asks the prophet. ‘Are they… dead?’
Michael gazes at his companion. It is a foolish thing to ask and almost worth his silence. But he sees the man tremble, though he fights it. He should be afraid, the archangel thinks. Moses is merely a man while he is… Michael.
‘Yes. They are dead. The firstborn of every Egyptian family.’
‘And what of my people?’
‘They did as they were bidden and marked their doors with blood.’ Michael motioned across the sky. ‘And I did pass over.’
The prophet covers his face. Perhaps the deed, now done, weighs more heavily on his soul than he had expected.
‘And now?’ he asks.
Michael crosses his arms and sees lights appear in windows and doorways beneath them. ‘And now they know to fear the Lord God of Israel.’
The Angel of Death smiles.
And, far below, the screaming starts.
The screaming got louder, and Billi shifted her head towards its source. Dazed by the psychic assault, she was on her knees, her head pounding with the worst migraine she’d ever had. It felt as though someone was hammering nails into her eyes, each blow driving a brutal shaft of agony through her skull. And the screaming…
Two fierce white glowing eyes stared at her out of the mists, some demon awoken by Michael’s awful memory, roaring at her. The others gazed about, bewildered and confused by the onslaught. The eyes grew larger and brighter and the screams rose to ear-splitting levels.
A van burst out of the fog, its headlights on full beam, blinding her. The horn was being held down as it accelerated into the crowd.
Billi leapt to her feet. She had to get her dad.
‘Kay!’ she shouted, barely heard over the van horn. She shot a look at him as he broke free from the stunned captors, the van heading straight at him. Billi kicked Michael square in the chest. Michael stumbled back a metre and that was enough. The van smashed into him and jerked up once, twice, as it drove over him.