‘What happened to them?’ shouted someone from the crowd.
The guide looked up at the two iron knights on top of the column. ‘Rumours regarding the Templars had been rife from the very beginning. Some said they were black magicians, others said they had made pacts with devils and other supernatural beings. How else explain their meteoric rise?’
Oh God, that rubbish. Billi couldn’t believe people still thought that. The Templars were sworn to fight all the Unholy, not to ally themselves with them.
The guide pointed at the church. ‘But it’s clear the Templars had heretical leanings. This was to be their undoing.’ She turned back to the crowd. ‘On Friday the thirteenth of October 1307, the entire Order was arrested. Its Grand Master was brought before the Inquisition and the Templars were tried and found guilty of heresy and devil-worship. The Templars were exterminated.’
‘But I thought some of them escaped,’ continued Mrs Higgins as she gazed around the courtyard. Billi’s ears pricked up at the question. Was it her imagination or did the old woman look at her?
‘Rumours. Only rumours. The Knights Templar are ancient history now.’ The guide clapped her hands again and moved through the crowd back towards the cloisters. ‘Quick now. We’ve got to be at Buckingham Palace in thirty minutes.’
How many times had she heard that story? A hundred? A thousand?
Some of it was true, of course. The Order had been formed to defend the Holy Land, but that battle had been lost, long ago. Their war wasn’t for Jerusalem, not any more, but for mankind’s soul. Their war was against the supernatural evil that preyed on humanity. A war they called the Dark Conflict.
The Bataille Ténébreuse.
Billi watched the party head back up towards Fleet Street and their waiting coach. All safe in their cocoon of ignorance, unaware of the shadow war being fought around them. A cold wind carried twisting ribbons of mist across the flagstones, like restless ghosts. She stood alone in the courtyard, but the presence of the old knights lingered in their great preceptory. Who but her, her father and a few others now remembered the reasons they’d died for, or the sacrifices they’d made? Billi pulled her coat tightly around her. Would her own spirit one day haunt these stones?
After all, what was the promise made to all Templars?
You shall keep the company of martyrs.
3
Vomit-worthy. It was the only way to describe her day and it was only lunchtime. She’d fallen asleep during Geography and earned herself another detention. Billi had made up some excuse about her Maths homework being late, better than telling Ms Clarke she couldn’t even remember being given any. How could she? Every evening was bloody Latin, Ancient Greek and Occult Lore – the hierarchy of Hell – and every morning was weapons practice and unarmed combat. Maybe the reason school always slipped her mind was because of all the blows to the head she’d received over the last five years. Fifteen and punch-drunk. And these were meant to be the best days of her life.
She’d been excited at first, being part of something big, mystical – the stuff of legend. Being part of the Knights Templar and their secret war against the enemies of mankind – the Unholy.
The Beast Within. Mortals with the heart of the wild.
The Hungry Dead. The corpse-eaters and blood-drinkers.
The ghosts. The spirits of pain.
The devils. The tempters of humanity.
And the grigori. The Dark Angels.
But soon she was lying to her friends, missing classes, gathering bruises and cuts, drifting apart from the other children. The cruel rumours emerged, about her dad and her mum’s murder, quickly circulating around the lonely playgrounds. She kept the teachers’ concerns at bay. She hid the worst injuries; she didn’t get so many black eyes now, and managed most days without nodding off at her desk. But Billi was drifting through her school years like a ghost, barely awake in class, all her life absorbed by her other duties. Could she have turned round and said she wanted out? Be normal? Have friends? Have no more bruises? No more nightmares? No. She’d never been given the choice.
Billi gazed down the queue at the food counter, her stomach rebelling against the stale, lukewarm odours rising off the faded boiled carrots, the grey-looking gravy and the assortments of fried and coated offal. The shrink-wrapped sandwiches looked no more appealing, their corners curled and their fillings smeared under the plastic. All that was left was the fruit basket: a couple of wrinkly apples and bruised bananas.
I should be at home. She felt flushed and clammy, maybe some of that ectoplasm was still there, bubbling away in her guts… The queue shuffled along and Billi picked through the sandwiches. The least offensive was cucumber on white bread. She took one and the two remaining bananas. She added a bottle of still mineral water and, tray balanced on one hand, dug into her blazer pocket for her purse.
‘Oh, look, it’s the free-meal freak,’ said someone to her left. Someone she recognized.
Just fan-tas-tic. Like her day wasn’t bad enough. Billi turned towards the voice.
‘Lovely to see you too, Jane,’ she replied. ‘I see you’ve got your hench-bitches with you today. Didn’t realize the zoo had day release.’
Jane Mulville leaned against a dining table, her skinny legs blocking Billi’s path. Michelle Durant and Katie Smith, her bottle-blonde clones, stood either side.
‘Jeez, what happened to your face?’ asked Jane. Despite the foundation, the bruise on Billi’s cheek still shone through.
I really don’t need this, not today, thought Billi. She could rearrange Jane’s face with minimal effort and sometimes, like now, the urge to flatten that dainty little nose was nigh irresistible.
‘It’s her dad, I bet,’ giggled Katie. ‘He’s way mental.’
Billi’s gaze dropped to where Jane’s legs still barred her way. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, we mind a lot, SanGreal. Why they haven’t expelled you by now I don’t know. Doesn’t say much for the standards in this school that they let the likes of you in.’ She looked Billi up and down. ‘I mean, even the other weirdos here don’t want anything to do with you.’
‘Have you met her dad? Not surprising she’s turned out this way,’ said Katie.
Jane smiled. ‘Is it true, SanGreal? That your dad killed your mum? Cut her neck wide -’
Billi’s tray clattered on the hard wooden floor, the sharp noise instantly quietening all the background hubbub. As one, the hall fell silent.
They still believed that old lie, that her dad had murdered her mother. But then would they believe the truth? That she’d been killed by ghuls, the Hungry Dead? That she’d died protecting Billi, bloody handprints smeared over her bedroom door where she’d been hidden? No, they’d never believe that truth.
‘What did you say?’ asked Billi. Her question was barely above a whisper. Her hands free, they curled themselves into tight, solid fists. In the silence Billi’s breathing seemed loud and she could hear the blood thundering in her ears. ‘Sorry, Jane, I didn’t quite catch that.’ She spoke slowly, pronouncing every word. She assessed Jane’s features, not as a seamless whole, but as an assembly of disjointed, breakable parts. The nose, the teeth, the jaw. It would be so easy.
Katie and Michelle took a small step away from Jane, sensing the threat of violence radiating from Billi. The hall, silent already, now stopped breathing. Jane’s hands trembled, but she braced herself against the table, her nails, dark polished red, dug into the shiny white Formica surface.
‘Billi!’
Billi spun at the shout as a pair of arms wrapped themselves round her. She tried to free herself, but all she could make out was a thick mass of silvery-blonde hair as the person embraced her. She finally pushed him off.