Dark Goddess

pre-Christian Russia. Utterly evil, with the ability to command the elements and the beasts, a psychic, just like Kay, but much, much more powerful. She’s also called Mother Russia. They say she’s part of the soil, the very stones of the country. The stories refer to her having been driven deep into the forests by the Bogatyrs.”

“Bogatyrs?” asked Billi.

“An order of Christian knights, older than the Templars,” interrupted Arthur. “Last I heard, they were being led by Alexei Viktorovich Romanov. A good man, by all accounts. That was a few years ago.”

“And now she’s after Vasilisa.” Billi leaned back in her chair.

“You get any further with her?” Arthur asked Elaine.

“I’m still testing. These things take time.”

“Make contact with Jerusalem anyway. Once we know for sure, we’ll send Vasilisa there to start her training.”

“Until then?” Billi asked. She couldn’t just sit around waiting.

Arthur finished inspecting his sword and pushed it into its scabbard. “Double weapons’ training.”

Billi looks down the cave opening, wondering if she can squeeze through the gap. The edges are slick with black mud, and she hears the lapping of water. A smell rises up through the hole, a vent, and it’s strong but familiar. It smells of decay and ancient earth, both moist and dusty at the same time. She descends.

She enters the underworld. A vast pool of shimmering black water fills the cavern ahead of her.

The water stirs, and ripples roll out from its center to Billi’s toes on the shore. Then a pale figure rises. The Stygian waters run off his body-black, oily rivulets sliding down the creases of his bare torso. He rises, smiling at Billi, until he is waist-deep.

He is the ferryman. Billi wants to run into his arms.

“Kay,” she whispers.

“Hello, Billi.” His long silvery-white hair hangs wet and flat, half hiding his face. Billi wants to brush it aside so she can see him perfectly. Kay’s smooth face creases into a smile as he looks into her dark eyes, which sparkle in the gloomy cavern. It’s a smile she thought she remembered perfectly, but now she sees all the subtle details she missed. The way his lips almost part as they turn upward. How a small frown seems to form in the center of his eyebrows, just above his nose, as though his smile is serious business.

She wades into the freezing water, reaching for him. Her heart beats so rapidly she thinks it’ll tear itself apart. She doesn’t care. She thinks only of what it would be like to feel him again, to touch him and to kiss those lips, to push back that last breath she stole and fill the hole that opened in her heart when he left her. Billi stretches out, but Kay remains just beyond her trembling fingertips.

“I can’t reach you,” she says, despair hanging on her words. If only she can have him back, everything will be okay.

“No, Billi. You can’t come.”

She ignores him, plowing deeper into the water. The cold creeps up her legs, but she keeps struggling toward him.

“Billi, I’ve come to say good-bye.”

“No!” Billi shivers. The chill rises up her veins, slowing her heart as it drifts into slumber. “I want to be with you, Kay. Don’t you understand?”

“The dead should not linger, Billi. Look to the living now.”

Billi screams as she grabs for him, but Kay is on the far side now, beyond mortal touch.

“Then why are you here?” she shouts.

Kay shakes his head sadly. “Billi, I’m not here. Not anymore.” Silent as death, Kay places his hands on either side of his face.

His face comes off. He lays it on the water’s edge, and instead of Kay, Billi now sees Vasilisa. She’s a small girl wading waist-deep in the Styx. Billi reaches to take her hand, but can’t.

“Come out, Vasilisa. You’re not meant to be here,” Billi says. She sobs. Kay wasn’t meant to be here either. Not for a long time.

Vasilisa places her hands on either side of her face. Her face comes off.

Billi awoke, her blood pounding in her eardrums. She gasped for air and lay there, body damp with sweat.

Was it really Kay?

She’d dreamed about him before-of course she had-but nothing like this. You weren’t able to smell anything in dreams, were you? The smell had been the strongest thing about it. She could almost taste the cold water, and goose bumps rose along her arms as she remembered the deep cave she’d entered.

She wiped her face on the sheet. A dream. She wasn’t psychic. Her dreams didn’t mean anything.

Did they?

Pans and plates clattered noisily from the kitchen. The sound echoed up the stairwell as someone got busy making a midnight snack.

Why couldn’t they just shut up? Billi shuffled against the wall, trying to dampen the noise by covering her head with a pillow. No good. She was awake now. Blearily she checked the clock: three a.m. Must be Gwaine and Mordred on duty. They did the twelve-till-four slot. Why didn’t they bring sandwiches like everyone else? She sat up and smoothed her hair out of her face.

This constant-and noisy-vigilance was how it was going to be, until the Polenitsy made their move or the Templars got Vasilisa out. Billi thought they should hide her somewhere else, but Arthur had said keeping her in the Temple gave them the home advantage. They would wait and let the werewolves come to them. But waiting wasn’t easy. Billi had to do something to keep her mind busy.

She jumped out of bed and dragged out Kay’s box. She’d delayed this too long. She carried it upstairs into the study. On the windowsill she spotted another one of Arthur’s attempts to bring some life into the house: a big round glazed flowerpot with God knows what growing in it. Right now it was just a few bare twigs stuck in a pile of wet soil. Billi dropped Kay’s box down on Arthur’s desk. Moonlight shone in through the small windows overlooking Middle Temple Lane. Old bookshelves crowded the walls, and above them were ancient portraits of the earlier Templar Grand Masters and paintings of long-ago Templar battles. Acre. Hattin. Hampshire. That had been the last zombie war, back in the nineteenth century.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. “Billi? Is that you?”

“Vasilisa?”

The girl came in. She’d wrapped herself up in one of Billi’s old bathrobes, which trailed along the floor.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Billi had heard her crying earlier. She’d thought about going in and saying something, but what? Nothing would bring Vasilisa’s parents back, and nothing Billi could say would ease the pain.

“What do you want?” It came out harsher than Billi intended.

Vasilisa stood in the center of the faded red carpet. “I want to go home.” She said it in a small, hopeless voice. “I don’t like it here.”

Who does? “The farmhouse isn’t safe.”

“No. Home in Karelia.”

“That’s not safe either. Don’t worry. My dad will figure something out.” Billi shook her head; she wasn’t going to get rid of Vasilisa, so she pulled up a stool. “Fine. Sit here, but don’t touch anything.”

Billi cut the thick tape that bound the cardboard box and rested her fingers on the lid. This was the last of Kay. She opened the box.

CDs, a pile of books, a copy of NME magazine, and a couple of paperbacks. Nothing special except it was all Kay’s. Billi began emptying the contents, making neat piles on the large desk. Vasilisa sat up and watched.

Billi flicked through a scrapbook of newspaper clippings. They were all seemingly minor incidents. A grave being defiled. Some wild-dog attack in a park. They didn’t seem like much, but the Templars kept an eye out for odd events. You never knew if one might lead to a ghul or a werewolf. Kay had made notes in his small, neat script in the margins, marking down which he thought worth investigating. Then there