Sarwat Chadda - Billi SanGreal 02 - Dark Goddess Read Online Free
Author: Unknown
they've stuck to the accord ever since."
"Ever since you chopped their leader's arm off."
"Right."
"And if she is an Oracle?" asked Elaine. Billi could hear the fear—and excitement—in the old woman's voice.
"Then thank God we got to her first." Arthur's boots squelched in the slush as he walked away.
Chapter 4
BILLI SLEPT IN THE VAN AND ONLY STARTED TO STIR when the tires trundled over the cobbles of Temple District.
Home.
She sat up and leaned over the passenger seat. It was still early, and the sun wouldn't be up for a few hours yet. The van's engine echoed within the narrow confines of the alleyways that dropped south of Fleet Street and into Temple District. Bors was slumped in the passenger seat, his twin swords beside him. Billi knocked them onto the floor with a clatter as she climbed up front.
"Oi, watch it," muttered Bors as he rubbed the sleep out of his face. Blinking blearily, he searched the dashboard until his hand found a sausage roll, which he shoved into his mouth. He caught Billi's stare. "Sorry," he said, spitting flakes over his lap. "Did you want some?"
"God Almighty, d'you have a trough at home or what?"
They entered the main Temple parking lot and found Father Rowland waiting for them with Mordred, the new squire. The chaplain's thin frame was lost in a huge black overcoat, his bald head and the tips of his frozen ears the only things visible above his scarf.
Bors jumped out the moment the van halted. He handed his swords over to Mordred. "Polish these." He licked the last few crumbs off his fingers. "And before breakfast, mind."
The two couldn't be more different.
Mordred, an Ethiopian refugee the Order had literally picked up off the streets, was tall and elegant, with jet-black skin and deep thoughtful eyes. Bors, bigger in girth if not height, was a cannonball of muscle. His neck was nonexistent, his jaw comprised of a patch of ginger bristles, and his eyes were piggy and close together. But he was a knight, and Mordred was a squire.
"Want him to run your bath while he's at it?" said Billi as Mordred left.
Bors laughed.
Father Rowland helped Elaine out and peered in behind her.
"Where's Pelleas?"
Elaine looked at Billi. "You want to tell him?"
No, not really
. But Elaine had already wandered off.
"Dead, Father."
"Oh." Rowland touched his crucifix. "What happened?"
Billi reminded herself that this was all new for Rowland. The previous Temple chaplain had just been buried when Rowland had arrived, fresh-faced and eager, all peachy keen from the seminary. He had thought he'd be running choirs and carrying out christenings. Billi had turned up at the chaplain's house with Arthur and a few of the others. An unofficial welcoming committee. All in all he'd taken it well. Rowland was to manage the day-to-day affairs of the Temple Church except when the Templars themselves required it. He was responsible for disposing of the bodies and managing their library: the remnants of the original library of occult lore the Templars had salvaged from the Inquisition.
Only later did Billi notice the empty wine bottles piling up in the recycling box outside his door. He looked like he could do with a drink right now.
"Werewolves," Billi said.
Arthur's Jaguar rolled up. Lance lifted the sleeping Vasilisa from the backseat while Arthur and Gwaine joined Billi and Rowland. Over his shoulder Arthur carried his chain-mail shirt, rolled up and held in a bundle by an old leather belt. In his right hand he carried the Templar Sword.
Arthur turned to Gwaine. "I want a conclave sorted. We need to review what happened tonight." He inspected his watch. "Couple of hours' rest, then we'll talk at six thirty." Gwaine nodded and left to make arrangements.
Rowland put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, like a good priest should. "I've just heard about Pelleas, Arthur." He frowned with concern. "Is there anything you need?"
"Shovels," said Arthur. He pointed toward his car. "Pelleas is in the
"Ever since you chopped their leader's arm off."
"Right."
"And if she is an Oracle?" asked Elaine. Billi could hear the fear—and excitement—in the old woman's voice.
"Then thank God we got to her first." Arthur's boots squelched in the slush as he walked away.
Chapter 4
BILLI SLEPT IN THE VAN AND ONLY STARTED TO STIR when the tires trundled over the cobbles of Temple District.
Home.
She sat up and leaned over the passenger seat. It was still early, and the sun wouldn't be up for a few hours yet. The van's engine echoed within the narrow confines of the alleyways that dropped south of Fleet Street and into Temple District. Bors was slumped in the passenger seat, his twin swords beside him. Billi knocked them onto the floor with a clatter as she climbed up front.
"Oi, watch it," muttered Bors as he rubbed the sleep out of his face. Blinking blearily, he searched the dashboard until his hand found a sausage roll, which he shoved into his mouth. He caught Billi's stare. "Sorry," he said, spitting flakes over his lap. "Did you want some?"
"God Almighty, d'you have a trough at home or what?"
They entered the main Temple parking lot and found Father Rowland waiting for them with Mordred, the new squire. The chaplain's thin frame was lost in a huge black overcoat, his bald head and the tips of his frozen ears the only things visible above his scarf.
Bors jumped out the moment the van halted. He handed his swords over to Mordred. "Polish these." He licked the last few crumbs off his fingers. "And before breakfast, mind."
The two couldn't be more different.
Mordred, an Ethiopian refugee the Order had literally picked up off the streets, was tall and elegant, with jet-black skin and deep thoughtful eyes. Bors, bigger in girth if not height, was a cannonball of muscle. His neck was nonexistent, his jaw comprised of a patch of ginger bristles, and his eyes were piggy and close together. But he was a knight, and Mordred was a squire.
"Want him to run your bath while he's at it?" said Billi as Mordred left.
Bors laughed.
Father Rowland helped Elaine out and peered in behind her.
"Where's Pelleas?"
Elaine looked at Billi. "You want to tell him?"
No, not really
. But Elaine had already wandered off.
"Dead, Father."
"Oh." Rowland touched his crucifix. "What happened?"
Billi reminded herself that this was all new for Rowland. The previous Temple chaplain had just been buried when Rowland had arrived, fresh-faced and eager, all peachy keen from the seminary. He had thought he'd be running choirs and carrying out christenings. Billi had turned up at the chaplain's house with Arthur and a few of the others. An unofficial welcoming committee. All in all he'd taken it well. Rowland was to manage the day-to-day affairs of the Temple Church except when the Templars themselves required it. He was responsible for disposing of the bodies and managing their library: the remnants of the original library of occult lore the Templars had salvaged from the Inquisition.
Only later did Billi notice the empty wine bottles piling up in the recycling box outside his door. He looked like he could do with a drink right now.
"Werewolves," Billi said.
Arthur's Jaguar rolled up. Lance lifted the sleeping Vasilisa from the backseat while Arthur and Gwaine joined Billi and Rowland. Over his shoulder Arthur carried his chain-mail shirt, rolled up and held in a bundle by an old leather belt. In his right hand he carried the Templar Sword.
Arthur turned to Gwaine. "I want a conclave sorted. We need to review what happened tonight." He inspected his watch. "Couple of hours' rest, then we'll talk at six thirty." Gwaine nodded and left to make arrangements.
Rowland put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, like a good priest should. "I've just heard about Pelleas, Arthur." He frowned with concern. "Is there anything you need?"
"Shovels," said Arthur. He pointed toward his car. "Pelleas is in the
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