BILLI KNEW SHE SHOULD FEEL DIFFERENTLY BY NOW. But there was a hollowness inside her that nothing filled. No matter how much she trained, how hard she fought, the emptiness only seemed to grow. She’d cared too much, and only realized how she felt after he’d gone.
Never again.
She sat in the kitchen, looking at the tray Lance had left.
Elaine was too soft. But then she could afford to be: she wasn’t a Templar.
Billi had her priorities, and looking after a little girl was way, way down on the list. Her job was to fight the Bataille Ténébreuse, the Dark Conflict. There was no room for weakness.
She carried the tray up the flight of stairs to the top floor, and stopped outside Vasilisa’s bedroom. She knocked and went straight in. The quicker this was over and done with, the better. She had no desire to lull the child in to a false sense of security if her destiny was to be a Knight Templar.
Vasilisa sat in an old wooden rocking chair with her back to Billi, gazing out of a small window. They were high in the eaves, overlooking Middle Temple Gardens, so all she could see were bare, black branches against the white winter sky. The chair creaked as she rocked back and forth.
She was wearing Billi’s old clothes: a faded brown jumper and pair of blue jeans with sequin flowers stitched around the ankles. Billi had no idea that her dad had kept her old stuff. Vasilisa looked tiny in that big old chair. Her skinny shoulders were slumped, her head low.
She could be me, thought Billi. The girl was so small and alone. For a second Billi felt awkward seeing Vasilisa so vulnerable. But she flicked her head and reminded herself Vasilisa was safer here than anywhere else. If the Templars hadn’t come along, she’d be dog food by now. Still, Billi couldn’t shake the discomfort. Looking at the child, she thought of Kay, how afraid he’d been when he’d first arrived. Vasilisa didn’t deserve this.
It was unfair. But since when was life fair? Never.
Billi put the tray down on the table.
“Vasilisa?”
“When can I go?” asked Vasilisa. Brittle twigs scratched the windowpane like a witch’s fingers, and a low wind moaned through the loft void above.
“Where?”
“Away from here. You’re not my family.”
“My dad will sort something out.” Billi began straightening the bedsheets, doing anything to distract herself. She picked up a plastic garbage bag and shook its contents over the bed. Out fell a jumble of stuffed animals: elephants, tigers, and a few patched-up bears. Billi rummaged around the bottom of the bag and found something else, curved and solid. She pulled out the Russian doll. She’d first seen it last night in Vasilisa’s bedroom.
“That’s mine,” said the girl. She held out her hand for the doll. “Mum said she would protect me from them. But she couldn’t.”
As Billi passed the doll to her, Vasilisa grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered. “I’m scared. Please.” Her fingernails dug into Billi’s skin, and she clung on to her with desperate strength. Billi stood rigid, trapped in the girl’s grip, her heart racing. Then she unhooked the girl’s fingers and hurried to the door. She couldn’t stay here any longer; she had to get to school.
“I’m off now, but I’ll look in again later.” Billi fumbled for the door handle. “You’ll be safe here.”
The girl didn’t look around, but spoke so softly Billi wondered if she was actually talking to the doll.
“Will I?”