The Templar's Curse

by Sarwat Chadda

  “I’m not going to leave you in the middle of this mystery. We’ll deal with the Ouroboros Society first. I’ve had my people dig around and they have some useful information. Russia’s been busy in the Middle East for the last few years and I have a few contacts in Syria. Come over tomorrow and we’ll go through it, da?”

  Didn’t he see he was just dragging it out? Didn’t he realise it would be easier to get on his plane tomorrow and just leave? But she wasn’t strong enough to do the right thing either. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 14

  She’d come straight after vespers, evening prayers. The other Templars could sort out dinner without her. She could have come earlier, but she’d spent all day trying to work out what to say, and hoping Ivan would make the first move. See if he had any ideas about how they might save their relationship.

  Why couldn’t he have just made it easy and had a fling with Katiya? She was all but throwing herself at him. They would have shouted, they would have fought and they would have split and that would have been that.

  But how could she take on Mother Russia?

  Now, with the morning mist still hanging in the air Billi sat on her bike, drumming up the courage to cross the road. She’d fought fallen angels, demons, werewolves and goddesses and hardly paused to wipe the sweat from her brow but this? This was hard. She wasn’t sure she could handle the pain that would follow.

  She still didn’t have a plan. No idea what she was going to say.

  How do you break up with a prince?

  I (F18) have been dating an actual prince (M19) for two years and he’s everything any girl could hope for. He’s devoted, brave, kind and goes out of his way to help others. Oh, and incredibly handsome and insanely rich. AITA to break up with him?

  Yeah, put it like that…

  Billi had gone around and around the block, slowing down at the entrance to Prince’s Mews, then speeding up again, too cowardly to make the entrance and have the talk.

  The Talk.

  She’d never thought she’d have to have it. What had she thought? That it was true love and it was going to be flowers, weddings and a bunch of kids at the end of it? She and Ivan in matrimonial bliss?

  Was that what it was like for others? Did girls still scrawl ‘one day I’ll marry a prince’ in their diaries nowadays? Was she sabotaging something good just because she couldn’t let herself be happy? Too much of her childhood had been a misery, it had been Ivan who had made her laugh, made her go out and enjoy herself. Become another Billi, one that wasn’t all hardship and brooding. One that, unbelievably, had fun.

  There was another option, and it was more terrifying than breaking up with Ivan.

  Going with him.

  Leaving her world, everything she knew, behind. Was that what was holding her back? The life of a Templar, all the horror, all the violence and pain, was that her comfort zone now? Any normal person, any sane person, wouldn’t think twice. They’d have their bags packed and ticket ready for the first flight to Moscow. Here Billi was a Knight Templar, she mattered. Over there? She was just Ivan’s foreign girlfriend who didn’t even speak Russian. She was afraid, that was the harsh truth. She was afraid of the damage it would do to her pride, to her sense of herself, to her self-importance. As if being a Templar was all she was.

  Wasn’t it? What else was she, if not a Templar? What about the sacrifices she’d made?

  He’d want me to be happy. He’d want me to take the big leap, the leap of faith.

  To trust she and Ivan could make it work.

  Wow, it could work, couldn’t it? She knew Latin, she spoke Arabic and a touch of Hebrew so why not Russian? Had she really tried to learn it in the last few years? Not really. Not properly.

  Train Idres hard. Get him through the Ordeal. Have him replace you at the table. He wants this more than you do. Did you really want this life?

  Go with Ivan.

  She was actually shaking. Scared of what that meant. How would the other knights take it? How would her dad? She’d sworn, made oaths, but she’d been a child when she’d made those promises. This was her chance to break free of the dark world she’d been raised in. This was her chance to stand in the sunlight.

  Now she sat on her bike upon the cobbles, across from Ivan’s house in one of South Kensington’s hidden mews. His car was parked outside and the curtains were pulled back. He was in. Billi felt for the keys with trembling fingers.

  This is it. Tell him that you choose him.

  Billi rang the buzzer. “Ivan? It’s me.”

  She turned her hand into a fist to stop it shaking. She could hardly breathe and her heart rate was heading off the chart. Why was she so scared?

  Fighting demons is easier than this.

  She rang the buzzer again. “Ivan?”

  Was he out? At the gym or a run around Kensington Gardens? The Firebird didn’t open till midnight.

  Damn it. Now what?

  Text him? And say what? This was too important to leave as a text. It had to be face-to-face. She needed to see his response. She wanted to see him smile, to wrap her in his arms and kiss her, hard and often.

  She fished out the keys. He’d given them to her the day he’d moved in. Maybe even then he’d thought this would be their place. It had never felt like it. Moving down the road from the Temple wasn’t far enough.

  She unlocked the door. “Ivan?”

  The ground floor was open plan, the living room in the front, the dining area in the middle and kitchen at the back. He’d decorated it himself and, like everything about him, it was old world elegance. Dark oak, Persian carpet, an original Matisse and spotlights. The sofa was hand-carved from Rajasthan with a bear skin rug tossed over it. Billi brushed her fingers along the thick pelt. A Cossack sabre hung over the fireplace.

  But for all this her eyes darted to the specks of blood at the foot of the stairs.

  Her discomfort vanished. She felt her heart-rate settle, despite the danger, despite what it might mean. Blood was never a good sign and yet, perversely, it was her world. She didn’t know words of the heart, of how to swoon and the art of seduction was far beyond her, but she knew all the arts of violence.

  Billi unsheathed the sabre. No need to be quiet about this, she’d shouted his name. If anyone was in, they knew she was there.

  Stairs. A perfect ambush but she didn’t have any choice. She pulled off her jacket and wrapped it around her left forearm. It would have to do. Leading with the sabre, Billi ascended, one step at a time, attention laser-focused ahead, senses alert for any sudden attack. But she got to the top and the short corridor that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Ivan’s bedroom was the first. She pushed the door open.

  Ivan hadn’t gone quietly. The bed was unmade, the low table smashed and the frosted glass between the bedroom and the en-suite shattered, there was blood on the broken glass. The bookshelf had come down — someone had been thrown against the wall hard — and the Klimt above the headboard torn down.

  Someone had burst in on Ivan, they’d fought and Ivan had lost. But looking at the mess of the room he’d not made it easy. His row of designer watches remained lined up on the shelf. The drawers had been emptied, papers shaken out and scattered over the floor.

  Dumb. You should have taken the watches and made it look like a robbery.

  Billi picked through the papers. Russian, of course, but with a few maps and photos of digs and archaeological sites out in the desert. This was the information Ivan had been talking about last night. Some of the folders were empty. Whoever had come had found, and taken, what they were looking for.

  So this wasn’t gangland, though Ivan had plenty of enemies within the Russian mafia. This was her world intruding, again.

  Look at you. You come here planning to be happy and you were shaking in your boots. Now he’s been kidnapped you’re icy calm and can’t wait to get started. Face it, SanGreal, you are not ready for a serious relationship. You were not made for snuggl
es by the fire under a bearskin rug.

  Billi tossed the sabre onto the bed. Someone from the Firebird could deal with these domestics. She had to find Ivan.

  She needed answers and there was one person who would have them, and she wasn’t in the mood to ask nicely.

  CHAPTER 15

  The elevator doors slid open onto the Royal Suite at the Ritz.

  Billi smiled up at the bodyguard waiting. He looked surprised to see her. “Hello, Tommy. Remember me? I was wondering if you still had my dusters? You took them off me when I was last here.”

  To his credit his surprise didn’t last long. His tiny eyes, set deep under a heavy brow, shrunk into suspicious pinholes. “What the —”

  “No worries if you haven’t. I got these new ones. See?”

  Done right, a punch from a knuckle duster hit harder than a hammer. The trick was to bring the whole body into the blow, pushing up from the balls of your feet right up through the hips, core, shoulders and into the blunt iron spikes nestled on your fist. Anything less than perfect would give Tommy a chance to shake it off and then she would be in trouble. He was bigger, stronger, tougher. It didn’t matter what fancy MMA moves you might have, you could not use any of those to your advantage in a real world fight.

  The impact jarred her all the way through, Tommy was massive and there was just too much bulk for her to feel anything other than she’d slammed into a tree trunk. But his legs wobbled. That was a start.

  The second was a hook, a whiplash blow sprung from the hips and into the spot just below his ear. His jaw cracked. She was already sweating, and Tommy was still standing, balling up his own fists even as he swayed.

  But you watch the eyes. That’s where the intent is and his were rolling. He stepped back to give himself room and time to recover. She wasn’t about to let that happen. So Billi sprang after him, ramming her iron-assisted fist into his elbow, setting all those lovely nerves on fire, and numbing everything from the joint downward.

  Go down, you bastard. Why won’t you go down?

  Tommy bunched up his shoulders and set his head down, fists up in a classic boxer stance. No way was she getting to his head any more. He knew how to guard it. He was probably the Regimental champion back in his day. A master of the Queensbury rules. No punching below the belt and all that.

  So Billi grabbed his belt and delivered two sharp uppercuts right into his balls. Since it was going so well she added a third and that lifted Tommy onto his toes. His face turned an explosive red. Tears dribbled down his cheeks, and he was panting. But the damage had been done and done too quickly. There was just so much anyone could take in what had been about five seconds.

  Tommy fell against the wall, using it to keep himself up. He glared at her, fighting against the unconsciousness swimming in his head, you had to admire that. Then, centimetre by centimetre, he slid down. His head sank to his chest and his meaty fists fell to his sides. He was out.

  Billi took a deep breath, more relieved than she’d imagined, and put her duster away in her jacket pocket. She nudged Tommy with her boot, now would be a bad time for him to be faking it, but he tilted over with a thump.

  She’d never thought she’d be back here at the Ritz. She’d rushed through the lobby, head down, and taken the elevator, glaring at the old man who’d been planning to hop in until he wisely decided to wait for the next one.

  She hadn’t told Dad. He would have warned her off. Lawrence belonged to the Ouroboros Society and they had Ivan, and she was going to get him back, one way or the other. Billi reached the suite doors and opened them slowly, ready for anything.

  Anything but that.

  Six pretty young things, some boys, some girls, one she wasn’t going to guess at, had made themselves very much at home in the splendour of the Royal Suite. There were clothes and cushions scattered over the floor and furniture, one guy in his underwear was doing one-finger push-ups to the glee of two cheering girls while another pair danced, tied together by a feather boa. The couch had been swung around to be used as a bed. Empty champagne bottles rolled across the marble floor.

  One guy with glittery eyeshadow glanced from his position sprawled over a cluster of cushions. “About time. We’ve been waiting ages.”

  “You… knew I was coming?”

  “You’re the dealer, aren’t you?”

  “The… ah. Right.” Billi cleared her throat. “I’m, er, looking for Lawrence. Y’know. To get paid.”

  “Upstairs. He’s with the Jackies.”

  “Upstairs?”

  He sighed. Clearly Billi was an idiot. “The master bedroom?”

  Okaaay…

  She tried to keep the mental images of Lawrence and the two Jackies way out of her mind, unsuccessfully.

  Billi headed straight up to the mezzanine, stepping over a girl asleep at the top of the stairs, but stopped outside the bedroom door. Should she knock? Give them a minute to sort themselves out a little?

  Sod it.

  Billi did what she did best: settle her problems with violence. Why change the habit of a lifetime? So she took a step back and kicked the door open.

  The two Jackies were slumped on the chairs, heads tilted back, eyes vacant and mouths slack. Lawrence stood over them, suited and buttoned up to his chin, slowly breathing. Even in the soft moonlight she could see the flush on his cheeks, the way his body straightened from the energy he was stealing.

  Billi flicked all the lights on.

  Lawrence screamed and stumbled back, slapping his hands over his eyes as he fell hard onto the marble floor and lay there, shuddering.

  “Sorry, is this a bad time?” said Billi as she walked in. The Jackies blinked as they rose from whatever mesmeric daze Lawrence had put them in. Billi snapped her fingers to get their attention. “You two, out. And don’t worry, Lawrence will still pay you.” She sat down on one of the now vacant chairs and put her feet up on the bed. “Ain’t that right, Lawrence?”

  His walking stick rested against the chair and she gave it a twirl. Heavier than she’d expected… a quick twist of the handle and she pulled out the blade. “Nice…” The edges were lined with a thin gummy paste, “… and nasty.”

  What was it? Curare? A synthetic poison? She wove the thin sword blade in front of Lawrence’s bloodshot eyes. He flinched and pressed himself back against the bed. Now why would an immortal be worried about a little shot of poison? Billi kept the tip an centimetre or two from his nose. “You’re lucky my dad isn’t here. Arthur takes a very dim view of... doing whatever you were doing.”

  Lawrence groaned as he climbed up onto the bed. “The lights...”

  “Nope. We’re doing this on my terms. So get comfortable and we’ll begin. Oh, and don’t try lying. I’ve had a really bad day.” He did open his eyes enough to glare at her with two hundred years plus of pure hatred. Billi smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

  “You’ll pay for this outrage. You think you and your paltry knights can withstand the forces I could bring against you? You have any idea of the connections I have? The favours I’m owed?” He thrust out a claw-like hand. “I hold the prime minister by the balls. One squeeze and he’ll jump to do —”

  Billi grimaced. “Eeuw. Now that is an image I did not want in my brain, thank you.” She looked as the last of the Jackies, his clothes collected, snuck out and closed the door behind him. “So how many years did you steal off them? Dead by thirty?”

  “Not years, but experiences. I’m no vampire, despite appearances. Everything is... stale now. There is no joy to be had. You know what makes life worth living? New experiences. Crossing a fresh horizon. Those boys? Everything is still new and exciting for them. Every day a fresh adventure. Look at them. They are young, they believe they’re immortal, that they’ll be beautiful forever and all they have is joy.” Lawrence dabbed his puffy, blood-shot eyes. “They were willing to share some of that. I did them no harm.”

  She didn’t expect that. He sounded sincere and s
he had no reason, surprisingly, to doubt him. He looked so weary of it all. So bored. Life was a hamster wheel and he couldn’t get off it. She put the sword away. “Tell me where Ivan is and I’ll leave you to your fun.”

  “Ivan? The tsarevich? What makes you think I have your boyfriend?”

  “Don’t play stupid, Lawrence. It’s not a good look for you.” Billi gestured at his ring. “I know you’re in the Ouroboros Society.”

  He screwed up his eyes to stare at it, then he sniggered. “The Ouroboros Society? You have a talent of making the wrong enemies.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, but I do know your friends kidnapped Ivan last night. I want him back.”

  “The prince is nothing to us,” he replied. “What would we want him for? Our wealth exceeds his a thousand-fold and we wield power he could not hope to match. And kidnapping is so passé. We’re scholars, not criminals.”

  “Not criminals? Don’t make me laugh. What about all the historical treasures you guys have stolen over the centuries? You are the biggest thieves in history.”

  “We are custodians, nothing more. Those treasures you mention aren’t valued by the unwashed, ignorant masses. Only the society appreciate their true worth.”

  “Is that how it was with the FitzRoys?” Billi asked. “Did they appreciate what they found?”

  “FitzRoy?” Lawrence looked genuinely surprised. “What have they got to do with this?”

  “I know Reginald worked for you and I know that Simon robbed the Baghdad museum during the Iraq war. You deny that?”

  “Not at all. I recruited Reginald FitzRoy into the society in the 1920’s. He was fascinated by the various immortality myths of Mesopotamia. The most famous was the flower of immortality that the demi-god Gilgamesh retrieved from the underworld, then lost to a snake. Reginald was convinced it was based on a real, historical event. It was an obsession of his. Much like the quest for the philosopher’s stone amongst alchemists. It was an obsession he couldn’t let go. It took him down some very dark paths.”

  “Like what?”