The Templar's Curse

by Sarwat Chadda

  He wasn’t just her boyfriend, he was her boyfriend-in-arms. In blood.

  Maybe it was time she visited the Firebird.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Maybe I should have worn heels.

  But maybe getting into London’s most exclusive nightclub at two am on a Friday night needed more than heels. The queue went down the street and around the corner. There was a crowd gathered around the door, guarded by two tattooed bouncers and a glamazon with a headset and iPad. She searched the crowd, handpicking those lucky few, the rich, young and beautiful, who would be allowed past the velvet rope and into the inner sanctum.

  She could text Ivan. Tell him she was outside and then he’d come and save her. She was already getting sour looks from the other wannabes in the queue. At least she was wearing earrings, that counted, right? By looking at the party dresses, the sequins and designer-wear on display Billi was realising this wasn’t her world and she didn’t understand the dress code at all.

  What was she afraid of? She had better things to be doing than standing across the street from the Firebird. It didn’t look like much. Hidden just off Piccadilly down Jermyn Street it was down in the basement, there were a few steps down to a door with a bird in glowing golden neon above it. The air trembled with the vibrations of the bass.

  Text him. Save yourself the embarrassment. Have him come out and get you.

  No. She was going to do this properly and surprise Ivan. But she wasn’t going to waste her time in the queue. Billi crossed the narrow street and headed straight to the front.

  The bouncers glanced at her, but forgot her instantly. Billi squeezed through the dozen or so clustered around the glamazon.

  “My friends are in there! They’re waiting for me!”

  “I’ve been here two hours! You got to let me in!”

  “I don’t want to go in the club, honestly. Just need to use the loo. I’ll be straight in and straight out!”

  Billi nudged a girl aside with her elbow to get to the rope. “Hi. I’m here to see Ivan Romanov.”

  The glamazon looked her up and down. “You’ll just have to wait outside. You might catch the tsarevich when he leaves.”

  Tsarevich? He must love that. “No, you don’t understand. He’s waiting for me. Inside. I’m his...”

  What are you going to say? His girlfriend? Tell her that and she’ll only laugh.

  “He’ll want to see me, that’s all. I’m Billi SanGreal.”

  The glamazon paused and even the bouncers stopped to look.

  “You’re not quite what I’d pictured,” said the glamazon. She snapped her fingers at the nearest bouncer. “Her.”

  Some in the crowd audibly gasped as the rope was unhooked for Billi. One girl threw herself forward. “Her? You’re letting her in? But... but look at her! She’s got a black eye!”

  “She’s not even wearing heels!”

  More outrage reigned down as Billi slipped through and headed into the flaming heart of the Firebird night club.

  What had once been a dingy, cavernous Victorian era cellar had been transformed to a baroque fantasy land of gilded balconies, glittering chandeliers, sweeping velvet curtains and luminescent firebirds suspended from the ceiling, their feathers made of shimmering gold and their eyes of brilliant red gems and neon flames trailing behind them. The dance floor was heaving and Billi watched it all from the balcony that ran all the way around it. There were alcoves with plush sofas and private tables and waitress service.

  Billi stopped one. The girl wore a sheath of a dress made of chromatic feathers, even her eye make-up was of flames. “I’m looking for the tsarevich.”

  “Dressed like that? Good luck.”

  “Funny. Just tell me where he is.”

  The girl gave her a second look, now not as sure. “At the back. There are the private rooms. You know, for extra special guests. You one of those?”

  She saw the doors below, across the dance floor and past the DJ’s booth. She also saw the guard. “I hope so.”

  She descended the wrought iron spiral staircase, past the beautiful people, then wove through the throng on the dance floor.

  All relationships had bumps along the way. What mattered was how they dealt with them. She needed to understand Ivan’s point of view. He was the natural leader of the Bogatyrs. Of course he needed to be involved. Moscow was only a few hours away and didn’t he have friends with their own planes? It was like commuting from the home counties. Nothing to it. They’d find a way to make it work, they’d find a way to make it better.

  Where else would she ever find someone like Ivan?

  Complaining about him seemed churlish, ungrateful.

  Oh, your boyfriend is a fabulously wealthy, incredibly handsome prince? Oh, poor you! It must be so hard to have every whim catered for. Boo hoo.

  Get over yourself, SanGreal. Do you know how lucky you are?

  She did, and yet...

  What? She couldn’t handle perfection? That things were actually going well? Was she such a masochist that she needed trouble, that she craved chaos? Billi preferred to crawl her way up from the bottom. Being at the top made her dizzy.

  The guard at the door peered at her from over the top of his shades. “Miss SanGreal?”

  “That’s me.”

  He turned the door handle. “Just want to say I’m a big fan of your father’s. Go right in.”

  “Er... thanks. I’ll tell him next time he fancies going clubbing.”

  The door closed behind her and the music became a muffled beat and the wild lighting transformed to spotlights from hidden places within the vaulted ceiling. Grand portraits hung from the bare walls and there were objets d’art arranged within small alcoves. People mingled in discreet groups, the conversation barely above a whisper, only occasionally broken by an abrupt laugh.

  “Billi SanGreal?”

  Billi turned to see... “Katiya?”

  Of all the people in all the world, what was she doing here?

  Katiya smiled. “Ivan told me you hated the Firebird.”

  She was even more beautiful than when they’d met, very, very briefly, in Moscow. Back then Billi had taunted her, in self defence, about getting old. Katiya was twenty now, which was fifty in modelling years, but there was just no other way to describe her except as... perfect. All long limbs, porcelain skin, eyes of crystal blue. What else? Oh, right. Her father was a Russian oligarch. She remembered something about him buying an island.

  Katiya had mastered the art of being aloof. She would have made the queen feel like a serf.

  “I see you’ve not acquired a sense of style since we last met,” said Katiya.

  “And I see you’re still short on personality. So who’s the unlucky victim? Some poor trust fund kid you’ve got those red claws of yours into? Hedge fund manager?”

  “My father’s a billionaire, Billi.”

  “Yeah, but you’re greedy, Katiya,” said Billi. “You don’t just want to win, you want everyone else to lose.”

  She laughed that diamond laugh of hers. Dazzling, but cold and hard. “You know me too well. But let’s keep that between us girls, shall we?”

  It didn’t matter how she was packaged, there was a bitterness in Katiya. A spitefulness that, despite all the beauty, was actually off-putting. She needed constant validation from others, and so remained deeply unhappy, and empty. She’d been brought up to believe beauty was the only thing that mattered, but was intelligent enough to know it was a lie. But it was a lie everyone around her believed in, and she was lonely, forever searching for something she didn’t understand.

  Katiya looked over Billi’s shoulder and waved at another group. “I’d love to stay and catch up, but there’s another party I just have to get to and I’m already three hours late.”

  Good riddance. Katiya was someone she really didn’t want to deal with tonight. She watched her go, then ventured deeper into the labyrinth of private rooms.

  Iva
n wasn’t hard to find. Royalty exerted a gravitational pull. People wanted to be near them. He was holding court in an art installation. The walls, floor and ceiling were made up of dozens of screens, fed by the cameras throughout the club. The crowd at the doors, the heaving mass on the dance floor, and the discreet liaisons in the corners and alcoves. Ivan sat upon a plush, high-backed armchair surrounded by his men. He must have gone home to change, the suit was black silk and emphasised the stark paleness of his skin. Then he saw Billi and his grey eyes shone. He smiled and came straight over. “You came?”

  “It looks like I’m interrupting, I can wait, Ivan.”

  He shook his head dismissively. “You should have told me you were coming.”

  Those men, though dressed to the nines, could not hide their sinister nature. Billi knew bad guys when she saw them. It wasn’t just the tattoos that exposed affiliations to various Moscow gangs, but their aura of violence. These were men who obeyed only their own laws. What was Ivan doing amongst them? These were his Bogatyrs?

  “I didn’t know Katiya was in town,” said Billi.

  “Poor Katiya. She’s been dropped by her modelling agency.” Ivan shrugged, but he looked genuinely sad. “East European ice princesses are out, it’s all Korean nowadays.”

  “She’s only twenty, Ivan. Fashions will change back.”

  “Yes, in a few years time and then what’s the point? There’ll be new girls. There always are. Katiya needs something new to distract her.”

  The Devil will find work for idle hands... “She’s found one. You.”

  God, how could she have been so blind?

  Ivan laughed. “Ah. I did wonder why she was so keen for me to fly back on her father’s plane. Spend some time catching up, as she put it. Strange since I’d not heard from her for two years.”

  “And now she’s back, claws out.”

  “I’m not interested in her, Billi. She’s old news.” Then he looked at her and there was mischief in his grey eyes. “Of course it would be easier if you came back to Moscow with me. Keep an eye on me and make sure I stay out of trouble.”

  “Those guys you’ve got look like more trouble than I could ever handle. They are bad, bad people, Ivan. And you know it.”

  “They’re all I’ve got, Billi. And this is only the beginning. I’m rebuilding the Bogatyrs. We’ll keep Russia safe, believe me. But I’ve got to go back and I want you to come with me.”

  She wasn’t surprised. It had been leading up to this for months, but they’d both tried their hardest to stay off the topic.

  “What would I do in Moscow?” she asked.

  “Whatever you want! Let me look after you, Billi. Keep you safe. Your father means well but look at you. Look at that eye. How many new scars have you got since we’ve been together? You really want to carry on doing what you’re doing? Your luck will run out, sooner or later.”

  “Dad gives me responsibility, Ivan. I’m part of something important. You want me to do what, spend my days shopping? Waitfor you to come home?”

  “I don’t mean it like that, but I don’t want you risking your life every night. Can’t you see I care about you? If you just do as I say then everything would be perfect.”

  “Do as I say?” Billi repeated.

  Ivan’s eyes hardened to flint. “I’m only doing what’s best for you. Can’t you see that?”

  “No, actually I can’t. What about us sharing? Or should I come on bended knee, tsarevich?”

  That hurt him. She didn’t mean to, but then wasn’t it the truth? She had to warn him about what he was becoming. But Ivan was too proud to back down. “You’re just a silly little girl. Here I am offering you everything.”

  “What you’re offering is a golden cage, Ivan. You want me safe, and pointless.”

  “Millions of girls dream of finding a prince.”

  Coming here had been a mistake and if she stayed any longer one of them might say something they couldn’t take back. Billi shook her head as she turned away. “Only in fairy-tales.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bloody Ivan!

  He was right about one thing, she needed to get away to think things through. Just a few days to look at what she wanted, and what Ivan wanted. They’d been through too much for this to get in the way. He was a Romanov. He could never leave Russia, it was in his DNA. What about her? Could she start over again in Moscow?

  If she could be a Templar, then why not a Bogatyr? The job description was exactly the same. Fight the Unholy.

  Except Ivan wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want Billi involved, period. Keeping her safe sounded like imprisonment to her.

  A few days away to clear her head, but Arthur would not budge on Dublin. He was gone before vigils and Billi was left alone in the apartment with a bunch of instructions about when to put out the rubbish and how she needed to play nice with Gwaine and a training schedule for her and the squires. As if she needed it. She crossed the Temple, heading towards Temple Church in a foul mood.

  She could hear them arguing already as she descended into the ossuary. The catacombs beneath Temple Church were out-of-bounds to the public and for good reason. Here were stored the bones of the Templars, and here was where they trained, watched by the hollow eyes of the dead.

  “You’re late,” said Gwaine, tapping his watch. “What sort of impression does that give to the squires?”

  Good to see you too, you old fart.

  “I thought you might enjoy some quality time with them yourself.” Billi rolled her neck and swung her arms. She was in a foul mood, and seeing Gwaine first thing was only making it worse, she needed to take it out on someone. “Where’s Bors?”

  Gwaine glowered. “Gone with Arthur.”

  She stopped dead, arms mid-swing. “Wait. Dad took Bors? He took Bors instead of me?” She shook her head. “He took Bors?”

  “Do I need to repeat myself? Go spar with Idres. I’m getting an ulcer watching him make a fool of himself.”

  Dad took... never-mind. She was going to have words with him when he got back. “Oi! Idres! Grab some gloves!”

  Idres wiped the sweat from his oh-so-red face, and he lowered the great-sword he’d been swinging at a wooden post. The guy was dripping, and the ventilation down here was poor enough. “What are we doing, Billi?”

  Billi took a pair of lightweight sparring gloves off a hook on the wall and slipped them on. “I’m gonna punch you repeatedly in the face until you stop me.”

  He went pale.

  Carados, sparring with Mordred, laughed. “See you in hospital then, Idres.”

  The gloves felt good. “Shut up, Carados. You’re next.”

  She didn’t need to look to see Carados’s reaction to that.

  “Quit yapping,” snarled Gwaine. “Idres, listen to me. You’re a big lad, you’ve got longer reach so make use of it. Stop looking so scared. You’re meant to be a goddamn Templar.”

  Idres exhaled sharply and slammed his fists together. He was big, not Bors big, certainly not Carados big, but those heavy arms and chunky shoulders could do some serious damage, if he even got them to connect.

  Every morning, seven days a week, after vigils but before breakfast, they trained down here. Down amongst the bones, down amongst the ancient stones and vaulted ceilings and engraved slabs, bearing oaths and prayers reaching back eight centuries. The walls were lined with weapons’ racks and there was a heavy duty punching bag in the north-west corner. They’d installed an oak post for sword drill. Mats had been laid down for sparring practice. Idres moved carefully, fists up and head set low. “You going to give me a lesson or just use me as a punch bag?”

  “Lesson? Okay.” Billi kept light, not quite bouncing on the balls of her feet but ready to move in, move out, slip this way or that. “There’s only one you really need to know.”

  “Which is?”

  “There’s no such thing as a fair fight.”

  She slammed the sole of her foot into
the side of Idres’s knee. Not enough to bring him down but enough for him to lose his balance. And what do you do when you lose your balance? You throw out your arms.

  He realised his mistake a second later, and that was a second too late. Billi sprang into range and hooked with her right, a neat, tight punch with plenty of shoulder and hip, pushing off from her right foot so the power rose straight up through the floor. The blow landed a centimetre out, high on the cheek instead of the jaw. Idres’s hands shot up and Billi spun right, pirouetting on her left foot.

  You only turned your back on your opponent if you were fast.

  Billi was fast.

  The back kick landed deep in Idres’s guts. He groaned but stayed upright. He gritted his teeth as the next blow came in, a sharp uppercut, followed by a flurry.

  And he took it. Head down he let Billi pummel him. He braced his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor slabs, as solid as a rock. Waiting his turn.

  He sensed it before she did. Maybe one blow wasn’t as clean as the one before, or just a smidge weaker, but the moment it happened Idres charged, straight into Billi’s barrage of punches but he let them bounce off his skull, his heavy jaw and flint-hard cheeks. He closed the distance in an instant. His arms locked around Billi’s waist and he hoisted her in the air. She slipped one hand out. With no room and relying purely on her arms, the blow wasn’t anything special and Idres hardly noticed it. The second he noticed even less. He was going to body slam her into the mat. This was going hurt, a lot.

  At the last second Billi hooked her foot around his leg, pulling it away as he stepped. She put her all into the twist as they fell.

  Just, just enough for Idres to land beneath her.

  Billi rolled away, all the air smashed out by the impact. Idres lay there, groaning.

  She lay there, looking up at the ceiling, body as heavy as lead. How long had that fight been? A minute?

  What did Dad say? It doesn’t get easier.

  She looked over at Idres. She winked. “Was it good for you?”

  Idres laughed. He winced. “Ow. Ow. Ow. It’s not funny.”