Faustus came up and put his hand on her arm. “That’s enough, Billi.”
The body beneath was still. The smoke rising off it was no more than a wisp. The fire was gone. “Yeah, I guess it is.” She tossed the two pieces of wood away. “You okay?”
He cradled his bleeding arm. “I’d forgotten how exciting life gets when you’re around.”
Billi grabbed the edge of the curtain and pulled it away. “Now let’s see what we’re really dealing with.”
The body was gone. No remains at all. But there was something left behind. A symbol had been burnt into the warped wooden floorboards. One big circle.
No, not a circle. A loop in the outline of... a snake eating its own tail. The ouroboros.
Faustus looked at it and groaned. “Shit. You really know how to make the very worst of enemies, Billi.”
“What do you mean?”
He nodded unenthusiastically. “It’s the symbol of the Society of the Eternal Snake.”
“What sort of society?” Though by the way the colour had drained from his face it probably wasn’t the sort that helped out at village fetes.
Faustus looked wary, as if the snake might suddenly uncoil and bite him. “A society of immortals.”
CHAPTER 11
Billi wiped the blood from Faustus’s arm. “You’re lucky, it just tore the skin a little. No need to worry about stitches.”
“Hmm.”
With the splinters picked out and cleaning done she worked the bandage up from the wrist, smoothing out any bumps as she went along. There was something weirdly satisfying about this part of the job. It meant the night was over, the battle had been fought. It was time they went home to lick their wounds and celebrate being alive.
She’d brought him to the apartment, where the medical supplies were. The bathroom wasn’t the easiest place for repairs, she sat on the edge of the bath and Faustus was seated upon the toilet, lid down, his top off and arm stretched in front. She tried to keep her attention on the job, rather than his bare chest. He was sitting much closer than he needed to. She could smell him, the sweat, the ash, even the aftershave he’d been using, something scented with roses. He didn’t strike her as the sort of bloke to use aftershave.
He watched her as she worked, just enough for her to feel a little warm. Maybe it was the after-effects of the fight with… whatever that had been. She knew she needed a shower, but it was an awkward thought to have in the cramped bathroom with Faustus a few centimetres away from her.
Remember why he’s here. This is all business.
Billi reached the top of the forearm and tied it off. “Want to get your shirt back on?”
Faustus flexed his arm. “Nice job.”
“You stink of smoke. Have a shower while I put the food out.”
“No worries. I can have a dip when I get home.” Faustus reached for his tee-shirt hanging on the back of the door. He had to stretch over her, almost chest to chest. Billi got a very good look at the Hamsa tattooed to his chest. She could feel his warmth. He unhooked the tee-shirt but didn’t back away, a wry smile on those full lips of his and a query in the arch of those eyebrows. What was he doing? Daring her to try something? Looking for permission to try something himself?
“We have hot water and soap. And a rubber duck to play with. When was the last time you played with a rubber duck? Make the most of it.” Then she backed out, closing the door firmly behind her.
Blimey. What was that?
Get a grip, SanGreal. You’re just feeling hysterical after another near-death experience fighting the forces of the Unholy. It’s the lust for life, the need to connect when you think it’s all over. You’ve been here before. Maybe you need a shower too, a cold one.
She heard the shower come on, and Faustus started... singing? It was tuneless, garbled and half-drowned out by the rattling pipes but it was the song of a guy who was enjoying himself. Hot water and soap were a big deal to some.
Yeah, and standing by the door. What’s that all about? Waiting for him to ask you to come wash his tattoos?
Billi hurried off to the kitchen.
There was biryani in the pot and a few leftover rotis. She piled the rice dish up high on a plate and chucked it in the microwave for a solid blast. Then yoghurt from the fridge, Arthur did not believe in sparing the chillies.
Faustus entered a few minutes later, and his eyes widened as he saw the food laid out. “Now that was worth almost dying for.” He grabbed a chair and dropped a big dollop of yoghurt on the mountain of rice. “Your dad knows how to cook.”
Billi sat down and helped herself to a spoonful. “Maybe you should have stayed. It’s not all near-death experiences.”
“It’s mostly near-death experiences. It’ll catch up with you, sooner or later. You know that. What’s that phrase? You shall keep the company of martyrs? Real selling point, SanGreal. I’m not that desperate.”
“Could have fooled me. You planning on licking that plate clean?” There was hardly a grain left. “Seconds?”
He slid the plate over to her. “Fighting the Unholy gives you an appetite.”
She took the plate and started piling it up. “What do you think it was? The ghost of Simon FitzRoy? Something else? I felt I was fighting more than a mere spirit. There is no way he should have broken those fetters. And he should have disintegrated with that holy water.”
“What do you know about Simon? From when he was, y’know, alive? I looked at the folder. Said he was reported as having suffered PTSD after the war. There was something deeply odd going on, that’s for sure.”
“Like this Ouroboros Society? You want to tell me about it?”
“Only rumours. But the ouroboros is an ancient occult symbol. Originates from the time of the pharaohs, even before that. They snake was thought to be immortal. Shedding its skin to be reborn over and over again. They were even called ‘serpent souls’, having transformed their nature into something more akin to the snake they worshipped in their quest for immortality.”
“Like creating the Philosopher’s Stone? The old alchemists believed that granted ever-lasting life.”
He nodded. “The stone was said to be one path towards ever-lasting life, but there were many more. As time went on these scholars investigated all types of theories. Some thought the secret lay in alchemy, others in rituals, others in deals with otherworldly entities.”
“Immortality, eh? I guess that’s the trade the Devil gets offered more than anything else.”
“Exactly.” Faustus shovelled a few more spoonfuls in and talked as he chewed. “Seems like your boy Simon FitzRoy got himself involved with the Ouroboros Society. From the sound of it on the wrong side. That make sense to you?”
“More than you think.” Too many coincidences. Lawrence had worn an ouroboros ring on his finger and he was an immortal. He had to belong to the society. And what about that necklace she’d seen Simon’s daughter wearing? “I think someone is after his kid, Erin.”
“Or something,” said Faustus. “The ghost said she had to stop him from finding ‘it’.”
“So we’ve got two mysteries. What ‘it’ is exactly and who ‘he’ is. I’m guessing the ‘he’ could be Lawrence? He might have discovered that Simon had found, and kept, something he wanted. Immortality hasn’t worked out well for him, he may still be looking for a better option.” After all, Lawrence looked like a living skeleton already, what would he be in another hundred years? A living sack of bones?
“Uh oh. I know that look.” Faustus shook his head as he chewed on a roti. “You’re not going to let this one go, are you?”
“I could do with your help.”
He smirked. That smirk was new. It suited him, annoyingly. “I bet you could.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You remember my boyfriend, Ivan? Tsarevich Ivan Romanov? You know, a prince, insanely rich, ridiculously good-looking and... and that’s pretty much more than enough, don’t you think?”
> “You forgot to mention you being in love with him.” Faustus cast his gaze back to the now empty plate. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve done my job, I’ve had my meal and we’re quits.”
***
“How are you getting home?” Billi asked as they went downstairs to the front door. It was well into the night by the time they’d cleaned up.
“It’s sweet how you worry about me,” said Faustus. “Though if you were really worried, you’d let me stay the night.”
This new Faustus was a cocky bastard, that was for sure. The old one had been so timid and a ‘stand at the back’ kinda guy. Despite herself she was warming to this version. Up to a point. “I’m not sure I could handle the scandal.”
“You worried about your virtue, Billi?”
“No, Faustus, I’m worried about yours.” She stopped by the door and punched the release. “You find your new approach works with girls?”
Here, under the single ceiling light, his face softened by half-shadow, Faustus strayed dangerously close toward ‘foolish mistake’. She could easily imagine what those lips would taste like, under the heat of the moment. Faustus’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “There’s always a first time.”
“Goodbye, Joe,” said Billi as she pushed the door open. “Sweet dreams and — ”
“Billi?”
Just great.
Ivan stood at the door, looking bemused. Then he saw Faustus and the bemusement surrendered to anger. “What’s he doing here?”
He had vanished off without a word and now he was back he expected her to explain herself? Nope, she wasn’t playing along. “Last I looked my dad still owned the lease on our apartment. Who comes and goes is entirely not your business.”
But Ivan wasn’t interested. He was glaring past her and what’s worse was Faustus just stood there, arms folded, smirking. He couldn’t have looked more at home if he’d been in a dressing gown. “Billi and I were enjoying a late feast.”
“It’s two in the morning,” snapped Ivan.
“Is it?” Faustus looked surprised. “Time just flies by when you’re having fun.”
Yeah, this was not helping. They were moments away from beating their chests at each other. “Though I’m flattered at all this alpha male posturing and look, if you two want I’ll go get the pistols and you can settle your differences on the lawn like gentlemen, it is, as you said, two in the morning and I’ve had enough drama tonight. So…” she snapped her fingers, “… Faustus, go home.”
He didn’t move, not quite immediately anyway. Just long enough to make Ivan glare and Billi regret having not kicked him out with a takeaway rather than meal at hers, but then he nodded and stepped out, pausing briefly to wink at Ivan. “Nice seeing you, tsarevich.”
Ivan clenched his fists, but kept them to his sides as he watched Faustus stroll off into the night, whistling as tunelessly as he sang.
Now it was her turn to be pissed off. “What are you doing here?”
“I… I spoke to Mordred. He told me you’d gone off on some job. I was worried. Why didn’t you tell me? Is it because you wanted to spend the night gallivanting with him?”
She almost laughed. “Ivan, no one gallivants anymore. Much as they’d like to.”
“My English is a hell of lot better than your Russian!” He snapped. “Three years and you still can’t count to ten!” Then he frowned. “What happened to your eyebrows?”
“My what?” She darted back into the hall to have a look in the mirror. What did he mean by…“Bloody hell. They’re gone.”
“What happened tonight, Billi?” He hadn’t come in yet. Ivan was still old-fashioned like that.
Any other night and she would have welcomed him. But there had been too much drama. She stank of smoke, she’d burnt off her eyebrows wrestling a flaming ghost, and just wanted to collapse on her bed and sleep all the way through the weekend. “Ghost of a guy called FitzRoy. Lionel did some research into Lawrence and his name came up. He turned out to be trickier than expected. Faustus was there to help. You know that was what he was good at.”
“FitzRoy? Is that what you said?”
She turned around. “That name mean something to you?”
“I know Erin FitzRoy. She comes down to the Firebird every now and then,” he said. “She’s part of the London scene. You know, the bright pretty things that fill up the society pages in Tatler. She’d got connections in some very high places.”
Billi shook herself awake. “Erin is, was, his daughter. How well do you know her?”
She should have guessed. Ivan mixed in circles that she could never enter. Despite being Russian he was, remotely, connected to the Royal family through his Romanov blood. That opened some very special doors, even nowadays. Despite this being the 21st century some things never changed, like England’s obsession with class and rank.
Ivan smiled and those grey eyes of his sparkled. That was the Ivan she knew and, yes, loved. “Well enough to be invited to her house party tomorrow night. Want to come?”
CHAPTER 12
Erin lived in Dulwich Village, a small enclave of multi-million-pound houses and mansions and exclusive public schools in South London. It was almost shocking to see the vast gardens, lawns and driveways after the elbow-to-elbow existence in the old city where the only private greenery was your window box.
“Nice,” said Billi as they reached Erin’s address.
Ivan locked the Maserati. “Now be on your best behaviour, Bilqis SanGreal. No fighting the other kids.”
Billi fluttered her eyelashes. Thankfully they hadn’t been burnt away last night. “My very best behaviour.”
They faced a four-storey Georgian house, the evening throbbed with bass beating from the party within. Top of the range sports’ cars — three Porsches, a couple of Jaguars and a McLaren — crowded the cobbled courtyard along with a gleaming black Mercedes S-Class. A small group sat upon the steps leading to the doorway, sharing a spliff.
Ivan paused and straightened his cuffs. “You really should have tried to dress up a little.”
“I’m wearing make-up,” said Billi. “And I am in an actual dress.” True, it had been out of the local Oxfam, sleeveless with a big calf-length skirt and very blood red. She held up her wrist, displaying her bracelet. “And actual jewellery.”
“That would have looked better as a pair,” said Ivan, not quite sniffing. “Heels, Billi, you should have worn heels.”
“My boots have heels,” said Billi.
“But they’re biker… nevermind.”
Billi may have come dressed from the charity shop but Ivan was pure Savile Row. A tailored three piece, black with a deep scarlet waistcoat and a pair of shiny black Oxfords. His white cuffs peeked from under his sleeves and the cufflinks were a pair of minute golden firebirds. He even wore a tie. While everyone else was trying so hard to be like everyone else, in jeans, tee-shirts and bedheads here stood Ivan, every hair perfectly in place, clean-shaven and extremely suited and booted. He couldn’t be anything else.
They climbed over the four teens on the steps and stepped into the crowded hallway. A jockstrap hung from the chandelier. People filled the staircase all the way up. Furniture had been cleared away to the bare minimum needed to hold wine bottles, beer cans, sleeping drunks. The cacophony of music and people shouting made Billi tense up. She hated crowds. Everyone was elbow to elbow, carelessly knocking glasses, spilling drinks, tapping ash onto the highly-polished oak floor. Family photos mixed with paintings and Billi found her attention caught by a series of desert shots of smiling soldiers, dressed in their desert cameo MTPs. Billi tapped the central figure. “Simon FitzRoy. During better days.”
Ivan waved at some people he knew. This was his scene, he always knew someone, everywhere. “What’s the plan?”
“Let’s Scooby Doo this. We’ll cover more ground doing our own separate thing.”
Ivan laughed. “Think you might cramp my style?”
“Li
ke a leper at an ‘all you can eat’ buffet.” House parties weren’t Billi’s natural battlefield, but she knew where the most action would be, so headed towards the kitchen and left Ivan to continue his ‘meet and greet’.
And there she was, Lady Erin FitzRoy.
When they talked about the classic ‘English Rose’ they were talking about the likes of Erin. Her auburn locks were pixie cut, making the most of her exquisite cheekbones and huge blue eyes. Her skin was porcelain white, her limbs long and lithe and she wore a short silver dress and was tall enough to do without heels. Her feet were bare. Her only jewellery was a golden snake around her neck, tail clasped in its jaws and eyes of rubies. The ouroboros.
She stood by the big French doors that led out to the sweeping garden beyond, squeezed up against the doorframe, arms tightly folded across her chest as a guy waved his hand as he loomed over her, deep into her personal space and his eyes irresistibly locked on her breasts. Billi wove through the crowd crammed between them, grabbing a plate of minute chocolate eclairs off the island worktop. She helped herself to one. Wow. Very nice.
The guy put his hand on Erin’s shoulder. “… but why not, Erin? C’mon. Y’know, think of this as a going away present.”
“What about your girlfriend, sorry, your fiancé?” said Erin. “How would Alison feel?”
The guy shrugged. “She doesn’t need to know, does she?”
Billi bumped into him, and as he turned slid between the two of them, holding out the plate. “There you go. I’m surprised there are any left. They’re delicious.”
The guy scowled at her. “Hey! Do you mind? Me and Erin were —”
Billi turned and tipped the plate over him. She smiled at his shocked face. “Oops.”
He stepped back, shirt smeared with cream and dark chocolate. He tried to wipe it off, but only managed to spread it further. “You little—”
Billi didn’t catch the rest as Erin swept her arm through hers and linked like BBFs, drew Billi out into the garden. “Thank you, so much.”
“Shame about those éclairs. They were delicious,” said Billi. “But I think you could have handled him.”
The Templar's Curse Page 8
