The Templar's Curse Sarwat Chadda (top books of all time TXT) 📖

Holding the vase by the top, Billi slowly stretched her arm out over the edge of the balcony. “Go on. Dare me.”

“You wouldn’t… just wait. Maybe we can come to some arrangement after all.”

“That’s nice. But I’m sorry. I can’t trust you one little bit.”

Lawrence thrust his claw-like forefinger towards her. “Get that bitch!”

“And we were getting along so well until now.” Billi tucked the jar into her jacket and swung herself off the balcony.

CHAPTER TWO

There’s that freefall moment. It’s too quick to be terrifying, gravity’s quicker than the brain at times like these, unexpected times. Up? Down? Going to land soon, later, not at all? You’ve just got to hope the landing’s not too bumpy. It’s kind of like falling in love.

Billi twisted, not enough to land on her feet, but flat on the wooden table laid out on the balcony for a late-night meal overlooking the swaying trees of Green Park. The table crumbled and knocked all the air from her lungs.

Up above, the golem was gingerly trying to make his way down the slope after her.

Now Billi needed to rely on the power of love. She leaned over the edge as she heard a motorbike revving.

A guy waiting below waved at her. He stood a few paces away from the café canopy. She just hoped it was strong enough…

Checking that the jar remained sealed and unbroken, Billi, for the second time in the same minute, went over the edge.

The drop was longer, but it passed faster. Eyes squeezed shut she hit the canopy and it sank around her, not quite ripping from its fixings but a few of the hooks popped out of the stone and the frame buckled, almost bending in half. She opened her eyes.

She was not a bloody smear on the pavement.

Today was turning out way better than she’d expected.

“That was the stupidest thing I ever saw! Why didn’t you climb?” said the biker as he clambered over the scattered café furniture. He pulled the canopy aside and hauled her up and out. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” he muttered. “Anything broken?”

While he checked her, she checked the jar. “Nope. We’re all good.”

“I doubt that. Come on.” And he turned toward the waiting motorbike.

A Norton Commando 74. A classic. The biker held out a spare helmet. Billi put it on while the biker pushed the jar into his backpack.

“You sure about this?” the guy asked. “You have just fallen off a building, Billi.”

“And this is the welcome I get? I’m pretty disappointed.”

He laughed. He took off his helmet and shook his head. “You’re crazy, Billi SanGreal.”

Billi hooked her arm around his neck and kissed him. She’d done it before, too many times to count over the last two years, but Ivan Alexeivich Romanov always tasted like the first time.

Look at him. My prince.

His grey eyes were like mirrors, they took on whatever colour was around and right now they were gold from the streetlights. Those Slavic cheekbones were as proud as his heritage and his jaw smooth and hard but for the dark stubble on his chin. His lips were as red as any fairy-tale princess.

Was that what she liked about him? He was a unique blend of masculine edges and feminine softness.

Who knew for sure? And did it matter?

First came a sprinkle of dust and chipped stones. It was all the warning they got. Then there was the rush of wind as something big and very heavy tore straight through the canopy and exploded upon impact with the pavement. The windows shattered as stone shards flew off in all directions, Billi just turning her back at the moment of impact. People screamed, inside the hotel, and out.

It was the golem, or what was left of it. A few bigger pieces still gave a hint of its original shape but most were now reduced to pieces small enough to fit in her hand. Of the head only part of the eye socket remained, the blue light of sorcerous life extinguished. It lay amongst the wreckage of the side-street café, the tables and chairs of wrought iron flattened as if made of wire and covered in the torn flaps of the canopy. One hand remained whole, and the fingers still twitched. It was still trying to follow Lawrence’s order.

Now look at it. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men were not going to put that back together again.

She kissed Ivan again. She then got on her bike and gave the throttle a twist. The twin four-stroke engine roared and she felt its power rise through her. She’d only had it a few months and the thrill of the machine hadn’t faded. Much like Ivan’s kisses. She looked back. “You wanna ride?”

***

Temple district was a few miles East and yet a world away from the bright lights and crowded streets of the West End. They made their way down the all but empty Fleet Street up to the gate at the top of Middle Temple Lane. Ivan opened it up and Billi rolled the Norton through to the narrow-cobbled path. The area had once been theirs, the London headquarters of the Knights Templar until their apparent destruction in the early years of the 14th century. For the world at large the order had ceased to exist when their last grandmaster, Jacques de Molay, had been burnt at the stake in a square in Paris at the behest of the Inquisition.

But from that moment the rumours started. That the English king, unlucky Edward II, had offered refuge to those that had escaped the fire. Rumours easily dismissed.

Now the Temple district was all law courts and barristers’ offices. There were reminders of its warrior past, Temple Church still dominated and, in the courtyard, stood Templar Column with its two knights riding upon a single horse.

Like me and Ivan on the Norton. The modern day Templars on their steel steed.

This time of night the barristers’ chambers were all empty and