The Templar's Curse by Sarwat Chadda (classic books to read TXT) 📕

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.”

Erin looked back, smiling wryly. “Doug always gets like that when he’s had a few, and Alison’s out of town. Tiresome, but safe. But do you mind just sticking with me a while longer? Just to make sure?”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve played bodyguard.” Billi gestured to the necklace. It was even more spectacular in its scaly flesh than in the photo. Was this what Lawrence was after? “That’s a very beautiful piece. The ouroboros, isn’t it?”

“Wow. Someone actually recognises it. It’s an antique piece. Mesopotamian, over three thousand years old. It was a gift from my dad.”

“I guessed you didn’t find this at Ms. Selfridges? Where did he get it?”

“He picked it up during the Iraq War. Back in the day.”

“Really? My dad was out there too, Royal Marines,” said Billi. “Afghanistan, then Iraq. Couple of odd jobs after that, mainly working for security contractors protecting diplomats and the like.”

“A commando? That’s hardcore.” Erin visibly relaxed. “Mine was into tanks. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Oh?” asked Billi. “What about university?”

Erin shook her head. “Sandhurst at the end of September. Just like my dad, great-grand-dad and so on. You know what it’s like with military families. We were told too many war stories at bedtime. Dreamed of being warriors.”

“My dad doesn’t tell war stories,” said Billi. “But I know what you mean. Fighting’s in the blood.”

Erin laughed. “No more talking about our dads! I’m Erin.”

“I know. I’m Billi. I came with Ivan.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “So you are the famous, and elusive Billi SanGreal! I should have guessed. The dress and the biker boots should have given you away. Ivan never shuts up about you.”

“I hope he edits out all the bad stuff.”

“Ivan’s an old-fashioned gentleman, don’t you worry.”

“You can say that again.” Billi gestured back at the house. “Wanna go find him?”

“In time. The night’s just begun.” Erin stepped closer and stroked her finger along Billi’s neck. “You have to tell me how you got that scar.”

What was going on? Was Erin doing what she thought she was doing? The look in Erin’s eyes was intimate and held a second or two longer than Billi found comfortable. Her finger only drew off her throat after a long time, gently catching on Billi’s collar as she took a step back.

Erin stepped nearer. “You’re blushing, Billi. Why?”

Billi turned as she felt someone behind her.

Scrub that. Some three.

The first, a young black woman with short white dreadlocks, looked Billi up and down and smiled broadly. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Erin? Who is this adorable girl?”

The second had the palest moon-caressed skin and thick bouncy blonde locks that hung all the way down her back. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

The third, a delicate-looking South-Asian guy with bangles covering him from his thin wrists to his elbows and wearing a silk paisley shirt and emerald sarong, slipped his hand through the crook of Erin’s arm. “Erin was keeping her all for herself. That’s naughty.”

Erin broke away from the boy and joined Billi. “These are my priestesses, Billi. They are way too intrusive for their own good, not as clever as they think they are, and likely to lead you astray.”

The boy laughed. “Billi, is it? Now tell me, Billi, are you a girl or a boy? It’s hard to tell.”

“Does it matter?” Billi asked.

He grinned. “And that is the correct answer.”

Billi stood her ground as she met the trio’s gaze. “Priestesses of what?”

The blonde girl shrugged. “What have you got?”

Okay, a clique. The clusters that gathered to play their games of ‘who’s in and who’s out’ in the classrooms and school corridors. Trust-fund kids with nothing better to do but spend Daddy’s money and raid Mummy’s drinks cabinet.

“Billi, this is Ardhan,” Erin tapped the South-Asian’s thin chest, “and today he is self-identifying as a...?”

“Namaste,” said Ardhan, pressing his palms together. “A divinity, naturally.”

Erin rolled her eyes, then continued. “And then we have Phoebe…”

The black girl waved.

The blonde girl performed a comical curtsey. “Brigid, at your service.”

They were tight. Billi sensed the prickly protectiveness they had for each other, not that Billi needed to be reminded she was the outsider here. But she wasn’t going to be cowed by the ‘beautiful people’. She didn’t need to be accepted by anyone, she knew who she was and frankly didn’t care what they thought of her.

They knew it too. They circled her, looking for that chink in her armour. What would hurt? She wore a second-hand dress that didn’t really fit. Her boots had oil stains and she smelt of fumes and sweaty leather and her hair had been encased in a helmet for the last hour.

Phoebe handed Erin a glass. “I can’t believe your aunt let you hold a party