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

chair, texting. But the bed was where the towel was, and the dress she’d put out for her.

“Erin?” Billi gestured to the bed. “Could you pass me the towel?”

Erin looked up, bemused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. The towel, please?”

Erin swung herself off the chair and picked up the towel. “I didn’t think you were that shy.”

She took it off her. “I don’t want to shock you.”

Erin laughed. “Do you want me to wait outside?”

Billi wiped herself down quickly and wrapped herself up. “It’s your house.”

Thank God she’d brought clean underwear. She dressed quickly but hesitated over the dress. She wasn’t used to fine things, even with Ivan. He’d taken her clothes shopping at the beginning and that had been a disaster. He’d never seen the owner of the Chanel store cry so much and they’d come close to being banned from Dior. The dress laid out for her was pearly-white silk, spaghetti strapped and as light as a breeze. It came down mid-thigh and Billi fought the urge to pull it down further. But the hairs on her leg weren’t too bad, from a distance. She reached for her DMs.

“You in a rush?” asked Erin.

“I have ugly toes.”

“We could paint them. Do girly things for the afternoon. You know.”

“Not really.” Billi gazed at her stubby bare toes and gave them a wiggle. Years of kicking the heavy bag had done them no favours. “I don’t think a coat of varnish is gonna save them.”

“You’re quite serious, aren’t you?” said Erin.

“So I’ve been told.”

Erin slipped her arm over her shoulder. “Let me fix that.”

“Good luck. Plenty have tried, but brooding is what I do best.”

They went downstairs into the kitchen. The French doors opened out to a wooden deck that overlooked the garden itself, which had to be at least a thirty metres long with old oak trees at the far end. Hidden within the leafy branches rested a tree-house and a pair of swings suspended under the boughs.

What she would have given to have a garden like this. Or a garden at all. Temple had green spaces, her dad and the Templars tended them as their day jobs, but they weren’t places for children. They were where the sombre lawyers and judges of the courts would retreat to for their lunches and quiet chats and the last thing they wanted were kids screaming through the rose bushes. Erin handed her a bowl of nachos. “Eat outside?”

Billi grinned. “The swings?”

Erin shrugged. “You’re a strange, strange girl.”

“Heard that before,” said Billi.

There was something luxurious about walking on cool grass barefoot. Billi scrunched her toes, digging them into the ground, savouring the way her feet tingled.

They sat on the swings under the shade of the huge oak tree. Billi dragged her feet through the grass as they rocked back and forth. The dappled light cast a mosaic of shadows over them both. Erin picked at the nachos from her bowl. “So what’s next for you, Billi SanGreal?”

“Ivan.”

“Ah. Of course. But you don’t seem too happy about it.”

Billi shook her head. “I’d rather talk about it when it’s done.”

Erin didn’t reply. Instead she was looking at Billi intently. Looking at her scars.

She should have put her own clothes back on.

Erin reached across and ran her fingertips across the faded marks on Billi’s forearm. “Poor Billi. Who did this to you?”

She was so used to seeing them she hardly thought about them now. And the other knights had far, far worse. But in the normal world, where the violence was limited to mean tweets and anonymous comments online, she was a throwback to an older age. She remembered all the trouble she’d had at school.

“Training,” said Billi. “That’s all.”

“You can tell me, Billi. I know about your dad. I had to ask. The SanGreal surname isn’t easy to forget.”

Billi shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

She didn’t believe her but wasn’t going to push it. Instead Erin leaned back until she was almost flat upon the swing. “We’re not that different, not really. How we deal with the pain inside. Sometimes it’s the only time I feel... anything.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, and your mom. It must have been hard. Sorry, of course it was. I don’t know what else to say,” said Billi. “I was just brought up to deal with it and move on. Pain passes.”

“Does it? Maybe some. That black eye of yours has almost faded.” Erin chewed her lip. “The others don’t get it. Or they don’t want to. I’m their ‘poor little rich girl’ cliché.”

“No one’s a cliché.” Billi stopped rocking. Erin’s face was twisted in torment. She was aching to tell her, to share but Billi wasn’t sure she wanted to hear. She hardly knew Erin. But there was something she felt about Erin, a warrior spirit. And didn’t warriors share their stories? For better or for worse.

“You know my dad killed himself? Of course you did. It’s what everyone knows. If they haven’t heard before they meet me, someone tells them pretty soon after. Dad was a good man, or at least he tried to be. I think that’s why he did it. Before he did something he would regret.” She looked hard at Billi, daring her to guess.

The ghost had pretty much told her. “He’d had a hard war, Erin. Some men don’t get over that.”

“Did Arthur? He was a commando, wasn’t he?”

“Dad had plenty of trouble. He found a purpose. That’s what saved him. And my mum. She helped him regain his humanity. She healed him, for a while, anyway.”

“Mine couldn’t save my dad. She was terrified of him. But he was so good, Billi. He was the best dad anyone ever had. I used to spend whole days with him in his study. He was mad for archaeology.”

This is it. She’s just gonna tell you straight out.

“What sort?”

“Mesopotamian. It runs in the family. My great-grandfather was a famous archaeologist, back in the 1920s. That necklace I wore at the party? The ouroboros?”

“Vaguely. It was nice.”

“He found that.