She’d never been in a relationship before. At first, they were always happy to do whatever the other wanted, it had got silly but maybe that’s what it was like with relationships, at the beginning. But now it was a constant tug-of-war, them both pulling in opposite directions and not giving an inch.
Billi swung her leg over the bike seat. “I promised my mates I’ll see them at the Sergeant and I’m late already.”
“I could meet you back at my apartment. You’ve got the keys, haven’t you?”
“Oh, right. Keeping your bed warm for whenever you stroll in? No thanks.”
Billi stared down at her hands, locking tightly around her handlebars. Finger by finger she forced herself to unwrap them. Ivan wasn’t the bad guy, sometimes there was no one to blame. Why shouldn’t he have his own life? What did she want, a boyfriend or a puppy? And he’d been brought up in a culture, a society, with him at the very top. Descended from the tsars of Russia, carrying the blood of Peter the Great in his veins, life as an outcast in London hadn’t been easy for him. Billi gazed at him, standing in the glow of the golden streetlight. “Look, I’ll give you a lift. I’ll say hello to the doorman and then head off to my meet. We’ll catch up properly.”
“Thanks, but that’ll be out of your way.”
“Come on. You’ll be ages waiting for an Uber.”
He turned his head and then Billi understood. Ivan’s gun-metal grey Maserati MC20, one of the first to roll out of the factory, was parked at the end of the street.
She was a total idiot. “You knew all along you weren’t coming. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“Why spoil it, Billi? I thought I’d save us an argument, at least postpone it. I know what you’re like. Too headstrong. It’s your way or nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
He held out his hand. “Then come to the Firebird. Meet my friends. You’ll like them. Just give them a chance, Billi.”
Billi pushed on her helmet. That way she couldn’t hear him and that way he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “Enjoy yourself, tsarevich.”
CHAPTER THREE
The celebrations were well advanced by the time Billi entered the Sergeant. The rest of them were at the back, tucked in their usual corner, shouting, arguing and laughing with, and at, each other. Idres was shaking his long dreadlocks at something Mo had accused him of, while the gigantic Carados was pointing at them both, rocking back on his stool. He saw Billi first and raised his glass. “Hey, hey! She did come! Make room, Idres. That bench is meant for two!”
Billi circled her finger. “Who wants a round? I’ll—”
Carados burped loudly as he gestured at the row of empty glasses on the table. “Way ahead of you. Just sit down and grab your pint… of Coke.”
All three burst into hysterics.
“Sorry I’m late.” Billi clambered over to wedge herself between Mo and the wall. She held out the backpack. “I got a present for you, Carados.”
He peered inside. “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s a four-thousand-year-old bronze jar containing an imprisoned djinn, then yeah. I want you to get it Lionel, tonight.”
“Any message attached?”
“He’ll know what to do with it. If he doesn’t he can always call Elaine.”
Carados nodded slowly. “Was there any trouble?”
“None worth mentioning.” Billi sipped her Coke and wished she had something a little stronger. Anything to put Ivan out of her mind, just for tonight.
“Cheers,” said Idres, raising his glass. “It’s not often we get an actual knight drinking with us squires.”
Mo looked up from his glass. “Excuse me? I haven’t been a squire for a year, remember. I sit at the table now, not like you lightweights.”
Carados slapped Idres on his shoulder. “You’ll be a knight soon enough. But how many times have you failed the Ordeal now? Five? Or is it six?”
“Twice and you know it. And that last time was bloody close. How was I to know there would be three vampires? It’s not my fault I didn’t bring enough stakes.”
Carados smirked. “It kinda is. Sharpening stakes is what we squires do. Always have one handy, just in case.” He pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a wooden stake strapped to his chunky calf. “See? Always prepared.”
“You’re a psycho. You know that?”
Carados grinned. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
Billi leaned back with her pint and let them carry on their arguing. The order only ever had nine knights, but there was no limit on squires. These were the latest recruits. Mo had been with the order a few years now but Carados and Idres were fresh, still learning the rules, and the dangers. Both had come off the streets, no family, no connections and that’s how the Knights Templar liked it. Some knights recruited from their own families, of course. She was the daughter of the Templar Master and Bors was nephew to Gwaine, the order’s Seneschal and second-in-command. Everyone knew Gwaine wanted to be Master, but time was running out, especially now he’d turned sixty. So, all his hopes lay with Bors.
Mo nudged her. “Where’s Ivan tonight?”
“He had some business of his own,” said Billi.
“Again?”
“Yeah. The Firebird’s taking up more and more of his time. It’s practically his court in exile. You wouldn’t believe the people who come to visit. He might as well move in there; it would be simpler.”
“You could have gone with him. You can see we’re managing.”
Billi glanced across the table as Carados insisted Idres feel his biceps. “Yeah, I can see that. But here is where I belong. Whether I like it or not.”
“If you say so.”
Now that was irritating. “You got something you want to say, Mo? Out with it.”
“You’re eighteen, Billi. You’ve done your ‘A’ levels and most your age would be heading off to university. They’d be getting away from home to start their own lives, making new friends, putting the old way of doing
