Page 22

But it didn’t feel wrong. He felt like home. He smelled like home. And she found herself clinging to him instead of pulling away.

seven

Joan ran desperately through the hedge maze of Holland House, breath burning in her throat. Her clothes caught on twigs and leaves. Someone was chasing her, someone just a few paces behind. She put on a burst of speed, and the sharp edges of the hedge scratched at her face and hands. There was a turn ahead. Left or right? No time to think; she went left.

In front of her, the path ended abruptly in a high wall of dense leaves, forcing her to stumble to a stop.

‘Joan,’ someone said behind her. She turned, panicked breaths cutting into her lungs like knives.

It was Nick. His body filled the path like another wall, trapping her. He held a sword in one hand, as if it weighed no more than the plastic souvenir swords in the Holland House gift shop.

‘Please,’ Joan whispered. There was a stitch in her side, and her chest hurt more with each heaved breath.

‘You stole human life,’ he said. His voice was sad. He wasn’t here for vengeance. He was an executioner, carrying out his duty. ‘I can’t allow you to harm anyone else.’

‘We wanted to make peace between humans and monsters!’ Joan said pleadingly. It had seemed possible, once upon a time. ‘Remember? We were going to make peace!’

‘You didn’t choose peace, though.’ He raised the sword. It was the one he’d used to kill Lucien and Edmund. Last time, he’d used it to protect her. ‘You killed the person protecting humans. You chose monsters.’

‘No!’ she begged him. ‘Nick!’

The blade flashed toward her.

Joan woke with a gasp, heart pounding.

‘Joan?’

Nick was here, looming over her. Joan heard herself make a terrified sound. She tried to scramble away, but her back struck something hard and smooth. He had her trapped in a tiny corralled space. She searched for a weapon and, finding nothing, kicked out at him. He dodged easily, clambering to his feet, eyes wide.

Joan looked around frantically. Had he hurt the others? Where was Ruth? Where was Aaron?

‘Joan, you’re safe. It’s okay.’ Nick’s voice was very soft—the tone you might use to soothe a frightened animal. ‘You’re on the train. We’re going to London, remember? It’s just you and me here. No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.’

Joan’s vision adjusted slowly. He wasn’t standing among hedge leaves but in a narrow aisle. Behind him, long windows showed a rushing view: red-roofed houses and trees. They were on a train. And Nick … Joan gulped in air. This was the other Nick.

‘They didn’t find us,’ Nick reassured her. ‘We escaped.’

‘I had a nightmare,’ Joan murmured numbly. She’d kicked at him, she remembered. Thank God, she hadn’t used her hands. She could have killed him with a touch. She could have drained all his life from him. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Of course not,’ Nick said gently, and Joan saw in her mind’s eye how easily he’d dodged. ‘I didn’t mean to crowd you when you woke up. I thought …’ He hesitated. ‘I thought you called my name.’

Joan’s breathing had been evening out, but the next one caught. ‘What?’

‘You called out to me when you woke up. Or maybe …’ Puzzlement passed over his face. ‘Just before you woke up …’

Outside, the blur of green reminded Joan too much, suddenly, of the hedge walls from the dream. She shivered hard, and Nick saw it, forehead creasing. Joan struggled out of the seat. ‘I just need to—’ she said, and Nick shuffled back quickly, giving her room to pass him down the aisle.

Joan put her back to the train’s glass door. The cold seeped through her shirt, grounding her. She looked around the carriage. It was still empty.

She realised with a start that she’d been looking for Aaron since she’d woken; the dream had felt too much like the time they’d fled through the maze together. She’d needed to see for herself that he was okay too. But he wasn’t here. He was somewhere out there, hunting her down. Joan felt that weight settle again in her chest.

‘Last stop was Leagrave,’ Nick said. ‘You barely slept.’

Joan folded her arms around herself. She felt groggy with exhaustion, but there was no way she’d get to sleep again. Not after that dream. She focused on Nick and saw now how pale he was. He was still standing in the aisle, a hand on a backrest for balance. That need for a crutch told Joan how tired he must be too.

‘Why don’t you sleep?’ Joan said. They were only half an hour out of London, but he could at least close his eyes.

‘Don’t think I can,’ he said. ‘Too much in my head, you know?’ And then, so quietly she could hardly hear him over the drone of the train: ‘I know how long we’ve been missing.’