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‘You would have what?’ Astrid said. ‘Made a different decision at the end?’

Joan paused at that. Deep down, she knew the truth. She would have done anything to save her family last time. It had been her single focus. Being warned about some nebulous terrible future wouldn’t have stopped her. Being hit by a bus wouldn’t have stopped her. She started to follow the rest of that train of thought. If she’d known about Mr Larch and the other missing people … But that wasn’t a question she could bear asking herself. She was afraid of her own answer. ‘My family was dead.’ Her chest felt so tight.

‘They were dead,’ Astrid echoed. ‘And now the hero is dead in their place.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I should have killed you myself.’ She saw Joan flinch. ‘Oh, don’t worry. There’s no point in any of that now.’

Joan should have felt more afraid of her, she supposed. She didn’t, though. Astrid seemed defeated. And that alone was unlike the competitive fencer she’d been in the other timeline. At Holland House, she’d demonstrated historical fighting styles for the tourists, and even in the exhibition matches—even when it hadn’t mattered—she’d always fought to win. ‘Why do you keep talking like that?’ Joan said.

‘Like what?’

‘Saying things like there’s no point. Whatever you’re afraid of, it hasn’t even happened yet!’

‘You sound like your grandmother.’ Astrid sounded tired. ‘She thought she could stop it without him too. But it’s inevitable now.’

Gran knew about this? Joan opened her mouth to ask, but Astrid was still talking.

‘You ever seen two chess masters play?’ Astrid said. ‘They never actually finish the game. Partway through, they both see the outcome. They stop playing, they shake hands, and they leave. What’s the point in going through the motions when you know how the game will end?’

‘Nothing’s inevitable,’ Joan said. ‘I’ve changed the timeline before. My power—’

‘Your power?’ Another blaze of emotion from Astrid. ‘God, Joan, you really don’t know anything, do you.’ She felt in her skirt pocket and withdrew what looked like a simple business card: thick white paper with a blue bird printed in one corner. Someone had written on the card in pen: 5. 4. The 5 was crossed out. ‘You don’t believe me yet,’ she said. ‘Not really. But you will soon enough. And when you do, you’re going to want my help.’

What was that card? Joan had seen numbers crossed out like that before—but where? The memory came to her. Aaron had given her a brooch with numbers scratched onto the back. It had been a travel token—an object with time embedded into it. ‘Wait!’ Joan said, realising Astrid’s intention—she was going to travel in time. ‘You can’t leave!’

Astrid had already turned. ‘When it starts, don’t come and find me,’ she said. ‘I already fought this fight. I don’t need to play the endgame.’ She started to walk, vanishing mid-step, leaving Joan alone in the galley.

fifteen

Joan gripped the counter, staring down at the teapot, its steam still curling. Could Astrid have been telling the truth? Could something terrible be coming?

In the mundane surroundings of the kitchen, the warning seemed surreal. And as for the rest of the conversation … Guilt sat in Joan’s chest, heavy as lead. Mr Larch should still have been alive; he would have been alive if not for her. How many other people were dead in this timeline because she’d wanted her family back?

Barely aware of moving, Joan found herself heading in the direction the others had gone. The next room was an empty sitting area—a gallery-like space with eclectic art: a cartoon sketch of a basset hound, a watercolour of a busy marina, an oil painting of the canal outside. The mix of art styles should have been chaotic, but the room felt pleasantly serene. And that was surreal too—to be in this tranquil space with such churning thoughts.

People are missing from this timeline. Where do you think they are?

It’s complicated for us, isn’t it? Our choices aren’t clean or clear.

At the end of the room, there was a staircase. Joan stood at the foot of it, gripping the banister. She felt so sick. She’d undone Nick’s massacres of monsters; and now humans were dead. If she could somehow reverse it, then monsters would be dead again in their place—her own family included. It was an equation where every solution was unbearable.

Astrid’s words came back to her. I didn’t choose humans or monsters.

Joan swallowed around the lump in her throat. Choosing her family over Nick had caused humans to die, but if Astrid was right, the consequences were only just starting. People will die, Astrid had said. People on both sides. So many more than he ever killed or saved.

Could Astrid be right? Could something terrible be coming—something Nick would have stopped? Would Joan be responsible for something worse than the human deaths she’d already caused? Joan blinked down at her hand on the banister. What do you want me to say? That you need to step into his shoes and be the hero yourself? There’s no point in any of that now. But if Nick could have stopped this thing, then surely someone else could stop it too. And Joan had changed the timeline before …

Truth was, though, she’d only used her power once intentionally—on Nick. Every other time, it had come out without her volition. When Gran had died, Joan had accidentally transformed a gold necklace back to ore; when she’d been locked out at Whitehall Palace, she’d slammed her hand on the keyhole and it reverted in the same way.

Now, she shifted her grip so that she was touching the satiny varnish of the banister with just a fingertip. She wasn’t even sure how it worked. All she knew was that it was a power of unmaking and that the Court considered it to be forbidden.

She took a deep breath and concentrated. Around her, the timeline felt like a slight resistance, like the gentle press of a breeze. Joan concentrated harder. There was a flicker of energy inside her that hadn’t been there last night. Joan imagined the wood under her fingertip becoming supple and green, scabbing over with bark. Unmake yourself, she told it.

Nothing happened.

Revert, Joan told the wood. Turn back the clock on yourself.

‘You just going to stand there?’ someone said impatiently.

Joan startled, jerking her head up.