Page 21 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Cassius’s cheerful demeanor cooled; Aaron had committed a faux pas by questioning his interrogation skills.

“Their crimes were committed on Argent territory,” he said, a new hint of steel making him sound like a head of family, rather than the buffoon he’d seemed.

“We have jurisdiction. You requested the honor of performing the executions, and we were of course happy to grant that request. But let’s not overstep. ”

“ Please ,” the red-haired man whispered. “Please don’t kill us!”

“Go on, hand on the neck,” Cassius said to Aaron, as if the man hadn’t spoken. When Aaron hesitated, he made a face. “Oh,

tell me you’re not planning some kind of tedious drowning.” Joan registered, then, the line of green moss on the concrete

embankment. If they all stayed here, the tide would eventually rise over the prisoners’ heads. “Come on, old chap,” Cassius

said impatiently. “I did my part by arriving on time, and it’s almost lunchtime. You can’t keep a man from a meal.”

Aaron looked at Joan. He didn’t know what to do. On the pub’s balcony above, a few drinkers were getting restless. Faint jeers

sounded from above. Here, on the foreshore, whispers hissed.

But Joan and the others had to speak to the prisoners; they might not have been working directly with Nick, but it had seemed clear from the recording

last night that he’d found a way to get to Eleanor. They might know something of his plans.

And... even if they didn’t know anything, Aaron couldn’t just kill them in cold blood. There had to be a way out of this.

“Lord Oliver made a request,” Joan said to Cassius, trying to keep her voice steady. “He needs to interrogate them.”

Cassius stepped toward her, seeming almost bewildered—as if he hadn’t even noticed that she was standing there until that moment. “Are you speaking to me , girl?” he said to her. His tone was as confused as if a stray dog had piped up. He raised a hand lazily, clearly intending

to strike her.

Nick stepped forward then too, and Joan saw—horribly—how it was all about to unravel. Cassius would try to hit her; Nick would

stop him; and then they’d both be arrested. They’d be killed.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. A woman was walking toward them across the pebbled ground, seeming to skim over

it where Joan had sunk into the mud. She had moonlight-pale hair and a serene presence that made Joan think of cold midnight

air, of deep lakes.

Cassius backed up respectfully; he knew who she was. “I didn’t realize you were coming,” he said to her.

Who was she? The woman wore a simple black dress with a soft belt and silver clasp. The only hint at her identity was a small caged-bird

pin on her dress; she was a member of the Nightingale family.

Then Joan saw Aaron’s face. He’d frozen, staring at the woman’s features like he’d seen a ghost.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” the woman said to Aaron. “The traffic was quite awful.” When Aaron didn’t respond, she added, “Well,

aren’t you going to say hello to your mother?”

And then Joan was staring at the woman too. This was Marguerite Nightingale? Joan could see the resemblance now. Marguerite

had the same fragile beauty as Aaron, the same delicate features, the same shining blonde hair.

Aaron made a visible effort to gather himself.

“Hello, Mother,” he said hoarsely. He was so pale Joan thought he might pass out.

Joan couldn’t imagine how he was feeling.

In their timeline, his mother had been executed for sheltering a member of the Grave family.

Aaron had tried to protect her, but she’d

been killed right in front of him. Afterward, his father had disinherited Aaron for trying to help her. He’d spread a cruel

lie that Aaron had turned his mother in to the Court himself, and the Nightingales had blamed him for her death—leaving Aaron

utterly alone.

“Mother... ,” Aaron said again. For a second, he looked and sounded much, much younger.

Concern crinkled Marguerite’s eyes now. “Are you quite well? Here, let me deal with the unpleasantries.” She bent and killed

the red-haired man with a touch to the back of his neck. Joan’s gasp of horror was drowned as the dead man’s sister started

to scream. A moment later, Marguerite had killed her too, with the same matter-of-fact efficiency.

Joan stared, shocked. Marguerite had just killed two humans. They’d been crying and terrified, and Marguerite had killed them

as casually as tossing rubbish into a bin.

Aaron put a hand over his mouth, and Joan saw the moment it hit him that this wasn’t his mother but her counterpart, molded

by this world to become as cruel and ruthless as his own counterpart.

“Come,” Marguerite said to Aaron. Joan and Nick might not have been there at all. She gestured at the pub above them, where

the drinkers had been jeering from the balcony. They’d fallen silent after Marguerite had killed the humans. “You’ll feel

better when you’ve eaten something,” Marguerite continued. “I’ve booked us a table at the Pelican.”