Page 23 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

What do you take me for? Ruth’s expression said. She turned to Cassius. “The Queen is appearing at the jubilee?”

Cassius laughed, as if Ruth had to be joking.

“No, she is quite dim,” Aaron said. “She’s actually asking.”

“ Aaron! ” Marguerite said. Aaron had turned, and Joan couldn’t see his expression. From Ruth’s shift from irritation to smug amusement,

he must have looked chastened.

“She always appears on the day of her jubilee,” Cassius said to Ruth. “She records a message for us all.”

“She won’t be there in person?” Ruth said. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

“She’s never anywhere in person. And tickets to the arena have been sold out for years. If you want to get in, you’ll have to cozy up to a head

of family like Aaron or me. We’ll have a whole stand each....”

His voice dipped away again as he spoke. To Joan’s horror, another fade-out was hitting her—worse than in the rainstorm last

night. Her vision dimmed, and she could barely hear the room. Be calm , she told herself, over her rising panic. She wanted to tell Aaron what was happening, but she couldn’t move her lips, her

mouth.

She concentrated on all she had left. The feeling of air in her throat; the rise and fall of her chest.

What if she stopped breathing, like she had at the Serpentine? What if this time, she couldn’t get out of it?

Panic rose in her throat, but slowly—horribly slowly—the room brightened again. Joan took another breath, picking out details

around her. The pelican carvings at the ceiling corners. The uneven stone tiles. The way the table rocked slightly when Ruth

leaned on it. The flecks of mud on Aaron’s shoes.

Cassius was still speaking. “The Griffiths have some talented gladiators this year too, I believe. If I weren’t an Argent, I’d put money on

them. What about you? Who’s your pick for the win?”

Aaron didn’t respond. With a jolt, Joan realized that he’d turned his gaze to her .

“Aaron?” Cassius said.

Aaron ignored him. He tore a piece from his bread roll, buttered it generously, and passed it to Joan. How had Aaron registered

that fade-out? Joan was sure she hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound.

Joan could feel everyone’s gaze—Ruth’s confused, and Nick’s worried. She took the bread; she was terrified of her senses failing

again. She bit and chewed, and the world blessedly shifted back into place, the floor becoming solid under her feet again.

“So indulgent,” Cassius said, eyebrows rising. “Feeding her from your own plate.” He gave Joan an assessing look; he’d barely

noticed her up until this moment, but now his gaze moved leisurely up and down her body in a way that made Joan’s skin crawl.

She felt Nick shift beside her, tension suffusing him.

A muscle jumped in Aaron’s jaw. Rather than keep everyone’s attention on Joan, though, he forced a smile and lifted his glass.

“Shall we toast to Her Majesty?”

To Joan’s relief, Cassius was instantly distracted. “Oh, we need to toast properly!” He snapped his fingers at one of the

servers, a woman of about twenty, beckoning her over.

As he did, Joan caught Nick looking her over worriedly. He wasn’t just disgusted by Cassius’s leering; he’d realized, from Aaron passing her the bread, that she must have had another fade-out.

I’m okay , Joan mouthed, but the concern didn’t leave Nick’s eyes. Aaron was still troubled too; he glanced back, trying to gauge if

she was properly grounded. Joan tried to give him a reassuring look.

The server arrived. She was small and mousy, as if she’d learned not to draw attention. Her pendant was silver, a withered

black elm wrapped around it like fingers. The two numbers were identical: 12 years, 3 months, 2 days. Joan swallowed. The

rest of this woman’s life belonged to the Argents. Cassius could force her to serve for twelve more years, or he could drain

all twelve years right here, at this table. He’d have the right.

Back at the house, Ruth had said that humans here had a certain look about them. Joan could see what she meant now. There

wasn’t much expression on the girl’s face, but she was statue-still, barely breathing, like a prey animal forced to stand

among predators.

Cassius hardly seemed to notice her, even though he’d called her over. She could have been a side table. “What do you want?”

he asked Aaron.

Aaron searched the girl’s face. He’d noticed her. “I don’t mind.”

Cassius hesitated. “God, I’ve forgotten—you are of age, right?” he said to Aaron. “He can have a drink?” he asked Marguerite.

“I’m eighteen,” Aaron said, and Joan took that in. He’d been seventeen when they’d met. She’d been sixteen. They’d both had birthdays since. Joan hadn’t felt very celebratory when hers had rolled by a few months ago.

“Good—it would be a sad day if you couldn’t celebrate your hard-fought win against the Wolf,” Cassius said. He snapped his

fingers. “Champagne!” he ordered.

The woman scurried away. She returned shortly with a bottle and a tray of tall flutes, and poured each of the monsters a glass.

Cassius stood, lifting his. “To Her Majesty!”

Aaron joined him on his feet, and so did the others. “To Queen Eleanor.”

“Queen Eleanor!” Marguerite said.

Jamie muttered something too. Ruth just gritted her teeth.

“And to you,” Cassius said to Aaron. “For defeating the Wolf.”

Aaron raised his glass again.

An hour later, it was finally over.

Cassius paid the bill. “It’s my territory,” he insisted. He stood, and ice crawled down Joan’s spine as she realized Cassius

was looking at her again,his attention creepy and clammy.

“You are a pretty one,” Cassius said—almost as if he was conceding a point. He raised an eyebrow at Aaron. “You and your taste for

humans.... Quite scandalous.”

To Joan’s shock, Cassius reached across the table as if to touch her. But within a blink, his wrist was in Aaron’s hand—Aaron

had moved almost as fast as Nick might have. On Joan’s other side, Nick made a soft sound at the back of his throat.

“We don’t touch what isn’t ours.” Aaron sounded ice cold— exactly like his counterpart.

Cassius raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised by Aaron’s possessiveness.

Joan fought the urge to shove Cassius back herself. And she wasn’t the only one struggling to manage her anger. The woman

who’d served the champagne caught Joan’s eye, and Joan saw a flash of sympathetic rage before the woman turned to walk back

to her place along the wall.

The humans of this timeline might act like prey, but they weren’t cowed, Joan realized. As the conversation between the monsters

wrapped up, she registered more flashes of emotion from the humans in the room: anger and resentment, especially when Cassius

talked about Nick’s counterpart;about his body being dragged through the streets; his head spiked onto a turret. Nick had been popular with humans here.

What would they think if they knew another version of Nick was right here among them? That—in a way—he was back from the dead?

“Well... ,” Cassius said finally. “Quite the honor to host the man who killed the Wolf. You must be so proud,” he said

to Marguerite.

“I’m always proud of him,” Marguerite said.

And then, to Joan’s relief, Cassius was striding out of the pub.

“Shall we take a moment to talk about Ward’s interrogation?” Marguerite asked Aaron. “You said he gave you some information....”

“He really didn’t tell me much.” Aaron’s fists were white-knuckled by his sides. Joan could see he just wanted to go back to the Oliver house, to shut himself away. He’d never been one to process emotions in front of other people.

“Yes, I know you’d rather be home.” Marguerite could read Aaron’s body language too. “This won’t take a moment.” She gestured

to a room at the back of the pub.

As she led him there, she was clearly surprised that Joan and the others kept trailing awkwardly behind. “You don’t need an

entourage, I’m sure,” she said to Aaron.

“They stay by my side,” Aaron said tightly. He didn’t want to let Joan and Nick out of his sight; not in a place like this.

Joan held her breath, half expecting Marguerite to tell them to wait outside. But Marguerite just ran a hand through her pale

hair, seeming tired. “Very well.” She opened the door to the back room, and they all shuffled in.

It was a small staff room, with employees’ bags lying against the walls, and cups of half-drunk tea on wheelable tables. “Well?”

Marguerite said expectantly to Aaron as he shut the door behind himself. “What did Nick give you?”

Aaron carefully didn’t look at Nick standing beside him. In the execution video, Nick’s counterpart had mentioned a series

of interrogations before the recording had happened. “I, uh...” Aaron hesitated. What had his own counterpart told his

mother? Clearly, Nick had given up something important.

Out of Marguerite’s view, Nick gently pressed his toe against Aaron’s heel. You need to be your evil twin right now.

Aaron nodded slightly, seeming grateful for the reminder. He made a visible effort to transform himself. “Honestly”—his tone cooled to his counterpart’s—“I might have exaggerated what I actually got out of him—other than screaming and wailing. He was quite the coward by the end.”

Marguerite didn’t respond for a long beat. “Are these your friends?” she said, indicating not just Ruth and Jamie but Joan

and Nick too. “Do you trust them?”

Joan felt her mouth drop open. They were odd questions. Monsters and humans couldn’t be friends in this world. She shot Aaron

a warning look, but he was already nodding.

“Good,” Marguerite said. “So cut it out, Aaron. Drop the act. I know it’s necessary in public, but I find it quite awful.”

She drew a breath and turned to the other side of the room. “It’s safe to come out!”

Who was she talking to? Joan only had a second to wonder before a cupboard door opened. And then ghosts were here in the room

with them. It was the red-haired man and his sister—the humans who’d just been executed by Marguerite.

The red-haired man registered Joan’s shock. “I felt the same when we were rescued,” he said to her shakily. “I couldn’t believe

it.”

Joan stared. She replayed the executions in her mind: Marguerite had swiped at the prisoners’ necks, and they’d slumped. It

hit her then that no one had checked that they were actually dead.

A smile spread over Marguerite’s face now, and Joan realized that her manner at the luncheon had been as false as Aaron’s.

Joan felt like she was seeing her for the first time. Her real smile was as warm as sunshine.

“Alfie and Enid—” Marguerite said to the humans. She gestured at Aaron. “My son, Aaron. He organized your rescue.” In response to their confusion, she clarified: “He’s the head of the resistance movement. You may know him better as the Wolf.”