Page 25 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

idea of leaving it, unnoticed and uncared for, on that desk. Had there been a message with it? There’d been papers all over

the desk. Joan hadn’t even looked at them.

She retrieved the ring now. It was smooth and seamless, the square signet plain black without adornment. She swallowed hard.

It was exactly like the ring Nick had worn in the timeline she’d first met him in.

Nick drew a sharp breath. He’d gone pale. “May I?” He held out his hand.

Joan passed the ring to him, unsure why he wanted it. As she did, she noticed for the first time that there were scratches

on the black metal that might have been numbers. If she squinted, the scratches might have said 317. Could that be the message?

Nick flicked his thumb against one edge of the signet. To Joan’s surprise, the piece opened, revealing a tiny hidden compartment.

“How did you see that mechanism?” Ruth said to Nick wonderingly. “That hinge was completely invisible.”

“My sister has a ring just like this.” Nick’s head was low, and Joan realized why he’d paled. He hadn’t seen the ring last night; he’d been distracted by the photograph of his own battered face. Now, though,

he had to be wondering why his sister wasn’t in possession of her own ring. Wondering if something had happened to her in

this timeline. He took a deep breath, and Joan could tell he was trying to focus on the task. “There’s a piece of cloth inside,”

he said. “And a bit of plastic.” The cloth was a tiny scrap in the ring’s hollow, discolored with something rust-like that

almost looked like blood. Nick extracted the plastic piece nestled beside it.

“It’s a projector,” Aaron said. Like the one they’d used last night to watch Nick’s faked execution.

Joan’s lips felt dry. A way to get to the Queen , Marguerite had said. Could that bit of plastic hold the key to accessing Eleanor? They’d been talking about the prospect

of confronting her again, but it felt so much more real suddenly.

“Wonderful.” Marguerite didn’t seem to notice how flustered they all were. “Shall we watch the message?”

Aaron placed the plastic piece in the aisle between the seats. Then he stood back and waited.

Jamie coughed. “Password.”

Aaron looked like a deer in headlights. He had no idea what his counterpart’s password could be. “I—I don’t—” he started.

And then he hesitated, and said uncertainly: “ Clavis aurea ?”

It was fortunate that Marguerite was watching the plastic tag and not Aaron, because he couldn’t hide his clear surprise when

a swath of empty space transformed into a small brick-walled room. The password had worked. The playback had started.

There was a shuffling sound, and then a large figure. Beside Joan, Nick’s breath released sharply. It was his own counterpart.

The gladiator.

In the recording of his faked death, Nick’s counterpart had been curled up, feigning fear. In this recording, though, he stared confidently at the camera.

Last time, his scars had made him seem wounded and frail, but in his new stance, those same scars appeared to give him the

presence and heft of the gladiator he’d been. His short-sleeved shirt showed the hard, cut muscles of his arms. He seemed

bigger than any of the Nicks Joan had known.

When he spoke, his grave voice filled the room. “I received some final intelligence as I left,” he said to the camera. He spoke with a slightly formal intonation, his voice soldier-like. “Ronan from the Serpentine Inn has been informing on humans to the Court. You’ll need to deal with him.”

“Ronan?” Joan whispered to the others. “The receptionist from the inn?” The hairs rose at the back of her neck. “He was informing

on people to the guards?”

“We’ve suspected him for some time.” Marguerite’s mouth was grim. “Humans in his vicinity keep getting arrested. Aaron arranged

for him to be dealt with.” She looked at Aaron, who nodded, wide-eyed. Ronan had definitely been dealt with.

Lord Oliver has standing orders for traitors , Lucien had said. Joan realized with a shiver that she’d dodged a bullet yesterday. Ronan had clocked Joan from the wanted

poster, and had offered to help. She’d trusted him—he’d used the wolf sigil to make her trust him—but he’d been planning to betray her all along. He’d have turned her over to the Court for cash.

Aaron’s counterpart had saved her life and she hadn’t even known it. Ordering Ronan’s death must have been one of his last

acts before he’d been erased.

“ Play ,” Aaron ordered, and Joan realized that her own speech must have paused the recording. It started again now.

“The damage is worsening,” Nick’s counterpart said. “And we’re running out of time to stop her.” Joan felt a jolt. Gran had

said they were running out of time too. And what had Nick meant by damage ? “We’ve done what we can to prevent her from locking things down,” he continued, “but she’ll have plans of her own, and she

might still outwit us.” He paused for a moment, eyes fixed on the camera. “I wish I could help you, but you’re alone in this

now. You can get to her. You have what you need. Godspeed....”

Then he was gone. In his place, a series of numbers floated in the air, crisp and three-dimensional and black.

9 1894 1, 9 1671 6, 7 161 7, 12 108 6, 2 2229 4, 14 56 6, 11 2141 5, 3 3199 6

“Is that it?” Joan said. She felt breathless. Marguerite had been right. The counterparts had clearly had a plan to stop Eleanor.

You can get to her. You have what you need. But what had the plan been? And... “What do the numbers mean?”

“Aaron?” Marguerite said.

“I—I don’t know,” Aaron said.

“But Nick sent this to you ,” Marguerite said, puzzled.

Aaron was forced to shake his head. “I suppose he thought I’d be able to understand it, but I don’t.” He looked troubled,

and Joan felt it too. His counterpart would have known what it meant. And Joan had a sense that the numbered line was the

most important part of the message. When and where to strike at Eleanor, perhaps.

“Could the numbers be coordinates?” Ruth said. “Places we need to go to?”

“I think it looks more like a code,” Jamie said. “Something we’ll need to break.”

“You really don’t know?” Marguerite said to Aaron.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said.

Joan looked at Nick, but he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know either—this version of him had never needed to encode

a desperate message. He’d grown up in a benign world, like Joan had.

“There must be someone in the wolves who can break codes,” Joan said to Marguerite.

Marguerite hesitated. “There isn’t exactly a wolf movement,” she said, confirming Joan’s suspicions from earlier. “Not an

organized one. It’s just Aaron and Nick, and the few people they trust.” She looked thoughtful. “I do know someone good with

numbers, though. And, even better, he has no love for the Court.”

Marguerite led them on a short walk along Wapping Wall. Not a minute in, Frankie stopped dead in the middle of the path, her

blunt nose sniffing at the briny air.

“What is it?” Jamie asked her.

Frankie sprinted ahead, her little legs galloping. Jamie swore in surprise and broke into a run, trying to catch her. Frankie

wasn’t an athletic dog—Joan had never seen her run.

Joan sprinted after them both, and a second later a small dock came into view, surrounded on all sides by dark buildings.

Frankie leaped from the walking path, aiming for a narrowboat tied to the dock.

“Frankie!” Jamie shouted, horrified.

On the boat, a man had been mopping the deck. He dropped his mop now, and dove to catch Frankie midair, before she could splash

into the gap.

“I’m so sorry!” Jamie gasped. “She’s never done that before! She—” He stopped, staring at the man.

It took Joan a long second to realize why he was staring. The man was his husband: Tom Hathaway.