Page 31 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

“We’ve only been here a day. I’ve barely spoken to anyone.”

Tom blinked; he hadn’t realized how recently they’d replaced their counterparts. “Well, don’t. Don’t tell anyone .”

Joan drew a breath of cold air. The tide was high enough that water lapped at their feet through the gaps in the wooden dock. “Why not?”

“Because people with perfect memories are hunted down here and executed by the Court.”

“ What? ” Horror ran through Joan. It hit her that she hadn’t seen a single phoenix sigil since they’d arrived—not where Liu territory

should have been, not at the market, not among the people watching the executions.

Now she realized what she should have known when they’d crossed into Liu territory and found Argent sigils instead. The Lius

would have been a threat to Eleanor—they remembered previous timelines; they’d have known what Eleanor had done.

So Eleanor had erased them from this timeline, like the King had erased the Graves last time.

Jamie put a shaky hand over his mouth, looking sick. He sipped quick breaths of cold river air until the moment passed.

“But... you were at the Oliver house this morning,” Joan said to Jamie. “And last night.” They were going to the Oliver

house now. She could feel Ruth’s and Nick’s confusion—and Tom’s. They didn’t know about the true Oliver power—the rare ability

to differentiate family from family, just by looking into someone’s eyes. Last time, the Olivers had been tasked with mopping

up the remnants of the Grave family. It had to be the same here, for the Lius.

Aaron understood at once. “Who did you speak to at the house?” he asked Jamie urgently.

Jamie opened his mouth and closed it. He was barely holding it together. “Only your valet,” he managed.

Aaron swore under his breath. Geoffrey had the true Oliver power, apparently.

“What’s going on?” Ruth said. “Who cares about the valet?”

Aaron waved his hand at her dismissively. “How close did he get to you?” he asked Jamie.

“Close.”

“Did he look into your eyes?”

Jamie hesitated for just a moment. “No.”

“You’re sure ?” Aaron said.

“Perfect memory,” Jamie reminded him. “I’m sure.”

“What exactly’s going on?” Ruth said.

“None of your business,” Aaron said, more out of habit than heat. When Ruth scowled in response, he gritted out: “Oliver stuff.”

Ruth blinked, but surprisingly she accepted that. All the families had secrets.

“Where else can we go?” Joan said. “Back to the Serpentine?”

“No,” Aaron said. “We have resources and power here that we won’t have elsewhere.” To Jamie, he said, “You need to keep your

head down around Geoffrey. Watch me for cues. I’ll tell you if you need to worry about anyone else.”

Joan caught Tom’s expression again as Jamie turned, shaken, to walk up the hill. I’m not saying I’ll help you , Tom said to him earlier. But his gaze now was dark and protective, as if some bone-deep part of him was already starting

to remember what Jamie had been to him.

At the house, Aaron ushered them all up to the Oliver library—a round room upstairs, in his private wing of the house. He’d told Geoffrey to take the night off. “Send some food up before you turn in, though,” he’d said, glancing at Joan. “Whatever’s immediately available.”

If Geoffrey thought they were an even odder group than last night, he didn’t comment on it. He just nodded respectfully.

The food arrived shortly afterward on silver trays—slices of cold roast duck and fresh bread and butter, and a ceramic bowl

with a sauce of sour cherries.

Within a few bites, Joan felt the world solidify again. She hadn’t realized how out of it she’d been until she’d eaten. And

as her mind sharpened, the room seemed to sharpen too. The library was bigger than she’d first grasped. They hadn’t really

explored Aaron’s wing of the house—they’d gone straight to his bedchambers last night.

Here, books covered curved walls, floor to ceiling, with sliding ladders provided for the upper shelves. A glass dome showed

a golden sunset, tinted in blue, glinting stars beginning to emerge.

Jamie closed his eyes. “ The damage is worsening ,” he murmured, quoting the message again. “ We’re running out of time to stop her. We’ve done what we can to prevent her from locking things down, but she’ll have plans

of her own, and she might still outwit us. I wish I could help you, but you’re alone in this now. You can get to her. You have what you need. Godspeed.... ”

“They were trying to stop Eleanor from locking the timeline too,” Ruth mused. “I wonder what exactly they were planning to

do.”

“I think the last part of the message is more important,” Joan said. They had to assume that Eleanor would still outwit them, as Nick had said. That she’d lock the timeline, whatever the counterparts had done. “Nick said that Aaron had what he needed to get to her now. To stop her.”

“He has to be talking about the cipher,” Nick said. “The numbers at the end of the message. It must describe where and when

she can be intercepted.”

“I think so too,” Joan said.

“Tell us the numbers again?” Ruth asked Jamie. She’d found some blank paper on a desk, and enough pencils for them all. She

passed them around now so that they could all write as Jamie dictated.

“Right then,” Joan said. “Let’s break this code. We just need to find the book Nick used.”

Hours later, Joan wanted to scream with frustration. Together, they’d checked most of the books in the library, and all the

ones in the walkway leading to Aaron’s suites.

In front of her, the page of the latest book swam in and out of focus. There were some strange numbers in the cipher: the

first three were 9 1894 1. Tom had suggested they represented chapter, line, and word, but it had quickly become apparent

that book chapters just weren’t that long. They’d switched to chapter, word, and letter numbers instead. Joan rubbed at her

eyes now. Were they still wrong about how the cipher had been encoded? Surely, Nick’s counterpart hadn’t expected Aaron’s

to accurately count such high numbers.

She glanced at Jamie beside her. He was the only one still in the room with her—other than Frankie and Tom’s cat, Sylvie, who were snoozing on the table, their feud briefly paused in sleep.

The others had split up to search the rest of the house for books. Joan hoped they were having better luck than she was.

“I can’t even see anymore,” she admitted.

Jamie groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Me either.”

“Headache?”

Jamie attempted a smile, but it was wan. “No, I’m all right.” The lamplight had put his face in shadow, hollowing his cheeks.

He wasn’t anywhere near all right.

“Jamie...” Joan hardly knew what to say. When Nick had killed the Hunts, it was like he’d killed her too. She’d never forget

the depth of that pain. There were no words for it. “I’m so sorry about your family. I’m so sorry Eleanor did that.”

Jamie’s mouth started to crumple. He fought it and won. “I should have guessed they were gone when we couldn’t find them.”

He swallowed visibly. “I just... I keep wondering... What if we can’t break this cipher? What if we can’t stop her from

locking down this timeline?”

Joan put her hand over his impulsively, and Jamie turned his own hand so he could squeeze hers.

“I can’t think ,” Jamie whispered. “It doesn’t matter what I look for in all these books—letters or words. I can’t find a meaning. I’m so

scared I’m missing something because I’m tired. And—And because...” Because he was thinking about his family.

“Why don’t you stop for a bit?” Joan whispered to him. “Just close your eyes.”

Jamie took a shaky breath and nodded. “Why don’t you take a break too?” he suggested.

Joan was too wired to sleep, but she knew Jamie was right—she should take her own advice. Better to rest than to miss something

because she was tired. “I think I’ll go outside,” she said, nodding. “Get some fresh air.”

“Don’t leave the estate, though,” Jamie said, suppressing a yawn. “Aaron won’t be able to protect you if you step outside

Oliver territory.”

The house was silent as Joan padded downstairs, and then through a long gallery with portraits of Olivers on the wall. It

felt strange to have the run of a house as huge and luxurious as this. She walked through the conservatory, humid and warm

even on a cold night, and smelling sweetly of night-blooming jasmine.

Joan pushed open the door into the formal garden outside. Frigid air stung her eyes. It felt good—like a splash of cold water

on her face.

She lifted her head to feel the wind as she walked down to the river. She chose a spot where the hill started to slope down,

putting her blissfully out of view of the house and all those Olivers. Then she sat on the damp grass and let the cold seep

into her, clearing her head. The river flowed below, the slow movement soothing.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when she heard soft footsteps above her. She turned sharply, anticipating a security

officer. But the silhouette was achingly familiar. And the last person she’d expected to see.

Nick.

The boy who haunted her, awake and in dreams. He walked toward her now, hands in his pockets, his square shoulders unmistakable,

even in the shadows.

Joan’s chest fluttered, as it always did when he was near. Her body didn’t understand that he didn’t belong to her anymore.

That he never would again. She wondered why he’d come out here. Maybe he’d wanted a moment to himself as well....

She pushed up from the ground. “I should go back.”

“No, please.” He gestured for her to sit back down. “I came looking for you. Can we talk?”

“Talk?” It was too dark to see much of him as he lowered himself to the grass beside her. Her heart thudded painfully. This

was it, then. They were going to make explicit what had been unsaid between them when they’d arrived here.

I don’t trust you anymore. I hate what I did for you. I can’t bear that you hate me now. We need to go our separate ways.