Page 4 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

a beautiful stained-glass window, with mythical sea creatures swimming in a rippling blue ocean.

The window was still here, but in place of a sea theme, there was a hunt. People, armed with bows and arrows, chasing deer

and boar and hare and lions. And... other people. Humans?

Joan tore her gaze away, only to find a sign posted between two of the windows, a royal seal pressed into red wax.

By order of Her Majesty, Queen Eleanor

Humans are confined to their place of residence: sunset to sunrise

Shift workers excepted (must present permit on request)

Joan shuddered. We’re sisters , Eleanor had told her when they’d last met. We grew up together in the original timeline. Joan hadn’t believed her at first—she couldn’t remember Eleanor or their family at all.

According to Eleanor, Joan and Nick had tried to foster peace between humans and monsters in that original timeline. They’d

convinced the Graves to stop taking human life.

When the King had learned of it, he’d punished the whole family by erasing them from history. Only Joan and Eleanor’s line

had survived. And Eleanor had sought retribution against them all—the King, Joan, Nick...

This started with you and Nick seeking peace , Eleanor had told Joan. So I turned you against each other. I made him into a slayer because you loved him and he loved you. Because if he killed

the people you loved most, you’d never trust him again. Because when he fought back, he’d see you for the monster you are.

He’d never trust you . And it worked, didn’t it? You’ll never feel the same about each other again.

Joan felt a presence at her back. She turned and found Nick examining the sign, his mouth a flat line.

It worked, didn’t it? Eleanor had made them forget each other; had set them up to hurt each other over and over. And yet... Joan’s chest clenched

painfully. All it took was for him to step into her space, and she was his. It was a terminal condition—she knew that now.

She’d love him like this until she was dead.

“What if I ripped that sign off the wall?” Nick murmured.

“You’d get arrested. Interrogated. Head on a pike.” Joan was surprised by how steady her voice sounded.

“Almost worth it.”

Joan closed her eyes for a moment. She missed him so much. He was right here, talking to her, but she missed the ease they

used to have with each other. “We should check in.”

Nick touched her arm, the warmth of him like sunshine. “We need food,” he agreed. “And dry clothes.” He seemed to realize

that he was touching her, and his hands were behind his back again.

“Since when does the Serpentine have this many staff?” Aaron said as they headed to the reception desk—an alcove in the corner

of the room.

Joan wasn’t sure why, but unease coursed through her at the question. There were staff everywhere, clearing trays, polishing

cutlery. One man was on his hands and knees, buffing the clawed foot of an empty table. They all wore a uniform: a long, bleached-white

belted tunic with a black serpent design at the front.

“They’re all human,” Aaron said.

Joan’s stomach turned over. An image flashed into her head of Dad in place of the man on his hands and knees. Of Dad in that

white tunic. Don’t think about it , she told herself. But her mind was already leaping forward to ask unbearable questions. Where was Dad right now? Where were the rest of her friends and family? Were they even alive here?

At the desk, the receptionist smoothed the back of his neck in a twitchy, habitual movement. He was around Joan’s height, with burnt-copper hair that reminded her uncomfortably of the man on the bridge who’d run. A pin on his lapel said: Ronan .

He addressed Aaron now. “Sir. How may I help you?” His downcast gaze made Joan uneasy.

Aaron produced an ink-black teardrop brooch with 50 engraved on the back. It was a travel token—an item imbued with fifty years of human life. “We want a suite—out of the way.

No cleaning service. No disturbance.”

“Very good, sir.” Ronan didn’t flinch as he took the brooch. Joan did, though. Seeing a human forced to take that thing...

Seeing his lack of reaction, as if this were his everyday life... “I’ll need all of your IDs,” Ronan added.

Aaron produced another brooch—this time a cameo with a woman’s head. The etched number on the back was 50 again.

Ronan barely hesitated. “Excuse me while I fetch your key.”

As soon as he was in the back room, out of earshot, Nick growled at Aaron: “How many of those do you have?”

“A few.”

“You’re just carrying around years of human life?”

Joan thought Aaron might be intimidated,and maybe he was, but he just scowled in response. “We don’t have any other way to

pay. If you’d rather pickpocket one of those drunk gamblers in the dining room, feel free—”

Something caught Joan’s eye. There was a picture on the wall behind the reception desk—a photograph of a man. At first glance,

it seemed like a strange and disturbing candid artwork; the man had huge, terrified eyes. And then Joan realized that there

were words above the photo. William Beates. Monster. Executed for theft.

The hairs rose at the back of her neck as she registered the whole wall for the first time. It was plastered with posters, new over old, peeling like wallpaper. Wanted posters. Execution notices. So many that she couldn’t take them all in.

“Joan.” There was a strange note in Ruth’s voice. She nodded at something high up on the wall.

One of the posters showed an illustration of a young woman with narrow eyes and high freckled cheekbones. A bow-shaped mouth.

A jolt hit Joan. It was a drawing of her . She was looking at herself.

Joan Chang-Hunt , the notice said. Human. Wanted for high treason against Queen and Court.

A sharp breath from Nick. He’d seen it too. Beside him, Aaron had gone very still.

Joan’s heart thudded. When they’d made it over the bridge without being captured, she’d wondered if Eleanor was searching

for them at all. Well, here was her answer.

Were the others on the wall too? Had any of them been recognized? She glanced over her shoulder at the other patrons, catching

the hard eyes of a man with a bushy beard; a woman with a scraped-back bun.

The sound of footsteps made her jump. She turned back just as Ronan reappeared from the back room.

“I’ve put you in the Ravencroft building,” he said to them. He slid a folded cardboard envelope across the counter. “Your

key.”

“Thank you,” Joan managed. She pocketed the envelope. As she did, she caught an odd expression on Ronan’s face. For a split

second, the deferential smile had dropped, replaced with a frown.

Had he clocked her?