Page 54 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Aaron looked thoughtful. “We might not need much of one. Right now, she’s expending energy by forcing us to sit here.

She’ll be strained by the time she has to walk us into the guardhouse.

I think any single external distraction might be enough.

Even splitting her line of sight could do it.

It might be as simple as making sure she can’t see us all at the same time. ”

“All right,” Joan said. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was something.

Joan felt Aaron’s breathing quicken as the van made its way inexorably to London Bridge. She was scared too. More than that,

though, her chest was still tight from their unresolved conversation. Nick hadn’t met her eyes since they’d finished fine-tuning

the plan to escape.

They passed through Covent Garden, then Blackfriars and the City. After that, the funereal buildings of the new skyline gave

way. Joan drew a breath as London Bridge appeared. On the far side of the bridge, spiked heads swayed on the turrets of the

guardhouse, a macabre field of flowers. Joan shivered, forcing her gaze from the horror of it.

Instead, she found herself seeking out another building,one that she’d avoided for weeks. She’d deliberately looked away

from it when they’d first arrived in this timeline and crossed the bridge. Now, though, she turned toward it, searching for

it. The home she’d once lived in with Eleanor and their family. The home she didn’t remember.

She heard herself make a soft sound at her first sight of it. The Grave house was a tiny, exuberant mansion in the middle

of the bridge—a child’s idea of a castle, with square turrets and cupolas shaped like piped meringue, all in crayon colors

of yellow and red and green, gilded to catch the light.

A pressure of emotion rose now. This timeline existed because of the people in that house.

The Graves had been erased from the timeline by the King, and Eleanor had been ruthless in her mission to bring them back.

Eleanor had created this timeline where monsters reigned so that her family would be safe, forever.

Joan felt rather than saw Aaron follow her line of sight. She whispered to him, “I don’t remember the original timeline. I

don’t remember being Eleanor’s sister.” The King had taken those memories from her. And yet... the sight of that bright

house stirred something bone-deep within her.

Aaron’s arm pressed against hers; it was as close as he could get to reaching for her—their hands were still stuck behind

their backs.

On the other side of the van, Nick met Joan’s eyes. He had that same dark, unreadable expression from earlier—when Aaron had

told him about the hole she’d torn when he’d died.

A blast of violin music made them all jump. The guard was lifting the opaque screen.

“Comfy back there?” she called to them cheerfully. If she was tired from using the cuffs, she didn’t show it.

She turned onto the bridge, stopping to allow a checkpoint officer to examine her ID. The man peered at Joan and the others

through the window, and then waved them into a side road that dipped down into what seemed to be a basement level of the bridge.

The guard drove for just a few more minutes before pulling into a small parking area nearly empty of cars.

No one else seemed to be about. Nick found Joan’s eyes again and then Aaron’s as they braced themselves for the van doors to open.

Joan tensed, ready to bite, kick—whatever it took—to distract the guard.

To her frustration, though, the guard stepped well back from attacking distance before she forced them out of their seats.

“That way.” She indicated an unobtrusive door.

Joan’s legs began to move of their own accord—as if there were ropes wound around each of her joints. She was forced to follow

Aaron and Nick through the door and up a narrow flight of stairs.

The guard was keeping them all on a short leash, and none of them seemed able to break it—not even enough to stumble or pretend

to fall. They walked up the staircase, their steps as even and regimented as a march: Nick, then Aaron, then Joan, then the

guard.

As they reached a landing, Nick managed to glance back, eyes lifting. Joan blinked to show she understood. He wanted to do

something before they reached the next level. Joan cleared her throat. Aaron and Nick both nodded slightly. They still had

their voices. A shout might be enough of a distraction to break the guard’s focus. Best to do it before the next floor, which

would likely have more guards.

Behind his back, with almost invisibly subtle movements, Nick counted down with his fingers: five, four, three—

The guard spoke abruptly before Nick reached one . “Stop!” she said. “Turn around and face me!”

Joan caught puzzled looks from Nick and Aaron as they were all forced to turn on the staircase.

At some point, without Joan noticing, the concrete staircase had become a wooden one, the treads so old and well-trodden that

they were balding at their edges with dips at their center. The walls here were wood too, scuffed where people and objects

had bumped into them over time. Joan breathed in a pleasant, strangely familiar scent of rose water and polish.

“Give me your hands,” the guard instructed, and Joan was forced to present her hands, palms up.

The guard pulled out the controller and flicked it open. That was all the warning Joan had before a scalding pain struck her

wrist. She gasped as the winged lion tattoo sizzled to molten metal.

The guard plucked the cuff from Joan’s skin, and then Joan was just staring at her bare wrist. The feeling of ropes around

her body had vanished. She was free.

The guard did the same for Aaron and Nick, and they grimaced with pain as their cuffs boiled away from their skin too.

“You—You freed us,” Joan said stupidly.

“Aren’t you a quick one,” the guard said in her dry way. “Come on—” She nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s get up there. I really

need a cup of tea.” Joan didn’t move, and neither did the others. “Oh God, you’re not going to attack me, are you?” she asked.

“I’m not in the mood.”

“What’s going on?” Joan said. “Are we under arrest or not?”

“Well, I just uncuffed you—what do you think?”

Nick stepped down a tread. “You’re not a guard,” he said slowly. “And this isn’t the guardhouse, is it? We didn’t travel far enough along the bridge. I’d say we’re in the middle somewhere...”

The hairs rose on the back of Joan’s neck. She’d thought this staircase felt familiar. She knew then exactly where they were—even

before the guard confirmed it.

“We’re in the Grave house.” The guard opened her jacket, revealing a silver rose pin inside. The sigil of the Graves. “I am a guard, but I’m a Grave first.”

Joan stared at her. Aside from Eleanor, this woman was the first member of the Graves Joan had met. And for a second, Joan

almost recognized her. She could feel the woman’s name on her tongue.

As she drew a breath to say it, though, the name faded like a dream on waking, and the woman’s face was unfamiliar again.

Joan drew a breath, deeply unsettled. “Why did you free us?”

The guard gazed back with clear blue eyes. “Eleanor isn’t the only one who’s been searching for you.”

What? “ Why? ” Joan said. “What do you want from me?”

Above, on the staircase, a tread creaked. Joan looked up. A new woman was standing at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against

bright afternoon light from an open doorway. “We don’t want anything from you,” the woman said. “We want to help you.”

Joan’s breath stopped in her throat. It was Gran’s silhouette, Gran’s voice—slightly distorted by the space so that it sounded

more resonant than usual.

Then the woman took a step down, and the light hit her face. And Joan’s heart was suddenly thundering. The woman’s features

were almost Gran’s, but her cheekbones were higher, and she had soft freckles over her nose that reminded Joan of her own. Her dark hair fell in curls around her jaw.

And Joan had never met her before, but she knew her. She’d seen that face in photographs every day growing up. Dad had filled the house with them. Joan had learned every

feature of her in two dimensions.

Joan opened her mouth. For a second, she couldn’t speak. When she found her voice, it was breathless. “Mum?” she said.

“Hello, Joan,” her mother said. “I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. I’m so glad to have found you.”