Page 55 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan stared up at her mother, haloed by the light at the top of the stairs. She’d lived in her mother’s house all her life,

among her mother’s photographs, her mother’s things. Dad had talked about her all the time. But, standing in front of her,

Joan realized that she’d only ever known her filtered through other people’s perceptions and stories, through the photographs

other people had taken. Joan had never even seen a video of her mother; had never seen her move or heard her speak.

The woman above her was nearly twenty years older than she’d been in any photograph Joan had seen, with new strands of silver

in her hair and creases at the corners of her eyes. Joan’s chest spasmed out of nowhere. Mum had had so much life left when

the King had killed her. Joan could have had so many years with her.

Mum searched Joan’s face, her expression echoing the ache inside Joan. Her own Joan had died as an infant, and Joan knew she

was looking for her baby in Joan’s features.

“Shall we go up?” her mother asked. Her voice sounded so much like Gran’s that Joan’s throat tightened. “I can make us some

tea.”

The guard had wanted tea, Joan remembered.

But when Joan turned back to her, the guard shook her head.

“I really should go,” she said—it was soft, as if she didn’t want to intrude on the moment.

“No one knows I was driving that van; I made sure of that. And the tear in the timeline was already closing by the time I got to you, Joan. Only a few people actually saw it. With luck, no one will connect it with your wanted poster.”

“Thank you,” Joan said to her. The guard was risking her life, and Joan didn’t even know her name. She hesitated. “I feel like I

almost know you....”

The guard glanced up at Joan’s mother, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “My name’s Fern. Our mothers are sisters.”

“We’re cousins...” Joan had an aunt on her mother’s side. A cousin named Fern. In the true timeline, she must have known

them both. And from the feeling of familiarity—the warmth that came with it—they’d all been close. It was another glimpse

of what the King had stolen when he’d murdered the Graves.

“Thank you, Fern,” Mum echoed. “For everything. Just please be careful when you return the van. My other daughter will be

on alert after the assassination attempt. And she’s smart .”

The mention of Eleanor sent a chill through Joan. They were all in danger, even here.

Joan followed her mother up the stairs. There was so much that she wanted to know about her. But, at the same time, this wasn’t

really her mother—any more than Marguerite had been Aaron’s. This was Mum’s counterpart.

Aaron’s hand brushed against Joan’s comfortingly. He, more than anyone, knew how strange this felt. Joan wished she could still reach for him properly. She wanted to step into his arms like she had last night. But that didn’t seem possible now.

Her stomach churned at the thought of the unfinished conversation. She was sure this was just a moment of respite before things

ended between them all for good.

They emerged into a wood-paneled grand hall smelling sweetly of rose water and warm with natural light. They could have been

on a boat again; there were sweeping views of the river to the east and west.

A grand four-story mansion made completely of wood—not an iron nail in it , Eleanor had said once. The wood had been softened by mist-gray rugs embroidered with silver roses, and soft sofas set out

in small groups of twos and threes, where people could eat and talk.

And at the center of the room was a single table that could have seated fifteen people or more.

Joan didn’t consciously remember ever walking into this room, and yet this space was achingly familiar. She touched a support

beam, running her thumb over the hand-hewn tool marks. She didn’t just know this room, she knew the house. Knew the size and

scope of its interior like she knew the shape of her own mouth. There were nearly twenty bedrooms across four floors, three

halls, three kitchens, and two cellars.

“Listen to that water,” Nick murmured.

Joan pictured rapids rushing through the bridge’s arches below. The daring and the drunk used to fly through the rapids in rowboats , Eleanor had said, surfing the rising tide. The never-ending rush of water was like a hundred waterfalls.

Here, protected inside the hall, the sound wasn’t as loud as Eleanor had described. It was more like a constant white noise,

and Joan found it soothing—a lullaby to fall asleep to.

“This room is usually full of people,” she said slowly.

“I cleared the room,” Mum said. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” She went over to a freestanding counter at the north of

the room. The area was a small kitchen, really. There was a sink, a dishwasher, a microwave. When Mum switched on the kettle,

it began to boil immediately, and Joan imagined her boiling the kettle before they’d arrived. Pacing nervously and needing

to do something.

Now Mum poured hot water into a teapot and put a little jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes on a tray. She gestured to the

balcony at the west of the room. “Why don’t we sit outside?”

On the balcony, the wind blew over the river, making their clothes flutter and the lid of the sugar bowl rattle. This was

the very heart of London, Joan thought—where the city’s first bridge had been built by the Romans.

“How do you take your tea?” Mum asked her. There was a note of aching curiosity in her voice. As if any information about Joan would be interesting to her—even something as small as this.

Joan understood. She wanted to know everything about Mum too. “Milk with one. What about you?”

“Just milk.” Mum smiled a little crookedly. Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “Your father liked sugar in his tea too.”

“He does,” Joan agreed. Did. She couldn’t use the past tense like Mum had. Dad was surely alive somewhere in this world, despite what Mary Ward had said. Joan couldn’t bear any other alternative.

“I miss him so much,” Mum said. “I miss both of you.”

What happened to him here? What happened to me? Joan couldn’t bring herself to ask. “He missed you ,” she managed. “Every day. He told me so many stories about you when I was growing up. Our house is full of photos of you.”

Mum took a sharp breath. “I can hardly believe you’re here. I used to sit on this balcony after you died. I couldn’t sleep,

so I’d just sit here, looking at the city lights, wishing you were still with me....”

Joan swallowed hard. She felt weirdly guilty. Her own grief hadn’t manifested like that. She didn’t remember Mum at all. She’d

been a baby when Mum had died, and had grown up with her death as a foundational fact of her life; one that she’d known before

she could count or read. Something that was just true and evident, like the sun in the sky.

And yet... there’d been a hollow place inside Joan for as long as she could remember. Mum’s presence was everywhere at

home; Dad talked about her all the time. Gran never did, but Gran’s avoidance had created a kind of presence too. A different

kind of grief from Dad’s, but grief all the same.

Nick caught Joan’s eye. Sometimes, it was like she could read his mind. He was worried about her. Even after the revelations

in the pub, he was worried about her.

“We should...” Aaron gestured at the room they’d just left. “Me and Nick can go back inside. You two will want to catch

up.”

“No,” Mum said heavily. “There are things you need to hear, Aaron. And you too, Nick.”

Joan felt her eyes widen. “You know who they are?”

Mum searched Joan’s face. “What do you know about your family power?”

Joan was thrown by the change of subject. She hesitated, even though Mum already knew she’d been tearing holes in the timeline.

It was how Fern had found her.

“You can trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you,” Mum said.

Joan swallowed. She’d been betrayed by family before—by Gran’s younger self—but something inside her knew she could trust Mum. It wasn’t what Mum had said; Joan just knew it, like she knew this house.

She gathered her thoughts. “I only discovered the Grave power a few months ago,” she said. “It’s... It’s malfunctioning.

I can unmake things, but sometimes I tear holes in the world without meaning to. I don’t know why.”

Something flitted over Mum’s face. Joan knew that if she’d grown up with her, she’d have been able to read it. “You grew up

in a world without any Graves in it,” Mum said. “You were never trained in how to use our power.”

Joan had had questions before, and she had so many more now. “How do you know that? How did you know I was me ? That I was here?” Mum had said she’d been looking for her....

“They began putting up your wanted posters around the city some years ago,” Mum said. “Joan Chang-Hunt... Your name here was Joan Chang-Grave, but I knew it was you. I recognized you. And I knew from that poster that you’d arrive someday.”

“Recognized me?” Joan was confused. “Because I look like Dad?”

Mum’s smile was sad. “You do look like your dad. But I recognized you because I have the true Grave power. Not many of us do. Not even your sister. Right

now, in this house, only you and I do.”

Nick’s breath stuttered, as if he’d realized what Mum meant. But Joan still didn’t understand. “Me?”

“It’s how we found you,” Mum said. She stood, carefully pushing away her chair. “The true Grave power,” she said. “With training,

it looks like this—”

She was facing the open doors leading back into the Graves’ great hall. She raised a hand and made a peeling motion, tearing

open the worldas easily as someone might peel away the film from a screen.

Joan gasped as a new scene became visible. Instead of the house, there was clear air, and Tower Bridge beyond. This was a

view of the previous timeline.

“You asked how I recognized you,” Mum said. “I used to take the train to Milton Keynes and make windows like this one. I don’t