Page 65 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan shivered, even in her coat. Tom had told her once that when the Court manifested, it stole houses like this for a frozen moment in time.

For tonight’s party, it seemed that Eleanor had chosen a moment during London’s Little Ice Age—one of the winters before 1850.

Joan guessed that the cold weather was a small power play from Eleanor—a way to make her guests feel off-balance and uncomfortable.

Most people would have dressed for a warmer night.

“I never imagined I’d see the Court itself,” Tom said, looking around wonderingly at the snow suspended, unmoving, in the

air.

“It’s creepy ,” Ruth whispered.

“Feels like we’re cut off from everything,” Aaron agreed. “There’s nothing outside these garden walls, not even time. Those

bricks are the only thing separating us from oblivion.”

Joan looked up, half expecting to be able to see some line in the sky where the Court ended and the void started, but the

whole sky was full of bright stars. Her internal monster sense had never been as strong as Ruth’s and Aaron’s, but she was

disturbed too—even more than when the Court had manifested at Whitehall Palace. Because she knew these grounds—she’d worked

here for months. She could have navigated this whole estate blindfolded. And at the same time, this didn’t quite feel like

Holland House. It was more like the Court was possessing it, wearing it like a costume. Joan had the unsettling feeling that

the true entity underneath had a different shape entirely.

“Can you hear that?” Nick whispered.

Joan strained and faintly heard thready flutes and strings. A high wall had come into view—the one that separated the lawn

from the house and inner gardens. She pictured a small group of musicians on the other side.

As they walked, a spray of light rose above the wall, making them all start back.

It formed the shape of a dragon, and then exploded in midair.

It was a firework display, but not made of fire and sparks; it seemed bioluminescent.

More fantastic creatures appeared now—a unicorn, the winged lion of the Monster Court—rising and falling without sound, glowing in eerie blues and whites against the dark sky.

The shapes were slightly distorted from this angle; this was the back view of the jubilee celebrations, Joan guessed. The

display wasn’t supposed to be seen from this side of the wall.

“How do we get in?” Ruth murmured.

“There’s a path around,” Joan whispered. Not so much a path, really—more a stretch of cobwebby bushes that led around the

gardener’s shed. When she’d worked here, she’d often used it as a shortcut.

“We need to dump our stuff,” Aaron said.

“I know a place.”

When they reached the shed, Joan pointed to where they could hide their bags in the bushes. Even this part of the estate was

spooky; the leaves here usually rustled with birds and mice, but right now everything was silent. No crickets chirped; no

moths fluttered around the path’s lights.

Joan smoothed down her dress. Aaron and Ruth had put together all the outfits, quizzing Mum about what people wore to formal

parties in this timeline, and borrowing clothes from the Graves.

Joan’s dress was a rich plum color; she was beginning to think that Aaron liked how she looked in jewel tones, because he tended to favor them for her.

It was sleeveless and backless, and it fit her perfectly, the satin gleaming like moonlight on water.

Her hair was half-down, protecting her neck.

The half that was up was pinned into a braid, wreathed in flowers the same shade as her dress.

She caught Aaron looking at her now, and her face warmed, despite the cold, at the yearning in his gaze. He met her eyes and

blushed slightly too, as if he hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

“I—I should have chosen something with sleeves,” Aaron said. The guys all had jackets, and so did Ruth, who’d found a long

silver piece that made her look like a queen. He started to shrug out of his own jacket to give it to her, but Joan stopped

him.

“I think you guessed right on the clothes,” she said, thinking of what they’d seen of the guests entering through the gate.

“And it’ll be warmer inside.” It really would be best not to stand out when they first arrived.

Aaron had dressed Nick all in black with piping that had seemed white back at the Grave house, but now, at night, seemed to

have a faint luminescent glow—echoing the fireworks from earlier. “Not bright enough to catch the eye in the dark,” Aaron

reassured Nick now, “but interesting enough that I think you’ll match everyone else.” Like Joan’s dress, Nick’s suit fit perfectly,

the cling of his shirt hinting at his muscled chest and making him seem dangerous.

Aaron himself was in a gray suit and cream vest that should have looked dull, but somehow enhanced his angelic beauty.

Joan dragged her gaze from them, and then realized Aaron was watching her again, and so was Nick. Joan felt her breath stutter, and then stutter again as Aaron met Nick’s eyes. Something seemed to pass between them; something Joan couldn’t quite read.

Joan swallowed hard. She wished that the conversation in the Grave house hadn’t been interrupted. A few hours ago, she’d thought

she’d lost them both, and now...

Well, now wasn’t the time to think about it, she knew. They had to keep their heads in the game.

Joan had been worried that someone would see them walking in from the wrong side of the estate, but no one even glanced at

them as they stepped into the Dutch Garden, joining the other guests of the party. Aaron and Ruth had calibrated the clothing

perfectly.

The Dutch Garden was the most formal of all the house’s gardens. The shaped flower beds were usually full of tulips and dahlias.

Tonight, though, the usual blooms had been replaced. Ghostly flowers grew on icy stems, their crystal petals glowing with

the same eerie light as the silent fireworks above.

The guests themselves were dancing, as if in a ballroom, in the paths between the flowers. It was a Regency-like dance, partners

twirling and sliding, hands meeting hands.

“They’re not just party guests; some of them are courtiers,” Jamie murmured to Joan. “Those who live at Court, among the Curia Monstrorum .” Joan knew his body language. He’d already been uneasy, and now he was tense too. Eleanor had once held him prisoner at

the Monster Court; he knew more about it than any of them. “They have a look to them.”

It took Joan a second to understand what he meant. At first glance all the dancers seemed relaxed, but some were sharper eyed than others. One man flicked a look at her now, animalistic and watchful, as if he’d sensed her attention. Joan had the impression of hunger and vigilance from him.

“Only the most clever and ruthless of opportunists survive at the Court,” Jamie whispered to her under his breath.

Joan tried to relax. Behind her back, she flicked one hand in a horizontal motion—a message for Ruth to convey to the others.

Don’t interact with anyone.

Joan led them all as quickly as she dared past the dancers. When they were clear, she whispered quickly, “We need to find

Eleanor.”

“She’s likely not here yet,” Jamie whispered. “When I was at Court, she used to make appearances toward the end of the night,

make a speech, and leave. I doubt things have changed now that she’s queen.”

“So what are we looking for?” Ruth said.

“I think it’ll be pretty obvious,” Jamie said. “A pavilion or balcony separated from the rest of the party, surrounded by

guards. Or possibly an interior space staged as a throne room. A location where she can hold court and control the space.”

Joan nodded. “Let’s get an idea of the security in the house and meet back up.” She divided the grounds between them: the

South Garden, the main floors of the house.

Fifteen minutes later, Joan had finished her own sweep of the house’s ground floor, carefully following the secret passages once used by servants.

Through the servants’ spyholes, she’d seen no sign of Eleanor, but she’d spotted more of those cutthroat courtiers, drinking from long-stemmed glasses and eating tiny elaborate canapés from silver trays.

Among them, circling like sharks, were members of the Curia Monstrorum . They wore no insignia or uniform, but the monster in Joan recognized them for what they were. Like Conrad and Eleanor, they

radiated power, making her skin prickle as if from needles. And the guests—even the courtiers—made space for them, their monster

senses screaming that there were predators in the room far more dangerous than themselves.

Joan tiptoed up the servants’ staircase now. Aaron and Nick would be finishing their own search of the floor above and the

attic. The three of them had agreed to meet in the library—if it was safe.

Joan got there first and was relieved—but not wholly surprised—to find it empty. It was on the other side of the house from

the main staircase. She breathed in the familiar smell of leather and paper. She’d been experiencing waves of déjà vu since

they’d arrived on the estate, and another one hit her now.

The last time she’d been here, the library had been stripped, its walls bare. Now all the shelves and books were back, along

with the oil paintings of former owners of the house squeezed in between the bookcases. The room looked just like it had when

Joan had worked here.

She looked up. She’d always loved this ceiling—evening blue, speckled with gold stars.

She’d missed this house. Terrible things had happened in this place, but good things had as well.

She’d met Nick and Aaron here. She’d had her first kiss in this room—with Nick—under the window at the far end of this gallery.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Joan turned. Some part of her knew it would be Aaron and Nick before she even saw them—both

of them here together with her again.