Page 67 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

They regathered the others, strategizing on the run as they collected the weapons that they’d stashed behind the shed.

“She ambushed us last time,” Joan said. “ Our turn now.” She pictured the house and its most defendable rooms. They needed to corral Eleanor into a controllable space.

“I want her in the Breakfast Room.”

“That room has three exits,” Jamie argued. He had maps of everything in his head. “Too easy for her to escape. And we could

end up surrounded by guards.”

“But one of those exits goes to the China Room,” Joan said. Where all the crockery was kept. “That’s small and difficult to

move around in—and if someone barges through, we’ll hear smashing plates. The second exit can be blocked off completely.”

It had a movable wall that could be locked into place. “And the third comes out onto a landing on the principal staircase.

Not much room for people to maneuver there either.”

Ruth chewed her lip, considering that. “Eleanor will think like you did, Jamie. That there are three ways out. She won’t expect

to be trapped.”

“How do we get her in there?” Nick asked. “We need her to come more or less alone.”

“We lure her in,” Joan said.

Joan had been worried about how to clear the Breakfast Room, but Ruth just swept in with a Gran-like glare and barked, “ Out! ” She’d channeled some of Gran’s formidable presence, and the few chattering guests in the room must have concluded that she

was someone with real clout. Who else would dare dismiss such powerful people like that?

As soon as the room was empty, Joan and the others worked quickly. The Breakfast Room was a small, hall-like space that had

once been the front entrance of the house. There was still a huge recessed bay window to the south—a miniature sunroom—where

the door and porch had been. The view outside showed the terrace and South Garden. Snow stood in the air, unmoving, in the

moonlight.

The room’s interior was exactly as Joan had remembered—richly decorated, the walls shimmering with Genoese silk and velvet

brocade in crimson and gold, with floor-to-ceiling panels depicting Roman gods. The exits were great marble arches with heavy

wooden doors.

Ruth and Aaron guarded two of the exits now, while Jamie and Joan blocked off the third, sliding the movable wall into place

and driving its heavy metal bolts into the floor, locking it. Then they went to help Nick and Tom carry the large dining table

and chairs to the far end of the room to clear the space of obstacles.

After that, Joan and Jamie set up the bait.

Jamie drew from his pocket the device that had been used to record the message from Nick’s counterpart. It was a tiny thing in his palm—a piece of white plastic the size of Joan’s thumbnail.

Jamie’s brow furrowed as he recorded something new on it—one of his perfect memories. Joan felt a strange pang at the thought

that they were overwriting the original message with the love note; it had been one of the last remnants of the counterparts.

She busied herself with rearranging the recessed sunroom, placing chairs and lamps at the edges of the glass walls, making

a stage for Jamie’s recording. When she was done, she found the others watching. They’d all been working in semidarkness—most

of the curtains closed—so that no one outside could see in. Now, in the silence, the sounds of the house around them seemed

loud. Joan could hear people walking in the Gilt Room above; people moving up and down the stairs.

“Are we ready?” she asked softly. Nerves prickled through her as she spoke. Eleanor had always been ten steps ahead every

time they’d confronted her. Would she anticipate this too, or would Joan and the others finally get the jump on her?

“Not quite.” Nick went over to the fireplace. A large, decorative sword had been set above it. He took it down now and tested

the blade against his finger. The gleam of red said that it was sharp.

He held it almost casually as he strode to his position by the door. A shiver ran through Joan at the sight of him. He’d once

wielded a sword just like that one, in the room directly above them. He’d saved Joan’s life with it. And then he’d killed

Aaron’s father, and countless other Olivers.

He pushed a sweep of dark hair from his eyes. With that sword in hand, he looked exactly like his former self, the version that Joan had first fallen in love with.

As Joan thought that, she felt it again —the great cogs of the timeline turning and turning, like screws tightening. The premonition from the library hit her once

more—hard enough to steal her breath. Something awful is going to happen tonight. She pushed away the feeling, the thought. That was just her own fear talking.

She checked their positions one last time. They’d locked the door to the China Room, but Ruth and Aaron were guarding it,

just in case. Tom and Nick stood by the door leading to the principal staircase. This one was unlocked; they were gambling

on Eleanor coming through the main entrance. In the corner, Sylvie and Frankie were in their little backpacks, protected by

a ring of heavy chairs.

“Ready?” Joan asked again, and the others nodded.

“Let’s get this done,” Nick said.

Jamie placed the device with his recorded memory on the floor.

He stepped back, and then—between one blink and another—a man appeared in the sunroom, looking so real that unease roiled

inside Joan. He wasn’t actually here, she reminded herself; he was just an illusion that Jamie had created. She could hear

the others shifting in place nervously too, though.

This was the King. Eleanor’s old nemesis, and theirs. The man who’d erased the Grave family. He was the reason Joan had never

known her own mother. The reason why Aaron’s mother had been executed.

And he’d once been the most powerful and terrifying figure in the world.

The last time Joan had seen him, he’d been so brilliant with radiance that she’d had to look away, her eyes watering.

It had been Jamie’s idea to record him without that radiance; Jamie had once been the Royal Archive for the King, and he remembered fragments of the man himself.

He’ll appear weak without all that light , Jamie had said.

So this was the first time Joan had seen the King’s face, up close and clear. She stared at him now. She’d only been able

to snatch glimpses of him last time, but he’d seemed familiar somehow. He still did—a little—although she couldn’t place why.

She guessed that he was about thirty years old. He had mousy brown hair in a messy style, a little more boyish than really

suited him. His face was thin, his nose sharp, and his lips so pale that they seemed to disappear into his face. It was hard

to imagine that he’d once wielded near-complete control of the timeline.

Joan flicked on the lamp, illuminating the King in the sunroom window. Then she slipped back into the darkness with Jamie.

With the light on, Jamie’s illusion was even more perfect. It looked exactly like the King was here, talking animatedly with someone just out of sight. Jamie hadn’t bothered to record his voice, and

so he spoke without sound.

What would Eleanor think when she saw him? Would she believe her old nemesis was back—weak now, and vulnerable, without all

the power he’d once had?

Joan was getting to know her sister; she was almost sure that Eleanor would come in without much backup, her emotions high and her thoughts clouded. Eleanor would want to hurt this man, to punish him—even if he didn’t remember who he’d once been.

They waited in nervous silence in the dark.

Joan strained, searching for Eleanor through the window. Was she out there? Was this going to work?

Outside, the trees of the South Garden were strung with fairy lights that matched the fireworks from earlier: eerie whites

and blues. Clusters of people stood under the trees, talking and drinking. Every now and then, one of them glanced toward

the sunroom, and then away again, uninterested. Only one person at this party would know who this man was.

“Maybe she’s not coming,” Jamie whispered after a while.

Joan had begun to fear that too. But then they all heard it—footsteps on the staircase. Not the plod of people planning to

walk all the way up to the next level, but faster steps, heading for the first landing, where the Breakfast Room was.

More than one person, Joan realized. A group. Nick held up a hand. Five people.

Would one of them be Eleanor?

The door cracked, and then everything happened all at once.

Nick yanked the door open, and a guard came with it—a large man stumbling into the room. Nick knocked him out with a fist,

weighted with the handle of the sword. He kicked the man out of the way, and Tom handled the next guy with an elbow to the

throat.

An Argent was next. He stared, openmouthed—he hadn’t expected the sudden attack. But he spluttered a command now: “Turn against your friends! Kill them!” He was using his mind-controlling power. And he was strong .

Joan fought the powerful compulsion of it, but she found herself turning, reaching to shove Jamie down, to put her hands around

his throat. She had just enough time to realize that Jamie was turning too—to attack her —and then the compulsion abruptly ended.

Nick had knocked the man out—the Argent powers hadn’t worked on him. He was already turning to the next person, a powerful

member of the Ali family. Joan recognized her from the last time they’d fought Eleanor: Mariam.

Mariam threw an invisible Ali shield out, making them stumble back as if hit by an immense gust of wind. Joan caught Ruth’s

hand, helping her keep her feet. Nick held his ground, though,the blow rippling harmlessly through him.

“Don’t kill her!” Tom gasped to him. His sister was an Ali, and he had a soft spot for them.

Nick acknowledged that by knocking Mariam out too with a sharp punch to the side of her head.

And then it was Eleanor. She stood in the doorway, eyes blazing with fury. She hadn’t expected this attack either, but she’d