Page 8 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan pushed between narrow aisles of clothes, trying to keep up with the guards.

“What the—” Ruth chased after Joan, trying to catch her arm. “What are you doing ?”

Joan shook Ruth off and kept moving, barely registering her words. “That’s the receptionist from the inn!” she whispered.

“Ronan! He was trying to help us!”

The market had already bustled back to life. People had gone back to eating their meals and buying clothes as if the arrest

hadn’t even happened.

“Joan!” Ruth grabbed her arm again. “ Stop! ”

“We have to go after them!” Joan said. The guards were heading for the big archway at the front. In two minutes, they’d be

out of sight.

“ Why? ”

Joan scrabbled for the note, and gave it to Ruth—her eyes still on the guards. “He was waiting for me when they caught him.”

Aaron hissed through his teeth as he read over Ruth’s shoulder. “He did recognize you from that poster. Fuck. ”

“We’re going to lose him!” Joan said. She opened her mouth to tell the others what Gran had said—that this guy could help them stop Eleanor.

But... she couldn’t say she’d heard Gran’s disembodied voice in an empty closet.

They’d think she was losing it—especially Aaron, who’d been there and hadn’t heard anything.

“Humans are suffering here,” she said instead.

That was still true. “We have to fix this timeline. And it sounds like that guy’s been fighting Eleanor.

” He’d just been arrested for it. “We’re going to need allies against her—allies who know

this world. And...” She spread her hands. “He tried to help us . We need to—”

“You’re right,” Aaron said abruptly. “We need to go after him.”

Joan closed her mouth and then opened it again, too surprised to answer. She’d been hoping to convince Nick and maybe Ruth

and Jamie. But Aaron never ran toward danger. She finished her sentence: “We need to help him .”

Aaron met Joan’s gaze. His beautiful features were hard. “I don’t know about helping him, but we have to get to him before

an interrogator does. Because if Eleanor’s guards are anything like the King’s, Ronan will tell them everything they want

to know. He’ll beg to tell them.” His words had a dark undertone that made Joan blink. He’d hinted once that he’d been interrogated by the Court

himself—perhaps when his mother had been arrested.

Nick made a soft sound of agreement at the back of his throat, and scoured the market. “There’s another door past the arch,”

he said. “Another exit. We’ll come out onto the same street, and it won’t be so obvious that we’re following them.” When Joan

turned to him, Nick echoed Aaron grimly: “That guy clocked you, Joan. We need to get to him before he’s interrogated. If we don’t, Eleanor is going to know you’re here.”

They hurried after Ronan, emerging at a door far enough up the street that they were hidden by the darkness. About twenty

paces away, a convoy of five black cars with winged-lion insignia stood under a pool of streetlights. Joan swayed forward,

frustrated, as Ronan was bundled into the front car.

“I’m innocent!” Ronan said.

“Tell it to the Queen’s justice!” a guard snarled at him.

A minute later, the convoy pulled out of the Serpentine’s enclave and slipped away into the night.

“We’ve lost them!” Ruth said.

Joan shook her head. Even knowing it was hopeless, she sprinted up the dark street, trying to keep the convoy in sight, trying

to keep herself out of sight. She’d felt sickened and helpless ever since she’d arrived in this timeline. She’d seen humans being caged and beaten,

their life stolen. And now someone had tried to help her—someone Gran had told her to find. And he was going to be interrogated

and hurt because Joan hadn’t seen his note in time. Because she’d broken into a different room and hadn’t used the key.

Behind Joan, heavy footsteps sounded. Nick overtook her, and for a second he was so fast that Joan almost wondered if he’d

be able to keep up with the cars. But he couldn’t. The convoy was already turning left onto another street.

Nick kept running, though. It took Joan a moment to see why. There was a bus stop up ahead, with a bus waiting there, signaling

left.

Nick leaped onto the bus and stood in the doorway, holding the door open. Joan put on a burst of speed, and Nick offered a

hand to help her in, and then Aaron.

Nick didn’t seem out of breath, but Joan was; her throat burned as she gasped out: “Ruth and Jamie?” She searched and saw them—through the back window—way behind on the street, Frankie still in Jamie’s arms.

“They’re not going to make it,” Aaron panted.

The bus door was already closing. Joan held her hands under the interior light, indicating to Ruth that she and the guys would

come back to the inn as soon as they could.

After their frantic sprint, the interior of the bus was almost eerily silent. There was no one else in here—not even a driver.

The bus was navigating itself.

A message flashed on a sign overhead: Present ID and pay.

Joan ignored the flashing message and peered out the windshield, into the night.

The last car in the convoy was just visible up ahead. None of them said it, but they all knew that jumping on the bus was

a very temporary solution. Any moment now, the convoy would turn or the bus would.

“Ideas?” Nick said.

They’d all crammed together to look through the windshield, and Joan registered now how close they were. Nick was pressed

against her right side, and Aaron against her left. Aaron was still out of breath, his shoulders moving unsteadily. Joan could

feel the soft wool of his suit jacket against one bare arm; the scratchier material of Nick’s against the other. Her chest

caught; her own breath hadn’t evened out yet from the run, she guessed.

Outside, the world was black. Joan closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. Ronan’s pleas for help were still echoing in her mind. And Gran’s words before that. You’re running out of time.

Think , she told herself. Stay calm and think. “Where could they be taking him?” she said aloud.

“Did the guards say anything?” Nick said.

“Just that he’d have to face the Queen’s justice,” Joan said, and then she hesitated. That wasn’t quite what they’d said.

“ Tell it to the Queen’s justice,” she corrected herself.

“ Tell it to them?” Aaron repeated. There was a strange note in his voice—strange enough that Joan turned to look at him. There

wasn’t much expression on his face, but he’d gone pale. He raised his voice: “Where does this bus go?”

For a second, Joan had no idea who he was talking to. Then the answer came from the bus itself, the voice pleasant and artificial:

“This is an Oliver-territory bus terminating in Richmond. Change at Hammersmith for—”

“Fine,” Aaron said, cutting the voice off. He turned back to the windshield.

The lights from the last car were out of sight now. Joan peered out, panic fluttering through her. “They’re gone!” she said.

Was there a cab out there? A bike? She couldn’t see any other vehicles.

“It doesn’t matter,” Aaron said. He was still clutching his shopping bags from the inn, and now he dumped them onto a seat.

“I know where they’re headed.”

“What do you mean?” Joan said. How could he know?

Aaron focused on her. His expression had been distant, but now it cleared slightly. “You still need to eat.”

Eat? “Aaron, do you know where they’re taking him?”

“You bought food, right?”

“Yes.” Joan still had the boxes of pastries.

“Then eat something before you fall out of this time.”

“Fall out of this time?” Nick said, frowning.

Aaron made a too much to explain right now gesture. His gray eyes were still on Joan, unyielding.

Nick shifted his weight. Joan could feel his confused concern, and his annoyance at Aaron’s dismissal of him. Aaron had a

knack for irritating people—when he and Joan had first met, they’d argued all the time. He’d just gotten under her skin.

Joan didn’t want to argue about this, though. The truth was, Aaron was right—she needed to ground herself before another fade-out

hit. She’d been terrified when her breath had stopped. Maybe next time, her heart would too. Maybe Aaron wouldn’t be able

to bring her back.

Aaron still needed to ground himself too. He always seemed in control of his time jumps, but he was too good at putting up

a front. For all Joan knew, he’d been struggling since they’d arrived here, just like she had.

The food was surprisingly intact considering all the running. Joan offered the box to Aaron and Nick, and then took a pastry

for herself. “Eating helps monsters ground ourselves in a new time,” she explained to Nick. “And we haven’t eaten since we

got here.”

She bit into the flaky crust now, holding a hand out to catch the crumbs. The pastry was surprisingly substantial—like a cross

between a sausage roll and a croissant. She swallowed her bite, and felt the world shift around her. Or maybe she shifted. The chair under her seemed more solid; the air colder; the dull colors of the bus sharper and brighter. She took another bite, and felt even more grounded.

“It’s helping,” she said to Aaron. “I can feel it.”

Aaron had been watching her eat, but now released a breath, clearly relieved, and examined the box of chicken skewers.

“Oh, wait—” Joan said, but he’d already taken one and was biting into it.

“This doesn’t taste like anything,” Aaron said.

“That’s”—Joan stopped herself from saying because it was meant for Frankie —“a shame,” she said instead. “Try the pastry—it’s not bad.”

Nick was still holding his own pastry, uneaten. “What happens if you don’t ground yourself?” he asked Joan tightly. He was

clearly worried about her, but there was an undertone of something darker. Was he jealous of Aaron’s comfort with her?

“A conversation for later,” Aaron said. “We should talk about getting to that guy.”

Nick gave him a long look. He started to speak, but the bus interrupted him:

“ No food or drink may be consumed on this bus ,” it said.

“This bus is really starting to grate,” Aaron muttered. He ran a hand through his pale hair.

“You said you know where they’re taking Ronan,” Joan said. They needed to focus on the immediate problem.

“ King above, Curia between, family below. Rule made, law laid, justice owed ,” Aaron said.

At their confused expressions, he sighed.

“I keep forgetting that you don’t know anything.

The heads of family are sometimes called the King’s justices.

Queen’s justices here, I suppose. They have jurisdiction over their families and territories. They dispense justice on behalf of

the Court.”

“Meaning what?” Nick asked.

Aaron hesitated. It was only then that Joan recognized how tense he was. If she hadn’t known him, she’d have thought him completely

composed, but she did know him, and his shoulders and jaw were too tight. He’d figured out something about the guards’ destination—something he

didn’t like.

“Those cars are heading west,” Aaron said. “This is still Oliver territory, and in our timeline there was nothing in that direction but the Oliver house.”

Joan drew a sharp breath. She’d been picturing their destination as a prison—somewhere unfamiliar. Now her mental image shifted

to a green estate with a mansion at its heart. The terrible and beautiful home of the Olivers. “You think they’re taking him

to your father?”

Aaron’s expression smoothed like stilled water. “If this world is anything like ours, then the families take care of crimes

and disputes on their own territories—in conjunction with Court Guards.”

“And what would your father do to him?” Nick asked slowly. “If you’re right.”

“Interrogate him. Torture him. Probably execute him personally.” Outside, a streetlight flared, illuminating Aaron’s pale

face. “And I know I’m right.”

A memory hit Joan out of nowhere. Of Edmund Oliver sneering down at her from his vast height.

Half-human, half-monster. If your mother were an Oliver, you’d have been voided in the womb.

But the Hunts have such tolerance for abominations.

Under that wintry gaze, she’d felt like a bug wriggling on the pavement; a pest to be crushed under his heel.

Joan felt a stab of pain in her side—a phantom ache. She touched her waist where the sword wound had been.

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to her hand. He didn’t remember that night, but a slight frown marred the stillness of his face,

as if he somehow knew she was reacting to the mention of his father.

Joan glanced away, and found Nick’s eyes on her too, expression nearly identical to Aaron’s.

“How long until we reach the house?” Nick’s voice was carefully controlled, but Joan knew him too. He really hadn’t liked that casual reference to torture.

“Forty-five minutes,” Aaron said. “We’ll have to move fast when we get there. My father is very skilled at extracting information.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “He’ll know everything Ronan knows soon enough.”

Joan suppressed that panicked feeling again. How were they going to get into the Oliver estate without being seen? How were

they going to get out?

“We should have a short window of opportunity when we get there,” Aaron said. “My father will need a Griffith to assist with

the interrogation, and he won’t start until they arrive.”

Joan forced aside her trepidation . They’d have to make this work. Aaron knew the house well, and she’d been there too. “Forty-five minutes,” she said. “You’d better tell us about

the house security, then.”