Page 107 of Once a Villain
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 oneelse 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 reachedone. “Stop!” she said. “Turn around and face me!”
Joan caught puzzled looks from Nick and Aaron as they wereall 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 doyouthink?”
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 enoughalong 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. “Iama 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?”
