Page 15 of Once a Villain
“Next!” the man at the counter called, and Joan blinked.She’d reached the front of the queue.
All appetite gone, she pointed at a warming dish full of pastries. “Ten, please,” she said. “And—” She nodded at some skewers of chicken. “Four of those. No sauce, no salt.”
“No sauce, no salt?” the man echoed. “Might as well eat cardboard!”
“They’re for a dog,” Joan explained.
“Adog!” The man shook his head, muttering, “I’m cooking for dogs now!” He took Joan’s money, though, and counted out the change.
Joan shoved the coins into her skirt pocket, and her fingers brushed something unfamiliar. She drew out a small envelope and flipped it open, finding their unused room key; she’d half forgotten she had it.
She went to pocket it again, and then hesitated as something caught her eye. A thin roll of paper was tucked behind the metal key.
The man at the counter cleared his throat. Joan’s food was ready, boxed and bagged.
“Thanks!” Joan grabbed her purchases and stepped aside to make room for the next person.
She felt more than saw Nick appear by her side, his solid presence comforting. “What’s that?” he murmured as Joan slipped the tiny roll of paper from behind the key.
“Not sure. It must be from the receptionist at the Serpentine. Ronan.”
Joan unrolled the scrap of paper. A message was scrawled in a rushed hand:
I can help you
meet me at iron age 7pm
Underneath the words, there was a stamp, the image unmistakable: a wolf, its head raised in a howl.
Joan’s heart thudded like a gong.There are people who can help you, Gran had said.You’ll know them by the mark of the wolf.Had Joan actually heard Gran’s voice back at the apartment? Was that possible?
“From the receptionist?” Nick said. He was frowning as if he didn’t trust the note.
The coincidence of the wolf stamp was too much to ignore. “What’s the time?” Joan found the clock at the center of the dome. Five minutes past seven. She swore under her breath. She was already late.
The note had said to meet in the Iron Age section. As Joan turned, looking for it, Nick made a surprised sound. Jamie was running toward them, Frankie in his arms; Ruth and Aaron hurried behind with heavy bags.
“I thought we were meeting at the room,” Joan said, confused.
“Don’t you hear it?” Aaron was pale.
Unease coiled in Joan’s stomach. “Hear what?” Even as she said it, though, she saw heads angling toward the front of the market. Whispers were passing back and forth at the picnic tables, and traveling up the lines of people queuing at the food stalls.Guards!Guards are coming!
“Hide!” Aaron said sharply, directing them behind the shelterof a decorative box hedge with shiny plastic leaves, tall enough to hide even Nick.
They barely had a minute to settle into place before ten red-coated guards marched past, their gold lion pins glinting.Are they looking forus?Ruth mouthed.
But the guards were striding with intention deeper into the market, past ancient Roman tunics and brooches and belts. Joan tracked their path, heart stuttering as she realized they were moving on. And the period before ancient Rome was—
Joan spotted him then—Ronan—among the torcs and tunics of the Iron Age. He’d seen the guards, and was shoving past racks of clothes, trying to get to an exit.
It was too late, though. Guards swarmed him. “You’re under arrest!” one of them shouted. “For conspiring against the Queen herself.”
“No!” Joan heard herself blurt. She felt Ruth turn to her, clearly confused, but Joan couldn’t tear her eyes from Ronan’s terrified face.
“Please—I’m loyal!” Ronan cried out urgently, trying to appeal to the crowd. But no one dared respond. “I’m loyal to the Queen!”
As the guards dragged him through the market, Joan stumbled from their hiding place. Shehadheard Gran’s voice at the apartment; she was suddenly sure of it. She needed to get to him.
