Page 39 of Once a Villain
There were two rows of numbers. Joan remembered again Jamie’s explanation: The top line showed how much life the human had left—in years, months, and days. The bottom line showed the time still owed in service.
“What numbers should we enter?” Joan tried to rotate them, but they seemed locked.
“There’s a”—Jamie pointed gingerly at the flat metal base of the shell—“fingerprint reader.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Joan said.
Aaron came over and pressed his thumb to it, expression utterly blank. With his thumb on it, he could turn the numbers.
“What’s average?” Joan asked Jamie. He’d be able to remember every pendant he’d seen on humans so far.
“Someone your age and Nick’s... about forty years left of life. You’d owe twenty years of that in labor or life to a monster family.”
If they were setting it for real, Joan’s and Nick’s remaining lifespans would be far shorter than that; they’d both time-traveled using their own time. They’d taken decades from themselves.
“You said that high-value humans could be designated as labor-only,” Aaron said tightly. “How do we indicate that?”
“They have pendants made of a different metal—some kind of gold alloy,” Jamie said. “I’ve only seen a couple of humans wearing them. Seems rare enough to be noteworthy—it stood out to me.”
Joan sighed. They couldn’t risk standing out—Joan was wanted by the Court, and Nick was supposed to be dead.
Once it was on, the pendant felt even heavier than it had in Joan’s hand. It sat in the hollow of her throat, on a fine chain, and for a second Joan felt like she was choking. She’d never been able to stand anything tight against her neck—she couldn’t even wear roll-necked tops.
“The numbers have to be visible by law,” Jamie said as Joan went to tuck it under the scarf.
Joan gritted her teeth and pulled it out again.
They walked out of Aaron’s suite together. As they reached the corridor outside, Joan felt a jolt. Aaron’s uncle Lucien was standing on the floor below, staring up at them.
Aaron nodded to him in greeting. As soon as he’d left his rooms, he’d transformed himself into the person they’d seen inthe interrogation recording, his posture arrogant and dangerous. He gave an assured order now to a servant below: “Bring a car around! Not a chauffeured one—I’ll drive.”
“So these are the two humans you brought home,” Lucien said in his gloomy manner. He always sounded like he was talking about his own funeral. In the daylight, his features were still striking, but his heavy brow and sharp nose weren’t quite so vulture-like.
Joan braced herself as they reached the ground floor. Would Lucien recognize her from the poster; would he recognize Nick?
Jamie had applied makeup with a skilled hand, raising Joan’s cheekbones and hollowing her cheeks until she’d looked like a stranger. Nick had been even more transformed; Jamie had straightened his distinctive curls and reworked his hair into a style he’d calledIvy League. As a final touch, he’d added black-framed fashion glasses.
Clark Kent, Aaron had said. He’d probably meant it sarcastically, but Joan had had the same thought. Nick had a kind of Superman quality, and the glasses added a slight scholarly air to that. At the end of it, Joan had been sure that no one would think of his counterpart when they saw him.
To Joan’s relief, Lucien clearly didn’t recognize either of them. He only said: “How avant-garde” as he examined Joan’s carefully placed scarf, Nick’s silk cravat. “Let’s hope you don’t startthattrend among the humans.”
“These two are not to be touched,” Aaron said tightly.
“Yes, you have rather made that clear.” A hint of disgust touched Lucien’s stern face. “You know... peoplearetalking aboutthe humans you bring home. The ones you use and dispose of.... Everyone sees the van pull up and take the bodies away....”
Aaron reddened. Nick’s expression was unreadable behind his glasses, but by his sides, his hands squeezed, his knuckles whitening as he turned slowly to look at Aaron.
“I must say,” Aaron said, his voice tight, “Geoffrey got quite the wrong end of the stick last night. About the purpose of these two.”
“Oh?” Lucien managed to make it sound like he was rolling his eyes, even though he wasn’t.
“They’ll be my personal assistants for a few days.”
“Indeed?”If you say so, Lucien’s expression said. “Well, if that’s the story you wish to tell, that’s the story we’ll tell.”
A servant appeared. “Your car is ready, my lord.”
Lucien opened a door to a large paved area at the back of the house. A gleaming black Jaguar waited for them—the signature car of the Olivers. An Oliver flag fluttered on the bumper: a mermaid with sharp teeth and fingers curved into claws.
