Page 45 of Once a Villain
As he did, Joan caught Nick looking her over worriedly. He wasn’t just disgusted by Cassius’s leering; he’d realized, fromAaron passing her the bread, that she must have had another fade-out.
I’m okay, Joan mouthed, but the concern didn’t leave Nick’s eyes. Aaron was still troubled too; he glanced back, trying to gauge if she was properly grounded. Joan tried to give him a reassuring look.
The server arrived. She was small and mousy, as if she’d learned not to draw attention. Her pendant was silver, a withered black elm wrapped around it like fingers. The two numbers were identical: 12 years, 3 months, 2 days. Joan swallowed. The rest of this woman’s life belonged to the Argents. Cassius could force her to serve for twelve more years, or he could drain all twelve years right here, at this table. He’d have the right.
Back at the house, Ruth had said that humans here had a certain look about them. Joan could see what she meant now. There wasn’t much expression on the girl’s face, but she was statue-still, barely breathing, like a prey animal forced to stand among predators.
Cassius hardly seemed to notice her, even though he’d called her over. She could have been a side table. “What do you want?” he asked Aaron.
Aaron searched the girl’s face.He’dnoticed her. “I don’t mind.”
Cassius hesitated. “God, I’ve forgotten—youareof age, right?” he said to Aaron. “Hecanhave a drink?” he asked Marguerite.
“I’m eighteen,” Aaron said, and Joan took that in. He’d beenseventeen when they’d met. She’d been sixteen. They’d both had birthdays since. Joan hadn’t felt very celebratory when hers had rolled by a few months ago.
“Good—it would be a sad day if you couldn’t celebrate your hard-fought win against the Wolf,” Cassius said. He snapped his fingers. “Champagne!” he ordered.
The woman scurried away. She returned shortly with a bottle and a tray of tall flutes, and poured each of the monsters a glass. Cassius stood, lifting his. “To Her Majesty!”
Aaron joined him on his feet, and so did the others. “To Queen Eleanor.”
“Queen Eleanor!” Marguerite said.
Jamie muttered something too. Ruth just gritted her teeth.
“And to you,” Cassius said to Aaron. “For defeating the Wolf.”
Aaron raised his glass again.
An hour later, it wasfinallyover.
Cassius paid the bill. “It’s my territory,” he insisted. He stood, and ice crawled down Joan’s spine as she realized Cassius was looking at her again,his attention creepy and clammy.
“Youarea pretty one,” Cassius said—almost as if he was conceding a point. He raised an eyebrow at Aaron. “You and your taste for humans.... Quite scandalous.”
To Joan’s shock, Cassius reached across the table as if to touch her. But within a blink, his wrist was in Aaron’s hand—Aaron had moved almost as fast as Nick might have. On Joan’s other side, Nick made a soft sound at the back of his throat.
“We don’t touch what isn’t ours.” Aaron sounded ice cold—exactlylike his counterpart.
Cassius raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised by Aaron’s possessiveness.
Joan fought the urge to shove Cassius back herself. And she wasn’t the only one struggling to manage her anger. The woman who’d served the champagne caught Joan’s eye, and Joan saw a flash of sympathetic rage before the woman turned to walk back to her place along the wall.
The humans of this timeline might act like prey, but they weren’t cowed, Joan realized. As the conversation between the monsters wrapped up, she registered more flashes of emotion from the humans in the room: anger and resentment, especially when Cassius talked about Nick’s counterpart;about his body being dragged through the streets; his head spiked onto a turret. Nickhadbeen popular with humans here.
What would they think if they knew another version of Nick was right here among them? That—in a way—he was back from the dead?
“Well... ,” Cassius said finally. “Quite the honor to host the man who killed the Wolf. You must be so proud,” he said to Marguerite.
“I’m always proud of him,” Marguerite said.
And then, to Joan’s relief, Cassius was striding out of the pub.
“Shall we take a moment to talk about Ward’s interrogation?” Marguerite asked Aaron. “You said he gave you some information....”
“He really didn’t tell me much.” Aaron’s fists were white-knuckled by his sides. Joan could see he just wanted to go backto the Oliver house, to shut himself away. He’d never been one to process emotions in front of other people.
“Yes, I know you’d rather be home.” Marguerite could read Aaron’s body language too. “This won’t take a moment.” She gestured to a room at the back of the pub.
