Page 17 of Once a Villain
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 toclear 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 itto the Queen’s justice,” she corrected herself.
“Tellit 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 atoo much to explain right nowgesture. 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 maybesheshifted.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 sayingbecause it was meant for Frankie—“a shame,” she said instead. “Try the pastry—it’s not bad.”
