Page 18 of Once a Villain
Nick was still holding his own pastry, uneaten. “What happens if you don’t ground yourself?” he asked Joan tightly. He was clearly worried about her, but there was an undertone of something darker. Was he jealous of Aaron’s comfort with her?
“A conversation for later,” Aaron said. “We should talk about getting to that guy.”
Nick gave him a long look. He started to speak, but the bus interrupted him:
“No food or drink may be consumed on this bus,” it said.
“This bus is really starting to grate,” Aaron muttered. He ran a hand through his pale hair.
“You said you know where they’re taking Ronan,” Joan said. They needed to focus on the immediate problem.
“King above, Curia between, family below. Rule made, law laid, justice owed,” Aaron said. At their confused expressions, he sighed. “I keep forgetting that you don’t know anything. Theheads of family are sometimes called the King’s justices.Queen’sjustices here, I suppose. They have jurisdiction over their families and territories.They dispense justice on behalf of the Court.”
“Meaning what?” Nick asked.
Aaron hesitated. It was only then that Joan recognized how tense he was. If she hadn’t known him, she’d have thought him completely composed, but shedidknow him, and his shoulders and jaw were too tight. He’d figured out something about the guards’ destination—something he didn’t like.
“Those cars are heading west,” Aaron said. “This is still Oliver territory, and inourtimeline there was nothing in that direction but the Oliver house.”
Joan drew a sharp breath. She’d been picturing their destination as a prison—somewhere unfamiliar. Now her mental image shifted to a green estate with a mansion at its heart. The terrible and beautiful home of the Olivers. “You think they’re taking him to your father?”
Aaron’s expression smoothed like stilled water. “If this world is anything like ours, then the families take care of crimes and disputes on their own territories—in conjunction with Court Guards.”
“And what would your father do to him?” Nick asked slowly. “If you’re right.”
“Interrogate him. Torture him. Probably execute him personally.” Outside, a streetlight flared, illuminating Aaron’s pale face. “And I know I’m right.”
A memory hit Joan out of nowhere. Of Edmund Oliver sneering down at her from his vast height.Half-human, half-monster. If your mother were an Oliver, you’d have been voided inthe womb.But the Hunts have such tolerance for abominations.Under that wintry gaze, she’d felt like a bug wriggling on the pavement; a pest to be crushed under his heel.
Joan felt a stab of pain in her side—a phantom ache. She touched her waist where the sword wound had been.
Aaron’s eyes flicked down to her hand. He didn’t remember that night, but a slight frown marred the stillness of his face, as if he somehow knew she was reacting to the mention of his father.
Joan glanced away, and found Nick’s eyes on her too, expression nearly identical to Aaron’s.
“How long until we reach the house?” Nick’s voice was carefully controlled, but Joan knew him too. Hereallyhadn’t liked that casual reference to torture.
“Forty-five minutes,” Aaron said. “We’ll have to move fast when we get there. My father isveryskilled at extracting information.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “He’ll know everything Ronan knows soon enough.”
Joan suppressed that panicked feeling again. How were they going to get into the Oliver estate without being seen? How were they going to get out?
“We should have a short window of opportunity when we get there,” Aaron said. “My father will need a Griffith to assist with the interrogation, and he won’t start until they arrive.”
Joan forced aside her trepidation.They’d have tomakethis work. Aaron knew the house well, and she’d been there too. “Forty-five minutes,” she said. “You’d better tell us about the house security, then.”
Six
They got off at the last stop. As soon as they did, the bus trundled away, its comforting lights dimming.
Joan peered into the dark, trying to find her bearings. They were on a narrow road that ended in an iron gate, spotlit with lamps and protected by a manned security lodge. Mermaids were worked into the iron of the gate. The Oliver family sigil. And... Joan’s heart thumped. “You were right,” she whispered to Aaron. Beyond the gate, car lights were snaking down the long driveway. The convoywashere.
The Oliver estate was vast in this timeline—the family was clearly a formidable power here. A gleam in the distance hinted at a lake. The house itself was high on a hill, its turreted towers stark against moonlit clouds. Joan was reminded of the Gothic gloom of Westminster Abbey. Beside the house, a domed conservatory glowed like a second moon; it must have been visible for miles.
“The security lodge is new,” Aaron said. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Well... humans know about monsters here,” Joan murmured. “And we know there’s a resistance movement.” Those wanted postersand Ronan’s arresthad made that clear enough.
She surveyed the obstacles to getting in. A high brick wallran around the estate, and dogs barked from the grounds. With a look, Nick directed them silently toward another problem—a camera, positioned on the wall, facing the bus stop.
