Page 37 of Once a Villain
“Are you talking about the executions tomorrow?” Ruthsaid. “The onesAaronis supposed to conduct?”
Aaron looked sick at the prospect. Joan had the feeling he’d been trying not to think about that. “It’s supposed to be my hand on the ax,” he said.
“Again,” Nick said. There was an edge to his voice.
“I didn’t—” Aaron glared at him. “Mycounterpartkilled yours. Notme.”
“Your counterpartisyou,” Nick said tightly.”You as you would have been if you’d been born into this world.”
“But he’snot,” Joan blurted. “ThisAaron would never have done that.” Never.
She could feel them all looking at her now, Aaron’s expression unreadable, a flash of hurt on Nick’s face. “Nick... ,” she said. Did Nick think she was choosing sides? She hadn’t intendedthat. Then she saw Jamie behind him, looking stricken. He was thinking about Tom again. “Hewillstill be himself,” she said to Jamie.
“We’ll know when we find him,” Jamie said, and Joan hated how stoic he sounded.
Joan nodded. Her chest was agonizingly tight—everything felt so complicated.
“Okay... ,” Ruth said, drawing out the word in acknowledgment of the tension in the room. “So Aaron can get us close to these wolves. But...” She turned to him. “Are you sure you can do this? You’ll have to go there as an executioner, pretending to behim—that sociopath we just saw. You’d have to stay in character the whole time. And it won’t be like it is here, at the mansion, where you can hide in your bedchambers and bark orders. You’ll have to interact with people.”
Aaron dipped his head, revealing the pale nape above his shirt collar. A fine tremor ran through him. “Even if I wanted to get out of it, I don’t think I could. Eleanor knows I’m supposed to be conducting those executions. If I’m not there tomorrow, she’ll suspect something’s up.”
Joan swallowed. Aaron wouldn’t be the only one playing a role tomorrow, she remembered. She and Nick would too. They’d have to act as if they’d been born into this world. They’d have to wear those pendants.
That night, they set up Aaron’s room as if camping in a field surrounded by enemies. Joan hooked a chair under the doorknob to keep anyone from opening it while they slept.
That wasn’t enough for Nick, though—he took a blanket and lay on the floor by the door. Or maybe he just wanted to put some distance between himself and the rest of them after seeing that recording. Joan watched him bed down and thought again, painfully, of his flash of hurt when she’d defended Aaron.
The rest of them slept behind the bed, rather than on it, on layered blankets. They didn’t need to talk about it—they all seemed to feel the same primal urge for shelter, even in this mansion, even in this closed room.
After a while, everyone’s breathing evened out except Aaron’s. Joan couldn’t see much of him in the dark: just his pale hair. He seemed surprisingly comfortable on the floor—but then his real bed had been a cardboard-thin mattress in the coldest part of this house. The luxury of this room was as alien to him as it was to any of them.
“Can’t sleep?” Joan whispered to him finally, and his breath quickened as if he hadn’t expected her to speak. Around them, the only sounds were the creaks of the house and soft, sleeping breaths.
A rustling as he turned to face her. “Can’tyousleep?” A hesitation. “Are you all right? Still feeling grounded in this time?”
Joan nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m fine.”
“You need to tell me if any of your senses fade. The first sign of it.”
“I really am fine.” Washeokay? “What about you? I know this has been hard....”
“Are you worried?” Aaron asked. Joan could feel more than see his searching gaze. “I’ll protect you when we’re out on the streets,” he whispered, very serious. “No one will dare hurt you. No one will—” His voice roughened. “No one willtouchyou.”
“I’m not scared,” Joan whispered. She wasn’t sure if that was quite true, though.
Aaron seemed to sense it. “All will be well,” he promised. “You’ll be safe, and I won’t break character. I know how to play my counterpart.”
Break character... It took a second for Joan to figure out what he meant. “You think you’ll have to execute those people—to stay in character?”
In the silence that followed, Joan heard his breath catch. He turned away again, facing the ceiling. “Do you know how much human time I’ve stolen?”
Joan swallowed. “No.” It must have been a lot. He’d once toldher that he’d been a tourist at the Temple of Venus on Velian Hill—in AD 100. That trip alone would have cost two thousand years of human life. The full lifespans of maybe twenty-five people.
“Honestly, I never gave it a second thought before you—” He stopped.
Joan waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He was staring up at the ceiling, a hand on his chest as if a heavy weight were pressing down on him. She wished she could make out his expression.
“You’re not him,” Joan whispered. “You’re nothing like him. And we’ll find a way to stop those executions tomorrow.” She was sure they could. “You won’t have to kill those humans—we’ll figure out a way to rescue them.” Then they’d connect with the wolves like Gran had told them to.
