Page 49 of Once a Villain
There was a shuffling sound, and then a large figure. Beside Joan, Nick’s breath released sharply. It was his own counterpart. The gladiator.
In the recording of his faked death, Nick’s counterpart had been curled up, feigning fear. Inthisrecording, though, he stared confidently at the camera.
Last time, his scars had made him seem wounded and frail, but in his new stance, those same scars appeared to give him the presence and heft of the gladiator he’d been. His short-sleeved shirt showed the hard, cut muscles of his arms. He seemed bigger than any of the Nicks Joan had known.
When he spoke, his grave voice filled the room. “I received some final intelligence as I left,” he said to the camera. He spoke with a slightly formal intonation, his voice soldier-like. “Ronan from the Serpentine Inn has been informing on humans to theCourt. You’ll need to deal with him.”
“Ronan?” Joan whispered to the others. “The receptionist from the inn?” The hairs rose at the back of her neck. “He was informing on people to the guards?”
“We’ve suspected him for some time.” Marguerite’s mouth was grim. “Humans in his vicinity keep getting arrested. Aaron arranged for him to be dealt with.” She looked at Aaron, who nodded, wide-eyed. Ronan had definitely been dealt with.
Lord Oliver has standing orders for traitors, Lucien had said. Joan realized with a shiver that she’d dodged a bullet yesterday. Ronan had clocked Joan from the wanted poster, and had offered to help. She’d trusted him—he’d used the wolf sigil tomakeher trust him—but he’d been planning to betray her all along. He’d have turned her over to the Court for cash.
Aaron’s counterpart had saved her life and she hadn’t even known it. Ordering Ronan’s death must have been one of his last acts before he’d been erased.
“Play,” Aaron ordered, and Joan realized that her own speech must have paused the recording. It started again now.
“The damage is worsening,” Nick’s counterpart said. “And we’re running out of time to stop her.” Joan felt a jolt. Gran had said they were running out of time too. And what had Nick meant bydamage? “We’ve done what we can to prevent her from locking things down,” he continued, “but she’ll have plans of her own, and she might still outwit us.” He paused for a moment, eyes fixed on the camera. “I wish I could help you, but you’re alone in this now. You can get to her. You have what you need. Godspeed....”
Then he was gone. In his place, a series of numbers floated in the air, crisp and three-dimensional and black.
9 1894 1, 9 1671 6, 7 161 7, 12 108 6, 2 2229 4, 14 56 6, 11 2141 5, 3 3199 6
“Is that it?” Joan said. She felt breathless. Marguerite had been right. The counterparts had clearly had a plan to stop Eleanor.You can get to her. You have what you need.But what had the plan been? And... “What do the numbers mean?”
“Aaron?” Marguerite said.
“I—I don’t know,” Aaron said.
“But Nick sent this toyou,” Marguerite said, puzzled.
Aaron was forced to shake his head. “I suppose he thought I’d be able to understand it, but I don’t.” He looked troubled, and Joan felt it too. His counterpart would have known what it meant. And Joan had a sense that the numbered line was the most important part of the message. When and where to strike at Eleanor, perhaps.
“Could the numbers be coordinates?” Ruth said. “Places we need to go to?”
“I think it looks more like a code,” Jamie said. “Something we’ll need to break.”
“You really don’t know?” Marguerite said to Aaron.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said.
Joan looked at Nick, but he shook his head slightly. He didn’t know either—this version of him had never needed to encode a desperate message. He’d grown up in a benign world, like Joan had.
“There must be someone in the wolves who can break codes,” Joan said to Marguerite.
Marguerite hesitated. “There isn’t exactly a wolf movement,” she said, confirming Joan’s suspicions from earlier. “Not an organized one. It’s just Aaron and Nick, and the few people they trust.” She looked thoughtful. “I do know someone good with numbers, though. And, even better, he has no love for the Court.”
Marguerite led them on a short walk along Wapping Wall. Not a minute in, Frankie stopped dead in the middle of the path, her blunt nose sniffing at the briny air.
“What is it?” Jamie asked her.
Frankie sprinted ahead, her little legs galloping. Jamie swore in surprise and broke into a run, trying to catch her. Frankie wasn’t an athletic dog—Joan had never seen her run.
Joan sprinted after them both, and a second later a small dock came into view, surrounded on all sides by dark buildings.
Frankie leaped from the walking path, aiming for a narrowboat tied to the dock.
“Frankie!” Jamie shouted, horrified.
