Page 104 of Only a Monster

‘He’s a Liu,’ Joan said. ‘He’s the Royal Archive. He could have told us lots of things.’

‘And?’ Aaron said.

‘And the most important thing—the thing he chose to tell us—was that a mistake was made.’

‘Well, he didn’t tell us enough,’ Aaron said. ‘And we can’t exactly go and ask him for more information, can we?’

Joan looked at Tom. He’d realised it at the same moment she had. She could see it in the shadow of resignation that crossed his face.

‘Yes, we can,’ she said.

TWENTY-ONE

Joan wanted to go immediately, but Tom refused. ‘We’re not waking him up at the crack of dawn,’ he said.

That gave them a chance to get cleaned up, at least. Joan had a shower. There were clothes in the bedroom wardrobe in various sizes—some new with tags, some pre-worn and laundered. Who had this safe house been prepared for? Aaron had said that he’d learned of this place from his mother. How had she known about it?

More questions. Joan sighed. She found a pair of jeans that fit, and a T-shirt that said Crystal Palace FC.

Aaron looked pained when she re-emerged. ‘A football T-shirt?’ he said.

Joan was surprised to find herself smiling in response. Only a few days ago, she’d found his grumbling annoying. ‘It fits,’ she said.

‘Is it indicative of your own taste or the selection in there?’ Aaron said. ‘No, don’t tell me. I’m afraid to know.’ He headed to the bedroom with a mild air of doom.

Ruth joined Joan. ‘What’s the bet he’ll come back out in those same clothes?’ she said. She looked better, Joan thought. She’d had a nap and woken with more colour in her face.

‘How are you feeling?’ Joan asked her.

Ruth sighed. Her hair was flat where she’d been lying on it. ‘The Hunt power still feels burned out of me,’ she said. She added, very soft, ‘Do you think it’ll come back?’

Joan reached up to fix Ruth’s curls. She didn’t know. But Ruth had burned herself out to save the rest of them. Ruth would have stayed there at the Court, as long as Joan had gotten out. Joan’s throat felt tight at the thought. ‘You should stay here and rest.’

‘I’d rather be busy.’ Ruth poked Joan’s foot with hers, and grinned when Joan protested. ‘Anyway, I think we should keep an eye on him.’ She looked over to the kitchen. Through the open doorway, Joan could see Tom sitting at the table with Frankie in his lap. Frankie looked sleepy—she’d eaten two of the pork pies. Tom stroked her head absently; he was staring at nothing much.

‘You don’t trust him?’ Joan said. ‘I do. We saw him laid bare today.’

‘No, I mean we should keep an eye on him for him,’ Ruth said. ‘When you speak to someone you love before they know you . . . Well, it isn’t easy.’

Joan looked at her. Did Ruth know that Joan had gone to see Gran? But Ruth’s expression had turned inward. Everyone tries to change something, Aaron had said once. Did everyone try this too?

They headed out soon after that. Conrad had apparently assumed they’d gone to ground. The police blockades on the bridges were gone, and there were fewer guards around.

Joan found herself walking with Tom. He’d scooped up Frankie and tucked her into his zipped jacket. She snored, squashed-faced, against his shirt.

‘I think you’ll have to vouch for my cousin,’ Joan whispered to Tom. ‘Apparently she’s banned from the Liu houses.’

Tom’s eyebrows went up. ‘For what? Theft?’ When Joan nodded, he seemed more amused than concerned. ‘I was banned from their houses for a while,’ he said. There was a nostalgic smile in his voice; it seemed to be a good memory. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘You’re all with me.’

With all their precautions, it took a couple of hours to get to the Liu property.

Tom guided them to a back entrance—a narrow alley between high brick walls. Joan was beginning to associate such places with monsters. There was a black lacquered door in one wall. A Chinese phoenix had been carved into the wood, its long tail sweeping almost to the ground.

Tom’s lighter mood from earlier had vanished. His huge frame was tight with tension. Still tucked in Tom’s jacket, Frankie wriggled until Tom lifted her out. Once on the ground, she pawed eagerly at the door. When Tom didn’t open it, she barked at him, sharp and impatient. Tom bent to stroke her brown-and-white back. ‘I know,’ he murmured to her. He straightened slowly. ‘You know,’ he said, not looking at anyone, ‘Jamie might not be able to help us. He’s younger here in 1993. He’s barely even started this journey.’

‘He’s already painting the hero,’ Joan said. ‘He’s already interested in him. He might know something. Give us some clue.’

Tom’s jaw worked. For a moment, Joan thought he was going to refuse to open the door. Frankie seemed to sense his reluctance. She jumped up, her paws against the door, and barked again, even more urgency in her squashed face.

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