Page 24 of Only a Monster

Aaron swore under his breath. ‘We need to find somewhere to stay for the night.’

‘You mean together?’ Joan said, surprised. She’d assumed they’d part ways as soon as they left the park.

In the harsh light of the phone, Aaron seemed as surprised as she was. He recovered quickly, his face becoming a sneering mask. ‘Fine with me if you want to split up.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s not like I want to hang about with you either.’

‘God,’ Joan said, sharper than she’d intended. ‘Is it hard work being such a prat all the time?’

Aaron’s smile didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. ‘Not really.’

Joan ground her teeth to keep herself from getting too loud. ‘Let’s just sleep here in the park,’ she suggested. ‘It’s as good as anywhere.’ Kensington Gardens was big enough to hide two people if they stayed quiet. ‘We could take turns sleeping and keeping watch.’

‘I’m not sleeping on the ground.’

Joan couldn’t help but huff a laugh. ‘Well, okay, Your Highness. Let’s check in to the Savoy.’

Aaron took off his suit jacket. To Joan’s surprise, he offered it to her. She shook her head. She was cold, but not nearly cold enough to wear Aaron Oliver’s jacket.

‘There’s blood all over you,’ he said.

Joan looked down at herself. Her tank top was a mess. And her arms. Her hands . . . It was mostly Gran’s blood.

‘Here.’ Aaron draped the jacket around her. It was light grey wool and far too big for her. The warmth was immediate and the relief intense. Joan’s first instinct was gratitude, and then she was annoyed at herself for it.

Aaron turned off his phone screen. The contrast made the night very black. ‘We can’t go to a hotel,’ he said, as if she’d been serious about the Savoy. ‘We’re far too memorable, looking like this. They’d only have to ask around.’

Joan pictured the area around them. A vague memory came to her. There was a place north of here where Gran met people sometimes—when she didn’t want it known that she was meeting them. ‘I might know somewhere,’ she said.

‘Somewhere safe?’ Aaron said.

‘I don’t know,’ Joan admitted. ‘But probably safer than here.’

It turned out to be a longer walk than Joan had remembered. By the time she found the right street, her teeth were chattering again, and Aaron was looking over his shoulder more than he was watching the way ahead.

The streetlights were broken here—and recently. Glass was spattered on the ground. Aaron walked around the shards with fastidious care. ‘Isn’t this nice,’ he said. ‘You’ve managed to home in on the one piece of slum around here. Trust a Hunt.’

Joan wished she’d paid more attention when she’d come here with Gran. All the houses on the row looked the same. She went up to one of the doors with more confidence than she felt.

To her relief, the door wasn’t locked, and the foyer was familiar—a tiny reception area the size of Gran’s bathroom. The smell was familiar too. Ancient cigarettes and damp. The carpet stuck to Joan’s socks, adding brown furry muck to the mud and grass.

Joan rang the bell at the desk. A woman emerged from the staff door. She had grey hair and cat-eye glasses, and she didn’t blink at Joan and Aaron’s mismatched clothes. Her name tag said Vera.

‘Room for two, please,’ Joan said.

Vera pointed at a handwritten sign taped to the counter. Cash only. Hourly and nightly rates. Payment up front.

‘That’s you,’ Joan said to Aaron.

Aaron looked sour. His expression was as clear as a thought bubble: he couldn’t believe that he was here in this foyer, with Joan and Vera.

‘Two beds,’ Aaron said.

‘Two beds?’ Vera seemed far more surprised at that than at the contrast between Joan’s muddy socks and Aaron’s Savile Row suit.

Joan felt her face heating up. Aaron seemed flustered too, for the first time since Joan had met him. ‘I trust you can accommodate,’ he said. He pulled a wallet from his back pocket. Joan glimpsed strange banknotes. Old-fashioned notes. Transparent notes. He thumbed through them and then pulled out two recognisable twenties.

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