Page 15 of Only a Monster

‘You killed him,’ Joan said. ‘Nick, you killed him.’ She could hear the bewilderment in her own voice. ‘You took his sword from him and you killed him.’

‘He was very good,’ Nick said again. ‘But I was trained from childhood.’

‘Trained to do what?’

‘To kill monsters.’

Joan stumbled back another step. Humans didn’t know about monsters. No one was trained to kill them. She could feel all the Olivers staring. Your hot nerd, Ruth had called Nick when Joan had talked about him. Your history nerd. Your crush from work.

‘Who are you?’ Joan said.

‘Try not to move,’ Nick said. His weight shifted again as though he wanted to step closer to her but was afraid she might run. ‘You’re bleeding, Joan.’

Joan couldn’t stop staring at him. ‘Who are you?’ she repeated.

He didn’t answer her. And as Joan stared into his steady eyes, a memory came to her. A sweltering summer night when she and Ruth couldn’t sleep.

Tell us a bedtime story, Ruth had said to Gran. Tell us a story about the human hero.

Joan backed up another step. The heel of her foot caught on something. She looked down. It was Lucien’s shoe. That was an angle you didn’t usually see of a person, she thought stupidly. The bottom of their shoes.

She imagined Lucien standing up and brushing the dust from his trousers. She imagined him taking the sword from Nick. But he didn’t move. He was as still and blank-faced as a doll. A minute ago he’d been trying to kill her. And now there was nothing behind his eyes. There was blood all over his chest. An image flashed into Joan’s mind of the whole Oliver household slumped on the floor like dolls.

‘Run,’ she said suddenly. She hadn’t even known she was going to say it. Her voice sounded loud in the silent room. She barely knew who she was saying it to. ‘Everyone needs to run!’ There were rustles and shifting noises, people moving uncertainly. No one was sure enough to make the first move. But they had to. They had to. Joan was suddenly sure of it. ‘For God’s sake!’ she said. ‘You all have to get out of here! Run.’

‘All right, that’s enough.’ Edmund stepped forward from the fireplace. Joan jerked around to look at him. She’d almost forgotten he was there. His voice was that of a parent who’d come upon children arguing. It stopped the shuffling in the crowd as abruptly as if he’d flicked a switch.

Edmund raised his arm. He had a gun, Joan saw with horror. He pointed it very deliberately at Nick. ‘No!’ Joan said. The gun moved to Joan.

‘Don’t!’ Nick said, just as sharply.

Edmund raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t?’

‘I saw you steal time from a tourist once,’ Nick said to Edmund. His voice was soft with contained anger. ‘You touched her neck. Right here.’ Nick touched his own nape. Joan stared at him. ‘How much time did you steal from her?’ Nick asked. ‘Twenty years? Thirty? How much of her life did you take from her?’

‘Not as much as I’ll take from you,’ Edmund said, low and dangerous.

‘You won’t take any more time,’ Nick said. ‘Not from me or anyone else. Never again.’

Edmund seemed almost amused. ‘Why? Because you’ll stop me?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t know who think you are, but I’m the one with the gun.’ It was still trained on Joan. Edmund mimed shooting it at her. ‘Bang,’ he said softly. Joan jerked back. She couldn’t breathe.

Nick aborted a movement beside her. Joan saw his fist clench.

‘You know what?’ Edmund said, addressing Nick genially. ‘I’m not going to kill you.’

Joan exhaled hard. Edmund looked at her and laughed again. ‘Oh, you I’ll kill,’ he told her. ‘But him . . .’ He turned back to Nick. His voice went soft. ‘You killed three Olivers tonight. I’ll have to make you pay for it.’ He angled the gun thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I’ll start by stripping a decade from your life. I could travel on your own time and slaughter your family while you’re still weak and young. I’ll let you watch. And then . . . a child has so much time in it. I’ll take you home with me after I kill them. Keep you locked up in my house, available anytime an Oliver wants to travel. We can bleed you slowly.’

Joan felt sick. ‘You should be locked up,’ she whispered.

Edmund lifted the gun fast, aiming it at Joan’s head. Nick was faster. He threw the sword.

Edmund’s gun clattered to the floor. His body followed in a slow crumple. The sword’s blade was deep in his chest. He blinked once, shocked, and opened his mouth as though he was going to speak. And then his eyes glazed into blankness.

For a moment, everything was very still. And then, as though someone had pressed play, people were shoving each other to get out of the room.

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