Page 18 of Only a Monster

‘The phones aren’t working,’ Ruth said.

Joan blinked at her. ‘But we have to—’

‘No.’

Joan and Ruth both started at the sound of Gran’s voice.

Joan bent over, feeling weak. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she’d half thought Gran was already dead. She’d been so still.

Ruth gasped out a sound somewhere nearer to grief. ‘Gran.’

‘Don’t involve humans,’ Gran murmured. Her eyes fluttered open. ‘You need to get out of this house.’

‘Who did this?’ Ruth demanded. ‘Was it the Olivers? Because it if was—’ She faltered. ‘Except I thought I saw Victor Oliver in the garden. I thought I saw Mattea.’

‘It wasn’t them,’ Joan said.

‘Then who?’

‘Once upon a time,’ Gran murmured, ‘there was a boy who was born to kill monsters. A hero.’

‘What?’ Ruth wiped her eyes against her shoulder. ‘The human hero? Those are bedtime stories. Oh God, Gran. You’ve lost so much blood.’

A hero. In her mind’s eye, Joan saw Nick push a sword into Lucien’s chest. She saw him hurl the sword at Edmund. She swallowed. ‘I saw him kill people.’

‘You saw him?’ Gran said sharply. ‘Did he see you?’

Joan hesitated. He spared me because I tried to save him. Or maybe he felt something for me, like I felt something for him. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. ‘I escaped.’

Gran gave her a long look, as though she knew Joan was withholding something. ‘The Olivers?’ she asked.

‘Dead. Or fled.’

‘Dead,’ Gran said flatly. She took a pained breath. ‘My loves. You need to get out of this house. Ruth, lock the doors. Then get that window open. Wide enough for you and Joan.’

‘But the window—’ Ruth’s voice cracked. ‘The window is all the way over there. What if you die while I’m gone?’

Gran almost smiled. ‘Then you’ll be filled with a lifetime of regret at your slowness at window opening,’ she said. ‘You’ll compensate by never closing a window again. You’ll shiver every winter for the rest of your life.’

Ruth usually got grumpy when Gran was sarcastic, but now her mouth trembled. Joan wanted to look away. Ruth hated crying in front of people.

Gran’s expression softened. ‘Oh, Ruth.’ Her fingers twitched as though she wanted to touch Ruth’s arm but didn’t have the strength.

‘Please,’ Ruth whispered to her. ‘You don’t have long.’

‘It’s all right,’ Gran said gently. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

Ruth and Gran seemed to have some kind of silent conversation then. At the end of it, Gran’s mouth curled up slightly, and Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘You’re a bossy old woman,’ she said. She turned to Joan, her jaw set. ‘Put your hands where mine are.’

Joan shuffled closer. She put her hands over Ruth’s. Gran’s blood was warm and sticky, and there was so much of it that it was hard to grip Ruth’s hands. Joan couldn’t believe this was happening.

‘Press down,’ Ruth said. She slid her hands from under Joan’s. ‘Press down really hard.’

Joan pressed. She had to be hurting Gran, but Gran didn’t make a sound.

‘Gran . . .’ Ruth started.

‘Go,’ Gran said. ‘I’ll be here when you come back.’

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