Page 52 of Only a Monster

Ruth’s sharp expression reminded Joan of Gran’s. ‘He’s here. Olivers and Hunts can’t stand each other. But he’s still here, two days after you escaped.’

‘I saved his life,’ Joan said. ‘He thinks he owes me.’

‘He owes you?’ Ruth said thoughtfully. ‘Huh. Okay.’ She bit into her toast and leaned back in her chair, chewing. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’ Joan echoed. ‘Now you’re fine with it?’

Ruth shrugged. ‘You saved his life. He owes you.’

‘Right,’ Joan said. And when he didn’t owe her anymore, he’d be gone. And that would be that. They’d be out of each other’s lives for good.

Someone had opened the windows, and from the light outside she guessed it to be midmorning. There was a muggy heaviness to the air. The room smelled of burnt toast and the wet-stone aftermath of the storm.

Aaron had left his handwritten list on the table: identification, money, clothes, Travelcards, housing, school. That last one gave Joan pause. School. She couldn’t imagine going to school in this time. She couldn’t imagine actually living here.

‘He wasn’t quite telling you the truth, you know,’ Ruth said into the silence.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are rumours of events being changed. I’m sure he’s heard them.’

Joan’s breath caught. ‘You didn’t tell me that last night.’

‘They’re only rumours. I’ve never heard of anyone doing it for real.’

‘What rumours?’

Ruth hesitated. Long enough that Joan prompted her. ‘What rumours?’

‘Nothing specific,’ Ruth said. ‘But . . . people say things about the Liu family power.’

Joan thought of something Gran had always said. ‘The Lius remember.’

‘Yes,’ Ruth said, ‘but some people say that it goes beyond perfect memory. They say that some of the Lius remember things that never happened.’

The way she said it made Joan shiver. ‘So maybe . . . they’re remembering changes in the timeline?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ruth said. ‘It’s possible.’

‘We have to talk to them.’

‘They might not be willing,’ Ruth said. ‘Families don’t like to talk about their powers with outsiders.’

‘I want to talk to them.’

‘All right, but . . .’ Ruth looked Joan up and down. ‘If you’re leaving this way station, you’ll need a proper makeover.’

‘What’s wrong with this?’ Joan said. She was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. Plenty of people on the street had been wearing T-shirts and jeans.

‘Everything,’ Ruth said.

Downstairs, at the market, Ruth pushed clothes along a rack: flick, flick, flick. Two aisles away, Aaron was doing the same thing with a small frown.

Ruth pulled out a tartan miniskirt. ‘This,’ she said. She draped the skirt over Joan’s arm. Flick, flick. ‘And this.’ A baby-blue jumper that looked like it had been shrunk in the wash.

‘Really?’ Joan said.

‘And these.’ A pair of heavy black combat boots. Ruth added a new pair of black stockings to the pile.

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