Page 67 of Only a Monster

‘We can take animals with us when we travel?’

‘We can take small objects,’ Aaron said. Which made sense—they’d arrived in this time with their clothes. ‘But only the Hathaway family can travel with animals,’ he went on. ‘Most of them travel with a familiar.’

‘A familiar.’ It was a word Joan associated with witches. ‘You mean a pet?’

‘Yes, a pet. The most useless family power in London.’ Aaron’s tone was contemptuous. He kept his voice very low, though, as if he didn’t dare insult the Hathaways within their hearing.

The man who’d bought Joan’s phone was at the very back of the market, where it ended in a smoke-blackened brick wall. From here, the rest of the market was just the curtained backs of stalls. Cardboard boxes lay about, discarded. There was a smell of old cabbage leaves and fish.

The man sat at an empty card table, asleep, his squashed face snoozing against the dirty brick wall. A tiny bulldog snored at his feet. The man was a little older than twenty, broad-shouldered and hulking. Sprawled out, he barely fit into the folding chair.

‘Him?’ Ruth said to Joan. She groaned. ‘Tell me Tom Hathaway isn’t your guy.’

The man’s arms were crossed in sleep. There was a tattoo around one bulging bicep. Curled lines formed a two-headed dog, both heads meeting to growl at each other.

‘You know him?’ Joan asked.

Ruth grimaced. ‘Everyone at the Ravencroft Market knows Tom Hathaway. Used to be a Court Guard. Got sacked. Now he’s a washed-up drunk who buys and sells phones.’

‘Fantastic,’ Aaron said.

Joan took a step closer. ‘Tom?’ she called. The man and dog continued to sleep. ‘Tom Hathaway?’ Joan said louder.

The man sniffed and twitched. ‘Mm?’

‘Can we talk to you?’

‘Mm.’ Tom smacked his lips, but he didn’t open his eyes. ‘Get me a drink, love?’

Ruth looked at Joan and Joan mouthed back From where? Aaron rolled his eyes. He bent down and grabbed a half-drunk beer bottle from under Tom’s own card table. He plonked it down.

Tom’s eyes opened at the sound. He fumbled for the bottle and then swallowed down the remnants of the beer in one big gulp.

‘Tom?’ Joan said. ‘We want to buy something from you.’

‘Get me a drink, love.’

‘I think he’s broken,’ Aaron said dryly. ‘When you pull the string, he only says one thing.’

‘I think he needs a coffee,’ Joan said. The bulldog was awake now, sniffing at Joan’s shoe. She bent to stroke its soft head. It was very small for a bulldog, but clearly well cared for—sleek brown-and-white fur and a solid build. Better cared for than Tom himself, who had the crooked nose of a fighter and was barely conscious in the early afternoon.

‘Tom, do you remember me?’ Joan said. ‘You offered to buy my necklace.’

Tom peered at her through cracked eyelids. He saw her bare neck. ‘You sold it to someone else?’

‘Not exactly,’ Joan said. ‘Do you know where I can get another one?’

Aaron returned from somewhere with a paper cup of water. Tom took it eagerly and gulped. Then he wrinkled his nose. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ he complained. He offered his dog the rest of the water. It huffed, and then struggled to its feet. Tom tilted the cup so that it could lap inside.

‘That necklace—’ Joan started again.

‘Look,’ Tom interrupted. ‘You want to buy a phone?’

Joan blinked. ‘No.’

‘You want to sell a phone?’

‘No.’

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