Page 73 of Only a Monster

And in two nights’ time, they’d save their families. They’d save everyone.

FIFTEEN

Two nights later, Joan paced the market flat, waiting for Aaron and Ruth to finish getting ready. Aaron had styled them all. He’d found Ruth a sparkling platinum dress and Joan a forest-green gown with a plunging back. The heavy drape of it brushed Joan’s legs as she paced.

Aaron emerged first from behind the bookshelf partition, hand in his pocket. A young James Bond. His suit was the same pale grey as his eyes. Joan tried not to stare. He always turned strangers’ heads, but this sophisticated look had made him mesmerising. It was hard to look away. He doesn’t fit here, Joan thought, not for the first time. He belonged at a glamorous estate, not in this little studio flat above a market.

‘Nervous?’ he said, and Joan realised with a strange feeling that he’d been watching her too, that his gaze had sought her as he’d entered the living area.

She made an effort to stop pacing. The gold light of sunset had tinted the stained-glass windows, making the whole room glow: a low-burning hearth. She was nervous. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, and then wondered when she’d started to trust Aaron enough to be that open with him. ‘Feels so close,’ she explained. ‘Like maybe we’ll have our families back tonight.’

‘Maybe.’ Aaron’s gaze hadn’t left hers. For a moment, Joan thought he was going to say something more, but he seemed to change his mind. He scooped up two shopping bags that had been resting by the bookshelf and brought them over to her.

‘More clothes?’ Joan said.

‘Finishing touches,’ Aaron said. He took out a midnight-blue velvet box. Inside, there was a long string of pearls, knotted at the centre with diamonds. Joan stared at him. ‘Verisimilitude,’ he said. ‘May I?’

Were the pearls real? Were the diamonds? Surely not. Verisimilitude.

Joan turned. She felt rather than heard him step closer—a change in temperature. She bunched her hair, tucked it over one shoulder, and ducked her head.

To her surprise, he draped the long heavy line of the necklace down her back rather than her front. She shivered as each pearl hit her skin, a splash of icy water. The pearls warmed quickly, though. She turned to find Aaron standing closer than she’d expected.

She thought he’d step back, but he stayed there in her space. His eyes seemed darker than they had a few moments ago. Joan’s heart stuttered strangely.

‘So what do you think?’ she said. She tried to make it light, but they were so close that her voice came out unexpectedly intimate. ‘Will we pass for important people?’

When Aaron spoke, it was just as intimately, with no sign of his usual snide tone. ‘You’re important,’ he said, his grey eyes very serious. ‘I know you want your family back, but your life matters too.’ Joan opened her mouth to protest, and he shook his head slightly. ‘Just . . . Please be careful tonight. The Court is a dangerous place.’

Joan felt a stab of guilt then. She’d dragged Aaron to this point. From the beginning, all he’d wanted was to lie low, to be safe. ‘You don’t have do this,’ she said, just as serious as he was. ‘You keep saying you owe me. But you don’t. We both know that debt has been paid.’ Was there some special monster wording for this? ‘You’re released,’ she tried. ‘I release you.’

‘Joan . . .’ There was something complicated in his expression, something Joan couldn’t decipher. He sighed and took a shoebox from another of the bags. He passed it to her. Inside, there was a pair of soft black flats. ‘In case we have to run,’ he said.

They got a cab to Victoria Embankment. Tom had told them that the gate would open at midnight, near Whitehall Palace.

Joan had been confused. Whitehall Palace had burned down three hundred years ago.

‘It’s just the physical location,’ Aaron had explained. ‘It’s hard to keep track of what buildings are around when. If monsters say “Newgate Prison”, we just mean where it once stood.’

Now, as they walked up Horse Guards Avenue, Joan’s chest felt tight. Even in daylight, there was something skeletal about Whitehall’s bleached buildings. Tonight, it felt like walking into the streets of the dead.

‘I hate mires,’ Aaron said as they walked. ‘They give me the creeps.’

‘Mires are places where you can’t travel,’ Ruth explained to Joan. ‘This one stretches from Westminster Abbey to Leicester Square. You can’t travel anywhere, in or out, while you’re here.’

They’d scouted earlier to find a building recess with a view of the Banqueting House—the only part of Whitehall Palace still standing. The spot wasn’t perfect—they were only shielded from the street by a railing. But as Joan settled into place beside Aaron, the darkness enveloped them. Down the road, clumps of tourists milled around the mounted sentries of the Horse Guards building, but the street was otherwise quiet.

Joan kept track of the time by counting Big Ben’s strikes.

Ten o’clock went by. Then eleven o’clock. The temperature dropped.

Long after eleven, there was still no sign of a gate or of guests for the Court gala. The only warm part of Joan’s body was her arm where it was pressed against Aaron’s. She couldn’t stop shivering. He must have been cold too. There was some room between him and the rail, but he hadn’t moved from Joan’s side.

‘Maybe Tom got the time wrong,’ Joan whispered.

‘Maybe he’s a drunken fool who hasn’t been a guard in years,’ Aaron whispered back.

Joan opened her mouth to answer, and then stopped.

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