Page 13 of Never a Hero

Joan realised his intention too late. ‘No!’ she said. ‘Wait!’

But Nick was already running—out into that unknown time.

five

Joan sprinted after Nick. She lost him within a few minutes—he was faster than she was—but she knew where he was going. He’d pointed out his house yesterday.

She tried to take in details as she ran. Were the cars different? Maybe a little. Near the church on the corner, she passed a girl her own age walking the other way and an elderly couple hand in hand. Their clothes looked … Joan didn’t know. Like clothes. The girl’s phone looked like a phone.

Out of nowhere, Joan remembered Aaron taking one sweeping look at a park and declaring it was 1993. She wished he were here. He’d glance at one car and announce the exact date. Then he’d say something cutting, and Joan could push back at him and feel better for it.

Joan shoved the thought away. Aaron wasn’t here—Joan could never see him again. Right now, she just had to get to Nick. She had horrifying visions of the attackers waiting for him; of him arriving home to find his family much older. She put her head down and ran, pushing herself until her legs shook.

Nick’s place was about fifteen minutes from the bakery. Joan’s lungs were burning by the time she reached his street, but she sucked in a painful, relieved breath when she saw him, standing alone and unharmed on the path outside his house.

And then she saw what he was looking at. There was a Sold sign in his front garden.

‘Mary! Robbie!’ he shouted. He was suddenly in motion, running to the front door. ‘Mary!’

Joan sprinted after him. When she got to the door, he already had a key in the lock. ‘Nick!’ Joan tried to catch his hands as he twisted and twisted the key fruitlessly. The house was empty, wide-open curtains framing rooms without furniture. ‘They’re not here! They’re not here!’

Nick didn’t seem to hear her. He gave up on the key and pounded on the door with his fist. ‘Mary!’ he shouted. ‘Alice! Ally! Where are you?’ His voice cracked, and Joan could hardly bear it. His expression was too familiar—too much like those terrible recordings after his family had been murdered.

A few houses up, a door flew open. ‘Hey!’ a man called out. ‘What’s all this noise?’

‘Nick,’ Joan said. ‘Please. We can’t be here!’ The attackers could be back at any moment.

Nick peered into the window beside the door and made a broken sound. He’d come to the same conclusion Joan had. The house was empty. He dropped his head against the door, breathing unsteadily. ‘What’s going on?’

Joan shook her head. How long had she and Nick been gone? How long would his family have waited for him before moving away?

‘I don’t understand,’ he said to Joan. ‘Where’s my family?’

‘I don’t know.’ Joan’s own voice cracked. She wanted to run home too—Dad was just a few streets away. But she couldn’t draw those attackers to him. Margie had already died, and Joan couldn’t hurt anyone else she loved.

‘You do know something, though,’ Nick said to her, his dark eyes wide. ‘Back at the bakery, you knew that man had a power!’

Oh God. Joan opened her mouth—not even sure what she was going to say. But as she did, she registered a faint sound. A siren. She looked over her shoulder. Nick’s neighbour stood in his doorway, arms folded. ‘Did that guy call the cops on us?’

‘Did he?’ Nick’s breath rushed out in relief. ‘Maybe they can find my family!’

In the distance, another siren joined the first, and then another. Three police cars for a noise complaint? Unease surged in Joan. Some instinct made her think of Corvin’s words. Cuff her.

She turned over her arm. Her green work shirt was loose at her wrist, a tendrilled cotton thread where the button had popped. In the parting, Joan made out a glimmer of gold: the tip of a wing. Her heart started to pound.

She shoved her sleeve up. There was a golden mark on her inner wrist: a winged lion, posed as if stalking the viewer. Joan’s breath stopped as if she’d been punched.

It was the sigil of the Monster Court.

‘What is that?’ Nick said. ‘I saw them put it on you.’

A flash of remembered pain. Of delicate lacework turning to molten gold, bubbling into her skin. ‘I don’t know.’ Cuff her, Corvin had said, and he’d used the sigil of the Court to do it.

Joan wasn’t sure what was going on here, but she knew one thing. ‘We can’t be here when those cars arrive!’

‘But we were attacked!’ Nick sounded confused. ‘We should talk to the police!’

As he spoke, the sirens slowed. They’d hit the roundabout on the other side of the school.

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