Page 40 of Never a Hero

‘Just the truth,’ Joan said. ‘That you were in danger. That I wouldn’t leave without you.’

Nick was silent for a long moment. ‘Am I making trouble for you? You said that humans aren’t supposed to know about all this.’

Joan’s chest constricted. He looked more concerned about her than himself. ‘Don’t worry about that. I told Jamie you were dragged into this. He knows that we have to keep you safe.’

‘Joan—’

‘I’m not in trouble,’ Joan assured him. ‘Jamie and I know each other from way back. You don’t have to worry about anything, okay?’

Footsteps sounded. Jamie joined Joan and Nick in the living area. He stopped on the last step and gripped the doorframe. The boat started with a gentle lurch. Through the big windows, the buildings of Queenhithe began to move. They were heading west.

‘Did anyone follow us?’ Nick asked Jamie.

‘We’ll know soon,’ Jamie said. ‘Can’t easily hide a tail on the water.’ He gestured at the love seat. ‘Please. Sit. Things get a bit rocky this far up the Thames.’

‘Where are we going?’ Joan asked.

‘Somewhere safe,’ Jamie said. ‘We can talk when we get there.’ Joan wanted to talk now. ‘Can I get word to my family there? Is it a safe house? Another monster inn?’

‘Joan, you sound exhausted,’ Jamie said gently. ‘Why don’t you just rest for a while? You said you’d both been running all night.’

Joan opened her mouth to protest, and then registered that Nick had gone very still beside her. He lifted his gaze slowly to Joan’s face. With a shot of horror, she realised that she’d said the word monster in front of him. Another monster inn.

Jamie continued, oblivious: ‘I’ll get some blankets. The boat can be cold if you’re not used to it.’

Nick hadn’t shifted his gaze from Joan. His eyes were piercing. Even in this timeline, he had an aura of charismatic goodness that made Joan think of old-fashioned heroes.

And she was a monster.

Jamie bustled in the galley, opening and closing cupboards. The engine droned. Water sloshed against the sides of the boat. Joan felt as if she’d pulled the pin on a grenade that she’d been holding for days. Her whole body felt tense.

‘Monsters,’ Nick murmured. Joan flinched, although his tone hadn’t exactly been hostile. If anything, he seemed curious. ‘Is that what you call yourselves?’

Joan couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even nod. She waited for him to ask the next question—the question she herself had taken sixteen years to ask. Why do you call yourselves that?

Jamie returned with two thick grey blankets. A familiar miniature bulldog waddled in with him, yawning.

‘Frankie,’ Joan said shakily, and Frankie blinked at her with bleary eyes. She must have been asleep in the other room.

‘Forgot you knew her,’ Jamie said. ‘Here.’ He passed them a blanket each. ‘I checked from the other deck. Couldn’t see anyone following us.’

Nick settled into the love seat. Joan hesitated and sat beside him. Frankie’s paws scrabbled, and then her heavy weight hit Joan’s lap. She snuffled at Joan’s face, and Joan put her arms around her. Nick’s big hand appeared, stroking Frankie’s soft head.

Jamie leaned against the wall opposite the love seat, posture stiff. Joan could feel his wary tension from here. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘We just ate,’ Joan said.

‘We’re fine,’ Nick agreed. His big hand was still splayed over Frankie’s head, and Frankie seemed to like the weight. She settled onto Joan’s lap in a drowsy sprawl. ‘Your dog’s lovely,’ Nick said.

‘She’s not usually so comfortable with strangers,’ Jamie said. His eyes had been on Frankie, but now his gaze lifted to Nick, as if compelled.

Jamie had been obsessed with the hero stories in the other timeline. He’d painted the myths; he’d become a scholar of them. His obsession had led to him being captured. Joan couldn’t imagine what he was feeling now.

‘I need to help Tom,’ Jamie said. And Joan wasn’t sure if it was an excuse—if he wanted to get away from Nick. ‘Why don’t you both sleep awhile,’ Jamie suggested. ‘You’ll have some time. We’ll be travelling around a bit until that raid’s over.’

Nick’s thumb moved over Frankie’s head as Jamie shuttered the windows, giving them some darkness, and then headed back up onto the deck. By the time Jamie was gone, Nick’s eyes were closed and his breathing had lengthened and slowed. The movement of the boat was lulling, and Joan wondered if he might already be asleep. He’d told her he was an early riser. He’d likely been up far more than twenty-four hours now.

But as she watched him, his eyes opened again, and he tilted his head to face her. ‘Do you really call yourselves monsters?’ It was the slow drawl of someone near sleep.

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