Page 94 of Never a Hero

Joan? It was the Nick from the previous timeline. He pulled back, face filling with shock and agony. Joan flinched now, as if she were the one in pain.

‘Joan?’ Nick said now. ‘What’s going on?’

In the vision, Nick spasmed as if he’d been jolted with electricity. The ceiling rattled, and Nick started to scream. Joan knew that sound like it was from her own throat. She’d heard it over and over in her dreams.

Joan, he cried out. Please.

Joan could see herself mouthing, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered now. She didn’t even know who she was saying it to—Nick then or Nick now.

Nick stared at her now as if he’d never seen her before. The betrayal had already started in his expression. ‘What did you do?’ he said. ‘What did you do?’

‘She unmade the hero,’ Eleanor said. But her gaze was directed at Joan, triumphant and furious, as if she knew exactly what Joan was losing, and she only wished she could hurt her more. ‘She unravelled the hero’s life, and she replaced him with an ordinary boy. I suppose you could say she killed him.’

Nick reeled back, tearing his hand from Joan’s grip and staring at her in horror.

Humans had a protector, Astrid had said. A hero. And you unmade him. Did you think there’d be no consequences?

Eleanor lifted a pendant from under her collar. Joan had a moment to see that it was a coin on a chain. A travel token. And then Eleanor was gone. She’d vanished. She wasn’t even going to watch the aftermath of all this.

Nick was still staring at Joan as if he’d never seen her before. ‘You killed the hero?’

‘I—’ Joan saw Mr Larch again in her mind’s eye—kind, loud Mr Larch, her history teacher from last year … He was dead. So many people were dead, just like Astrid had said. Joan had unmade the hero and everything that the hero had done. Joan saved her family and doomed every human that Nick had ever saved.

Nick’s eyes burned into Joan’s.

‘Nick—’ Joan was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. The window exploded inward, and a cloud of white smoke billowed into the room.

Joan choked. Through the smoke, a guard crumpled. There were heavy thumps—the bars on the window falling. And then Joan couldn’t see anything but thick white fog. Someone grabbed her hand. She yanked away from the grip.

‘It’s me.’ Tom’s voice, close to her ear. Something covered Joan’s face. An old-fashioned gas mask. Joan wrenched it off. ‘Nick,’ she said to Tom, and choked again on the smoke. Beside her, Nick slumped. The smoke was laced with something soporific, Joan realised. Her vision darkened. ‘Nick,’ she tried to say again. Nick knows.

Tom settled the mask back onto her face. ‘We have him,’ he said gently. ‘We have you both.’

twenty-seven

Joan slipped in and out of consciousness. She jerked awake when a gust of wind hit her face. She was lying on her back on something soft. A blanket, maybe? It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to make out Nick beside her. He was unconscious, shadowed bruises blooming on his cheekbones. From the sound of hooves and the jolting movements around them, they seemed to be in a horse-drawn trailer of some kind.

‘Nick,’ Joan mumbled.

‘It’s all right.’ Ruth’s voice. ‘Don’t worry. Nick’s safe. You’re both safe.’

‘No,’ Joan mumbled. She started to sink back into the darkness again. He knows, she tried to say. He knows what we are. He broke a chain with his bare hands. But she couldn’t get her mouth to work.

The next time Joan woke up, Nick was awake too. He wasn’t beside her anymore. He was sitting on a rattling bench, facing her. They were in a different vehicle, Joan realised—one a little more comfortable. A carriage.

The side windows showed low brick buildings and a dark sky. There was no view of the driver from in here.

Joan struggled to sit up. She was sore all over from sitting in cramped positions and from being jolted around on the bench. Nick’s expression didn’t change as he watched her efforts; his gaze was hard. The bruises on his face had darkened. He must have been in pain too, but he wasn’t showing it. He lounged back in his seat, as if the ride were completely comfortable.

Joan was almost afraid to ask the question. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Why are you saying it like that?’ In the dull light, Nick’s bruises made him look dangerous. Someone who’d been in a fight and would fight again. ‘You think I did something to them?’

A thread of fear ran through her. How long had she been unconscious? Her heart pounded painfully. She flashed on an image of washing Gran’s blood from under her fingernails. ‘Did you?’ she blurted.

‘They’re in another carriage,’ Nick ground out. ‘Alive,’ he added, in answer to whatever look was on Joan’s face. ‘We changed vehicles and split up to avoid detection.’

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