Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(101)

And then . . . Her breath shuddered out. Then they’d heard the sounds of monsters arriving.

Maybe in the true timeline she and Nick had kissed that night too. Maybe they’d both pulled away and laughed a bit, and then maybe they’d kissed again. Maybe afterward, they’d walked through the gardens, and on to Kensington. Gotten a kebab and an ice-cream. Maybe they’d promised to see each other the next day, and the day after that.

The sound behind her was soft, a footstep against the wooden floor.

And then Joan really did understand why she’d come up here to the library, why she hadn’t already left the house. She was always drawn to him. She supposed he was drawn to her too. The timeline would never stop trying to repair itself, as long as they were both alive.

She turned from the window. Her stupid heart leaped at the sight of him.

Nick was in shadow as he approached, but Joan could see that his hair was longer. He still looked the same, though—film-star handsome, dark-haired and square-jawed. And he still radiated that same otherworldly goodness. The hero to her monster.

It wasn’t fair, she thought. They’d never had a chance in this timeline. They should have had their whole lives together, but now there was only this.

‘Stop,’ she blurted. As though she could stop what was about to happen.

To her surprise, he did stop, just a few paces from her.

He’d set it up like this, Joan realised. The empty house. Just her and him here alone. No one watching, no potential collateral. No more excuses for what had to be done.

‘You were standing by that window the first time I saw you,’ he said. His voice was the same as ever. Steady and deep as calm water.

‘I remember,’ Joan said. She couldn’t bear this. She couldn’t fight him yet. She wasn’t ready. There had to be enough time left in her for another jump. Maybe a bigger one this time.

Nick stumbled closer, as though he couldn’t help himself. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please don’t take any more time from yourself.’ Of course he knew what she was thinking. They’d always been in accord.

The step had brought him into the last of the light. Joan saw then what the shadows had hidden. He was only a little older. But his expression was different. Where last time, he’d been resolved, now he looked raw and unsure. Like the night they’d kissed.

‘I had a long time to think,’ he said. ‘To wonder how much time you took from yourself.’

Joan braced herself. She’d expected a terrifyingly fast attack—something like what he’d done to Edmund Oliver. But he was just standing there, hands open and unthreatening by his sides. Now, she thought. He was going to do it now. But still he stood there. The tension was unbearable.

He took a shuddering breath. ‘Joan,’ he said. ‘The first time I saw you, I knew what your voice would sound like before you said a word.’

Joan stared at him. The memory came back to her in sharp clarity. Nick had walked into the library, head bent over an open book. Joan had been charmed by the careful way he’d cradled the book, protective of its fragile corners. She remembered how he’d looked up and seen her; how his eyes had widened just before she’d spoken.

‘I knew what your laugh would sound like,’ he said. ‘I knew you were a restless sleeper, that you kicked off the sheets, even in winter. I knew you put fresh ginger in your tea. I knew that if you were faced with two choices, you’d always choose the right one over the easy one.’

‘Nick . . .’

‘This timeline is wrong, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘I . . .’ For a long moment, Joan couldn’t speak, even with the remnants of the truth drug demanding it. She’d been braced for anything but hope. ‘I . . . When I first saw you, I felt like I’d known you my whole life.’ Her own voice came out sounding horribly vulnerable. She quashed the hope ruthlessly. If you were faced with two choices, you’d always choose the right one. But she hadn’t, had she? She’d done terrible things.

Nick took another step closer, and Joan backed up unthinkingly. Something like agony crossed his face. He lifted his empty hands, showing her that he wasn’t armed. But he’d never needed to be armed. He’d started out in the Gilt Room unarmed. ‘The last time I saw you,’ he said, ‘you told me that we were together once.’

Joan couldn’t take her eyes off him.

‘I said that I didn’t believe you,’ Nick said. ‘And then you took time from yourself. You screamed. I—I thought you were dying. I still hear it in my dreams.’ He wanted to come closer, Joan could see, but he stood there, rooted to the floor, hands still half-raised.

Joan quashed the hope again. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending, she reminded herself. She was a monster and he was a hero. Everyone knew how that story ended.

Her next breath felt too heavy. Nick saw that too. He always saw everything. He wanted to reach for her, she knew. She could read him as well as he could read her.

But it wasn’t her he wanted to reach for. Not really. He wanted the other Joan. The Joan who made the right choices. That Joan had died in the massacre, along with her family.

The Joan who’d lived was a monster now—in every sense of the word. She’d stolen time. Even now, some terrible part of her wanted to travel and travel, crossing decades like pirates crossed seas.