Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(106)

‘I remember that the hero was real.’

Joan heard her breath shudder out, half relief and half pain. Just hearing someone else speak of him felt like a broken taboo.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said. ‘I know what he was to you.’

‘I had to do it,’ Joan whispered. ‘My family . . .’ She swallowed. ‘I had to.’

They passed the summer ballroom. Joan kept her eyes on the path, afraid to see sympathy in Jamie’s face. There were rosebushes here, a little overgrown.

‘I know,’ Jamie said gently. Joan heard him breathe in and out. ‘I remember my captivity,’ he said, and Joan’s heart twisted, remembering the boy he’d been. She turned back to him.

‘Does Tom know?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘When I left home today, he was painting the boat. Green paint all over him.’ For just a moment, as he spoke of Tom, there were no shadows in his eyes. He looked almost like his younger self. ‘Tom’s happy in this timeline,’ he said. ‘I have you to thank for that.’

How do you Lius stand it? Joan wanted to ask him. How do you stand remembering when no one else does? But she could see how Jamie stood it. The same way she was going to have to. He just bore it.

‘Thanks to you too,’ she reminded him. ‘You got that message to us. You told us the hero was made.’

‘Did I?’ Jamie sounded uncertain.

He didn’t remember, Joan realised. A strange loneliness washed over her. She thought about the day they’d all gone to see him. Her, Aaron, Ruth, and Tom, sitting by the pond. She remembered how warm the sun had been. How glad she’d been that they were all there with her. Whatever differences they’d started out with, they’d been a kind of team in the end.

But Aaron would never remember that day, and neither would Ruth or Tom. Not even Jamie remembered it all.

‘I don’t remember leaving a message, but . . .’ Jamie hesitated. His gloved hand was tight on the stem of the umbrella. ‘I know she’s still out there. The woman who took me captive.’

The woman who’d made the hero. Did she remember what she’d done, Joan wondered. Did she know what Joan had done?

Whether she did or not, Joan knew.

‘It’s different this time,’ she promised Jamie. ‘If she comes back, we’ll be waiting.’

Jamie didn’t exactly look reassured, but he met Joan’s eyes and nodded. He tested the air with one gloved hand and pulled the umbrella down. The rain had stopped.

They stood there together, watching the sky clear. There were ruins here by the path, crumbling brick arches covered in ivy. These ruins had been in the previous timeline too, the remains of some long-forgotten structure.

Joan looked beyond them to the house. From this angle, she could see scars on the brick walls where the west wing had been. From this angle, she could see how much of the house had survived: twenty-two bombs in one night, and these walls were still standing.

There was a little blue appearing now between the clouds. The sun was coming out. Joan lifted her head to feel it.





ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS




So much heart and work went into this book, and I’m so grateful to everyone who helped to bring it into the world.

Thank you so much to my family for your endless encouragement, love, and support: Dad and Jun, thank you for your help with translations and names; Ben, thank you for brainstorming with me and coming up with ideas for the powers; Lee Chin, Moses, Wennie, and Nina, thank you for all your encouragement over the years.

Thank you too to the friends who were there from the beginning. This book started at a dinner where we all discovered that we’d been thinking about writing a book. It’s been amazing to see so many wonderful books written since that night—and I’m sure there’ll be many more to come. Thank you to Bea Thyer for being the best host that night as always; to C. S. Pacat for all the years and years of amazing brainstorming sessions, problem-solving, and manuscript swaps (this book couldn’t have been written without you!); and to Shelley Parker-Chan. I’m so happy that we’re on this journey together—who would have thought we really could make our dreams come true! Thank you too to Anna Cowan for the many great writing sessions and chats, and for your insightful feedback over the years.

To my lovely and brilliant Clarion class of 2015, I couldn’t have written the first draft without the kickstart of our 300-words-a-day pact. You all inspire me—Jess Barber, adrienne maree brown, Zack Brown, Pip Coen, Bernie Cox, Rose Hartley (thank you for hosting lovely writing retreats and for your great feedback on the draft!), Nathan Hillstrom, Becca Jordan, Travis Lyons, Evan Mallon, Eugene Ramos, Mike Reid, Lilliam Rivera, Sara Saab, Dayna Smith, Melanie West, and Tiffany Wilson. I miss you all, and I wish I were reading your stories right now.

Thank you so, so much to my wonderful agent, Tracey Adams, and the whole team at Adams Literary—Josh Adams and Anna Munger. Tracey, you changed my life with one phone call, and you’ve done more for this book than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

Christabel McKinley, thank you so much for sharing the book in the UK and Australia—I appreciate all your hard work and enthusiastic support so much. Thank you also to Stephen Moore and all the other associates.

At HarperCollins in the US, huge, huge thanks to my fantastic editor Kristen Pettit, and to Clare Vaughn and the whole brilliant team. I so appreciate your insightful edits, your vision, and all your support. Special thanks to the production editors, Caitlin Lonning and Alexandra Rakaczki; the designers, Jessie Gang and Alison Klapthor; the cover artist, Eevien Tan; the production managers, Meghan Pettit and Allison Brown; the marketing director, Sabrina Abballe; and the publicist, Lauren Levite. I’m so proud of the book we all created together. You’ve made it so much more than I had imagined it could be.