Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(17)

There was another distant scream and Joan’s knees started to shake. How was she going to get out of the house? Nick knew it as well as she did—there’d be people watching the doors. He even knew about the old servants’ passages.

She gripped the candlestick hard. But as she reached the bottom of the staircase, there was still no one in sight. She crept farther in. The door to the Linen Room was cracked open, showing the room all set up for tourists, one cupboard artfully open with shelves of folded tablecloths and sheets.

Joan held her breath and listened. Nothing. Where was everyone? Was this some kind of nightmare? If not for the pain in her wrist and the warm blood oozing down her side, she might have believed that none of this was really happening.

Something nearby creaked, making Joan’s breath catch. She ducked quickly into the Linen Room. It was empty. Then the Valet Room. Empty. Then into Sabine’s Room: the big bedroom suite beyond. Empty.

No. Not empty.

To Joan’s horror, Ruth was at the back of the room, near the sofa set. Outside, the moon was shrouded by clouds, but there was enough light to see that Ruth’s face was very pale.

‘No,’ Joan breathed. No. Ruth. ‘What are you doing here? You can’t be here.’ She stumbled toward her.

‘You messaged for help,’ Ruth said. She hadn’t moved from where she was standing.

Joan remembered typing desperately on her phone before it had been torn from her grip. She’d been reaching for the send button; she must have hit it. Her breath hitched. She’d yelled at Ruth this afternoon. She’d told Ruth she was evil, that she never wanted to see her again. But when Joan had needed help, Ruth had come.

‘And I called everyone else,’ Ruth said.

‘Everyone else?’ Joan said. ‘Who—’ The words caught in her throat. Her eyes had adjusted enough to see that there were dark stains on the carpet by the sofa. Joan stumbled closer.

‘Joan, don’t,’ Ruth said. ‘Don’t come back here. Just stay where you are.’

Joan shook her head. She heard herself make a strange, deep sound as she rounded the corner of the sofa.

Gran was slumped on the sofa seat, legs splayed at an awkward angle, her shirt collar soaked with blood. One of her shoes had fallen off. It lay upturned by her stockinged foot.

‘No. No, no, no.’ Joan had been on her way to warn her family about Nick. They couldn’t be here. This couldn’t be happening.

There was a folded blanket on Gran’s chest. Joan had registered Ruth’s stance as odd—slightly stooped. And now she saw why. Ruth was pressing down on the blanket with both hands.

‘Everyone’s dead.’ Ruth sounded like she was trying to break it gently, but her voice sounded strange and stilted, like when she did robot impressions. Ruth had the best robot voice. ‘Uncle Augustus. Bertie. Aunt Ada. Everyone’s dead.’

‘No.’ Joan shook her head. ‘No.’ She couldn’t seem to focus her eyes properly. Everything around her seemed blurry and unreal. She’d been on her way to warn them. They couldn’t be dead. There was blood soaking through the blanket. Blood all over Ruth’s hands.

‘Joan.’ Ruth’s voice jolted her. ‘I think Gran’s dying,’ Ruth said, still with that strange, stilted tone. Her eyes were glazed. ‘She’s lost so much blood.’

‘We just—’ Joan could hear how weird her voice sounded too. ‘Okay, we have to call an ambulance. We need to call lots of ambulances. And then. Okay, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to call an ambulance.’

‘The phones aren’t working,’ Ruth said.

Joan blinked at her. ‘But we have to—’

‘No.’

Joan and Ruth both started at the sound of Gran’s voice.

Joan bent over, feeling weak. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself, but she’d half thought Gran was already dead. She’d been so still.

Ruth gasped out a sound somewhere nearer to grief. ‘Gran.’

‘Don’t involve humans,’ Gran murmured. Her eyes fluttered open. ‘You need to get out of this house.’

‘Who did this?’ Ruth demanded. ‘Was it the Olivers? Because it if was—’ She faltered. ‘Except I thought I saw Victor Oliver in the garden. I thought I saw Mattea.’

‘It wasn’t them,’ Joan said.

‘Then who?’

‘Once upon a time,’ Gran murmured, ‘there was a boy who was born to kill monsters. A hero.’

‘What?’ Ruth wiped her eyes against her shoulder. ‘The human hero? Those are bedtime stories. Oh God, Gran. You’ve lost so much blood.’

A hero. In her mind’s eye, Joan saw Nick push a sword into Lucien’s chest. She saw him hurl the sword at Edmund. She swallowed. ‘I saw him kill people.’

‘You saw him?’ Gran said sharply. ‘Did he see you?’

Joan hesitated. He spared me because I tried to save him. Or maybe he felt something for me, like I felt something for him. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. ‘I escaped.’

Gran gave her a long look, as though she knew Joan was withholding something. ‘The Olivers?’ she asked.

‘Dead. Or fled.’

‘Dead,’ Gran said flatly. She took a pained breath. ‘My loves. You need to get out of this house. Ruth, lock the doors. Then get that window open. Wide enough for you and Joan.’