Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(19)

Joan wanted to tell her that Gran had tried, but all she could think of was Gran saying Only you can stop the hero. Gran had been delirious.

A sound slowly entered Joan’s awareness. A muffled thumping. She’d been hearing it for a while, she realised. How long? She felt out of sync with the world. ‘Ruth, we have to get up,’ she heard herself say.

‘Huh?’ Ruth blinked. Her eyes focused dully on Joan. ‘Hey.’ She squeezed Joan’s arm. ‘Stop.’

Joan looked down. She was pressing Gran’s chest, as though she could still stanch the blood. She released the tension in her arms. Everything ached. She felt like she’d been ill for a week. Her hands and arms were a butcher’s shop.

The gold necklace was still draped loosely over her wrist, incongruously delicate. Joan touched it, leaving bloodied fingerprints, very dark against the gold.

The thumping sound was getting louder. Joan shook herself. She shoved the chain into her pocket and forced herself to her feet. Thump. The door to the passage jumped on its hinges. ‘Ruth,’ she said. ‘We have to go.’

Ruth was staring at Gran’s face, looking as numb as Joan felt. ‘We can’t leave Gran here.’

Joan didn’t want to either. The thought of leaving Gran with people who hated monsters was unbearable. But Gran had always been practical. ‘Ruth, she’d want us to go.’ With each thump of the door, a larger slice of light was showing. Joan grabbed Ruth’s hand and dragged her up. ‘We have to go.’

She half shoved, half pulled Ruth over to the window. She pushed the curtain aside and recoiled. There was a body outside, lying in the colonnade: a woman with long black hair. She was wearing a blue dress with silver beading.

‘I know,’ Ruth said shakily. ‘It’s Marie Oliver.’

Joan wiped her face with the back of her hand. The gap in the window wasn’t nearly big enough. She gave the glass a shove. It barely moved. Had anyone even opened it in the last hundred years?

‘I think we can squeeze through,’ Ruth said. ‘Don’t you think?’

Joan stared at her. The gap wasn’t big enough for a child. She pictured Ruth stuck in the window while Nick’s people stabbed her like they’d stabbed Gran. Her stomach rolled. If anyone was going to get stuck, she wasn’t going to let it be Ruth.

She climbed up onto the sill. The wooden flat of it bit into her stomach as she forced herself into the gap. As soon as she started pushing, she knew she wasn’t going to fit. Her side dragged against something sharp, making her grunt. The seeping warmth that followed told her that the wound in her side had torn wider. And then she couldn’t go any farther. She was stuck just like she’d pictured. A fish on a hook for anyone passing. She struggled desperately.

‘Shit.’ Ruth shoved at Joan’s side, making Joan pant in pain. ‘Oh God. I can’t move you.’ Joan struggled harder. ‘Oh my God,’ Ruth whispered, panicked. ‘Oh my God.’ She shoved Joan again. She shoved her again. She shoved her hard. And then something tore in Joan’s dress, and Joan fell to the ground in an inelegant flop.

Joan lay there for a moment, trying to breathe through the pain. On the ground beside her, the dead woman lay, eyes wide open, looking up at nothing. Joan felt a sob rise in her throat like bile. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then forced herself to her feet.

‘Give me your hands,’ she said to Ruth shakily. ‘I’ll need to pull you hard.’

‘Here.’ Ruth passed something through the gap. It was the heavy bronze candlestick that Joan had taken from the mantelpiece.

Joan tucked it under one arm. ‘Give me your hands. Hurry.’ Whoever had killed Marie Oliver might be just around the corner. ‘And be careful. There’s a nail sticking up.’

‘Fuck, this is narrow,’ Ruth said. ‘I don’t think I’ll fit.’

‘You’ll fit,’ Joan promised. ‘I’ll pull you through.’

A loud crash sounded. The room lit up. ‘Ruth!’ Joan tried to catch Ruth’s hands, but Ruth had already scrabbled back, turning to face the intruders. ‘Ruth!’ Joan screamed. She didn’t even care if anyone heard her. ‘Ruth, get on the sill! I’ll pull you out!’

‘Joan, run,’ Ruth ordered. Her voice sounded weird. Fierce and stern. Almost like Gran’s voice.

‘No!’ Joan shouted. People in black were swarming into the room. ‘Ruth!’ One of the figures caught Ruth’s arms. A knife flashed. ‘No!’ Joan screamed.

Ruth struggled, flailing an arm free. One of the figures slumped to the floor, and then the knife plunged into Ruth’s gut. She made a horrible, agonised sound. Her shocked eyes met Joan’s through the window.

‘No!’ Joan heard herself cry.

And then there was just empty space where Ruth had been. She was gone.



A face appeared in the window. ‘There’s another one out there!’ they shouted.

Glass shattered, and Joan ran, bursting out of the colonnade into the South Garden. It was incongruously cheerful. The trees were lit with fairy lights, and the hydrangeas were in full bloom, in ice-cream shades of pink and white.

Joan had run the wrong way, she realised, terrified. She should have gone north. To the south there was only open lawn and the hedge maze.

The fastest way out was across the lawn and then down the path to the southwest gate. But there’d be nowhere to hide. She would be out in the open for at least five minutes, even if she ran as hard as she could.