Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(22)

They made it to Kensington Gardens by a ragged route of back streets, avoiding any slow-rolling cars and vans. Kensington Gardens was closed for the night. Aaron gave Joan a boost over the fence, and she landed with a thud that flared the sword wound into sharp pain. She bent over and breathed.

A moment later, Aaron landed beside her, and she made herself straighten. ‘Do you think we were followed?’ Aaron whispered.

‘I don’t know,’ Joan whispered back. The gardens were very dark. The streetlights penetrated a little, but beyond their sphere, Joan could hardly even see trees.

‘Keep an eye out,’ Aaron said. ‘At night, police patrol the park with dogs.’

‘How do you know that?’

He scowled. ‘Do you actually require the amusing anecdote now? Or can we continue to run for our lives?’

I don’t want to be running with you at all, Joan wanted to tell him. You left me to die. But he was right that they couldn’t just stand here, talking, where anyone could stumble on them.

‘Let’s head for the Serpentine,’ Joan said. The moonlight on the lake might give them enough light to navigate across the uneven ground without having to rely on phones for light.

‘Dogs can track across water.’

‘That’s not why—’ Joan started, and then cut herself off. He had a way of talking that made her want to argue with him. ‘Let’s just go,’ she said shortly.



They walked in silence. Joan’s socks quickly became soaked with dew. She welcomed the discomfort. It kept her mind here, in the park, in the present. Her feet were wet and cold. Better to think about that than to think about Gran’s slack mouth. About the people lying dead among the flowers. About the sound Ruth had made when the knife had punched into her. About Nick’s face when he’d said: If you ever steal time from a human again, I will kill you myself.

They followed the dull shine of the Serpentine as it wound through the park. Eventually, Aaron touched Joan’s arm to stop her.

‘What is it?’ Joan whispered. The brush was thick here, almost wild. Joan could hear the lap of the water in the darkness. She was shivering in spite of the exercise. Had Aaron heard something nearby? She hadn’t. She folded her arms around herself and felt sticky warmth at her side. She was still bleeding. It seemed like a bad idea to get themselves wet and even colder.

‘You’re injured,’ Aaron whispered.

‘What?’ Joan wished she could see him better. It was so dark.

‘The way you’re walking. Did the attackers do it?’

Joan was incredulous. ‘Your uncle did it.’

Aaron’s pause was barely perceptible. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Can we please just keep walking.’

‘Don’t be a fool. How bad is it?’

Joan looked up at the dark sky, wishing she were here with anyone else. God, if only Bertie or Ruth— She bit the inside of her cheek hard to stop the thought. She grabbed the base of her tank top and peeled it up.

Aaron thumbed his phone on, shielding the light with his body. There was a cut on Joan’s side. It had bled—a lot. So much that it was difficult to see how deep it was.

Aaron swore under his breath. ‘We need to find somewhere to stay for the night.’

‘You mean together?’ Joan said, surprised. She’d assumed they’d part ways as soon as they left the park.

In the harsh light of the phone, Aaron seemed as surprised as she was. He recovered quickly, his face becoming a sneering mask. ‘Fine with me if you want to split up.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘It’s not like I want to hang about with you either.’

‘God,’ Joan said, sharper than she’d intended. ‘Is it hard work being such a prat all the time?’

Aaron’s smile didn’t get anywhere near his eyes. ‘Not really.’

Joan ground her teeth to keep herself from getting too loud. ‘Let’s just sleep here in the park,’ she suggested. ‘It’s as good as anywhere.’ Kensington Gardens was big enough to hide two people if they stayed quiet. ‘We could take turns sleeping and keeping watch.’

‘I’m not sleeping on the ground.’

Joan couldn’t help but huff a laugh. ‘Well, okay, Your Highness. Let’s check in to the Savoy.’

Aaron took off his suit jacket. To Joan’s surprise, he offered it to her. She shook her head. She was cold, but not nearly cold enough to wear Aaron Oliver’s jacket.

‘There’s blood all over you,’ he said.

Joan looked down at herself. Her tank top was a mess. And her arms. Her hands . . . It was mostly Gran’s blood.

‘Here.’ Aaron draped the jacket around her. It was light grey wool and far too big for her. The warmth was immediate and the relief intense. Joan’s first instinct was gratitude, and then she was annoyed at herself for it.

Aaron turned off his phone screen. The contrast made the night very black. ‘We can’t go to a hotel,’ he said, as if she’d been serious about the Savoy. ‘We’re far too memorable, looking like this. They’d only have to ask around.’

Joan pictured the area around them. A vague memory came to her. There was a place north of here where Gran met people sometimes—when she didn’t want it known that she was meeting them. ‘I might know somewhere,’ she said.