Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(33)

‘You travelled in time,’ Aaron said. ‘You’re not in the human world anymore. If you want to survive, then you’ll need to learn about the monster world very fast.’

‘I wish it were from anyone but you.’ She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it was true.

‘Oh, believe me, I know.’ Aaron turned and started walking again.





NINE




Signs of the nineties were everywhere: brick walls papered with Jurassic Park posters and the fluttering rags of older ones. Groundhog Day. Nirvana. The cars, the clothes, even the traffic lights looked different. It was like—and yet so unlike—the London that Joan knew. The police were fancy-dress versions of themselves, all in bobby hats and smart jackets. People’s clothes were baggy and strange.

Aaron led Joan through Covent Garden, head raised as though he owned the whole city. At some point he’d transformed himself from a dowdy tourist back to a wealthy schoolboy.

As he had last night, he avoided the main roads, taking shortcuts Joan hadn’t known existed—through hidden courtyards and walled parks. By the time he stopped, she was thoroughly lost. They could have been in Covent Garden or Temple or farther out.

Aaron had brought them to a passage between buildings, narrow enough that Joan could touch the stone walls on both sides when she stretched. The sky was a thin strip of grey above. It was as cool as a cellar here. This part of London felt very old. Chimneys blew out woody smoke.

There was a door in the wall—small and squat and black—with a brass plaque beside it, a sea serpent engulfing a sailing ship. The kind of image you might see on a medieval map to mark uncharted territory.

‘This is one of our inns,’ Aaron said.

Joan touched the plaque. ‘Here be dragons?’ she said.

Aaron’s smile was amused, almost soft, as though he’d forgotten for a second that he didn’t like her. Joan’s stomach twisted strangely. She was nervous, she thought.

‘Is this your first time in a monster place?’ he said.

Joan wet her dry lips. She nodded.

‘Dragons need not fear other dragons,’ Aaron said, and Joan’s stomach did that strange twist again. She knew that wasn’t true. Aaron’s own family had shown her that.

But she took a deep breath and opened the door.

Her first impression was of an old-fashioned pub: glossy wood and stained glass. There were tables in every nook, crammed with people in the clothes of a dozen eras. Laughter and conversation filled the room.

But there were oddities too: rushes and herbs were strewn underfoot, and the air was smoky, almost barnyard. Joan could smell hay, crushed fennel, and lemon balm, as well as rosemary and rich roasting meat. A hearth in the corner held a bubbling cauldron of stew. Joan’s stomach rumbled.

Her next impression was almost cathedral. The far wall was a series of stained-glass windows. In them, map monsters swam in an ocean of blue glass: a bearded fish, a spiny dragon, a great beast with scales and tusks. Blue light spilled from the windows, turning the wooden floor into rippling shallows.

As Joan stood there, a man emerged from a back room. He was Black with greying hair and a handsome, unlined face. He scanned the room with an air of authority, and then strode over to two men, sandy-haired and muscular, sitting near the hearth. ‘Did I see money change hands in my inn?’ His tone was calm; Joan was reminded of a school principal. She guessed he was the owner of this place.

The two big men ducked their heads, seeming as chastened as scolded children. ‘Sorry, Innkeeper. Just off-loading my phone,’ one of them said.

‘Does this look like a market?’ The innkeeper gestured to the door. ‘Out.’ He didn’t bother to watch the men go, although they did—scurrying obediently away. He turned his attention to Joan and Aaron, taking in their hairstyles, their shoes, the cut of their clothes. ‘Just arrived?’ he said.

Aaron nodded. ‘Are there any rooms available?’

‘We’ll find you something,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Rooms come with food,’ he added briskly. ‘Help yourselves to bowls. Someone will bring you a key.’

Aaron led Joan to the hearth and took two bowls from the mantelpiece above it. He ladled stew from the cauldron. It smelled delicious: savoury and rich. Joan could see carrots and onions and maybe duck.

They found a table in an out-of-the-way corner. When Joan pulled the chair, it dragged against the floor, the sound momentarily rising above the chatter in the room. Aaron raised an eyebrow and shifted his own chair. Silently, of course. He had the graceful precision of a cat.

‘Do we really need a room?’ Joan said. She’d imagined they’d just tell someone about the massacre, and that would be that.

‘Food first,’ Aaron said. ‘You don’t know how to ground yourself on your own yet. Eating food from a new time is an easy shortcut.’ He blew on his own spoon and ate a bite. ‘This is good,’ he said grudgingly.

‘So how will this work, then?’ Joan said. She ate her own stew. The flavours were unexpectedly Christmassy: orange peel and cinnamon and cloves. She kind of liked the combination. ‘Once we warn someone, will it just be like—’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Like last night never happened? Like you and I won’t even remember any of this happening?’ It was a strange thought. She and Aaron might never know that they’d once sat here alone at a table, eating a meal together. That they’d once helped each other.