Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(63)

‘Joan. Joan Chang-Hunt.’

‘Chang. That’s not a monster name.’ Gran gulped down her drink. ‘So Maureen’s been messing around with humans. Christ.’

Joan was shocked. Gran had never said anything like that to her before. Gran had always gotten along with Dad.

‘You have something to tell me,’ Gran said. ‘That’s why you’re here. Just say it.’ And that was where Gran’s harshness was coming from, Joan realised. Gran had known the moment that Joan had said ‘granddaughter’ that something bad was coming.

The memory of Gran’s agonised breaths returned to Joan in a rush. The slow, pained rise and fall of her chest under Joan’s hands.

‘Just say it,’ Gran said.

‘You . . . Two days ago. Thirty years from now. You—you died. You were killed.’ Joan’s voice shook. ‘The human hero isn’t just a myth, Gran. He’s real. He came and killed our family. He killed—God, he killed so many people.’

Some of the harshness left Gran’s face as Joan talked. Joan kept expecting the timeline to unravel as she told Gran the place and the time. But, just like with the post office, Joan could feel the timeline resisting. ‘Do you believe me?’ she said to Gran. Please believe me.

‘I believe you,’ Gran said, and Joan felt her chest loosen. She’d been tenser than she’d known. Gran called over the bartender to refill her glass.

Joan waited for him to leave again, and then lowered her voice. ‘Just before you died, you gave me a necklace,’ she said. ‘A key to the Monster Court. I think you wanted me to find a device that the King once used to change the timeline. To stop the massacre and save our family. But I don’t know how to find it, Gran.’

‘The transformatio?’ Gran said. ‘That’s a myth.’

‘A lot of myths seem to be proving true lately,’ Joan said.

Gran’s mouth turned downward. She always looked like that when she was thinking. When she was angry, she tended to look amused. When she was looking at a mark, her expression went blank.

‘I always heard that the King keeps his treasures in the Royal Archive,’ Gran said. She tilted her head, and a trick of the light made her familiar green eyes seem cool—almost cold.

Joan hadn’t expected Gran to be so forthcoming. The older version of her was much cagier. She’d have asked Joan a lot more questions before telling her anything at all. Perhaps that wariness had come to her in older age.

‘Did I tell you anything else?’ Gran said. ‘Joan, wasn’t it?’

Joan started to shake her head and then realised there was something else. She hadn’t been deliberately withholding it. She’d archived it, hardly let herself think about it.

Keeping an eye on the bartender, Joan whispered to Gran what Gran had whispered to her. ‘Just before you died, you told me that someday soon I’d come into a power. Not the Hunt power, but another. It was the last thing you said. You told me not to trust anyone with the knowledge of it. And I haven’t, I swear. You’re the only one I’ve told.’

Gran’s expression went blank. ‘A power?’ She glanced up, and Joan realised, startled, that the bartender was standing a few paces away. He hadn’t been there a second ago. He’d been drying glasses at the other end of the bar. ‘What kind of power?’ Gran said.

‘I—I don’t know,’ Joan whispered. ‘I haven’t seen any sign of it yet.’

‘Hmm,’ Gran said. Her expression was still blank. She made two scratching motions with her forefinger. It was one of their family signals—the signal to fetch someone. But fetch who? It was usually accompanied by a name signal. Three fingers up for Ruth. Thumb and forefinger crossed for Aunt Ada. Forefinger and thumb in a J for Joan.

Who did she want Joan to fetch?

Gran made the name signal with her left hand, but not one Joan had ever seen before. Her hand was curled, thumb at an angle. C? G?

It wasn’t until the bartender put down his cloth and said ‘Excuse me’ that Joan realised the signal hadn’t been intended for her at all. Gran didn’t realise Joan had understood it. She didn’t seem to know that one day she’d teach it to Joan.

Gran’s green eyes were narrow and speculative now. She was looking at Joan like she was valuable. But not like a person was valuable. Like something that could be sold for a very high price. You can’t trust anyone with the knowledge of it, Gran had said. Joan’s chest felt painfully tight.

‘Is there a toilet down there?’ Joan pointed in the wrong direction, deeper into the bar, hoping that would be less suspicious. She knew that the bathroom was near the front door. She’d passed it on the way in.

‘Back the way you came,’ Gran said.

If you need to run, always imply that you’ll return. Gran had taught Joan that. ‘You won’t go, will you?’ Joan said. ‘You’ll be here when I get back?’

‘Haven’t finished my drink, have I?’ Gran said.

Joan made herself linger, even though all she wanted to do was to get out of this room—get away from this version of Gran who wasn’t her gran. Who’d looked at Joan like she didn’t mean anything to her. Who’d told the bartender to fetch someone.

Joan turned slowly. Putting her back to this Gran made her skin crawl. She walked to the corridor and turned the corner. She walked past the toilets, and then pushed open the door out onto the street. And then she ran.