Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(68)

‘Don’t stare,’ he whispered back. As they walked farther, he murmured: ‘Be careful. There are Olivers here.’

‘Anyone you recognise?’ Joan asked.

Aaron shook his head. ‘Just stay away from them.’

Joan remembered the last time she’d been among Olivers. ‘Because I’m half-human? You think they’d attack me on sight?’ The Olivers could see the difference between monsters and humans if they were close enough. They’d know what she was just by looking at her.

‘Attack you for being half-human?’ Ruth whispered. ‘What has he been telling you? The Olivers are vile, but they wouldn’t do that.’

But they had, Joan thought. She remembered Edmund’s cold, scouring gaze.

‘Never mind that right now,’ Aaron said. ‘Just stay away from them. Don’t let any Oliver close enough to see the colour of your eyes.’ There was a strange intensity in the way he said it.

‘It’s not like they wear name tags,’ Joan said, puzzled.

‘I’ll point them out,’ he said.

They all fell silent as they reached the palace’s huge arched doors, flung wide for the crowd to enter. The doors were black wood, Tudor roses carved into the top corners of the frame.

Joan crossed the threshold and then she was inside—in a great hall. She looked around in wonder. The room was lit with the soft light of floating chandeliers placed high up near the buttressed ceiling. At eye level, the walls were lined with rich tapestries depicting scenes of battle. Joan closed her eyes and smelled roses and violets—not artificial, but fresh, as if she were standing in a garden.

Ruth clutched Joan’s arm. ‘Michelangelo’s Cupid,’ she whispered. She pointed at a marble sculpture in a corner of the room: a sleeping child, raised on a plinth. ‘That sculpture launched Michelangelo’s career. It was lost in the fire.’ Her eyes were wide. ‘Incredible.’

It was all a wonder. Ruth pointed out more artwork, burned and lost: a Holbein, a Bernini.

But this wasn’t Whitehall Palace—not really.

The chandelier above Joan broke apart suddenly, scattering through the air in individual glittering diamonds. As one flew close, Joan saw that it was a butterfly, but lit from within. Its wings sparkled.

Statues of dangerous creatures lined the hall: lions, leopards, dragons. Now, from under a window, a stone lion’s tail twitched, making Joan jump. Then, in synchrony, all the statues stood up and roared, flames blasting from their upturned mouths. The flames made shapes as they crested, royal crowns. As sparks rained down, the creatures sat again like obedient dogs.

Servers wandered between guests, offering delicacies on silver plates. Joan took a couple of sweets from a passing tray. They turned out to be tiny marzipan lions, exquisitely detailed. They were too beautiful to eat. Joan pocketed them.

‘Olivers,’ Aaron murmured. Joan blinked at him. He nodded at a group of three men striding through the gauntlet of stone creatures. ‘Remember what I said?’

‘Yes,’ Joan whispered. She’d stay away from them.

‘Tom made it,’ Ruth said in a tone of relief.

Joan followed her gaze to a doorway. She saw then that this hall was the first in a series. Open doors offered glimpses of more wonders in the rooms beyond: glittering lights, people dancing. Where was Tom?

‘Guards at each doorway,’ Ruth whispered.

Joan hadn’t noticed that, but Ruth was right. It was hard to concentrate on security. Everywhere she looked, there were people in elaborate costumes from the Renaissance, from the Regency, perhaps from the future.

There he was, Joan saw in relief. Tom was in the next hall, standing by a silver fountain. It shone, lit from within, the water bright as moonlight. He looked unexpectedly good—he’d scrounged a dark grey suit from somewhere, and barely looked out of place in it. He’d even dressed Frankie up: she had a grey bow tie that matched Tom’s own.

Aaron didn’t seem as relieved. ‘He’s got a glass in his hand,’ he said, disgusted. ‘Someone stop him before he’s too drunk to work.’

‘Shit,’ Ruth breathed. She headed over.

That left Aaron and Joan alone. As they strolled up the hall, Joan found herself increasingly nervous. Everyone else at the party seemed to hold themselves with the same air of restrained power, as if they were used to wielding authority. It occurred to Joan again that she was half-human. Could monsters take time from her—from the human half of her? She wished she had a scarf or a high collar to cover her neck.

She felt Aaron step closer. To her surprise, he offered his arm. She blinked at him. ‘We should try to look as if we’re enjoying ourselves,’ he whispered. ‘Or we’ll draw attention.’

Joan was more grateful than she wanted to admit. She put her hand on his arm and let him draw her past the first set of guards. The hall beyond was vast—a ballroom. There were fountains bubbling with plum-coloured wine. A harpist provided music. And Joan might not have fit in here, but Aaron did. In a room full of powerful, beautiful people, he still turned heads. It felt strange to be so obviously with him. His arm felt very solid under her hand.

‘How will we sneak out of this party without anyone noticing?’ she whispered. They needed to get farther into the palace.

Aaron smiled at her, small and real. ‘That part’s easy,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent my whole life escaping events like this.’