Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(85)

The south bank was more industrial than in Joan’s time. The breeze across the river smelled like tar. As they made their way west, Joan felt those jolts of alienation and familiarity that she was beginning to associate with this time. London Bridge and Tower Bridge looked just the same, but the Shard was missing. The Millennium Bridge was missing.

Ahead of her, Aaron held Ruth’s elbow to keep her steady, solicitous and gentlemanly. Joan wondered—not for the first time—which period Aaron had actually grown up in. He sometimes seemed to slip into manners from another age.

Or maybe he wasn’t from anywhere. Maybe monsters just travelled and travelled through the past and the future, never stopping for long.

‘You haven’t told them,’ Tom said softly to Joan. Joan wasn’t sure if it was a question or an observation. Even more softly, he said: ‘They don’t know about that power of yours either, do they?’

Joan shivered, remembering again how she’d slammed her hand against the lock. Power had poured out of her. And when she’d lifted her hand, the metal had turned into ore.

They’d fallen a little behind the other two, and now Tom slowed even more. Joan was suddenly very aware of his muscled bulk. ‘Walk faster,’ she said.

Tom smiled crookedly, but he lengthened his steps again just enough to keep pace with the others. His gaze turned to the river. ‘You can almost imagine that you can see the territories of the great families from here,’ he mused. ‘Olivers and Alis in the west. Nowaks and Argents north. Griffiths and Mtawalis south. Patels and Portellis, east. Lius, the centre. Hathaways, the river. And the Nightingales . . .’ He paused slightly. ‘Anywhere they please.’

He’d missed a family. ‘And the Hunts,’ Joan said.

‘And the Hunts,’ Tom acknowledged. ‘Always moving around the edges of other monsters’ territories. As a child I used to think they were running from something.’

Ahead of them, Aaron and Ruth turned into a narrow alley. ‘Stay in front of me,’ Joan warned Tom. The buildings here were built close and sunless. Warehouses and converted factories.

‘You need to give me what you found,’ Tom said softly.

‘What it is?’

‘I told you. It’s a message.’

Joan shook her head. ‘I’m going to need to know more than that.’

A muscle jumped in Tom’s jaw. That was the only warning Joan had before the sudden burst of violence. In one fast movement, Tom had closed the gap between himself and the others. He threw Ruth and Aaron into a wall with easy strength.

Before Joan could react, Tom was shoving her too. Joan’s shoulders hit the wall. After a stunned moment, she dove at him. He pushed her back again, almost casually, with one big hand. Joan was furious with herself. Tom had shown her exactly what he was at the rendezvous, and she’d just—

A car door slammed nearby. Joan froze.

Tom stared at Joan meaningfully, one finger at his lips. Shhh. He released his grip on her. She realised then that Tom had pushed her—and himself—into a doorway recess. Aaron and Ruth were in an identical recess opposite. Anyone looking from the street would see an empty alleyway.

Two more car doors slammed. Then footsteps sounded.

Joan risked peering around the recess. About twenty paces away, a woman and two men were walking into the alley from the street. Joan pulled back again, heart thumping. They were all wearing pins with the winged-lion insignia. All three were easily Tom’s height, although not quite as muscular in build.

‘How much longer?’ one of the men said. ‘We’ve been patrolling all night.’

‘There was a sighting near here,’ the woman said.

‘There’ve been sightings all over. You ask me, they’ve already escaped this time.’

‘They were hit by Sai Patel himself. They’re still here,’ the woman said. ‘Conrad pulled guards in from all over. Took me out of the Victorian era. If he did that, he needs them found.’

The footsteps got closer. Joan could hardly breathe. In the doorway opposite, Ruth and Aaron looked terrified. The doorways were too shallow to hide any of them completely. If the guards just looked—properly looked down the alleyway—they’d see all of them standing there.

‘Do you believe the rumours?’ the woman said. ‘Of strange powers used in the archive? Something forbidden.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Something wrong.’

‘Above my pay grade,’ the man said.

‘What about that other tip-off, though?’ the woman said. ‘About a half-human girl with a strange power? That can’t be a coincidence.’

Joan couldn’t breathe at all now. They were talking about her.

In the opposite doorway, Ruth’s face creased with confusion. She had no idea what the guards were talking about—not about the power and not about the tip-off.

Joan had a suspicion of where the tip-off had come from. Dorothy Hunt is not a good person, the innkeeper had said. Joan’s gran would never have hurt her. But the woman in the bar . . . Joan remembered how that young version of Gran had looked at her: as if Joan were nothing to her. Horribly and annoyingly, Joan felt tears prickling. She clenched her teeth, forcing them back.

‘Wouldn’t mind that reward, though,’ the man said.

‘A favour from Conrad himself,’ the woman said. ‘Imagine that.’