Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(87)

‘Why didn’t you turn me over to the guards?’ she asked him. ‘It sounds like there’s a reward.’

Tom put the tea on the table. ‘I would die before I’d help the Court,’ he said flatly.

Joan searched his face. He’d proved himself an outstanding liar, but she didn’t think he was lying now. His mouth had twisted slightly as he’d said Court. As if he hated the word.

Joan ran her hand over her face. She had to think, but she was so tired. She was so bloody tired. She wanted to lie down right here in the kitchen and sleep for days.

‘I’ll make tea,’ Tom said. ‘And we should eat as well.’

They really needed to talk. But Joan nodded. ‘All right.’

‘How do pork pies and marzipan sound?’ Tom said.

‘Like heaven,’ Joan said seriously, and he nodded, seeming too tired or too tense to smile.

Tom took the pies from his stolen purse. He opened and closed cupboards and drawers, pulling out plates. His bulky body seemed to fill the kitchen, but he moved with surprising nimbleness as he rinsed and filled the kettle.

Joan put the marzipan lions onto a plate. They were just smashed paste now. She found some mugs for the tea. It didn’t take long, and when she was finished, she leaned against the fridge door.

She found herself unwilling to shift the mood back into something more dangerous again. But she knew that she had to.

‘Who was he?’ she asked. Tom stilled, his broad back to her. Without the clattering of plates and cups, the room was suddenly very quiet. ‘Who was the prisoner in that cell?’

‘I told you,’ Tom said. ‘The archive.’

‘Who was he to you?’

Tom turned finally, but he didn’t answer. He had a boxer’s body, with big arms and broad shoulders; he was intimidating, even when he was relaxed.

‘If he’d been at the palace, would you have brought him back to the rendezvous?’ Joan asked.

‘No,’ Tom said. That should have ended the conversation, but Joan was pretty sure she understood now.

‘That room he was in,’ she said. ‘The bucket. The mattress.’

A muscle jumped in Tom’s jaw. ‘I saw the room.’

‘He was a prisoner,’ Joan said. ‘But he left you a message. He knew you were coming.’

She was watching closely enough to see agony cross Tom’s face, and then she knew for sure. She’d felt it herself every moment since the massacre. The inability to save someone you loved. ‘You went there for him, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘You went there to rescue him.’

‘Yes.’ Tom’s shoulders rose unsteadily. He was trying to keep his composure. Joan knew that feeling too. She’d barely been keeping it together since her family had died.

She took a deep breath. She felt in her pocket for the plastic square she’d found. She held it out to him. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It was under the desk.’

Tom grasped it at once, closing his fist over it, as though afraid she might take it back.

‘What do you think the message will be?’ she asked him. ‘Do you think there’ll be something about the transformatio?’

‘No,’ Tom said, almost gently. ‘The transformatio is a myth.’ It was what he’d said at the rendezvous, but Joan was sure now he was telling the truth. She felt her stomach drop. ‘Let’s go into the sitting room,’ he said.

‘The sitting room?’

‘We’ll need some space to watch.’



Aaron was asleep on the sofa. He looked deceptively angelic like this. His lashes were as long as a girl’s. ‘Aaron,’ Joan said softly. She felt bad about waking him. None of them had slept much over the last few days. She touched his shoulder.

He opened his eyes. He blinked and then gave her a heart-meltingly sweet smile. ‘Hi,’ he said. Then he seemed to realise where he was. He grimaced. ‘Oh.’ He sat up, running a hand through his hair. ‘What time is it?’

‘Still morning,’ Joan said. ‘We need to talk. Tom . . .’ She looked over at him. Tom was watching her, warily. ‘Tom’s been keeping some things from us.’

‘What things?’ Ruth said. She was standing in the bedroom doorway. She looked exhausted. Her face was still grey.

Tom hesitated and then uncurled his fingers to reveal the little square of plastic.

‘What’s that?’ Aaron said groggily. He started to frown. ‘Where did you get that?’ He seemed to recognise it. ‘That’s—that’s illegal. That’s incredibly far from its time.’

‘I found it in the prison cell,’ Joan said. ‘Tom thinks it’s a message. . . from the prisoner.’

Aaron’s eyes were narrowing. Joan could see him making connections. The change of plans at the rendezvous. The way Tom had been standing over Joan on the steps.

‘His name is Jamie Liu,’ Tom said. ‘He’s been a prisoner of the Monster Court for . . . well, I don’t know how long, from his perspective. From mine, three years.’

‘What exactly is going on?’ Ruth said, and she might have been tired, but her voice was sharp and suspicious. ‘What do you know?’ she said to Tom.

‘I think you should play the message,’ Joan said to Tom.