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It takes us five minutes to drive to the park, with Arthur expertly taking random side streets to avoid traffic. He swings into an illegal delivery spot, and we leap out and sprint toward the park. The only people we pass are joggers who pay no attention to the leather-clad “musicians” sprinting with instrument cases toward the park.
I spot Kate and Vincent ahead of us as we pass through the gates. We follow as they turn right and run through a narrow passageway cut through a high wall of neatly-trimmed hedges.
My heart jumps to my throat when I see what lies behind the screen of greenery. It’s like a particularly gory Hollywood film. A man I don’t recognize lies across the grass in a pool of blood. His head is split open like a melon. I feel sick. Like I’m going to throw up or pass out, take your pick.
And then I see, Ambrose and Charlotte. They’re sprawled across the lawn, swords beside them, blood everywhere. I saw some pretty bad stuff during my time with the numa, but two people I love lying slaughtered like that is too overwhelming, even knowing that they’ll come back. I lean forward for a second, close my eyes, and force the fear and horror into a space I promise myself to revisit later. When people’s lives don’t depend on me keeping it together. I avert my eyes from my friends, and don’t look back.
Across the lawn, Kate’s grandmother, sister and daughter are penned into a corner of the bushes by three men wielding swords. Georgia is screaming at one of them. “If you do so much as look in the direction of this child, I will hunt you down and castrate you in your sleep.”
Next to her, Mamie holds Odette close to her, facing away from the dead bodies. Odette is putting up a fight, trying her best to escape her grandmother’s clutches. “I. Want. To. See!” the little girl insists.
I only have a second to take all of this in before the two of the men catch sight of Arthur and me and run toward us. They’re muscle-bound and tattooed, looking like members of a particularly violent biker gang. As they near, I see that their eyes are glazed over, and their bodies seem to be controlled by a will outside their own. Gaspard was right. Numa are possessing humans and using them like puppets.
“I’ll take the one on the left. You get Erik the Red,” Arthur says as I drop my case to the ground. The latches spring open, and I grab two daggers and plunge them into the sheath on my belt. Then, taking the sword in both hands, I leap up just in time to meet the man who has hurled himself in my direction.
With his wild red hair and beard, he does look Viking-esque, and though our heights are about equal, he’s twice my size in bulk. He curves his sword down in a powerful swing, and I meet it with my own, blocking his blade before it can reach my face.
From Gaspard’s strategy lessons, I remember that my goal is to get between him and the person I’m protecting—Kate’s grandmother in this case—to defend her from that position. So, on his next swing, instead of blocking, I leap aside, let him follow through, then rush past him. His target having suddenly disappeared, he stumbles forward, loses his footing and crashes into the bushes, dropping his sword and rolling onto his side. I have the advantage, and should use it to finish him off, but I feel conflicted about killing someone who’s not actually a numa. This is a man possessed by a numa. Is killing him still justified?
Kate is fighting side-by-side with Vincent against two of the possessed humans. They look like they’re really going for it, not holding back despite their enemies’ human status. But I still can’t justify running over to plunge my sword into a man who’s already down, so I turn my back on him and head for Mamie.
Arthur’s already fighting the man closest to Georgia, and the third guy is waiting for me when I arrive. He’s not even wearing a jacket, just a white T-shirt with a sleeveless leather vest, chains looping from the pockets. The broken swastika Numa Army tattoo takes up his entire right bicep, which flexes as he grips the sword between his hands.
“Get back,” I yell to Mamie. She pulls Odette behind her and backs up until they’re flat against the bushes.
I face the fighter. His eyes are glazed over in the same way as the Viking guy, but as I near, his gaze snaps into focus.
“I know you,” he says.
I step forward, swinging my sword over my right shoulder then arcing it down as hard as I can toward his head. He lunges and blocks with a horizontal swing, bringing our faces inches from each other as our blades grind with a screech of steel. “That’s strange,” I say. “I’ve never seen you in my life.”
“Not this life,” the guy says, pushing hard on his sword and shoving me backward. I plant my heels into the ground, regain my equilibrium, and lunge forward with a slice toward his legs.
“I’m talking about before,” he says, blocking my move. “You were a kid then, but I’d recognize you anywhere.” He lunges, blade straight toward my chest, and I leap to the side. “You were Violette’s bitch, weren’t you?”
The blood drains from my face. The shame of my past rushes back with a vengeance, crashing over me like a tsunami. Inside, I’m flailing, sinking in the waves. On the outside, I stand helplessly, my strength having disappeared with those two words.
The guy takes a swing at me, and at the last second, I rouse myself and step to one side. But the tip of his blade catches my shoulder. I feel the burn of his steel slice my skin and let out a yelp of pain. Glancing down, I see red bloom on my shirt, but it’s just a small patch and I can still move my arm, so the wound must be light. I lift my sword back in a defensive pose.
The man glances at my shoulder and sneers. “Still a bleeder, I see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“When Violette had me give you that flower tattoo...well, I’ve never seen someone bleed so much.” He gives me a wicked smile. “A pretty tattoo for a pretty little boy. Still got it?”
Anger rises in me like a red mist, clouding my vision. I forget the reality—that this is a numa possessing a potentially innocent human—and throw myself at him. I slash fiercely with my sword, faster and more powerful than I’ve ever managed in practice. He’s struggling to keep up, matching my blade swing for swing, blocking my moves but having no time or space to make any of his own.
I’m backing him up nearer and nearer the hedge. His attention is fully on me and not his prisoners. Mamie takes the opportunity to duck out from behind him, Odette in her arms, and makes a run for it. In a second, she’s outside my peripheral vision, and I focus completely on my enemy.
I don’t remember much about the numa who tattooed me, besides his sadistic grin when I cried. But that same being looks out at me now through the human’s eyes, and I channel my thirteen-year-old fear and helplessness and let it drive me forward, sword held high.
I swing my blade down toward his head. But as he raises his sword to block, I quickly pull my blade backward then thrust low, aiming between his ribs, and feel my steel travel through his chest. His eyes meet mine, narrowing in pure hatred before he slumps forward and falls to the ground.
I pull my sword free and roll him over. Blade through the heart. He’s dead. I feel a rush of relief—I got him before he could get me. But a heavy feeling in my chest tells me I’ll have to deal later with the emotional toll of killing another human being. Breathing heavily, I turn around to assess the ongoing skirmish.
Kate is extracting her own sword from a foe who lies motionless on the ground. Vincent is still fighting, attempting to drive his opponent toward the middle of the clearing, but the other man keeps forcing him back, away from us, trying to isolate him. Kate glances his way, but Vincent shakes his head. “I’m good. Get Odette!” he yells, gesturing toward the far end of the clearing, which is hidden from my view.
“Louis, give Arthur a hand,” he yells, before turning his full attention back to his foe.
I make my way to where Arthur is fighting his own battle, matching swords with the man guarding Georgia. Or attempting to guard Georgia.
“Stay back!” Arthur warns me, and I obey, falling back and awaiting his order. I feel helpless but know Arthur must have his reasons for fighting this man alone. He’s probably afraid that something I do might result in Georgia getting injured, whereas if he’s alone he’s in full control.
Penned in behind the man, Georgia is pelting him with pebbles she scoops from beneath the manicured hedge. “Why can’t there be any big, heavy rocks in this park?” she yells, throwing a handful of gravel at his back. He doesn’t even seem to notice, which makes her even more furious. As he lunges at Arthur, she rears up and kicks him from behind with her ankle boot’s stiletto heel, landing it right where his jacket hikes up from the back of his jeans.
He roars and swings backward with his sword, catching Georgia’s forearm. She yelps and grabs the wound with her hand. Blood drips from between her fingers, but the way she takes her cursing up a level suggests she’s not seriously hurt.
Arthur can’t see that, though, since Georgia’s directly behind the guy. He charges, his sword carving wide, powerful strokes. “Thou dare lay thy filthy hand upon my dearest?” he roars, switching back to the old French of his medieval days. But his anger causes him to make a fatal error. He sweeps low while his enemy’s arm is up, but in his fury, he raises his head to meet the man’s eyes, leaving his neck completely vulnerable. It’s a move I’ve made in my lessons with Gaspard, when I wasn’t paying enough attention. Each time it earned me a painful bruise on my neck along with Gaspard’s flippant comment, “You’re dead.”
But this isn’t Gaspard. And it isn’t a practice sword. It’s a numa-charged human, and the very real, very sharp sword catches Arthur on the side of his neck and slices inward. The blade lodges deep inside instead of slicing cleanly through, pulling the sword from its owner’s grasp.
What takes place next happens so quickly that if I wasn’t looking at just the right spot, I wouldn’t know how it happened.
Georgia stands there, horrified, watching Arthur fall.
Kate yells, “Georgia, catch!” and a flashing object spins through the air between the sisters.
Georgia raises her arm and catches the short-sword in one hand. And lunging forward in a practiced move, learned in what must be hundreds of hours of fencing lessons with Gaspard, she thrusts the sword into the man’s back. The blade emerges through his chest before Georgia pulls it back, letting him fall, lifeless, to the ground. Then, dropping the sword, she steps over the man and crouches next to Arthur’s body. She eases the blade from his neck and cups his practically-severed head in her hands and lets out a wail of despair.
I hear a yell and turn to see that the Viking I had left sprawled in the bushes now has Mamie and Odette penned in against a hedge. He hasn’t hurt them. He seems to be keeping them captive and awaiting instructions. But when he turns to see what’s happening with his colleagues, Mamie rushes him, grabbing his sword arm. With one powerful sweep of his arm, he knocks her to the ground and grabs Odette.
I’m kicking myself now for not taking him out when I could, but now is not the time for regret. I have to solve the problem I made and do it quickly.
Odette is struggling and screeching, “Bad man, bad man!” while he tries to wrangle the kicking toddler. I raise my sword and start toward them but stop when I see he’s pinned Odette to his chest with one hand and holds a knife to her neck with the other.
“Odette, freeze!” Kate screams. “Don’t move, baby!”
And whether it’s the fear in her mother’s voice or the knife the giant holds to her throat, Odette does as she’s ordered and doesn’t move an inch.
“You! Drop your sword,” the man yells at me. I open my hand and drop my weapon. I glance back and see that Vincent’s fight is over. His enemy lies dead on the ground. Kate and Vincent watch the man holding Odette. They stand motionless with hands held out, either pleading with him not to do anything, or trying to calm him, I can’t tell.
Georgia has stopped wailing, and sits next to Arthur, hands placed protectively on his chest. She glares at Odette’s captor as if convinced she can kill him with the pure hatred shooting from her eyes.
Though I’m the closest to him, I don’t dare charge him. One small gesture, and Odette could be gone.
Louis, listen! I hear the words, and for a second I think it’s Kate speaking in my mind. But her eyes are fixed firmly on her daughter, her every thought on the fragile life held in the man’s hands.
Don’t answer back. Just nod if you hear me, the voice continues. It’s Gaspard. I’m sure of it now.
I lower my chin in the slightest of gestures. Kate’s grandmother is about to make a move. As soon as she does, throw your knife.
Are you kidding? I want to answer back. It’s too much of a risk. If I miss, Odette could die. But I can’t say anything without the Viking noticing.
Sensing my doubt, Gaspard continues. You are excellent at knife throwing. That’s why I had Jeanne load your kit up with daggers. I know you can do this.
Just then, Kate’s grandmother grabs a stick from beneath the hedge and swings it with all her might at the back of the Viking’s legs. Before he can react, my hand is at my waist, my fingers closed around the hilt of a knife. In one fluid motion I slide it from its sheath, raise it up beside my ear, and fling it. The early morning light catches the dagger as it flies toward the giant, the slivery blade glinting brightly before embedding into his neck.
With a look of shock, the man drops both Odette and his knife. He lifts his hand to the hilt of my dagger, jerks it from his neck, and stares at it in surprise. Kate flies into action, and as her grandmother scrambles to catch Odette in her arms and pull her away, Kate’s sword meets the side of the man’s skull. With a clean slice, she takes off the top of his head as easily as carving a pumpkin.
The man crumples to the ground. Kate drops her sword and throws her arms around her grandmother and Odette. Then Vincent is there, wrapping his arms around the three of them, and they’re talking and crying all at once.
I glance back at Georgia. She’s up now, standing and watching her family, but torn between going to them and staying with Arthur’s corpse.
You have to go now, comes Gaspard’s voice in my mind.
“What? Where?” I ask.
I see you rushing off in a minute. You look panicked. Check your phone.
I pull my phone from my pocket and see a string of texts from Siaka.
Leaving school. Meet out front Cluny Museum in 20.
Wait...cancel. Liv wants to meet. Says it’s urgent.
Hey. Back on. She said she can come here. Can you meet us at the Cluny?
And as I’m looking at the last text, a new one pops up.
Help me!