Then Eliza was there, and she was incensed. Spirits flew at me from every direction. They always sided with mediums. Three French sailors burst into my dreamscape. I stumbled, blinded by their memories: the towering waves, the blast of muskets, fires raging on the deck of the Achille—screaming, chaos—then Eliza gave me a shove, and I fell. I thrust up all my mental defenses, trying to push out the invaders.

For a moment I was incapacitated. Eliza tried to pin me with her knees. “Stay in there, guys!”

My dreamscape was flooding. Cannonballs ripped through it. Burning wood fell past my eyes. Eliza’s hands came up to unmask me.

No, no! She couldn’t see me. The NVD would shoot her. With a huge effort, I forced out the spirits and kicked her backward, catching her jaw with my boot. She let out a cry of pain. Guilt flinched in my stomach. I spun around just in time to meet Jax’s cane with my flux gun.

“Well, well. A walker in uniform,” he said softly. “Where did they find you? Where were you hiding?” He leaned close to me, staring into the eyeholes of the mask. “You can’t possibly be my Paige.” The cane forced my arm back. My muscles strained. “So who are you?”

Before I could do anything, Jax was thrown back by a massive spool, bigger than any a human could make. Warden. I got up, reaching for the gun, but Jax swung blindly with his cane. Instinct jerked my head to the left. Too slow. My ear scalded: a sharp, clean heat. Blade. I got a grip on the gun, but a second blow from Jax knocked it out of my hand. The cane blade flashed across my arm, cutting through my jacket and deep into the flesh. A muted scream ripped through my throat. Pain exploded down my arm.

“Come, walker, use your spirit!” Jaxon pointed the blade at me, laughing. “Use the pain. Leave your wounds behind.”

Amelia threw another spool at Jax. I’d saved her; now she was saving me. Nick returned fire, and Amelia crouched behind a lion. Zeke lay still on the ground. Don’t be dead, I thought. Don’t let them have got you.

A flash of red hair. Antoinette was back. Her hat had flown off, and no wonder: she was in a kind of battle trance. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flared wide, her spirit a raw blaze. It mocked the blue streetlights of the citadel, the ones designed to soothe the fevered mind. Fists, legs, and spirits flew in a volley at Situla, not letting her get a blade in edgeways. Situla hurled a ghost at her. Antoinette danced out of its reach.

And then, with no warning, she took off. Warden spotted her as she parted the screaming people.

“Stop her,” he shouted.

At me. I sprinted after Antoinette. This was my chance to escape.