The picnic grounds fill once again with that cacophony of eerie hooting, and then bodies begin to drop out of the trees. The birch grove shivers as eight vampires—including Gunnar—leap to the ground behind Rasputin’s crew and eight more break free from the shadows atop the evergreens, landing to instantly outflank the Syndicate. The League of the Dark Star might be the smallest force on the ground tonight, but they’ve already got their foes surrounded.

Perforce, the other factions divide—splitting their focus again. Eight of Rasputin’s sidekicks turn on Gunnar, while eight stay with their master, and ten of the Syndicate enforcers reverse position to counter the rear ambush. The four that were watching me earlier simply break ranks, their agenda here wholly different than that of their friends. When they inch in my direction, Viviane brandishes her claws, daring them to try.

My heart beats in my throat as I watch this all unspool, a tinderbox moment on the verge of exploding, and I take another step back. This chaos is just what I had in mind.

Bloodshed was always inevitable, the killers and cultists dogging my footsteps, clamoring for violence from day one. All along I’ve known that I would be helpless in the end: one pathetic little art kid against a legion of vicious, undying monsters. The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy—but if I can force them to fight each other, they’re useful, nonetheless. I gave Rasputin an ultimatum, and I told both Jude and Gunnar beforehand to make sure their sides would be present as well. All that’s missing is the one group I have no “in” with, and I can only hope that the bread crumbs I arranged will lead them here.

“You must be Viviane Duclos.” Rasputin evaluates her carefully, and I finally realize that the night they fought in the street, he had no idea who she was. Until now, what she really looked like had remained a calculated mystery, and the glamours she’d cast over herself to become Daphne Banks were sophisticated enough to fool even him. With mock formality, the Mad Monk notes, “We are ill-met by moonlight—again.”

“Like old times.” Viviane gives him a sweet smile with malice carved into its edges. “Sad to say, I won’t be pulling my punches tonight. If you have any last words for your drones, you should probably get them off your chest now.”

“A very good point.” He rubs his jaw. My captive parents were his advantage, but they’re now a liability; he still has to guard them, even while fighting a war on two fronts and trying to keep me out of enemy hands at the same time. With Viviane as my personal guardian, his job just got even harder. After a moment, he calls out, “My last words: Kill them all, and leave no one standing but the boy.”