You can feel the tension rise in the room. The idea of a deadline ups the ante, even if the details are sparse.

“Any luck in the library?” Kate asks.

Gaspard shakes his head. “I’m trying to deduce in which manuscript Violette might have seen the story about the Flame-finger revenant creator. I always acquire more volumes than I have time to peruse. But by now, I have read any books Violette could have seen before she died. Of course, there is always the chance that she borrowed the text from the library.”

“Stole it, you mean,” Ambrose clarifies, popping a fry into his mouth.

Gaspard nods, looking pained at the mere thought that something might be missing from his precious library. His life’s work has been amassing every bit of revenant lore that comes available on the market, whether through rare book dealers or auction.

“How about the Judas bouncers?” Vincent asks.

Charlotte shakes her head. “I assigned three kindred from the Mouzaïa house to tail them. They’ve been acting totally human.”

Gaspard sits back in his chair, arms crossed, and stares at the ceiling. “Let’s say our theory is right, and volant numa spirits can travel from one human to another whenever they want. Surmising they have recruited dozens of level five Numa Army soldiers, primed to be possessed... How on earth are we to locate these humans before they’re activated?”

“We must be vigilant and look for signs everywhere,” Kate says, “not just where we expect them.”

“Like that police report Henri intercepted this morning,” Vincent says. “Apparently last night, a couple of guys tried to force their way past a locked entrance to the catacombs. They wanted to bring in digging equipment—one of those mini-bulldozers. When the police tried to stop them, they put up a fight, knocked out one cop with–get this! –a martial arts kick to the head. The other cop chased them by foot, but they were too fast and got away. They noticed a swastika-style tattoo on one of their arms. That detail caught Henri’s attention, and he reported it back.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out and glance at the text on my screen. My heartbeat accelerates when I see who it’s from then slows when I read the message.

Siaka: Can’t make it tonight. Bran’s tagging along with me to see my dad. But he’s taking off for Brittany tomorrow, so...after that?

I type, No problem, then delete it, because that’s not true. It is a problem—I’m dying to see him again. I type, Can I come along? then delete it, because...desperate much?

I settle for: Can’t wait.

I hit send, then wonder if that sounds too enthusiastic. And then I think, Well, that’s exactly what I am. Maybe it’s time to be honest.

Chapter Twenty One