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?”