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.