“Well, I guess that’s normal if she believes I have enhanced powers of persuasion,” I say. “She must trust you a lot to leave you alone with me.”

“Trust?” he guffaws. “Why do you think she’s here on this boat, never more than a few yards away from you?”

My nose is running, and the one thing I want more than anything else in the world is a Kleenex. I sniff a few times, trying to wipe my nose on my shoulder, and Louis jumps up to get a towel and dabs at my face.

“Thanks,” I say. And then something occurs to me. “Back in the hotel room . . . why did you apologize when you grabbed me from behind?” I ask as he folds the towel and places it on a side table.

He watches me from across the room. Deciding. Then squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he rubs his forehead worriedly. “I was almost fourteen when I died—just a few months ago,” he says in a voice so tight it sounds like his throat will burst.

Exhaling, he walks over to me. “I didn’t mean to kill anyone. Okay, yes, I did. But I was just temporarily . . . insane I guess. I hated the guy so much for what he had done to us and my mother.” He shudders and shakes his head. That’s all he’s going to say about his past.

“I’m just . . . I’m sorry about all of this. I don’t want to be this way. She found me and made me her favorite, and all I want to do is die. But that’s not even possible for me anymore.”

I don’t know what to say.

“I have to go,” he says, and begins to leave the room.

“Wait!”

“What?” he asks, turning to me.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” He looks suspicious.

“For talking to me. For wiping my nose. Just . . . thanks.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he says, narrowing his eyes. And turning, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I lie there, staring at the ceiling. Louis is like Violette. A freak of nature. He must have become a numa by accident, the same way she became a revenant. And now he is doomed to be her partner, at least until she gets bored of him. Which, for Arthur, took about five hundred years.

THIRTY-EIGHT

A MOMENT LATER, I FEEL ANOTHER PRESENCE IN the room.

Kate, it says. I am used to hearing a voice inside my head, but for the first time it’s not Vincent’s. I scan the room, searching for the source of the voice, but see nothing.

“Who is that?” I ask in a freaked-out whisper.

It’s Gaspard, says the voice. And apparently you don’t have to speak out loud. I heard your words before you spoke them. How terribly convenient.

I can’t help smiling. He sounds the same in my head as in real life. What are you doing here? I thought you and JB left Paris.

We did. But Jean-Baptiste saw your aura all of the way from Normandy, and insisted on coming back. Everyone’s been searching for you. Jean-Baptiste followed your light and led them all here. I must say, my dear, you look absolutely ghastly. Dried blood caked all over. You’re practically . . . zombiesque.

I ignore his remarks on my appearance. How are my grandparents? And Vincent?

They’re all fine. Ambrose and Charlotte got your grandparents safely out of the Crillon and then went back in and rescued Vincent.

I breathe a sigh of relief. So where are we?

The houseboat you are imprisoned within is just outside Paris, moving westward, says Gaspard. The voice disappears for a moment, and then is back. How strong are you?

I don’t know, I admit. How long have I been here?

Violette killed you almost four days ago, Gaspard says. I can’t stay for long. She and her men will sense that I am here. Vincent doesn’t want to try a rescue attempt until he knows you’re strong enough to fight on your own. There’s no way to creep up on a boat in the middle of the river, but we don’t want to give Violette the time she needs to destroy you.

His voice disappears again for a good few minutes, and then he is back. Vincent says, and I quote, “Be strong, mon ange.” He says you should do your best to get free, but stay where you are and pretend you are still bound. I will come back in a few hours to check on you.

Gaspard? I say.

Yes.

I’m a revenant. I realize it’s the understatement of the century, but somehow saying it out loud makes me feel better.

I know. It seems that you’re actually a bit more than a revenant, dear Kate.

I inhale sharply. How do you know?

Well, firstly, your aura is like nothing Jean-Baptiste has ever seen before. It’s like a homing beacon for his Seer capabilities. And then, once confronted, Bran confessed. He’s known this whole time, but was bound by his people’s rules not to pronounce you Champion before you actually became such.

My hunch was right. Bran had known. I can’t decide whether I am grateful or upset with him for not letting me know. But then again . . . maybe he had tried with all of his little hints. In the only way he could “legally” let me know. I had just been blind to it.

Just be careful, Kate, Gaspard continues. I’ll be back to check on you.

So. My state—both revenant and Champion—is now common knowledge among the bardia. They all know. Vincent knows. I’m not sure how I feel about that. There is a pang in my heart as I wonder if this will change the way he sees me now. He told me more than once that he would never wish the revenant destiny for me.

Well, none of that will matter if I can’t get out of here. My body will be ashes and my spirit absorbed into Violette, strengthening her. Making her unstoppable. Just the thought of being a part of her sets me into action. I work on my bonds, moving my hands back and forth and picking at the ropes. All I manage is rope burn and more bleeding. I feel like screaming, but now that I’m in contact with the others, I don’t want to draw more attention to myself than is necessary. I lie back on the bed and wish I could sleep.

After what seems like forever, Louis is back with another tray. This time he leaves the door open behind him. Lifting my head to help me drink, he places slices of fruit and nuts in my mouth and waits for me to chew and swallow.

I sense that he hates this guard work. There’s something about the way his jaw clenches when I occasionally wince in pain. And the way his eyes dart to my face every few seconds to gauge my reactions. I’ve been feeling an emotion from him that I finally realize could be sympathy. I have a sneaking suspicion that he would rather be anywhere besides here, helping me grow stronger so I can be destroyed.

I take a chance that my hunch is right. “Louis, please help me get out of here,” I whisper.

He acts like he doesn’t hear me and pops a hazelnut into my mouth. I chew and swallow and wonder if there is a trick to this persuasiveness thing. Focusing on what I want from him, I picture him getting up, closing the door, and then untying me. I concentrate all of my energy into that little film reel in my head, watching him go through the motions I want time after time. I feel another nut against my lips, and my eyes pop open to see his gaze flicker quickly away from me as I take the food from his fingers.

He stands and walks toward the door. I am crushed by disappointment. He is my one chance: Unless I get superstrong superfast, there is no way I’m getting out of here on my own. As I watch him leave, I see something that I haven’t noticed before. Within his bright red aura something gleams, like tiny filaments of gold. I blink a few times, wondering if lying on my back for so long is giving me eyestrain, but when I look again, the golden glint is still there.

As if he feels me watching him, Louis pauses. And then he turns and comes back. Carefully avoiding my gaze, he leans under the bed and yanks on one of the cords. It bites into my arm as the rope twists against my skin. I am petrified with alarm, wondering what he is doing.

Without looking back, he takes out a single key and leaves it on the windowsill before leaving the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

What just happened here? I ask myself. I lift my head to look down at my hands. He has turned the cord around leaving the knot right next to my fingers. I lay my head back down and close my eyes in relief. Then, summoning all of my strength, I prop myself up and begin working the knot with my fingernails.

It’s a simple knot, but it has been tied so tightly that I have to actually unravel some of the cord using my thumbnail as a knife. I hear footsteps approach the door and freeze, lying back down so that if someone peeks in they might not see anything amiss. The footsteps walk away, and I throw myself into the task harder than before, ripping the skin on my thumbs to loosen the cord. Finally I feel the knot release and I tear the cord free.

There are three more cords holding me down: across my shoulders, upper legs, and feet. I work these for the next few minutes, each being easier than the last now that I have more mobility, and finally I am free.

I consider waiting for Gaspard, but it feels like hours since he left. I could drape the ropes back around me, pretend to be tied up in case Violette returns. But if it comes to fighting her, I’m not sure I can win. I have no way to judge my strength.

Though I don’t feel up to a fight, I do feel desperate enough to move my limbs. Maybe even to attempt an escape. Curious, I touch my chest, pulling my shirt apart where Violette’s knife sliced it. I am covered in a thick layer of dried blood, so it is hard to see the knife wound. I run my fingers over my breastbone, where the blade entered. It is smooth. There is no wound. Not even a scar. I shiver and goose bumps raise on my forearms.

If I had any remaining doubts about my mortality, they are now gone. I am undeniably supernatural.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there, feeling the blood rush into my thighs. The pins and needles return with full force. I try to stand, but slump immediately to a sitting position until finally I can feel my toes. I stay like that for another moment before trying to stand again. Then I limp painfully across the room to the window.

Picking up Louis’s key, I slip it into the lock. It fits, and I turn the handle carefully, teeth clenched, trying my best to avoid making noise. I push the window open slowly—an inch at a time—and after nothing happens, dare to stick my head out and look down. There is a six-foot drop to the main deck. No one is in sight.

I shake out my arms and legs, trying to get my circulation going before easing a still half-limp leg through the window and following it with the other. I hang over the side with my elbows and then ease myself down until I’m holding the window ledge with my fingertips and drop silently to the deck.

Or at least, that’s what I attempt. My blood-encrusted Converse make a kind of crunching sound as they hit the wood, and the impact—one I could normally spring back up from—has me crouching, unable to straighten myself because my long-unused leg muscles have seized up.

I’m stuck there for a full three seconds, my heart beating like a drum, panicky that Violette will appear in front of me before I can get safely into the water. Be calm and think, I urge myself, and scan the space around me for anything that can be used as a weapon.

Just in time. As I push myself, with effort, into a standing position, I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder. I look around to see one of the numa guards from the hotel scowling down at me.

THIRTY-NINE

“HEY!” THE NUMA SHOUTS. BEFORE HE CAN ALERT the others, I grab a metal oar attached to the wall next to me and swing it as hard as I can against his head. I am still weak, but seem to have hit him in the right spot, because he releases my shoulder and staggers backward just as another numa arrives on the deck and starts toward me.

“What is going on?” I hear Violette scream, and then I am diving off the boat’s deck into the frigid water below.

I swim with determined strokes toward the shore. If I am the Champion, it definitely hasn’t made me any stronger. I am tired and weak, but panic moves me quickly through the water. I thank my lucky stars that I was already a good swimmer when I was human.

When I was human. My chest constricts, and I falter in my stroke. I’m a monster. No, you’re a revenant, I correct, urging my body forward.

I hear a splash in the water behind me. And then another. I assume that the numa guards are chasing me, but I don’t take the time to look back. I struggle through the water, my muscles searing with pain, heading straight for the riverbank.

Suddenly someone else is in my head. Gaspard. Kate, I am leading the others to the point where you are coming ashore. The numa will reach land before the kindred get to you. You will have to fight.

Can your future-sight tell me if I will win? I ask, fighting to maintain my speed.

No, I can’t see that.

Another few minutes and my feet touch the ground. I surge out of the water onto the shore. There are no buildings around, so we must be near one of the national parks outside of the Paris city limits. No one to see me. No one to call to for help, I think. It’s just me against the numa.

Without looking back, I stumble forward, dripping and waterlogged and leaving a trail of bloody water behind me. Searching for anything I can use as a weapon, I grab a broken tree branch, snap it off, and strip it of its twigs as quickly as I can. It is almost the same size as the quarterstaff I trained on with Gaspard, although quite a bit heavier.

I turn to face the water and am thrown for a moment. The two men swimming in the water have the same creepy red halo of light shining around them that they did on the boat. But now that they’re farther away, the red is illuminating the inky water beneath them and shooting straight up into the air like a beacon. I blink. The light subsides while my eyes are closed, but it flares back up when I focus on them again. As they approach, the light grows dimmer, until they are upon me, charging up out of the water and the beacon disappears, leaving only the misty red haloes.

I don’t have time to consider what the strange optical illusion means right now. Gaspard was right to warn me: They are so close that if I run, they will quickly catch me. And I have no idea where I am. No sense of direction. It would be too easy for me to get lost trying to find a way out of the woods.