I Should Die

throws Louis to the ground, pinning him there with his foot. He lifts his sword over the boy’s back, ready to thrust it through his chest. “Let’s see you try the same trick from that position,” Vincent growls.
    As Charlotte goes to Geneviève’s aid, I rush past her to Vincent. “Don’t,” I cry, grabbing his arm.
    My resolve wavers for a second as I see Charlotte lower Geneviève’s dead body to the ground. I turn back to him. “Vincent, you have to believe me. I know what I’m doing is right.”
    He squeezes his eyes shut. Arthur’s group is running toward us. Making a split-second decision, Vincent yells to them, “We’re taking this one alive.”
    “What?” Arthur is incredulous.
    Vincent moves his foot off Louis’s back, and Arthur bends down to jerk the boy to his feet. “Who is upstairs?” Vincent demands.
    “Just . . . just another numa,” Louis stammers. “We were dropping off weapons for Violette. He is in charge of arming those who are arriving in town.”
    Vincent and Arthur fling the door open and run up the stairs. A yell comes from inside the apartment. Sounds of fighting begin and just as suddenly stop.
    I look over and see that Nicolas is now down, his body a heap under a fur coat, lying in a puddle of dark blood.
    An overhead window flies open and Vincent leans out. “We got him, but he was on the phone. Call the other groups and let them know that enemy reinforcements may be on their way.”
    “Enemy reinforcements are already here,” comes a voice from behind us. A dozen numa stand in the passage’s opening.

FORTY-FIVE
    I HADN’T SEEN THEM COMING. I KICK MYSELF FOR not being more attentive, but my focus had been on saving Louis and not on protecting my own. I glance around to see how many we are. Ambrose, Charlotte, Vincent, Arthur, and the four revenants in Arthur’s group. With me, that makes nine. Ten if Louis fights with us.
    The other groups, another fifteen bardia, are somewhere on the outside. Or at least, they were. Either they have already been defeated or they can still come to our aid. In any case, at the moment we are outnumbered by double. But for some reason, this doesn’t scare me. It just feeds my determination.
    Breathing deeply, I draw my sword and bounce on my toes, adrenaline sizzling in my veins. I am ready for this, I think, and run at the first numa I see, attacking before he can get to me. I catch him by surprise and slash at his sword arm before he can lift it. He drops his weapon and crouches down to recover it. As he stands, I lunge. My sword pierces his chest. I drive it deeply in and then quickly pull it out.
    He stares at me, eyes bulbous. Grabbing his chest, he coughs up a small stream of blood and then falls forward, his sword clattering to the ground beside him.
    I can’t believe I just killed someone. I expect to feel sick like I did at the riverside, but instead I feel exhilarated. It’s us against them: bardia versus numa in a fair fight. Death in this case serves the larger good , I tell myself. But with a pang of realization, I know those words are to comfort the old Kate. New Kate has more numa to kill.
    Charlotte is fighting like a madwoman. Geneviève’s body has been pushed to the side of the passageway, out of the melee. Arthur and his four are standing back-to-back with us, fighting the numa coming from the other end of the passageway. Louis stands behind me, weaponless.
    Are you with us? I ask him silently.
    Nodding, he sweeps his long brown hair behind his ear. I scoop his sword from where Vincent had kicked it aside, and meet his eyes as I hand it to him. With the slightest of smiles, he moves to my side and we advance on two numa. “What in the . . . ,” says the one directly in front of me, gaping when he sees Louis beside me.
    Louis’s sword skills aren’t very good, but thanks to the split second of surprise his kindred experience when they register his defection, he’s given the advantage, and together we take out our opponents. As more rush in to take their place, I see that two in Arthur’s group are down. Ambrose smashes away at an opponent with one arm, the other dangling uselessly by his side.
    We have formed a small circle facing outward as we fight off numa that number twice our ranks. “What do we do?” I yell to Vincent as I strike at a dusky-skinned numa with a mustache.
    He pulls a second sword from his belt. “We do our best,” he answers. “And if we die, we hope that our backup