I Should Die

unleashed on me.
    A noise erupts from the edges of the battle, and the fighting pauses as all turn to see what is happening. Pouring through the corridors on both sides of the arena is a tidal wave of armed strangers. I recognize their auras at once; they are kindred. My heart soars. Victory is ours. Or will be soon.
    Suddenly, Charlotte is jerked out of my grasp. Someone has grabbed her hands and is pulling in the other direction. “Don’t touch her!” I scream, and fumble for my sword. Whipping around toward my opponent, I find myself gazing into familiar chestnut brown eyes.
    “Jules!” I gasp, and throw myself into his arms.
    “Nice to see you too,” he responds, “but this isn’t the best place for a hug.” An arrow whizzes by our heads and we duck back down. “Take her feet,” he says. And then, seeing my wounded arm, he says, “Just take one foot,” and we begin dragging her toward the wall.
    “You’re here!” I say, blinking as I am momentarily blinded by sweat from the fire’s blistering heat.
    “And you’re the Champion,” Jules replies with a sly grin. “Sorry I’m late. A dozen of us just arrived from New York. Jeanne sent us straight here.”
    “Just a dozen?” I scan the arena, which teems with new arrivals. “But who are all the other bardia?”
    “I don’t know,” he admits.
    We reach the wall and stow Charlotte safely under a stone overhang. Turning, I see Louis’s corpse just yards away, lying where he had fallen with the arrow through his head.
    “Help me get him over here with Charlotte,” I say, and head toward the body, crouching as I run to avoid a barrage of arrows.
    “Um, Kates. Isn’t that a numa?” Jules asks, looking confused as he arrives beside me and sees Louis.
    “No . . . yes,” I stammer. “I don’t have time to explain. Just help me get his body to safety.”
    Jules hesitates for a moment, and then, as a firebomb explodes nearby, he leaps over to help me. As we pull Louis to safety, Jules glances up and gives me a funny look.
    “What?” I ask as I kick aside a dropped battle-axe.
    “Not that I knew any revenants before they animated,” he says, pausing to wipe off the sweat dripping into his eyes, “but Kates, you look exactly the same as before.” He grins. “Figures.”
    I return his smile and give Louis one last tug as we arrive at the outer wall, then tuck the arm I was pulling gently over his chest.
    We hear a shout from Vincent. We look in the direction he is running. I see a squadron of giant numa dressed in matching uniforms marching into the arena. There must be two dozen of them, and they are armed to the hilt.
    “Who the hell are they?” I cry, my heart dropping as I realize my optimism about our chances has been way too premature. These guys look lethal.
    “Lucien’s elite fighting squad,” Jules answers. “We’ve been wondering where they were. It looks like Violette has been hiding them away, keeping them fresh for the decisive round of the battle. In our previous war with the numa, they were always called in to do the sweeping up.”
    He points to the blond hulk of a man leading the pack. “Their captain, Edouard, the last of Lucien’s hierarchy, if you can even call it that.” I shudder as the man scans the battlefield and calls out an order that has his men fanning out and running with swords raised.
    They are upon the bardia in no time. One group has surrounded a handful of Paris kindred and are cutting them down in quick succession. Among those trapped within their circle are our kindred: Arthur, Jean-Baptiste, and Gaspard.
    Vincent is sprinting in their direction, and Jules and I race to join him. When the numa see us coming, their circle splits. Those nearest us turn to engage: one each for Jules and me, four for Vincent. They weren’t there for my showdown with Violette, so they don’t recognize me. But they know who he is: the new leader of France’s bardia. The prize.
    Vincent has drawn his second sword and swings both powerfully as he battles them solo. He is outnumbered and injured, and the numa Jules and I are fighting are intentionally keeping us from coming to his aid.
    The captain, Edouard, moves forward. His soldiers remain motionless, letting him advance. I am guessing that he will deliver the deathblow, and the others will transport his body to the bonfire before we can rescue it. It’s a strategy that was obviously planned.
    I won’t let it happen. I won’t lose him again. I run toward