I Should Die

they carefully set him down as he extended a shaking hand toward JB.
    “ Bonjour ,” he began, but as his fingers touched the revenant leader’s hand, a bright light, like a camera flash, exploded between them, causing everyone around to shield their faces. I blinked several times before the spots began clearing from my vision, and saw that Bran had gone stiff. He let out a deep moan, his head fell forward, and he sank unconscious to the ground.
    “Are you okay?” Gaspard yelped, rushing to JB’s side. The revenant leader blinked a few times and shook his arm out experimentally.
    “What the hell was—” Georgia began, but was cut off by Jeanne, who had leapt into emergency mode. “Up! Get him up!” she commanded, and Ambrose scooped Bran’s floppy form into his arms. Carrying him to Vincent’s room, he deposited him carefully on the bed. Jeanne was there in an instant, applying cold wet cloths to Bran’s head and wrists. Within seconds his eyelids were fluttering open.
    “Where am I?” he mumbled. Jeanne handed him his glasses, which had fallen when he had. Pulling them on with shaking hands, he peered anxiously at our faces, looking downright startled when he saw me.
    “What is it?” I asked, glancing around to make sure he wasn’t looking at someone else. His astonished look—like he didn’t recognize me after I had spent the last couple of hours scurrying around underground Paris with him—was freaking me out.
    He kept staring for a few seconds, blinking a few times with his non-swollen eye. Then sighing deeply, he said, “Nothing, child,” and leaned back into the pillow.
    “Are you okay?” Jeanne asked, tucking a blanket around his trembling form.
    Ignoring her question, Bran asked, “May I suppose that your residence is safe from the evil ones?”
    “You can bet your sweet . . . um, yes, sir,” said Ambrose, editing himself. “As long as you’re here with us you’ll be safe from the numa.”
    “Safe,” breathed Bran. “No one will be safe until the Victor triumphs.”
    “The Victor?” asked Arthur.
    “He means the Champion,” I clarified.
    Gaspard spoke up. “I am sorry to inform you, dear ally, that the Victor has been captured. He is now in the hands of our enemies.”
    Bran considered Gaspard’s words. “Yes, your Kate has informed me of that,” he replied finally. “But Violette doesn’t yet have his power. And if she cannot figure out the magic of the transfer herself, she will not learn it from me. That will at least give us some time.”
    Jeanne stepped forward. “Monsieur . . .”
    “Tândorn.”
    “Monsieur Tândorn, would you like me to call a doctor?”
    “ Non. Merci, chère madame . The brutes concentrated mostly on my face. The rest of me just feels bruised—nothing broken. I’m just very weak. I haven’t slept or eaten since they killed my mother.”
    Jeanne’s face took on the look of a dangerous wildcat whose cub is threatened by hunters. I had seen this look before and knew exactly what it meant. The housekeeper’s power lay in her ability to take care of her wards. Seconds after she stalked out of the room, I heard pots and pans banging in the kitchen as she planned her assault on Bran’s feeble state.
    Arthur approached Georgia. “How is your face?” he asked timidly, raising his hand to touch her bruised cheek.
    My sister nimbly ducked out of the way. “You know, after that terrifying run-in with the numa, I could really use a mug of strong tea. Do you think you might have any?” she asked coyly.
    “Of course,” Arthur responded, straightening and transforming back to his usual formal self. He ushered Georgia politely out into the hallway.
    As they left, the others followed. Jean-Baptiste lagged behind for a second, looking like he wanted to stay, and then said, “We have much to speak about, Monsieur Tândorn, but I will let you rest. May I pay you a visit this evening?”
    “Of course,” Bran responded wearily.
    “Would you like to be alone, or would you prefer that I stay?” I asked.
    “Stay, child,” he answered.
    I pulled a chair next to the bed and settled myself in. “I was sorry to hear about your mother,” I said after a moment of silence.
    “Yes,” he said. “She was an exceptional soul. A loving mother. A wise woman.”
    I hesitated before continuing, but he seemed to want conversation. “Did she have time to pass her gifts along to you before she . . . was gone?” I asked.
    He took a deep breath