The trees are surrounded by a tall iron fence, and as we near the gate we see that it’s guarded by four large numa dressed in police uniforms. They nod to Vincent as we approach, glancing apprehensively at the windows of the apartment buildings across the street. While outside of the park, we are in public. Nothing will happen here.
“Only the girl goes in. With him.” One of them points to Louis. “Our kind is staying out of the arena, and so will yours.”
Vincent shakes his head. “You’re lying. There is a large group of your kind already inside the park. And there’s no way Kate’s going in alone.”
The numa eye him suspiciously, and one places a call. He muffles his voice with his hand and then hangs up. “Our leader admits that her security detail guards her within the park. Therefore, you may bring your kind inside, but no one goes within the amphitheater’s arena except your Champion and her hostage.”
Hostage? I think. Vincent told Violette that Louis sided with us voluntarily. And the numa who escaped the fight in the Passage du Grand Cerf must have told her about how he fought against them. Either she’s in denial or she’s faking ignorance in order to protect him from her clan.
Vincent makes a signal, raising two fingers high into the air, and suddenly bardia pour in from side streets, parked cars, and darkened doorways, grouping behind us. To my Champion eyes they are a sea of golden flames flowing toward a wall of glowing red columns. We walk through the gate and down a long corridor. High stone walls rise on either side of us as we move en masse toward the ancient Roman amphitheater, Vincent and Jean-Baptiste leading the crowd with Charlotte and Arthur flanking Gaspard just behind.
Louis glances over at me as we follow them. “Don’t worry, we won’t let them take you back,” I say. “You’re only here so I can get close enough to Violette to fight her. As soon as you’re able, go back and regroup with Vincent and the others.”
“I won’t let you down,” he swears.
“I know,” I say, and, taking his hand, squeeze tightly before letting go.
We emerge from the corridor into a large open space. Monumental stone bleachers in a broken arc encircle a plot of dirt as big as a circus ring. There is another tunnel-like corridor identical to the one we just emerged from directly across from us. And around its opening and spilling over into groups sitting on the fanned bleachers are a hell of a lot of numa.
On the floor of the arena itself, Violette stands alone in front of a recently lit bonfire, flames licking one corner of a stack of wood as big as a semitruck. By her feet is a body bag, unzipped and lying open. Geneviève’s long platinum-blond hair drapes over the sides. I unconsciously pat the sword hilt at my waist, reassuring myself that I am ready for battle.
Seeing us approach, Violette’s face transforms into a mask of victory. Vincent and Jean-Baptiste hesitate, and then lead the bardia away from us, arranging them on the stone steps directly across from the numa. Only Louis and I continue down the path.
Entering the arena, we walk across the dusty ground until we’re within five feet of Violette. The fire shoots up high behind her. Its blazing backlight gives her the appearance of a lovely young demon, her eyes dark coals and long black hair whipped up by the early-morning wind.
“Now, just look at us,” she says. “How civilized. You have what I want, and I have what you want. So why all the backup?” Violette tilts her head to one side and crosses her arms across her chest like a pouting child.
“Same reason you’ve got yours,” I say, nodding toward the forty-some numa positioned on the bleachers. “Except I’m not hiding most of mine behind the wall. Which is a bit unsportsmanlike, I would say.”
“It would be if I were expecting any sport,” says Violette, with exaggerated calm. I have surprised her.
“They are merely my security detail,” she explains. “I can’t help it if I have more loyal followers than Vincent does.”
She pauses, then unable to resist, says, “You can see my men from afar?”
I nod.
“Aura columns?” she asks, intrigued.
I nod again, reassured that she didn’t already know the specifics of my powers.
Satisfied, she gestures toward the body bag. “There is your corpse, now give me my consort.”
“I don’t want the corpse. And your consort isn’t going with you. He’s chosen to side with us.”
“What?” Violette exclaims in feigned shock. “Why else would you come here tonight?”
“To fight you.”
A wide smile spreads across her face. “I was kind of hoping you would say that. I did so want a second chance at absorbing the Champion’s power.” She peels off her cloak and lays it gently on the ground.
“I assume that’s what the fire’s for,” I say. “Unless this is just a ruse to invite us all to a monster-marshmallow roast.”
“You were always a smart girl,” Violette retorts. “I’ve got to give you that.” Her gaze moves to the young numa standing next to me. “Louis, you’ve been such a good boy. It’s time to cut the act. Do something useful.” Her eyes flick to me and back to him.