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had been particularly annoying, and he was ready to let his rage out on someone.
    But as he looked around, to his disappointment, he saw that the chamber was empty. It was just him.
    Slowly, his rage began to cool. At least he’d landed in the right place, and he could already sense, the right time. He knew that he was more of a veteran of time travel than Caitlin, and he could place himself more specifical y. He looked around, and to his satisfaction, saw that he landed exactly where he’d wanted to be: Les Invalides.
    Les Invalides was a place he’d always loved, one that had been important to the more evil of his kind. A mausoleum, deep underground, it was made of marble, beautiful y adorned, sarcophagi lining its wal s. The building had a cylindrical shape, with a soaring, hundred foot ceiling, culminating in a dome. It was a somber place, the perfect resting place for al of France’s elite soldiers. It was also the place, Kyle knew, that Napoleon would one day be buried.
    But not yet. It was only 1789, and Napoleon, that little bastard, was stil alive. One of Kyle’s favorites of his own kind. He would be about 20 years old now, Kyle realized, stil starting his career.
    He wouldn’t be buried in this place for some time to come.
    Of course, being of his race, Napoleon’s burial was just a ruse, just a way to let the human masses think he was one of theirs.
    Kyle smiled at the thought of it. Here he was, in Napoleon’s final resting place, before Napoleon had even “died.” He would look forward to seeing him again, to reminiscing about old times. He was, after al , one of few people of his kind that Kyle semi-respected. But he was also an arrogant little bastard. Kyle would have to slap him into shape.
    Kyle walked slowly across the marble floor, footsteps echoing, and checked himself. He had seen better days.
    He had lost one eye from that horrible little child, Caleb’s son, and his face was stil disfigured from what Rexius had done to him back in New York. If that weren’t enough, he now had a large wound in his cheek from the spear that Sam had hurled at him in the Colosseum. He was a wreck, he knew.

    But he also kind of liked it. He was a survivor. He was alive, and no one had been able to stop him. And he was madder than ever. Not only was he determined to stop Caitlin and Caleb from finding the Shield, but now he was determined to make them both pay. To make them suffer, just as he had suffered. Sam was on his list now, too. Al three of them
    —he would stop at nothing until he tortured each of them slowly.
    With a few leaps, Kyle bounded up the marble staircase, and into the upper level of the tomb.
    He circled around, walking down to the end of the chapel, beneath the huge dome, and reached behind the altar. He felt its limestone wal , searching.
    Final y, he found what he was looking for. He pushed a hidden latch, and a secret compartment opened. He reached in, and pul ed out a long, silver sword, its hilt encrusted with jewels. He held it up to the light, and studied it with satisfaction. Just as he remembered it.
    He slung it over his back, turned, and headed down the corridor, reaching the front door. He leaned back, and with one huge kick, the large oak door when flying off its hinges, the crash of it echoing throughout the empty building. Kyle felt satisfied that he had his ful strength back already.
    Kyle saw that it was stil night, and he relaxed. If he wanted to, he could fly through the night, head right for his target—
    but he wanted to savor his time. Paris in 1789 was a special place. It was stil , he remembered, rife with prostitutes, alcoholics, gamblers, criminals. Despite the nice veneer and architecture, there lived an underbel y that was long and wide. He loved it. The town was his for the taking.
    Kyle lifted his chin, listening, sensing, closing his eyes. He could sense Caitlin’s presence strongly in this city. And Caleb’s. Sam, he wasn’t so sure about, but he knew that