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twenty minutes, and to stay in our hiding place until he texts us.” Bran nodded and, settling his head on the back of the armchair, closed his eyes in exhaustion.
    â€œDid he say anything else?” my sister asked, eyeing me.
    I rolled my eyes. Even in an underground hideout, at mortal risk of being discovered by evil undead, Georgia was thinking about boys.
    â€œWell, did he?” she insisted.
    I sighed. “He asked if you were okay,” I admitted.
    My sister threw herself onto one of the cots with a satisfied grin and stared dreamily at the ceiling.

SIX
    WHEN ARTHUR’S TEXT FINALLY CAME, WE MADE our way carefully out of the bunker and up some nearby stairs. Bran directed me to push open a wooden trapdoor at the top, and we emerged through the floor of a mausoleum, where above­ground marble tombs dominated the small room.
    â€œThis is so Buffy it’s not even funny,” Georgia said, supporting Bran as I waved curtains of cobwebs out of the way so that we could exit into the graveyard. Ambrose was waiting by the gate. As soon as he saw us, he sprinted over and hoisted Bran up in his arms. “Hurry it up,” he said. “It’s like numa central around here!”
    He bundled Bran into the back of the car, and Georgia and I packed in on either side. As soon as Ambrose was in the passenger seat, Arthur sped off. “Perfect timing,” he said, peering into his rearview mirror. I turned to see a squad of numa round the corner of the cemetery wall and push open the gate we had come through just seconds before.
    â€œLooks like our Evil Empress has got half of Paris’s numa trailing her as security,” Ambrose commented drily. “We sent Henri and some others to your shop, right after we talked to Kate,” he said, eyeing Bran. “But there was no sign of them. The door to the sewers had been smashed through so they could still be down there, weaving their way through toilet-level Paris looking for you.”
    He shifted in his seat to shoot me an annoyed look. “And who do you think you are? Wonder Woman?”
    â€œI would say Kate’s more Catwoman,” Georgia commented. “Much cooler. Less derivative.”
    Ambrose ignored her. “What possessed you to go wandering off after I left you three messages to stay put since Violette and her numa were spotted heading toward Paris? Since when does ‘Stay in your house’ mean go directly to the location where your enemy is most likely to go?”
    â€œI didn’t get your messages,” I admitted sheepishly. “I left my phone at home.”
    He sighed deeply and shook his head in despair. “Gonna get you a cell phone holder that I can chain to your wrist. Vincent would kill me if he knew I let you anywhere near Violette.”
    â€œUm . . . Vincent knows,” I said.
    â€œWhat?” everyone exclaimed at once, except for Bran, who asked, “Who is Vincent?”
    â€œThe one I talked to you about on the phone last week,” I replied.
    â€œThe one suspected of being the Victor?” he asked.
    I nodded, and then said to the others, “He talked to me when we were standing outside Bran’s cellar door.”
    â€œWhat did he say?” Arthur asked, making a sharp turn to avoid a red light.
    â€œHe said he was bound to Violette. And that she had come looking for Bran because the power transfer hadn’t worked.”
    â€œWell, that clears up why the brutes detained me,” Bran said. “Although after killing my mother, I don’t see why they’d expect me to volunteer to help them.”
    â€œUm, I’m guessing that’s the reason they beat you up,” Georgia pointed out helpfully. “The whole point of coercion is that it doesn’t require volunteers.”
    â€œRegardless, they would never have gotten it out of me,” Bran insisted stubbornly, and then wincing from some unseen injury, laid his head back