LUCIEN STOOD IN THE COURTYARD BEFORE ME, holding the knife to Georgia’s back.

“Good evening, Kate,” he said in a cold, even voice. His expression was murderous, and his enormous frame seemed twice as big now that he was looming over me. How Georgia could ever have seen anything seductive in this terrifying monster was beyond me.

“Now be a good girl and take me inside.”

“I can’t,” I said. “It’s locked. I can’t do a thing for you now, so you can let Georgia go.” I felt like I had won this round, but had no idea what would come next.

“Gaspard, I know you’re in there,” yelled Lucien. “Now come out or you’ll have the blood of two humans on your hands.”

Before he could finish, the door opened and Gaspard walked out, holding the cane-sword before him.

“No, don’t, Gaspard!” I yelled. What is he doing? I thought wildly. He had to stay locked in the house, protecting Vincent. My sister was my responsibility alone.

Gaspard ignored me. Advancing, he said evenly, “Lucien, you vile leech. What brings your putrid corpse to our humble doorstep this fine evening?” He had recaptured the noble air he wore the day I saw him sparring with Vincent. The twitchy, stuttering poet had transformed into the formidable fighter.

Lucien stepped toward him, and I grabbed Georgia’s arm and pulled her away. “Let’s make a run for it,” I whispered, keeping an eye on the men.

“You seem to be sorely lacking in weaponry tonight, you sad excuse for an immortal,” Lucien growled.

“Mine seems a blade of equal merit to the bread knife you carry, you loathsome maggot,” Gaspard said, and lunged at Lucien with the sword, making a clean slice across the giant’s cheek.

Although a small trickle of blood ran from it, Lucien didn’t even flinch. “Equal, perhaps, you farcical lifeguard-Lazarus, but that’s why I brought backup.” And he pulled a gun from under his coat and shot Gaspard point-blank between the eyes.

The older revenant staggered backward a couple of steps as his forehead absorbed the bullet. Then in slow motion it spit it back out and the bullet fell, clinking as it bounced against the pavement. Lucien used the couple of seconds that Gaspard was stunned to leap on him and push him to the ground.

I took Georgia’s hand and began running with her toward the gate. “Stop right there or I’ll shoot you both,” Lucien said, pointing the gun in our direction as he straddled Gaspard’s struggling body. We froze. “Now walk back here. You’re coming with me.” He watched, motionless, as we approached. “Closer,” he commanded. Once we were within arm’s reach, he replaced the gun in its holster.

Then, taking his massive knife, he swung it high in the air before bringing it down like a machete on Gaspard’s neck. Georgia and I screamed as one, an earsplitting shriek, and we grabbed each other, tearfully hiding in each other’s arms from the horror.

“A bit squeamish, are we, ladies? Well, there’s more to come. Now inside, both of you,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping the blade before holding it out toward us.

I couldn’t bear to look back at Gaspard as I walked obediently into the foyer. Lucien glanced quickly around. “Nice pad they’ve got here.” His eyes flashed back to me with a piercing glare. “Now show me where he is.”

“Who?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Who do you think? Lover-boy,” he sneered, stepping closer to me and pushing Georgia between us.

“He’s—he’s not here,” I stammered.

“Aww, that’s sweet. Trying to protect your zombie boyfriend. But I know you’re lying, Kate. Charles told me he was dormant. And my colleague just told me that Jean-Baptiste and company, including Vincent’s ghost, all showed up at my little get-together in the Catacombs. So let’s just drop the games and get to business.”

“I won’t take you to him,” I said, stepping backward to avoid Georgia, who he had pushed up against me.

“Oh yes, you will,” Lucien said calmly, holding up the knife. Its blade sparkled in the light of the chandelier.

Georgia cried out, “Don’t tell him, Kate. He said he was going to kill him.”

“Bitch,” Lucien growled and, grabbing Georgia by the hair, pulled her head back and held the knife to her throat.

I shook my head and whispered, “I would rather die than take you to Vincent.” But seeing the panic in Georgia’s eyes, I felt something slip inside me.

“Fine,” said Lucien. “I was hoping to take Georgia safely along with me after paying you a visit, but I’m perfectly willing to accommodate a change in plans.” The knife flashed as he drew it across Georgia’s white neck. She screamed, but he didn’t let go of her hair.

“Georgia!” I cried, horrified, as I saw drops of blood ooze out of the cut he had made.

“The longer you wait, the deeper I’ll slice,” he said. “That didn’t hurt now, darling, did it?” he asked, leering at Georgia and giving her a peck on the cheek.

Her eyes spun wildly toward me, and I yelled, “Okay, okay. Just stop and I’ll take you to him.” Lucien nodded, waiting, but placed the knife firmly next to Georgia’s straining neck.

My mind sped in a dozen different directions, grasping for ways to lead him astray. I could take him upstairs, or into one of the other rooms, but what would that do besides enrage him further?

“Move it!” Lucien demanded, and I headed through the door to the servants’ hallway, my mind still searching for a way to buy time. I walked as slowly as I could, but couldn’t come up with a plan that wouldn’t end up with my sister’s throat being slit, or more likely, both of us being killed. There was nothing I could do but plead silently with Vincent to come back, knowing that that was impossible: He was halfway across town helping his kindred.

I led them through the door into Vincent’s room, and stepped aside to let Lucien pass. He released Georgia and paced quickly over to the bed, laughing as he approached it. “Ah, Vincent. You’re looking better than ever,” he said. “Love seems to suit you. Too bad it couldn’t last.” Glancing around the room, he fixed his eyes on the fireplace.

“Sit,” he said to us, motioning with the knife to the couch. He began piling wood and kindling into the hearth and put a match to it.

With her face in her hands, my sister began weeping and lowered her head to my shoulder. “Kate, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“Shh. It doesn’t matter now. Are you okay?” I whispered. “Let me see your neck.”

She lifted her head, and I touched the knife wound. It wasn’t much more than a scratch. “It’s not that bad,” I said, wiping a drop of blood away with my finger.

“Who cares about my cut?” she whispered. “We’re never going to get out of here alive. We just saw him murder someone. What’s wrong with Vincent, anyway? Why isn’t he moving?”

“He’s kind of . . . in a coma,” I responded.

“What happened?” she asked, horrified.

“Georgia,” I said, looking at her steadily, “Lucien didn’t say anything when he brought you here? You don’t know . . . what they are?”

She shook her head, confused.

There was no way I could avoid telling her. And seeing as we might not live through the evening, I didn’t see the sense in hiding what should have been obvious by now. “Georgia, they’re not human . . . Vincent and Lucien.”

“What are they, then?”

“It’s complicated,” I began, and then, seeing tears of confusion begin to well up in her eyes, I took a breath and said, “They’re called revenants. They’re undead.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter, Georgia,” I insisted, grabbing her hands roughly and forcing her to look me in the eyes. I spoke the words slowly, as much for my benefit as for hers: “I don’t care what Vincent is. We can’t let Lucien destroy him.”

Her eyes searched my face. For once I didn’t regret being an open book. The bewilderment and fear left Georgia’s face and were replaced by a look of pure determination. My sister had always been there for me, and she was here for me now. However insane the words coming out of my mouth sounded, she didn’t doubt me for a second.

“What can we do?” she whispered. I shook my head and watched Lucien use a poker to move the logs around. The flames caught and shot up, exploding into a substantial blaze as the smell of wood fire flooded the room.

“He’s going to try to burn Vincent’s body,” I whispered back. “We can’t let him.”

As if validating everything I had told her, Lucien turned. “It’s such a pity to have to dispose of my old foe’s body before giving him a chance to see me kill his girlfriend with his own eyes. It would be fitting vengeance for shooting my wife while I watched.”

“Your going out with Georgia wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” I asked, the realization suddenly shaking me.

“Of course not! There are no coincidences,” he smirked, as Georgia’s breath drew in sharply beside me. “I saw you girls together at the river a few months ago after Vincent saved that pitiful teenager who jumped from the bridge.”

“You were the one who sped off in a car after almost knocking us over!” I gasped.

“Yours truly,” Lucien leered and gave a bow. “So when I saw Vincent come swooping out of the Métro with you in his arms after the second suicide in a row that he ruined for me, I figured that you must be someone special to him. And it was so easy to find out everything about you afterward, including the fact that your party-girl sister was a regular patron at several of my nightclubs. Which isn’t much of a coincidence either, since she isn’t terribly discriminating about the places she frequents and the crowds she moves in.”

I felt Georgia deflate at these words, and Lucien chuckled, enjoying her reaction. “You used me to get to Kate,” she muttered, stunned by the revelation.

Lucien smiled and shrugged. “No offense, darlin’.”

“But how did you know I was here tonight? How did you know to bring Georgia along as your human door pass?”

“I could tell that Charles was speaking to a human on the phone. What other human would answer Vincent’s phone? Then I recognized your voice. And that gave me this wonderful idea!” He gestured to include the room and Vincent’s body. “How do you think I became such a successful businessman if I didn’t know how to grab an opportunity when it’s sitting right in front of me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, disgusted by his flippancy. “Lying, cheating, murdering . . . That would have been my guess.”

“Ah, flattery. It’s like music to my ears.” He cracked his knuckles loudly as he passed us on his way to the bed, and then, leaning over, picked up Vincent’s stiff body in his arms and spoke to him as if he were there.

“Too bad you have to miss out on the bloodbath in your own bedroom. Reminds me of my own death. But since your spirit happens to be elsewhere, when I destroy your body you’ll have the rest of eternity to float around and mull it over.” Struggling slightly from the body’s deadweight, he began walking toward the fireplace.

“No!” I screamed, jumping up and running over to position myself between Lucien and the fire.

“What are you going to do, little girl? Kick me in the shin?”

Georgia leaped from the couch and rushed up behind him, grasping at his arms. She let out a scream of pure rage as she clawed at him, merely managing to slow him down. I ran at him and tried to push him backward away from the blaze. But even giving it all my strength, he didn’t budge.

“Well, spit on my empty grave—if it ain’t the attack of the Disney princesses!” he snarled, annoyed, and bending over to place Vincent’s body on the rug, he whipped around and sent Georgia flying backward with a sweep of his powerful arm.

She landed against the side of the bed, her head cracking hard against the wood bed frame. He walked over to her and, pausing until she met his gaze, said, “I’m sorry to have to do this,” and stepped on her hand. I heard the bones crunch sickeningly just before she screamed. “Actually, not that sorry,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he watched her writhe. The pain must have been excruciating: Her eyes rolled upward and she slumped over, unconscious.

Picking up the heavy iron fire poker from next to the hearth, I ran over to where he stood and brought it down with all my force on his back.

“Damn it, girl, give that to me,” he yelled, and yanked the weapon out of my hands, tossing it like a matchstick into a far corner. “If you want to bang on something, you can help me chop off lover-boy’s head.”

Reaching up, he pulled one of the swords from where it hung above the mantel. The second sword fell to the floor. I made a dash for it and picked it up by the hilt, staggering backward under its weight.

Lucien stood, holding his sword in one hand over Vincent’s body, and watched me with an amused grin. I struggled to lift my blade and shakily pointed it at him.

“Don’t get any closer to him,” I said.

“Or what?” he spat. “If you wished to die before seeing your boyfriend decapitated, all you had to do was ask. But I hope you will allow me a little sport first. It’s been ages since I’ve killed a woman with my own hands.”

He lunged at me, grazing my right shoulder with his blade. A small spurt of blood spilled through the slice in my shirt and ran down my arm. I stared at it a second, feeling nauseated. And then I looked back down at Vincent’s body, lying lifeless on the floor, and my strength returned. With all my force, I raised my sword.

“That’s it,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve got to put a little more muscle behind it.” He was playing with me. I should be grateful—if he expended even a little effort, I would be dead. But instead of feeling intimidated, his condescension made me furious.

Fueled by my anger, I swung the massive weapon at him, and he stepped nimbly aside as the blade crashed against the terra-cotta floor tiles, breaking a couple in half and sending a large earthen chip flying through the air. His sword flashed in the firelight, and I felt a burning sting in my leg. I looked down and saw that my jeans were sliced open and a stream of blood flowed from a wound on my outer thigh, just below my hip.

“Now this is getting fun!” Lucien said with a glimmer in his eye. “You’re even spunkier than your sister. I’d never have guessed. It would be a shame to kill you before I find out exactly how spunky you can get. You might just have to accompany me, and Vincent’s head, of course, back to my home so we can have a little fun.”

I tried to heft the sword back up, but faltered. My arms weren’t working right. I had used all my energy on that one blow, and my muscles felt like rubber bands.

“This will all be over in just a second. If you move an inch, I’ll put this sword through your pretty head,” he warned, and then turned and began shifting Vincent’s body around. Georgia began moaning from the other side of the room. Her eyes were half-open now, but she still lay motionless on the ground.

I fought against a wave of desperation and suddenly I realized I didn’t care if he killed me. I would fight him even if it meant my own death, even if it didn’t make one bit of difference in the end. Because it would be better to die fighting than to survive this nightmare and live a long, regretful life with only the memory of Vincent to hold on to. Calling on every last ounce of my strength, I lifted my sword.

All of a sudden I heard the crackling, static words: I’m back. My eyes widened as I looked around the room and reassured myself that the voice was coming from inside me. “Vincent,” I whispered.

Quickly, Kate. Will you let me come in?

“Come in?” I puzzled frantically for a split second and then, realizing what he was asking, said, “Yes.”

All of a sudden, my body was no longer my own. It felt like a door had opened in the back of my head, and a powerful surge of energy poured through it and ricocheted through me, filling me until I felt I was going to burst.

Although I was still aware, my limbs began to move without me willing them to, and I lifted the massive sword with ease, swinging it high with both hands in an elliptical curve. It remained poised there for a second, motionless in midair, until I brought it down with a powerful sweep, slicing cleanly into Lucien’s left arm.

He roared with anger and dropped his sword, cupping the wound with his hand. Spinning on his heels, he stared at me in shock and then lunged at me, his wounded arm dangling by his side and spurting dark blood onto the tile floor.

I leaped aside, catlike, pulling the sword up into a vertical position, and crouched for a second before running toward Lucien, who had lurched back near the sword he had dropped on the ground. Bringing my weapon up, I swung again at his right side, underneath his outstretched arm. He let out a howl and swung around with sword in hand.

He stood for a second staring at me, uncomprehendingly, as blood gushed out of the wound in his side. Then with a staggering gait he charged at me, but wavered at the last second, thrown off balance as he tripped over Vincent’s body.

I skipped to my right, away from him, and then, lunging again, took another swing at his head, missing as he ducked to avoid it. He leaped aside from his crouched position, squinting as he looked at me, and then all of a sudden his eyes widened in surprise. “Vincent. Are you in there?” he asked incredulously.

I felt myself laugh, and Vincent’s words came out of my mouth, in my own voice. “Lucien. My old foe.”

“No,” Lucien said, shaking his head and holding the sword up defensively with his good arm. “It’s not possible. You’re at the Catacombs.”

“Looks like you’re wrong there,” Vincent said through me. “You never were the brightest zombie in the graveyard.”

Lucien roared and charged at me, but I leaped nimbly to one side as he stumbled to stop himself from ramming into the bed.

“So what exactly were you trying to accomplish here?” my voice said smoothly. “Were you going to take my head back to Jean-Baptiste and then set to work slaying the rest of my kin?”

“I’m just finishing some old business,” hissed Lucien. “I couldn’t care less about your kinsmen, although now that you mention it, it might be fun to hold a little revenant barbecue once I kill Kate and bring your head back to use as kindling.”

“It’s the ‘kill Kate’ part that I think you might find difficult,” I heard myself say, as I ran at him, feeling a strength coursing through my body that was several times my own. Lucien held up his sword to meet me, but I arrived faster than he could react.

“This is for all the innocents you betrayed to their death,” I said, and cut deeply into his already wounded right side.

His sword went clattering to the floor, and he howled, lurching toward the fire. Blood dripped into the fire as he leaned over it, falling to his knees to grab the dagger he had set next to the fireplace. Then, with incredible speed, he jumped to his feet and threw the knife at my head. I jumped out of the way, but not quickly enough, and the blade sliced cleanly into my right shoulder.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t have time to. Transferring the sword to my right hand, I took my left and pulled the knife out of my shoulder. Then, without hesitating, I threw it back at him with superhuman force, knocking him back a step as the blade lodged deeply through his left eye into his brain. “And that’s for all my kindred you destroyed,” I heard myself say. Lucien’s remaining eye rolled upward, and with mouth hanging open, he stumbled toward me, as if in slow motion.

I turned and leaped onto the coffee table. Holding the sword in both hands, I swung it high into the air and brought it down toward his neck with a powerful horizontal sweep. I felt the blade slice cleanly through, sending his head flying off in a bloody arc.

The headless body held its position for a couple of seconds before collapsing to the floor in a heap. “Burn in hell,” Vincent said as I picked up the head by its hair and strode with it to the fireplace.

Just then the door flew open, and Ambrose burst through, yelling like a madman and swinging a battle-ax in one hand. His other arm was torn by a mean gash, and his shredded clothes were stained crimson. A rivulet of blood ran down his face from a scalp wound.

His crazed eyes fixed on Lucien’s decapitated body and then swung toward Vincent’s body, lying in a heap next to the fireplace. He looked at me, standing a few feet away, holding an enormous sword effortlessly in one hand and Lucien’s head in the other. He nodded silently, and I nodded back. Turning to the roaring fire, I tossed the grotesque head into the flames.

“The body,” I said, and grabbing Lucien’s corpse by the arms and legs, Ambrose and I carried it to the fire, swinging it slightly backward before heaving it on top of the burning logs.

“Vincent, that you in there?” Ambrose said, stepping away and looking at me. My head nodded. “Well, it better be, because if that’s you alone, Katie-Lou, I am officially afraid.” I smiled at him, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“Come out of there, Vin, you’re freaking me out,” he said.

Ready? Vincent asked me.

“Yes,” I replied, and immediately felt the whoosh of energy leaving through the back of my head. My body felt like a balloon deflating, and Ambrose stepped forward to catch me as I fell. He set me carefully on the ground.

Kate! Are you okay? came Vincent’s words immediately.

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

Your mind. No confusion? Panic?

“Vincent, I’m no different from before, except I don’t think I’ll be able to budge for a week, I’m so exhausted.”

Amazing.

“Gaspard’s body’s outside,” I said, turning to Ambrose.

“We saw. Jean-Baptiste’s got him. He’ll be okay.”

“What about everyone else?” I asked, staring at the blood on his shirt.

He nodded. “We all made it back.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “And Charles?”

“We got his body,” Ambrose responded, and then, gesturing toward the bed, asked, “What’s your sister doing here?”

“Oh my God, Georgia!” I cried, and looked over at my sister. I used the last bit of my strength to crawl over to her and touch her bloodless face.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“I think so. It just hurts to move,” she replied, her voice weak.

“She needs help,” I said urgently to Ambrose. “She might have a concussion—she really slammed her head hard and was unconscious for a while. And I’m pretty sure her hand is broken too.”

Ambrose crouched over her and, being careful not to move her neck, pulled her out of her crumpled position and laid her flat on the ground.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” I said.

“She’s not the only one needing medical attention,” Ambrose replied, pointing at my shoulder.

I looked down to see my shirt soaked in blood. Although I hadn’t felt it before, a burning pain now raced through my arm, exploding as it reached the open gash. I grabbed my shoulder, and then just as quickly, wincing in pain, dropped my hand.

Hearing running footsteps in the hallway, I looked over to the door just as Jules burst through. “Kate?” he asked, panic in his voice.

“She’s fine,” called Ambrose. “Sliced up her shoulder and leg a bit, but she’s alive.”

Jules looked around the room wildly, and seeing Vincent’s form near the fireplace, fell to his knees in relief. Holding his hands to his head, he said softly to the air, “Vince, oh man, I’m so glad you’re still here.”

A pungent, acrid smoke began to pour out of the chimney as Lucien’s body caught fire. Looking in that direction, Ambrose said, “We should get out of here if we don’t want to suffocate on the fumes.”

Jules got to his feet, opened the windows, and then squatted down next to us. “How’s she?” he asked, nodding in Georgia’s direction.

“Alive,” I said.

“And how about you?” he said, cradling my face in his hand.

Tears clouded my eyes. “I’m fine,” I said, and quickly wiped them away.

“Oh, Kate,” he said, and leaning toward me, wrapped me in his arms. It was exactly what I needed: human touch. Okay, not human, whatever. Since Vincent wasn’t there to hold me, Jules made a more than adequate substitute.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Hospital,” Ambrose said simply, and stood to pull a phone out of his pocket. He walked to the other side of the room to make the call, and Jules released me to follow him.

I looked down at my sister. She seemed dazed. “We’re going to a hospital. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Where is he? Lucien?” she asked numbly.

“Dead,” I said simply.

She looked at me and asked, “What happened?”

“How much did you see?” I asked her.

She gave me a weak smile and said, “Enough to know that my sister is one badass sword fighter.”