I refuse to play his game. I twist out of his hold and catch his head with my arm. Then I bend him over my back and follow through to flip him. The whole weight of him slams into the mats. Now he’s disarmed and helpless. I’m so enraged he lost this easily, I think I might actually kill him. I step on his chest and bring my blade within inches of his face. There’s no way he can pretend this is a game now.

  “Death is not your enemy,” I growl down at him. “Befriend it or suffer. Do you understand? I’ll tell you what Joan of Arc had that you lack. She wasn’t afraid to kill. You’re so scared of death, you’re willing to lose to avoid it. Let’s see how you feel about surrender after you’ve lost a limb to it.”

  I bring my scythe overhead, fully ready to teach him a lesson, when I hear Cain shout, “Stand down, Eden!” That bastard has no idea what I’m trying to do here. I swing anyway, and my weapon tears a hole in the mats inches from Orion’s arm.

  He jolts at the sound of it and stares up at me. There’s no mistaking the disgusted look in his eyes. “Why are you my Judge?” he wheezes. “I wish it was Sarah.”

  From the doorway, Cain addresses him. “You have to understand, Orion. Not all your enemies will be willing to negotiate. Some will strike first and insult your corpse after. If you get into a situation where it’s either kill or be killed, what will you choose? Life or death? Both will come into play, but one will be yours and the other your enemy’s. No one’s denying the choice is a tough one, but one day, you’ll have to make it. There’s just no way around it.”

  His face still pressed into the mat, Orion mumbles, “There’s always a way around it.”

  I groan and retract my weapon. If he won’t listen to Cain, he won’t listen to anyone. “For a genius, you really are an idiot, you know that?” I say.

  Cain sighs and strides into the room without removing his shoes, which is unforgivable, frankly. “Well, Orion,” he says, “I suppose you’ll learn the hard way then. You’re both heading to Paris immediately. The fire at Notre Dame Cathedral has unearthed a treasure trove of artifacts. Among them is the supposed sword of Joan of Arc.”

  I offer Orion my hand, but he refuses to take it. “He’s not ready,” I say to Cain. “I’ll bring Aiden instead.”

  “I don’t care.” Cain shrugs. “Bring both of them if you need to, but Orion goes. I’ve already briefed him on the mission.”

  “You briefed us separately? I’m his Judge. He gets briefed when I say he gets briefed.”

  Cain laughs. “And I’m your king, Eden. Don’t forget it. This isn’t a democracy I’m running here. I want your new Acolyte on this mission. If he’s not ready by now, then he’s never going to be ready. We can talk about whether you should retire him when you get back.”

  I sheath True Winter and mutter, “This is not a good idea.”

  “It was your idea, Eden,” Cain says. “Remember? You wanted to do things differently. Now you expect your brother to fall in line? You chose him for this. He’s as stubborn as you wanted him to be. Now let him do what you hired him to do.”

  * * *

  Paris, France—Mission: Verify and Secure Joan of Arc’s Sword

  Orion doesn’t speak to me for the entire nine-hour flight to Paris. He prefers to make conversation with Sarah or attempt small talk with Aiden, which is much funnier than it should be. Aiden is not an easy person to talk to if you don’t know him. He rarely expresses feelings or says more than he has to. Once in a while, he’ll say something completely out of the blue and leave you staring like an idiot, totally confused about whether you’re meant to laugh or take it with the utmost sobriety.

  Speaking of sobriety, I’ve managed the trip without a single drink. Whether I’m proud or ashamed of this remains to be seen. My hours are completely taken up by my attempt to make a dent in Don Quixote. I refuse to accept Sarah’s claim that I’m not ready for it. So I sit quietly, my glasses sliding down my nose, and turn the pages of a book that’s heavier than any Bible I’ve ever picked up. I must look a hell of a lot smarter than I am. Aiden keeps staring at me with one eyebrow arched, chewing his gum like a cow in a field.

  Finally, the cow speaks. “Why?”

  “Why not?” I don’t have to ask what he means.

  “Because it’s a waste of time,” he says.

  I shrug. “Sarah dared me.”

  One corner of Aiden’s mouth curls up, so I know I’ve managed to convince him my reading is not meaningless.

  Sarah’s not pleased, though. “I did no such thing,” she says, cutting off something Orion was saying to her. “I just told him he wasn’t ready.”

  “That’s a dare,” Aiden deadpans.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  Sarah flounders a moment before giving up. “Fine. You win. If the boy says it’s a dare, it must be a dare.”

  Maybe it’s weird to think of Aiden as the son I never had, but I swear Sarah feels the same. There’s a protectiveness and pride in her eyes when she looks at him. If anyone ever laid a hand on him, I believe Sarah would be the first to relieve them of their heads. She’d beat me to it, without a doubt.

  We arrive at the airport and take the train to Gare du Nord, one of the busiest railroad stations in Europe. Rows of street lamps line the tracks like a procession of full moons. Dusk has fallen, and I shiver in the chill. It’s autumn in Paris—perhaps not the season I would choose to visit, but Seditio hardly cares about my travel preferences. If they want to steal Joan of Arc’s sword in the middle of October, that’s when the House of David will be required to step in.

  Why Seditio wants such a prize is beyond me. The sword is rumored to give its wielder the courage to stand against any enemy, no matter how hopeless the fight. But I’d put money down that it’s just a powerless piece of metal. I doubt the microorganisms we’ve been studying could do anything to cure a coward.

  When we reach our hotel, I hand my bags to Aiden. We’re within walking distance of the cathedral, and I’m anxious to see it. I’m not surprised when Orion asks to join me. After you’ve been around the world more than once, it starts to feel small. But to my brother, the world is still vast, and he’s scrambling to see as much of it as he can.

  The lights around the Île de la Cité glisten in the waters of the Seine as we make our way across the river to the cathedral. Notre Dame looms over the square like a giant, its exterior scaffolding looking like a brace on a broken limb. I can’t believe this landmark was almost lost.

  “That must have been some fire.” Orion blinks up at what’s left of the roof.

  “I watched it live,” I say. “It was unreal, a tragedy, but it unearthed so much we would never have known about otherwise.”

  “I’ve heard forest fires are like that,” he muses. “They’re destructive, but they bring new life too. All that chaos…” He stops and furrows his brow. “Do you think that’s what Seditio really wants? I mean, the House of David claims to stamp out cults like they’re fires. Maybe Seditio thinks some fires should be allowed to burn.”

  “Appreciating that some good can come from evil does not mean we should allow evil to run rampant. If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, you’d understand.”

  We walk around the cathedral, marveling at its gothic architecture and the famous rose windows that somehow escaped the fire. Around the west façade, tourists gather to take pictures and wonder aloud when they’ll be able to go inside again. Among them stands a figure well over six feet tall and impossible to ignore. His coat and hair are both long, contrasting each other perfectly—his coat being black and his hair an unusually pale blond. For a moment, I have the ridiculous idea that this could be Whiteface waiting for us, but Seditio doesn’t know we’re here yet. Even if they did, they’d have no way of knowing Orion and I decided to walk around the cathedral on a whim.

  I chuckle at my own paranoia, and then the figure turns. It is him. I grab Orion’s arm. I’d know that face with or without its trademark white paint. Whiteface combs his fingers through his beard, and I swear his eyes lock onto mine for a second. Lightning courses through my veins as I realize that what I mistook for paranoia was my own gut warning me not to get careless. He knew we’d be here somehow. And now he’s spotted us in the crowd. For a moment, his mouth twists into a knowing smile, and then he turns and runs.

  “Go!” I scream at Orion as I give chase. “It’s Whiteface! Cut him off! Don’t let him get away!”

  To Orion’s credit, he immediately obeys, and he’s fast. I think he’s even faster than me. I barrel through the crowd without a word of apology as Whiteface puts distance between us. We can’t just let him go. We have to find out how he knew we’d be here. Something isn’t right. On the off chance it will throw him, I call out, “Caldwell!” Whiteface stops and turns back once before slipping into the back seat of a black car and closing the door behind him. “Shit!” The car speeds away.

  Orion points to a character on the corner wearing a Quasimodo mask. “Eden, there!” He runs after the man before I can even register what’s happening. In seconds, Orion’s tackled him. By the time I reach them, the man’s completely subdued on his stomach with Orion on top of him. “Why’d you run if you’re just a tourist, huh?” Orion asks, panting.

  The man in the mask denies nothing. Instead, he says, “We already have the artifact. Whiteface wants you to know this isn’t about the sword anymore. He just wants to have some fun with the new recruit.”

  “You guys want to have fun?” I ask. Discretely, I pull a syringe from a pocket in True Winter’s holster. I remove the cap with my teeth and stab the needle into the man’s thigh. “Okay. We can have fun.” I force him to his feet. Then we start to walk, Orion on one side of him and me on the other.

  Within minutes, Quasimodo begins to stumble. “What did you give him?” Orion asks.

  “Just a sedative. Don’t worry.” I wrap the man’s arm around my shoulder and tip his mask back so it looks like we’re good friends heading back from an evening out drinking. By the time we get to the hotel, he’s barely conscious. I stumble with him into the elevator and carry him to our room. Fortunately, no one’s in the hall.

  The hotel is old but nice. Our room has two twin beds and colorful reproductions of classical art painted directly onto the walls. It’s small, but it has a view of the cathedral, which is more than I would typically pay for. Everyone’s probably grateful Sarah chose our hotel this time around.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Orion asks. His excitement does not escape my notice, but it’s probably just adrenaline from the chase.

  “We’re going to tie him up and question him. Grab my bags from Aiden’s room, will you? He’s down one level and across the hall.” I prop the unconscious Quasimodo into a chair and stretch my aching back.

  “What, did you pack rope or something?” Orion laughs.

  “Didn’t you?” I narrow my eyes at him until he scurries away in shame.

  When he returns, I instruct him to tie Quasimodo’s hands and feet together. Then I help him carry the man to the bathtub. “Housekeeping doesn’t want to clean up our mess,” I explain when Orion looks confused.

  “What mess?”

  “Whatever mess this man happens to make in his struggle to resist us,” I tell him, though that isn’t entirely true. I don’t intend to let Quasimodo survive this encounter. The mess that concerns me most is the one I’ll make when I dispatch him. Not only does he work for Seditio, but he’s under the supervision of Whiteface. In my book, that makes him worse than trash.

  I sit on the closed toilet to read a bit while I wait for our captive to wake. Orion stands and stares at him like he’s never seen anything so fascinating. Soon, my brother will be just as bored by terrorists as I am. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.

  Eventually, the man in the bathtub groans and shifts. I pull a pen knife from my pocket and show it to him, but the bastard speaks before I can get my first question out. “Hello, Orion,” he says.

  Orion starts to respond, but I won’t let him. “Where’s the sword?” I demand. “You said Seditio already has it, so where is it?”

  Our captive can barely contain himself. “What sword?”

  I bring my knife closer to his neck. “Joan of Arc’s sword, you piece of shit. I will not ask you again.”

  He lets out a mischievous giggle. “It doesn’t exist.” Then he lets loose, howling his mirth to the ceiling. “And you idiots fell for it! It was so easy! Oh my god, your whole organization is so treasure-hungry, you’ll leap at any unsubstantiated rumor you hear. Whiteface has you pegged.”

  It’s surreal to have a man tied up in my hotel bath laugh at me like I’m the one about to die. “I don’t believe you,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Either way, we’ll make you see God.”

  Orion immediately asks, “Which god?”

  “All of them.”

  Quasimodo’s answer is so ominous, even I shiver to hear it, but I shake off my discomfort and continue the interrogation. “We don’t care about your stupid religious war. We came for an artifact, which you now claim doesn’t exist. I don’t believe you. I want to hear it from Whiteface himself. Tell me where he is, and we’ll have our little chat with him instead.”

  The man in the bathtub laughs. “He’s waiting for you.”

  That does it. I’m tired. I just got here, and I’m not in the mood for this shit. I grab a white hand towel and shove it into his mouth until he chokes on it. Then I stab my penknife through one of his hands. His muffled screams are music to my ears.

  When he’s done screaming, I remove the towel and say, “Now, spit out Whiteface’s location unless you want the full stigmata.”

  “Uh-uh-uh,” the man sings. “It’s not time yet.”

  “You’re going to die. You know that, right?” A high-pitched, jangling sound interrupts us, and I turn to see Orion looking horrified behind me. I’m not sure whether it’s the violence that’s upset him or the fact that his phone has gone off in the middle of an interrogation. “Turn off your alarms already,” I snap.

  Orion digs in his pocket. “It’s not an alarm. It’s Phoebe’s ringtone.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” He won’t be able to focus until he knows why she’s calling, and I won’t be able to focus until I know he’s not distracted. “Just answer it.”

  The man in the bathtub chuckles through his pain, so I shove the hand towel back into his mouth. While Orion takes his call in the other room, I lean in and mutter, “See, what you don’t understand is I don’t particularly care whether the artifacts exist or not. The House may be treasure hunters, but I’m a hunter full stop. Do you get me? I hunt Seditio members. It’s just easier to find you people on the trail of an artifact. So here’s your chance to survive this. Whiteface is the big fish. Give me the big fish, and I’ll forget all about you.”

  Before I take the towel back out of the man’s mouth, Orion returns to the bathroom. “They’re here,” he says, his face slackened in disbelief.

  “What?”

  “My family and friends. They’re here. They came for…” He gulps and pushes a hand through his hair. “They came for my birthday.”

  “What!” I shoot to my feet. Fuck the man in the bathtub. My real problem here is my idiot brother.

  Orion stumbles back. “I didn’t know they’d come. They just showed up. They’re in the lobby right now. They want us to meet them for dinner.”

  “How did they even know you were here?”

  “It must have been Phoebe,” he says. “I told her where we were staying just… just because I thought it was cool, you know? I didn’t think she was going to relay the information to every other person I know.”

  If it were cold enough, I swear he’d see steam coming off my body. I could punch him for this. Maybe later I will. “Of course she told them, genius! It’s your damn birthday! Your people are rich, for god’s sake. A plane ticket is like half a tank of gas for them. How did you not see this coming?”

  He fumbles with his phone. “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “Apologize to them, not me. You have no idea the danger you’ve put them in. Whiteface is here, and you’re a fucking target.”

  “But he just said there’s no sword.” Orion points at the man in the bathtub. “So the mission’s over, isn’t it?”

  I sigh and uncurl my hands from the fists they’ve been in, cracking my knuckles as I do. Now is not the time to lose my temper. “All that means is Seditio was never here for the sword. So, why do you suppose they are here? They planted information to get us here for some reason. They’re dragging us around Europe like this is some kind of practical joke.”

  Now Orion looks sufficiently worried. “Okay. Okay, we can fix this. We’ll just make a quick appearance and send them on their way. We’ll tell them I’m not supposed to have visitors on missions. Seditio doesn’t know they’re here.”

  I violently gesture to the man in the bathtub.

  “Yet,” he corrects. “We’ll get my family tickets straight back home. They’ll leave tonight. We can keep this guy here until they’re gone. Then it’s just us and Seditio again.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I mutter. “Fine. Go have dinner with your family. Explain why they need to leave Paris tonight. Say whatever it takes to get them out of here. I’ll get Whiteface’s location out of Quasimodo and send him on his way.” By which I mean I’ll kill him, but Orion doesn’t need all the details.

  He shuffles his feet. “They… kind of want you there too.”

  My jaw drops. Yes, let’s skip off to a birthday party while this guy bleeds in my bathtub. Good idea. Then again, if Orion can’t convince his family to leave, I’m more than certain I can.

  Without another word, I march into the hall and down to Aiden’s room. I hammer on the door like I could beat it into submission. Aiden answers with the stem of a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. “I have a member of Seditio in my room,” I explain before he can ask. “I need you to get information out of him while I…” I hesitate, but I shouldn’t. My hesitation intrigues the blue-eyed devil in the doorframe.