“We have to wash it off where it’s already mixed,” I said under my breath. “Off of us, and Lydia.”

   Jack heard me, and was nodding. We both glanced at Cole, who still had his own gun trained on Luc, and Jack’s on us. If we tried to run . . .

   “Get ready,” Jack said.

   “For what?” I whispered, but before I could put it together, Jack took a deep breath and vaulted out of his chair.

   Cole pointed the gun at him calmly.

   “Jack!” I screamed.

   Cole pulled the trigger.

   The gun clicked hollowly.

   Cole frowned and pulled the trigger once more—one more ineffectual click—and then Jack tackled him. Cole’s second gun went off, shooting through a crystal chandelier overhead and into the roof, sending bits of plaster raining down.

   “Cole!” Lydia screamed, pointing her own gun in their direction, but obviously afraid to shoot at the writhing mass of arms and legs.

   I snatched Lydia’s knife off the ottoman and had it at her side before she could cross the circle of chairs to her brother. “Don’t move.”

   She was still for a second, then twisted, trying to knock my knife away. I remembered all my lessons this time. I swung the knife out of her reach and swiped her legs out from under her with one foot. She fell on the ottoman, and I held her down with one knee.

   And then Stellan was beside me, wrenching Lydia’s gun out of her hand.

   Across from us, Luc had thrown himself into the fray, and together, he and Jack ripped away Cole’s gun. Jack clocked Cole in the temple with the butt of it, and Cole slumped to the ground.

   Lydia shrieked.

   Then Jack picked up his own gun from where Cole had dropped it on the couch. He crossed to where he’d been sitting earlier, and retrieved the clip of bullets from under the overstuffed chair and clicked them back into the gun. He must have taken it out before he set down the gun in the first place. But if it hadn’t worked, and Cole had pointed the loaded gun at him instead . . .

   I let out a shaky breath, my heart still pounding like a bass drum in my ears.

   “Cole! Let me see if he’s okay!” Lydia writhed, trying to break free.

   “He’ll be fine.” I shoved her back down and turned to Stellan. “We’ll lock them up, but first we have to get the blood off her and us.”

   Stellan threw her over his shoulder. “Colette,” he said as we rushed out of the cafe. “Get Elodie to an ambulance.”

   My mom was on our heels. “What can I do?” she said.

   “Go with Colette and Elodie,” I said. She hesitated, but the farther I could get her away from danger, the better I’d feel. “Please.”

   She finally nodded, kissed me on the head, and ran back. We continued away from the cafe.

   Lydia was screaming obscenities. “Is there a fountain?” I yelled over her.

   “We’d just be contaminating that water.”

   I looked around frantically. “The beach. That’d have to dilute it enough.”

   We darted out into the sand, and I kicked off my heels. Within seconds, we were plunging into the freezing water, pushing against the waves crashing on the shore, the salt stinging my cuts and my gold dress waterlogged and heavy and dragging on me in a way that made me flash back to Greece. I pushed down the panic and heaved the knife as far as I could out to sea—hopefully it would sink before it cut some unsuspecting tourist, but even that would be less dangerous than having it covered in our blood. Stellan threw Lydia into the surf, and I grabbed her, blinking salt water out of my eyes and rubbing at the traces of our blood on her hands.

   “Just stop it,” she spat. We were about the same size, but she was strong, and it was only the crashing waves that put us on equal footing. “You think you’re so good. You think you’re not like us. You are. You just don’t know it yet.”

   A wave crashed higher, water spraying into my face. “Lydia—”

   My sister’s hair stuck to her face in dark tendrils. “Wait until you have something you care enough about to fight for it. Then you’ll do whatever you have to. Then you’ll understand.”

   She looked at Stellan, washing off his own hands and arms in the waves, his white shirt glowing in the almost-full moon, and then wrenched away from me and threw herself into the sea. Stellan caught her with a sweep of his arm and held her, kicking.

   I ducked under, scrubbing at myself. “Am I clean?” I held out my arms to let Stellan look at my neck, my chest, my arms in the moonlight. We both ignored my struggling sister under his arm.

   “You’re still bleeding, but I think the mixed blood is gone.”

   The waves pushed us back into shore, and Stellan dumped Lydia in the sand. She scrambled to her feet, tripping over her sodden formal gown. “Where’s Cole?” she demanded, and then we all saw Jack and Luc standing over a crumpled form in the sand.

   Lydia ran toward them. “Cole!” she screamed. She threw herself into the sand beside her brother, who was still bleeding from his head.

   “He’ll be fine, Lydia. Stop screaming,” I said, and grabbed Jack’s arm. “We have to get them out of here. Take them someplace where we can hold them until we figure out what to do.”

   Before he could answer, a group of cars screeched to a halt on the street above, and at least a dozen people piled out.

   Jack cursed. “Saxon security.”

   My mouth went dry. The men were sprinting toward the beach.

   “Here!” Lydia screamed. “Hurry!”

   Stellan pulled out Cole’s gun and faced the oncoming wave of people.

   “No!” I said. “Everybody run. There are too many of them. Luc! Go!”

   Jack nodded. Stellan pointed his gun down at the twins.