Kyle stood beside Napoleon, a huge army of supporters behind them. Napoleon had summoned his entire coven, all his people, hundreds of vampires strong, and along the way, they had all agitated in the streets and encouraged the citizens to join them and storm the Bastille. It had been easy: there had been such discontent hanging in the air anyway among all the French citizens, such anger towards the royal authority, and the prison in the Bastille happened to be the perfect symbol, the perfect representative of everything royal. The further they had gone, the more the mob had grown.

And Napoleon, of course, looked to Kyle for direction.

Kyle felt himself surge with power, relishing the feeling of being in charge of an army once again, relishing the destruction and bloodshed that were about to happen. As he stood with his men in the cobblestone plaza opposite the Bastille, Kyle stared up at it. The castle-like fort, with its drawbridge and turrets, was well-defended by soldiers, looking
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