“You,” Lola spluttered, so angry she could barely get the word out and didn’t realize she already said that. Visions of that woman standing silhouetted against a backdrop of burning homes in her village was the only thing Lola could see. They were vivid, those visions. She could almost smell burning wood and charred, human flesh mixed with the metallic tang of blood.

The woman did a small, mocking bow, a wide grin on her face.

“Yes. That’s right. Me,” she said. “One ...