The people of Purgatory were a practical bunch. Once a year, they brought out the signs and donned the costumes for tourists who came for the Party at the Wall—and the money they brought with them.
And it worked. Mesmerized by the cowboy spice, enamored of the rugged charm, the tourists saw only the signs, the Frontier charm, the cowboy outfits. Some of the braver souls even sampled the local moonshine. Sadly, the homemade alcohol wasn’t a stereotype. It was a fact of life here, a staple of the Frontier existence.
The tourists didn’t see beyond the pretty facade. They didn’t see the monsters lurking on the Black Plains beyond, nor did they hear the soft, persistent grumble of white noise, the hum of the monsters beyond.
The monsters on the plains were restless. I could feel it. The influx of people was drawing them closer. In anticipation, the golden Magitech barrier had been turned on. It was so bright that you could see the magical glow from every part of town. The tourists certainly appreciated that glow. If they’d all been a little less drunk, they’d have appreciated it for something much more than as a light show. They would have realized that barrier was all that stood between them and being eaten by monsters.
“Leda!”
I turned to find Carmen Wilder, the daughter of Purgatory’s sheriff, running toward me. Dressed in a green tank top and very tiny denim shorts, cowgirl boots and a cowgirl hat with sparkles, she was all dolled up for the festival. Slim, tall, and sweet, Carmen was always popular with the tourists.
She squeezed me into a tight hug. Her caramel hair, braided in two pigtails, smelled like strawberries. I knew that shampoo; there weren’t many hair product choices in Purgatory. Strawberry was one and the other was vanilla. And then there was a neutral, noncommittal scent that just smelled like plain old soap.
“What you’re doing for Zane is so brave, Leda,” Carmen said.
She was referring to last year. She’d been out on a date with my brother Zane when they were attacked and Zane was abducted. He disappeared without a trace. So I joined the Legion of Angels to gain the rare magic of telepathy, to link to his mind and find him. But telepathy, the power known as Ghost’s Whisper, was high level magic. Before I could gain that power, I would need to become an angel. I still had a long way to go.
We later discovered that Zane had been taken by the Guardians, who were supposed to be the peacekeepers of the original immortals and all-around good people. But only fools believed everything they heard. There was always more to the stories. I wanted to see Zane for myself, especially since the Guardians would not allow him to leave their realm. That bothered me. This time-out from Earth was supposedly a cleansing to balance his magic, but just because he couldn’t leave, that didn’t mean I couldn’t go see him.
“The sacrifice you made to find Zane—” Carmen said.
“He’ll be all right,” I cut her off.
You never knew who was listening. There were a lot of people trying to find Zane for his magic, gods and demons among them.
I started walking toward the festival again, and Carmen matched pace beside me.
“Gods, I missed that smell,” I teased, looking around.
She laughed. “It’s not so bad right now. It rained last night.”
Purgatory was rough around the edges. It smelled like wilderness and metal and magic, courtesy of the glowing Magitech wall. And thanks to last night’s rain, the smell was almost pleasant, like a forest after a storm, which covered up the inevitable sweaty stench of so many people in such a small space.
But the rain had done nothing to cool down the town. Though the day was closing in on evening, it was hot. No, make that scorching. The weather reminded me of last summer, of how I’d started the night with a mark to catch and a bounty to collect. Then it had all gone downhill from there. My brother was abducted and then before I knew it, I was joining the Legion of Angels.
“I’m glad you survived, Leda,” Carmen told me, squeezing my hand.
I smiled at her. “Thanks.”
Half of my initiation group hadn’t survived the first sip of Nectar. Six more had died when we’d drunk the Nectar again, their wills crushed, unable to absorb the magic that tore through our bodies like a firestorm. The survival rates had gotten a little better after that. A certain sadistic angel excepted, the Legion tried not to push its soldiers up for promotion before we were ready. It did no one any good if we died.
The Legion’s soldiers were the gods’ army on Earth, and we were therefore bestowed with supernatural powers, the gods’ gifts of magic. We trained long and hard for each and every level. It was literally a matter of life or death. Each gift of magic—each promotion ceremony in the Legion—was marked by an increase in power, or you failed and died from the Nectar. The strongest soldiers, the most powerful of us, became angels. They commanded territories on the continents and led soldiers to protect the Earth from threats, mortal and immortal alike.
“What does it feel like? The Nectar?” Carmen added shyly.
“Why? Thinking of joining the Legion yourself?”
“I’ve always wanted to have magic,” she admitted, chewing on her lower lip. “But I don’t think I’d survive. I would be one of the bodies on the floor at the end.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re strong.”
I could see it in her, a strong-willed resolve. She had a decent chance of surviving the initiation ceremony.
“You think I should join?” Her voice was quiet, full of reverence, as though I’d just told her she was everything she ever wanted to be.
I turned to face her, setting my hands on her shoulders. “No, I think you should live your life, staying far away from the world of angels.”
“Is it so bad?”
“Sometimes. The training, the pressure to perform, to succeed. The battles, the beasts. The Legion breaks you, Carmen. And then they leave it to you to put yourself back together again.”
“And the angels?” she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.
“The angels might just be the scariest part of all,” I said honestly. I took her arm. “Come on.”
Then I led her toward the music in the distance. With every step that we took, it grew louder, its rhythm intertwined with the chorus of cheering people and the pop and beep of carnival games.
As always, the paranormal soldiers walked the streets of Purgatory, though there were more of them in town than usual. No doubt they’d been brought in for the Party at the Wall, a festival that drew tourists from all over the Eastern Territory.
The paranormal soldiers didn’t react to me at all. Fear didn’t crinkle their brows when they saw me.
Which was just as it should be. Before getting on that train, I’d made a conscious decision to dress in a casual halter top and a skirt rather than wear my Legion uniform. That was why the paranormal soldiers on patrol didn’t salute, bow, or cower before me. Even they feared our reputation—and our absolute authority over them and every other citizen of Earth.
The paranormal soldiers were never stationed here for more than a few months. Purgatory was just a means to an end, a gateway to more prestigious assignments. They came and left and never looked back.
So none of them had been here the last time I was in town. Otherwise, they’d probably have recognized me, uniform or not. Soldiers who’d encountered me remembered me well. Nero said it was because I created an impact crater wherever I went. A shock wave, he liked to call it. That’s why he’d given me the nickname Pandora, the Bringer of Chaos.
I, on the other hand, liked to think people remembered me for my smile. Nero hadn’t been convinced by my stellar argument. In fact, his response had been a not-so-gentle reminder to never argue with an angel.
“Hey, Carmen, introduce us to your new friend?” a paranormal soldier called out. He obviously thought I was a soft city girl, a tourist who’d come to gawk at the cowboys and dance on the wall. He had no idea.