It had been five months since I’d been back home, but it felt like years. And not just because I was homesick. Something had happened to Purgatory in that half year, a decay, a corrosion that should have taken years rather than months. A trio of shady men, automatic rifles hidden away beneath their huge trench coats, stood outside the Witch’s Watering Hole. That was the last bar I’d gone to before leaving for New York. Purgatory was on the Frontier, so people had always walked around town with guns and knives. But not so many guns and knives—and not ones like those. They weren’t armed to defend themselves; they were armed to destroy life. I recognized the dark brown leather trench coats, heavy boots, and fedoras. These fellows belonged to Prince, one of the town’s district lords who fancied himself cowboy royalty.

They weren’t alone. I saw thugs from five distinct district lords. They were everywhere, more of them than ever before. They were in the restaurants, shops, and bars. Walking the streets like they owned them. There was a strange smell to the town, the smell of overpriced cologne, a deep musk lathered on to cover the stench of fear bleeding down the streets. But there was no scent, no matter how potent, that could cover fear. Fear was the basest of instincts, the strongest of scents. It permeated everything, a sickly sweat scent of overripe fruit spoiling in the summer sun.

“The town feels different,” I said quietly to Drake.

“Things change, Leda. It’s a natural part of life.”

“This change is for the worse. The town was never luxurious or shiny, but it was comforting. Like an old security blanket stained by twenty years of tears and sweat.”

“Security blanket? I prefer something with a bit more kick.” He tapped his crossbow. “I used this baby to clear Sapphire Point of winged serpent monsters.”

“That exact one?”

“The one and same. Fifty-two fiends, two hours, one man. A battle that will go down in the history books,” he declared, his eyes lifted in triumph, his voice soaring with nostalgia.

I grinned at him. “That’s just beautiful. Kind of sounds like the start of one of those horror movies Ivy likes.”

“Oh, no. This was better. Much better,” he replied seriously.

We stopped outside the Pilgrims’ temple of worship. The town’s Legion office was just a room inside that temple.

“File in,” Nero said, emerging from the doorway.

How had he gotten here so fast? Maybe he really could teleport. Or maybe I’d just been slow, distracted by the epidemic of corruption consuming my town.

We followed Nero into a small office down the hall. Seven Pilgrims waited inside. They weren’t dressed in the usual robes of the clergy but instead in cargo pants and t-shirts. I might have mistaken them for regular people, if not for the distinguished way they folded their hands together, palms out. It was a Pilgrim gesture, one that broadcasted their wish to pass along the gods’ message.

“Our mission,” Nero said when we were all there. “Is to guide and protect the Pilgrims in their journey to the holy battle site at the Lost City, which sits at the middle of the Black Plains.”

Centuries ago, monsters had overwhelmed the Earth. The Book of the Gods tells us that the gods came down to our world, pushing back the beasts and saving humanity from certain destruction. The truth was a tad more complicated—ok, a lot more complicated. So complicated, in fact, that no one knew exactly what had happened all those years ago.

We did know that the gods had helped us build walls to separate humanity from the monsters. We knew they’d formed the Legion of Angels, a new breed of soldiers to fight the war against demons and monsters. The Pilgrims had risen from the ashes of humanity at our worst hour. They worshipped the gods, building temples in their honor. Just as the Legion represented the hand of the gods, the Pilgrims represented their voice.

“Valiant tells me that objects of great power lay buried beneath the Lost City,” Nero said, indicating the Pilgrim standing to his right.

Valiant. His name meant he was a higher member of the Pilgrims, someone the gods had distinguished by blessing with long life for their service. They all held honorary titles named after virtues.

“It is absolutely essential that we recover these precious historical relics before thieves or mercenaries get their hands on them,” Valiant said, his voice trembling with emotion.

If the artifacts were from the time of the final battle, they’d been in the Lost City for centuries. Either relic hunters had long since found them, or they were buried so deep that no one ever would.

“We must head out immediately,” Valiant declared.

“That would be unwise,” I told him.

Everyone looked at me.

“The Black Plains aren’t safe at night,” I continued. “The worst beasts come out after dark.”

Nero watched me, as though he were debating whether or not to punish me for speaking out of turn. “She’s right,” he finally said, much to Lieutenant Lawrence’s dismay. “We’ll sleep here in the temple tonight and head out tomorrow at first light.” He waved his hand at the door, and it swung open, revealing a Pilgrim in a plain dress.

She bowed to us. “Please allow me to show you to your rooms.” She looked so young, no older than my seventeen-year-old sisters.

I was about to follow when Nero said, “Pandora, a word.”

My comrades followed the girl, and the Pilgrims followed, shutting the door behind them. Leaving me alone with the stony-faced angel, who from the looks of it hadn’t appreciated my desire to speak my mind.