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“I know this place,” I whispered.

I was inside Legends, the shadiest bar in all of Purgatory. Well, at least ithadbeen the shadiest bar in all of Purgatory. When the Legion had shut down the district lords, they’d also shut down Legends. This bar didn’t exist anymore. Itshouldn’texist anymore. We’d demolished it years ago to make space for one of the Legion’s new office buildings.

I ran-stumbled for the exit. People who shouldn’t be here, drinking beer that shouldn’t exist, turned to watch me go. Outside the bar, the air was hot and sticky. The pavement was stained with vomit, moonshine, and stagnant rainwater. Potholes checkered the road like lunar craters.

And past those blackened stains and crumbling craters, the great Magitech wall glowed bright and golden. Its quiet hum was barely an acoustic band-aid over the growling, hissing, snarling Plains of Monsters beyond.

“The monsters,” I muttered. “They aren’t supposed to be here.”

CHAPTER 2

BLAST FROM THE PAST

Abar still owned and operated by the district lords’ now-defunct criminal organization? Freshly-cleaned streets covered in potholes and grime and vomit? Long-gone monsters lurking behind a glowing Magitech wall, threatening my town?

What the hell was going on here?

There was only one explanation that I could think of, and it was impossible. Somehow, I’d gone back in time. Sure, I’d read about it in books, but this was real life. And according to the laws of magic, time travel wasn’t possible.

Then again, as the Angel of Chaos, I did tend to break the laws of magic. On occasion. And totally accidentally.

But here was the million-dollar question: could I fix what I’d broken?

“Leda?”

I turned toward the woman who’d called my name. Tall, bouncy, and sporting a perfect hourglass figure, Cindy was the most vivacious member of Purgatory’s over-40s singles crowd. Or at least shehadbeen before finding her Happily Ever After with my former next-door neighbor. But judging from the skintight, thigh-high, cherry-red sweater dress that she waswearing right now—which matched her hairandshoes perfectly, by the way—none of that had happened yet.

“What are you doing here?” Cindy asked me.

Lurkingdidn’t sound all that legit, so I went with option B.

“Working?” Cindy repeated, her full lips pinching together in confusion. “Didn’t you take the train with Calli and the rest of your family this morning?”

I must have looked pretty confused myself because she added, “Bella’s first day at the New York University of Witchcraft is today. You all decided to go along and give her a proper sendoff.”

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

Cindy looked at me like I’d hit my head on something. “I saw you in the Witch’s Watering Hole last night, Leda. Just how much of old Monroe’s moonshine did you drink?”

“None,” I told her.

She gave me a hard look.

“Really,” I insisted.

I hadn’t gone to Purgatory’s favorite bar that Friday night for the fine liquor and highbrow company. I’d gone there to work. My mark: an escaped vampire criminal named, ironically, Mark. Unfortunately, he hadn’t surrendered himself peacefully into the safety of my handcuffs, so my brother Zane and I had to get assertive. That’s the night Zane had risked a public display of his powers in order to save my life. It was the night my brother had been kidnapped, the watershed moment that had changed my life, setting me on my long path to join the Legion of Angels and gain the magic I needed to save him.

That’s ‘when’ I was: the day my new life had begun. Surely, this couldn’t be a coincidence. I’d been thinking about this very day just moments before I’d been catapulted through time.

A loud, deranged cackle rumbled down the narrow alleyway. I looked past Cindy, honing in on the source of that terriblenoise. It was a big, bulky, pale-as-a-stick-of-white-chalk man. He was in his early twenties, and built like a human gorilla. He lumbered toward me, his lips curled into a sneer.

He stopped beside Cindy. “Leave now,” he growled at her. His words were thick, like he was speaking through a mouthful of gravel—and lots of spittle.

Cindy let out a terrified, high-pitched squeak, then scurried off. Her high-heeled stilettos clicked like horseshoes against the pavement.

The man watched her go, chuckling, then he turned back around to face me. “Leda Pierce.” He slid a calloused hand over his shiny bald head. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I’d met this man before. I just couldn’t remember where. Or when. I studied him closely—from his white tank top and ripped jeans, to the tattoos that covered both of his arms and most of his neck. My gaze snagged on the tattoo at his shoulder. It read ‘Rosie’.