Page 22 of Leda's Log

“Maybe Colonel Windstriker secretly promoted you,” Alec joked. “He could have slipped you some extra Nectar while you weren’t looking.”

“That would explain this massive Nectar hangover.” Basanti rubbed her head. “Never challenge an angel to a drinking contest,” she told me with a wink.

I shrugged. “You could have won if you’d cheated.”

Basanti gave me a long, hard look, then she burst into laughter. “Good one,” she said, patting me hard on the back. Her gaze dipped to the yellow form attached to my clipboard. “And, hey, for what it’s worth, I hope you survive the initiation ceremony. The Legion needs more soldiers with a sense of humor.”

While she’d been talking, I’d filled out the form. It wasn’t so hard once you’d done it before—and already knew all the expected answers.

“Thanks for the recommendation.” I handed Basanti my completed form. “If you like me so much, how about you personally present my application to the Angel of New York?”

“You’ve got guts, that’s for sure,” Basanti laughed. “So, hey, why not?” She snatched the form out of my hands.

Henson bristled. “But that’s not?—”

“Oh, yes, please givemea lecture on protocol, so I can return the favor, Corporal. As Spunky here pointed out, you neglected to put on your jacket this morning.”

“Also, her shoelaces aren’t tied in the standard Legion knot pattern,” I pointed out helpfully.

Basanti glanced under the counter at the Corporal’s boots. “You’re right. Good catch, initiate. I think you’ll fit in nicely here.”

Then Basanti gave me another hearty pat on the back, which really hurt. Once again, I found myself lamenting my total lack of magic. It was so annoying being weak and human. I’d gotten used to being strong. Used to having magic. This just felt wrong, like I didn’t belong in this body.

I watched Basanti pass through the security gates, disappearing down a long hallway. The doors slid shut behind her.

Corporal Henson was giving me the double evil eye, so I moved toward the crowded cluster of chairs. “I’ll just wait over here.”

I was waiting for a long while. Some time later, a soldier came up to me and escorted me through the security gates.

“So you’re taking me to see Colonel Windstriker?” I asked him as we walked down the long hallway.

He didn’t even look at me. “Yes.”

Finally, I was making progress. I’d meet up with Nero, we’d figure out how the hell we’d gotten all the way here, and then we’d find a way home again. There wasn’t any problem we couldn’t conquer together. When it was us against the whole wide world, I pitied the poor world.

But, wait. What if there was nous? What if the Nero I was going to see now wasn’tmyNero? No one else I’d encountered so far in this wonky, out-of-time world was from my time. So why was I assuming Nero would be? What if this Nero had never met me, didn’t love me, and had absolutely no reason to trust me?

The soldier opened the door to one of the tiny meeting rooms along the hallway. I stepped inside. Nero was standing there, directly in my path, dressed in black battle armor, looking exactly as he had the day we’d met. Just as beautiful. Just as deadly.

His eyes were focused on me. Cold. Assessing. Distant.

Like he didn’t know me at all.

“That will be all, Sergeant,” he said curtly.

I heard the soldier leave, clicking the door shut behind me.

Nero strode forward, his movements smooth but surging with power, his emerald gaze never leaving me. He stopped in front of me and demanded sharply, “Who are you?”

My breath stuttered, and my heart sank. He didn’t know me. This wasn’t my Nero.

“Captain Somerset said you seemed to know her,” he continued. “And me.” Suspicion hardened his eyes. His voice was piercing. “I asked you a question.” He captured my wrists, slamming them against the wall, trapping me. “Whoare you?”

I held his gaze. “The woman of your dreams.”

He stopped, surprised.

“That’s right, Windstriker,” I said. “I know you dreamt about me last night.”

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