“They’re harmless,” Tessa replied with a dismissive flick of her hand.
“Until the day you chase them out of town.”
“The paranormal soldiers are all good and fun, but I’m saving my heart for an angel.” Tessa gave Nero a demure look.
I rolled my eyes.
“Know any single angels?” Tessa asked him.
“None you want to give your heart to. They would serve it back to you on a silver platter.”
Tessa giggled.
“I was not joking.”
But Tessa looked unconvinced.
“Speaking of silver platters, who’s in the mood for dinner?” I asked, my tummy rumbling for only the hundredth time this evening.
Gin’s hand shot in the air. “Famished.”
“Working always makes me hungry,” Tessa agreed.
“Good,” I told them. “Because today we’re all going to dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town.”
The fanciest restaurant in town was literally called the Silver Platter. I wasn’t sure if the name was genuinely pretentious or was instead meant as a halfhearted jab at pretentious people everywhere.
The restaurant was actually pretty nice, especially for one in a rugged Frontier town. As we entered through the massive double doors, the high vaulted ceiling looming above us, Tessa and Gin let out a collective sigh of delight.
We’d never been past these gilded doors before. The closest we’d gotten was the Mermaid’s Lagoon next door, the town’s second fanciest restaurant. And we’d only gone there when we had a very special occasion to celebrate—or when we had a very big payday to spend.
But there was no comparison. The Mermaid’s Lagoon was a nice, cozy place with comfort food like fried chicken and mashed potatoes. It was delicious comfort food, but it was comfort food nonetheless. The Silver Platter was in a whole other league. The menu was dominated by dishes I couldn’t pronounce, and I was sure there were at least a few too many digits on the end of all the prices.
The tables were made of massive, thick rustic wood—expensive rustic, not dirty and run-down rustic. The benches were made from the same wood. Magic fires burned in the hearths, created by mixtures of expensive designer potions. Overhead, the candlelight consisted of thousands of tiny magic baubles. Out here where Magitech was scarce and expensive, that was an enormous splurge. It was no wonder the prices were so high.
The Silver Platter was where the VIP visitors of Purgatory went, people like the upper echelon of the paranormal soldiers’ organization. This place was designed for people to whom money was not an issue.
As we were led to our table, my senses were bombarded with the smell of wood fires and a gentle earthy and sweet scent that made me desperate to eat now. I was so hungry that I was half-tempted to storm the kitchen and steal the steaks right off the grill.
“This place is awesome,” Gin whispered.
“Did you see the silverware?” Tessa gasped as we sat down. “It’s real, actual silver.”
Tessa had an eye for design, for fashion, for anything pretty and fancy basically. She had an appreciation of finer things, and the ability to tell the difference between them and cheap knockoffs. She could see where corners had been cut, or where no expense had been spared. Her love of pretty things and pampering made her a true princess at heart. Calli had often said that Tessa would have to find herself a prince to marry because we certainly couldn’t afford her fine taste.
Gin gently tapped the wall behind our table. “The walls are made of actual stone. It’s not just a veneer.”
Building with stone out here on the Frontier was exorbitantly expensive, so only people with money to burn did it. I wasn’t surprised the Silver Platter was a member of that elite club.
Like Tessa, Gin appreciated nice things, but her taste was more down-to-earth, more practical. She wouldn’t wear something pretty if it wasn’t also practical. She wanted both. And she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. It wasn’t uncommon to find her covered in motor oil in our garage, fixing up the vehicles or trying to figure out some gadget by taking it apart. She would keep disassembling something until she figured out how to rebuild it in the perfect way.
“Even the menus look expensive,” Tessa commented.
I looked down at my menu, a piece of delicate art canvas set over a wooden board. The Silver Platter’s decorator sure had an eye for detail; the board was made of the same wood as the furniture.
“The text moves!” Gin exclaimed.
Her squeal of delight drew a few reproving stares from the high brow clientele.
I glanced down at my menu. The dishes were handwritten onto the paper in graceful, calligraphic strokes. I tapped my finger against the edge of the canvas, and the text scrolled to the next page of the menu. It was like a phone screen. The menu must have been penned in magic ink—movable, dynamic ink.
But my wonder was cut short by the sight of the guest a few tables down from ours. It was the district lord in the royal blue cowboy boots I’d seen earlier this evening. Well, he’d changed outfits since then.
The blue-booted district lord was now dressed in a very expensive, very shiny white silk suit. Despite the color and the dusty state of the streets outside, his suit was spotless. He was showing off that he could walk around this rugged Frontier town, and yet his clothes remained immaculate.
But the district lord wasn’t the source of my sudden lack of appetite. It was the man sitting at his feet, chained to an ivory column. Dressed in a simple cotton tunic, he wore no shoes. His eyes were hungry, his cheeks concave, as though he hadn’t eaten in days. And yet the district lord’s dog was devouring a steak from a crystal dish.
The man was eyeing the dog’s dinner with hunger, watching in perfect silence, obviously too afraid to move, to try to snatch even the tiny pieces of meat that sprinkled the floor as the dog messily consumed its dinner.
Frontier towns were full of these poor souls, indentured servants who’d come here for a new life, a fresh start, all paid by a generous district lord. The price of this generosity: their life was not their own for ten whole years. They were handled like animals. No, worse than animals. The district lords’ beloved dogs received better treatment.
Seeing that poor man chained to the column didn’t just turn my stomach. It boiled my blood. I was so furious. I had to do something to end his inhumane treatment—something like set that smug district lord’s spotless suit on fire. Then it wouldn’t be so spotless anymore.
Nero caught my hand under the table. “Don’t kill him.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him. I was just going to set him on fire a little.”
“We cannot interfere unless we are threatened or the gods’ order is disrupted,” he reminded me.
“How can that atrocity not be a disruption of the gods’ order?” I hissed under my breath. “It is an affront to all that is still good and decent in this world.”
“Setting the district lord’s suit on fire won’t solve the problem. And it certainly won’t help his servant.”
Nero was right. If anything, the district lord would use his spontaneous combustion as an excuse to punish the starving man further.
I took calming breaths, trying to slow my racing pulse.
“He will get what’s coming to him,” Nero told me.
“When?” I demanded. “And how many lives will he ruin before that day comes?”
“You can’t right every wrong.”
Maybe not. But I damn sure well was going to try.
“Maybe you could save this one man by killing his master. You might even get away with it without the Legion finding out. But then what?” Nero asked. “The contract he signed is legally binding. It would be transferred to the next of kin. The man would still not be free.”
I frowned. This system was so broken.
“Patience,” Nero said calmly.
I frowned. “Your favorite immortal virtue.”
“It will all turn out in the end.”
“How do you know?”