Jim’s gaze moved from my head to my toes, lingering on all the places you might expect. I wanted to punch him. He grinned and held out his hand. “Okay. Captain … ?”

“Lela Santos.” I shook his hand, which was kind of clammy. “Where did you come from?”

Jim’s leer melted. “The Blinding City.”

“The … Blinding … City? Who ends up there?” I knew there were other hellish realms in the Shadowlands where the dead were sent; that it wasn’t just the dark city, the realm for people who had committed suicide, and the Countryside, which I understood as heaven.

Jim gave me a rueful glance. “The insatiably greedy, I guess you could say. The addicts, the gamblers, the cons, and the thieves.”

“Which are you?” Malachi asked.

“Now, that’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it?” Jim raised an arm and leaned on the doorframe, either not recognizing or not caring about the waves of danger still rolling off my Lieutenant.

I made a mental note to watch Jim very carefully. “How did the city get its name?”

“Brightest place you’ve ever seen,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he missed it. “So much light, it hurts. Spotlights and streetlights and signs and sun, all on at the same time. Hard to hide anything in that kind of light.” He winked. “Not that it stops people from trying.”

“And you were a Guard there? For how long?”

“I try not to think about it. Where are you from, then?”

I thought about that for a second. “Here.”

“Ah.” He nodded, and then frowned. “Huh?”

“It’s a long story,” Malachi and I said in unison.

Jim shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned back into the house. “Hey! Henry! Come meet our new leader. You’ll love this.” He stepped onto the porch, making way.

A lean, stooped man appeared in the entryway. He had a pouchy, grizzled face and the saddest eyes I’d ever seen, weighed down by dark circles and a lifetime of tragedy. Then again, if he was a Guard, that was pretty much a given.

Jim gestured at me. “Captain Lela Santos, meet Corporal Henry Travis.”

Henry nodded solemnly at us. Jim was standing there like he expected a big reaction, but Henry didn’t look surprised or disappointed or angry. Just resigned.

“Where are you from, Henry?” I asked, trying to sound friendly.

He didn’t answer for several uncomfortable seconds, and then, his lips barely moving, he said, “The Wasteland.”

I don’t know whether it was the hopeless look in his eyes or the desolate sound of his voice, but I decided that, for the moment, I didn’t really want to know what kind of person ended up in a place like that.

I looked up at Malachi. “Why didn’t you tell me there would be others?”

“Because I didn’t know.”