by Martha Carr
The right place at the right time. Now I need the right…
A group of females in short, glittering dresses and beaded headbands passed by as they headed toward the event room off the bar. One woman offered him a coy smile, which the drow politely returned.
No, not her. Still…
The magic of prophecy in his veins pulled him after the women. L’zar waited as they made superficial conversation with two men standing just inside the ballroom doors. He waited until they entered the room, then went to follow. A man in a tuxedo stepped in front of him and cleared his throat “Your invitation, sir?”
The drow reached into the manufactured inside pocket of his jacket and whipped out a blank piece of cardstock. Without looking at the concierge, he snapped the fingers of his other hand, and his illusion spell did the rest.
After seeing whatever it was he wanted to see on the fake invitation, the man handed it back. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”
L’zar snatched the card and made a show of tossing it into a silver trashcan by the doors. The fake invitation disappeared in a swirl of thin white smoke, and the drow moved into the ballroom like a panther on the hunt.
A four-string quartet played in the far corner, accompanying a man in a suit very much like L’zar’s and singing a Louis Armstrong song. Silver tinsel hung from every surface, silver ornaments dangling from the ceiling. A massive banquet table lined the wall on his left, laden with caviar and finger sandwiches, cocktail shrimp, beef tartar, artisan cheese. After a quarter-century of gruel that didn’t begin to meet state prison regulations—Chateau D’rahl wasn’t state-regulated, of course—it took every bit of his will not to go to the table, shove people out of the way, and fill multiple plates.
A golden light caught his eye as it shimmered at the other end of the ballroom. The drow’s body tingled from the pull buzzing through his veins. “Where are you?” he whispered, scanning the faces. “Show yourself…”
“Champagne?” A woman in a short cocktail dress passed in front of him with a tray of full, bubbling champagne flutes.
“Thank you.” L’zar didn’t look at her as he pulled a glass off the tray by its delicate stem and headed across the ballroom. Drinking was the last thing on his mind. This thread tying him to a woman he hadn’t met yet was making him drunk enough.
“The elections turned out very much the way we expected…”
“…would be nice not to talk shop for one night, Senator, don’t you think?”
“…when the Democratic Whip knocks on your door and asks for a favor…”
L’zar moved through the crowd, weaving between milling bodies and searching for that golden glow again. Part of him wanted to shed the illusion and gain the extra foot his drow form would have afforded, but this wasn’t the place. Most people this side of the Border didn’t know what a drow was.
Two men in suits and lit cigars—one of them pointing to his monocle and chuckling—passed in front of the drow thief. L’zar huffed out a breath and flicked his finger. The monocle leapt from the man’s eye and clattered to the ground. The man bent to retrieve it, and L’zar slipped through the opening in the crowd. With small, short bursts of magic, he moved the partygoers out of his way—a woman’s beaded necklace pulling her sideways before snapping and spilling beads all over the marble floors; a stiff-backed caterer tripping over his own shoe; two cabinet members, judging by their snippets of conversation, both feeling a tug on the back of their suit jackets before turning around.
“Out of my way,” L’zar muttered.
“I’m sorry?” A long-legged redhead in a dress of copper-colored fringe turned and flashed him a surprised smile.
“I said, hell of a day, huh?” The drow met her gaze, hoping he’d found her.
“And the day will be over in half an hour.” She grinned. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m—”
The pull reignited in L’zar’s chest, and he lurched away from the woman to follow it. That’s not her. “Excuse me.”
When he reached the other side of the ballroom, he searched the same place he’d seen a flash of golden light. He stopped, clenched his jaws, and turned to study the New Year’s Eve party from a different angle. Still, he recognized no one. The woman he’d been trying to meet for centuries was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found.
A soft grunt conveyed L’zar’s disappointment. Then, he lifted the champagne flute to his mouth and shook his head, hoping for destiny to tug again like a fishhook pulling through his cheek. “If that soothsayer’s been playing me all this time…”
“You can’t believe everything you hear these days, can you?” The woman’s voice drew closer behind him, followed by a soft, subdued ring of laughter. “And if I were to have that conversation, Mr. Matthews, I’d like to see it written into my calendar first—”
A small weight bumped L’zar’s back, and he tilted forward to keep his champagne from spilling.
“Oh, I am so sorry.”
He turned, the pull buzzing in his chest.
She laughed again. “I didn’t see you there.”
L’zar Verdys stared at the woman patting the back of her neck, dark curls piled atop her head. She wore a simple black cocktail dress and functional pumps, a string of pearls and matching earrings. Her blue eyes shone up at him above her hesitant, apologetic smile.
I found her.
“You didn’t…I didn’t spill your drink, did I?”
The drow blinked and raised the champagne flute toward her in an un-sipped toast. “Not a drop.”
“Oh, good.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and a small flush of color rose to her cheeks. “Have…we met before?”
Only in a future foretold.
L’zar smiled. “I would remember if we did. My name’s—”
“All right, Ms. Summerlin.” A man wearing a ridiculous top hat interrupted them and dipped his head at the woman. “I’ll have my secretary call your office and set something up. You look a little busy.” He winked and turned away without acknowledging L’zar’s presence.
“I look a little…?” She blinked and gave a startled giggle. “It’s a party. And I’m…I’m sorry.” When she looked up at L’zar again, her blush deepened. “You were about to tell me your name.”
“Leon Verdys.” L’zar offered his free hand, and he would have tossed the champagne flute behind him if that wasn’t sure to make them both the center of attention. That’s the last thing we need.
“Leon. You know, I’m very good with names, but I don’t remember yours. And you still seem so…” The woman licked her lips and shook her head, trying to clear it of the most robust sense of déjà vu she’d ever had. “Bianca Summerlin, Mr. Verdys. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The minute she slid her hand into his, the world might as well have stopped turning. A jolt of centuries-old certainty coursed through L’zar’s entire being, and Bianca Summerlin gasped.
“Did you…” She stared at their clasped hands, then cleared her throat. “Did you feel that?”
“Feels like the end of the world.” He didn’t let go.
“I’m sorry?”
“Y2K and all that. Right?” The drow smiled with a human face that was not his, then gently released her hand.
“Something like that.” She turned her head and studied him sidelong, then glanced at the champagne in his hand. “You’re not drinking?”
“I was about to. Then you found me.”
Bianca licked her lips, eyed him up and down, then lifted a hand toward the server coming by with another tray of champagne flutes. “I’ll join you.”
“I was hoping you would.”
Bianca went to step toward the server. Before she could do so, L’zar reached out and deftly plucked a champagne flute from the tray as the server walked past. The man strode on, oblivious to the bubbly’s weight having left his tray.
Bianca laughed when he handed her the drink. “Smooth.”
He lifted his flute and toasted her. “To new beginnings.”
“And hopefully not the end of the world.” They clinked glasses, and before she raised hers to her lips, L’zar took a brazen step toward her.
“You know, I’d almost given up hope tonight.”
“Oh?” Though she stared up at him without looking away, her breath hitched in her throat. “Hope for what?”
“That I’d find the perfect person to bring in the new year with.”
Bianca laughed and lifted her champagne flute higher. “That’s an excellent pickup line.”
“Only if it’s working.” L’zar took his first sip without breaking her gaze. Beneath his illusion spell, he was still a good six inches taller than her.
She peered up at him over the rim of her glass. Another breathless laugh escaped her. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, Mr. Verdys—”
“Leon. Please.”
“Leon. It might be working. Your line, that is. But don’t let it go to your head.”
“I would never.”
“And I’ve had too much to drink.” Grinning, caught in the web of destiny ensnaring them, Bianca sipped her champagne. She nearly spilled it down the front of her dress when the mic squealed and the ballroom announcer’s voice cut through the end of the song.
“Dear friends, honored guests, and gracious benefactors, we are nearing the last minute of the century.” A screen lit up over the doorway to the ballroom. “Please join us in counting down to the new year and the beginning of a new millennium!”
A cheer went up around the room, followed by laughter and a round of freshly poured champagne making its way through the crowd.
L’zar bent toward Bianca’s ear and muttered, “You look nervous.”
“Oh, I do, do I?” She offered a polite laugh, but the returning blush gave her away. She didn’t lean away from his lips, which were nearly brushing her ear.
“I promise you don’t need to be nervous. Not tonight.”
She looked at him and blinked. “And what—”
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
When L’zar winked, she looked away, only to down the entire glass of champagne in two gulps.
“Six! Five!”
“A night like this only happens once in a—”
“Century?” Bianca’s smile returned, fueled by the same unquestionable pull that had brought the drow thief from the confines of Chateau D’rahl all the way to the St. Regis. “That’s hardly an excuse to throw all caution to the wind, Mr. Ver…Leon.”
L’zar leaned closer. “But you are.”
“Three! Two!”
She was trapped in his gaze. “I…”
“One! Happy New Year!”
Amid the tinkle of cutlery chiming against crystal glass stems, the cheers and hoots, the laughter and uncorking of a dozen more champagne bottles, L’zar placed a hand on the small of Bianca Summerlin’s back and bent to press his lips against hers.
What little willpower she’d held onto after three hours of drinking with Washington’s political elite evaporated. The empty champagne flute slipped from her fingers and broke on the marble floor. No one noticed; for that matter, no one saw the tall man in the pinstriped suit and the blushing research economist, either, as they made their way somewhere far more private.
Chapter Two
L’zar glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 3:27 a.m. Beside him in the king-sized bed with one-thousand-thread-count sheets, Bianca Summerlin lay motionless in sleep, her dark curls spilling in a tangled array on her pillow. The drow brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek, the sight of his human-colored skin against hers bringing him a momentary twinge of discomfort.
She sighed in her sleep, and he leaned and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I found you for a reason, Bianca,” he whispered. “I hope you remember that. And I’m sorry for how long you’ll have to wait before you discover what that reason is. I’ll be waiting too.”
The corner of her mouth upturned in a dream-induced smile. The drow thief caressed her curls one final time, then slid from beneath the sheets and dressed. He was quick and silent, still full of energy despite having lain awake beside her for an hour until she drifted off into a heavy sleep.
He stopped at the minibar and mouthed a summons under his breath. A pale, shimmering light flared at his fingertips. When it faded, a copper-coated puzzle box covered in drow runes rested snugly in his palm. He placed it with an uncharacteristic tenderness beside Bianca’s small black purse atop the minibar. He tapped the top of the box, and a wave of light spread from his fingertip around the trinket, then faded.
He nodded. “When it’s time, you’ll know what to do with this. Both of you will know.”
With a parting glance at the beginning of his destiny lying in the hotel suite, L’zar placed a hand on the door and closed his eyes. Magically peeping through it, he spied no one about in the hallway, which was just as well. He muttered another spell and phased through the door, opting not to risk waking her by leaving the traditional way. Outside the suite, L’zar straightened the lapel of his illusionary suit and made for the elevator.
Now that he’d done his part, that tingling, pulsing tug on his being had gone. The drow moved through the streets of D.C. to a less frequented part of the city outside Capitol Heights. A cab might have given him a chance to relax and let someone else take the wheel for twenty minutes, but he wasn’t finished.
And I can’t let anyone see me until I’m ready to go back, even like this.
The abandoned warehouse on Nannie Helen Burroughs Avenue hadn’t changed in twenty-six years. He hoped the inside hadn’t changed, either.
When he reached the unmarked side door, L’zar’s fingers moved in another complicated pattern until his spell illuminated the faint green glow of the security wards. “Just the way I left them.” He chuckled and pressed his finger against the shimmering shape of a long, thin star with only four points. The wards flashed, then disappeared, and he pushed open the door.
Rusty hinges squealed, and a blue-skinned troll sitting at a long desk of computer monitors and keyboards whirled around. “Who the hell are you?”
“Oh, come on, Persh’al. Is that how you treat an old friend?”
“Look…” The troll chewed his bottom lip and raised both hands. “I don’t know how the hell you got in, but whatever you think you’re gonna find—”
L’zar snapped both hands’ fingers, and his human glamour melted away. He gained another foot in height, his short brown hair lost all its color and dropped into the white knot tied loosely at the back of his neck. His pinstriped suit returned to a white t-shirt and a pair of thin gray pants with CDR printed down the left leg.
Persh’al leapt to his feet with a shout of surprise and slapped his hands together. “L’zar! You dirty thief.”
The drow spread his arms and grinned. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Well, ‘O’gúl Crown be damned.” A bark of a laugh escaped the blue troll before Persh’al stalked across the warehouse’s main room toward L’zar. “You’re full of surprises, ain’tcha?”
“Comes with the territory.”
The magicals clapped one another in a quick embrace before Persh’al stepped back and stared his old friend up and down. “What’s with the getup?”
“I’m serving a hundred-year sentence, Persh’al. Chateau D’rahl ran out of ceremonial robes before they booked me.”
“No!” The troll’s golden eyes widened, and he clapped a hand to his head shaved bald on either side of the neon-orange mohawk sprouting from the center. “You broke out of high-security prison for O’gúleesh, and you decided to come here?”
“Well, it wasn’t my first stop. But yeah.”
Persh’al sniffed, looked the drow over one more time, then nodded and turned toward the three long desks spread out in rows in the center of the warehouse. “I wouldn’t be my first stop, either. You sure nobody followed you?”
L’zar raised an eyebrow.
Persh’al snorted. “‘Course, yo
u’re sure. Who am I kidding?”
They stopped at the first desk where lines of code blinked and scrolled in white, blue, and green across four different monitors. “I’m assuming you guys have been keeping an eye on things in here while I’ve been gone,” L’zar said while glancing over the data feeds.
“Well, you’d be right.” Persh’al nodded and folded his arms. “None of us wanted to see you chained and locked up, but we’re not abandoning the ship just because you weren’t here breathing down our necks.”
“And here I thought the whole operation would fall apart without me.”
Persh’al blinked and stared at his friend before huffing out a laugh. “I see prison hasn’t humbled you a bit.”
“I was born with an indestructible immunity against humility.”
“If that’s what you wanna call it.”
“So, tell me what’s happening with the rez at Border 4.” The drow nodded at the center monitor and folded his arms.
“Everything’s running smooth as ever, man. Fifteen came through in the last two weeks. Half a dozen orcs wanting to start some supply train. Four more trolls. Represent.” Persh’al bumped his chest with his fist. “Only two Nightstalkers this time, which is a lot better for everyone if you ask me. They keep to themselves. And three goblins, but they don’t count.”
L’zar snorted. “They never do. Until they do.”
“Yeah, well, we’re watching everyone closely. As far as I know, none of the human organizations have noticed a thing, and they won’t.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“Hey.” The troll turned toward L’zar and spread his arms. “I see everything from right here in this executive freakin’ desk chair, okay? Genuine Italian leather and everything. The humans on this side are never gonna crack this code, and they’re never gonna know we’ve got our hands in these proverbial cookie jars.”