Once Upon A Midnight Drow (Goth Drow Book 1)

by Martha Carr

  “Man, what is this? Facebook for racketeers?”

  The forums with names so stupid—like Fight the Power—had to be blind fronts for law enforcement just hoping to crack down on as many morons as they could find. Just distractions for the angsty teenage hacker trying to find meaning in places most people didn’t know how to access. She moved through these, scanning the titles and discarding the ones that had more than a handful of comments. This wasn’t about hopping on the most popular discussion for wannabe badasses or way more conspiracy threads than she could count. “Where’s that O-class?”

  Five minutes later, she’d found the OP’s bulletin entitled ‘Third-Quarter Projections’ and snorted. “Sounds boring.”

  She sent a polite enough message asking for access to the comments. The reply was immediate from a handle she hadn’t seen before.

  gu@rdi@n104: Welcome, ShyHand71. Friendly admin reminder—Users with first-time access keep their opinions to themselves for the first 48 hours.

  “Aw, bummer.” Cheyenne rolled her eyes.

  ShyHand71: No problem. Thanks for the open door.

  gu@rdi@n104: Looking for anything specific?

  Cheyenne jammed another steaming forkful of lasagna into her mouth and washed it down with Blueberry-Buzz-flavored energy. “Hey, somebody’s bringing back old passwords.” Her fingers clacked on the keys.

  ShyHand71: Wouldn’t tell you if I were.

  The cursor on the private message blinked a few seconds, then the admin’s message came through accompanied by a thumbs-up emoji and an A+.

  gu@rdi@n104: Have fun.

  “Oh, yeah. Loads of fun. You could save me time and give me that orc’s head on a silver—”

  The private message disappeared from her screen, and the entirety of the Third-Quarter Projections forum rearranged itself into a different conversation. “That’s more like it.”

  Grinning, Cheyenne scrolled through the message board. They were ordered by race, apparently—G-, GM-, N-, O-, and T-class labels. “Guessing it would be D for drow if they had any. At least it’s alphabetical.”

  She dove into the G-class boards first. No one explicitly said anything about goblins, but it was implied. Gobbling as Free Market Trade. Gobs Pushed Off Rez. G Biz Needs an Interpreter.

  “Obviously not for English if they’re writing in it.” She clicked on that last one, took ten seconds to read the bulletin, then scrolled through the comments. “Jackpot. Goblin businesses being hit by orcs. Sounds like the same problem that Trevor guy had. Except for the O’gúl threats. Whatever those are.”

  There wasn’t an address listed for the place, which would’ve been stupid. If she wanted to hang around the forum to monitor things, she wouldn’t be able to send anyone anything for two days. “Yeah, since they’re monitoring everybody in here, good thing I can be invisible.”

  The VPN decryption she’d built a few years ago still worked the way it needed to, although it didn’t have any fancy code attached to make it look pretty. Which was the point. “Nobody’s looking, anyway.” Cheyenne released the thing and let it sniff its way through the OP’s backtrail. It hit four different rerouted IPs before settling on the fifth and bringing it up on a map of Richmond and the surrounding areas, flashing in a bright-red circle.

  “Bloodhound found the scent. Good work. My turn.”

  The lasagna called her name, so she shoveled the rest of it in her mouth with her usual efficiency. Until tonight, that efficiency meant she had more time to poke around in all the dark places she’d learned to navigate from behind her desk. Now, it meant she was out of her apartment two minutes later to locate that last IP address and hunt an orc in the flesh instead of through symbols on a screen.

  * * *

  After a twenty-minute drive across town, Cheyenne parked a block away from the building she’d traced. At 7:00 p.m., the sun had almost set, and the street was completely empty. It’s not Stony Point.

  She locked her Ford Focus and slid a fingernail beneath a piece of chipped, matte-gray paint she hadn’t bothered to redo since she’d bought the thing. Then she stepped onto the sidewalk and made her way toward this goblin business.

  When she reached the address with the number on the front of the building, she stared at the marquee over the front door—Robe Up, Dress Down. Her mouth twitched into a smirk.

  What are goblins doing with a consignment boutique? Different strokes, I guess.

  She stepped up to the front door, shaking her head, and pulled on the handle. It was locked. The hours of operation on the front window listed 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., but she could tell someone was inside. The lights were on, and Cheyenne might have been the only person around, magical or otherwise, who could hear tense voices coming from somewhere in the building. They were muted, but it sounded like whoever they were had anger issues to rival hers. Yeah, when I was twelve, maybe.

  The half-drow cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her face against the window. The front room was unoccupied. Knocking on the door wouldn’t get her anywhere, either, so she stepped back, glanced up and down the street, and headed around the side toward the back.

  The narrow road between buildings led to a rear parking area lit by a streetlamp that blinked on as soon as Cheyenne stepped behind the building. She froze at the sudden light, then reminded herself that was what streetlights did when it got dark. Sticking her hands into her pockets, she gave the two pickups parked behind Robe Up a quick, sweeping glance. One of them with the business logo printed on the side in bright pink. If I knew any goblin clichés, I’d still say that breaks ‘em.

  A dark-gray van sat on the other side of the parking lot, far enough away to be separated from the trucks but close enough to belong to someone inside any of these commercial buildings. The air smelled like magic in a way Cheyenne didn’t recognize. Something was off.

  “You can’t do this!” The shout came from the goblin business, all right.

  Cheyenne turned toward the back door. Someone hadn’t shut it all the way.

  She heard a thump, followed by a muted growl. “That’s not what we agreed! You said we— Hey! What are you doing?”

  That must be what goblins versus orcs sounds like. Cheyenne padded to the cracked back door, slipping around the pool of light from the streetlamp. She pressed her hand against the wall.

  When she closed her eyes, she applied the same trick she’d been using for ten years to spy on her mom’s consultations in her private office at home. Now her ability granted Cheyenne sight within the building. Four figures lit up in her mind’s eye in different wavering colors, one of them blue, the other three a dark, muddy green. The three circled the blue guy, their height and bulk overshadowing their target.

  Or victim. Please let these be the orcs from last night.

  Heat flared at the base of her spine and drowned out the breeze on her skin, the glow of the streetlamp behind her, and the low, thick voices from inside. All she felt was that burning, tingling flame licking its way up her spine. Cheyenne’s fingers brushed a small, cold object in her pocket—the four-pointed star Professor Bergmann had made from Cheyenne’s accidental magic.

  A souvenir.

  She closed her fist around the trinket and thought about her brief and frustrating training session with Mattie. Feel it. Check. That’s the easy part.

  Her breath quickened. Embrace it.

  She thought of Ember on the concrete of the skatepark and in the hospital bed connected to monitors. Her skin prickled, the heat spreading over her shoulders and down her arms and climbing up her neck.

  Hold it. Stay in my angry place.

  Somewhere behind her, a car door opened, then another. Boots crunched on loose, scattered gravel on the asphalt, then two doors shut.

  Yeah, I got it.

  “Valdu,” a gruff voice muttered at the other end of the parking lot.

  “I told you to wait in the van and let me handle this.” That voice came from inside.

  “There’s someone out back.�
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  “Well, get rid of him and stay the hell outside until I’m done!”

  Cheyenne’s eyes flew open, and she peeped over her shoulder to see a huge orc in a business suit and a creepy smaller guy with blue skin and a long, pointed nose. They headed straight for her. When they saw her face—the dark-gray skin, white hair, and golden glow behind her eyes—the pair paused. They both blinked in surprise before exchanging hesitant glances.

  Screw this. I’m taking these orcs down.

  The half-drow, who now looked full drow and pissed, sneered at the magicals before she whirled toward the rear door and kicked it wide open.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The door burst open and cracked against the inside wall as Cheyenne stormed inside.

  “Hey!” the orc from the lot shouted from behind her.

  Inside, an orc turned his head and snarled. “We’re closed. Can’t you see?”

  The orc who’d been messing with the goblin owner of the shop—and now had his fists around most of the guy’s shirt collar—didn’t take his hands away from the terrified magical with blue skin. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m here now.” Cheyenne spread her arms, and a hissing spiral of sparks churned in her palms. “Where’s Durg?”

  The biggest orc turned from the goblin to look at her. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Tell me where he is!” Her sparks flared higher, and then the orc and the blue-skinned guy with orange eyes burst through the open back door.

  “Don’t move.”

  Cheyenne heard them breathing behind her, punctured by a crackle through the air and a burst of magic she felt on her skin while it was still in the other magical’s hand. “You first.”

  The orc with a fistful of goblin ran a thick gray tongue over his top teeth, then glanced at his two companions, who’d done a piss-poor job as lookouts. “Take care of her.”

  He snarled and almost lifted the goblin off his feet before pulling the store owner through the back and away from the half-drow intruder. The other two orcs who’d come to strongarm the business owner—one of them missing an eye, the other covered in mud-brown tattoos—slammed their fists into their opposite palms at the same time. Green light flared at the contact, and the orc behind her with the blue-skinned friend, whatever he was, stormed forward.

  A full furnace blast of drow magic washed over her. “Let’s do this.”

  The orc from behind let off a burst of magic at the same time Cheyenne dropped into a crouch. A spiraling red light with razor-sharp edges wheeled over her and cut a path between the two oncoming orcs before slicing into the far wall of the backroom and sending up a puff of plaster and drywall.

  One-Eye and Tattoo barreled toward her, overturning the table between them.

  Cheyenne launched black and purple sparks at the orc in the suit and caught him in the upper chest. He roared and staggered sideways as his blue associate slammed the back door shut. One-Eye flung shards of something green that reeked of burnt wiring toward her.

  Rolling sideways, Cheyenne came to her feet, whipped her hand in a circle, and sent a crackling black orb at One-Eye. It hit the overturned table instead, destroying it in a rain of huge splinters.

  “I don’t have it!” the goblin shouted from somewhere in the front.

  Cheyenne jerked her head up at the sound. The tattooed orc bounded over a stack of supply crates and crashed into her, knocking her backward. They both toppled into the metal shelving unit, sending rolls of paper towels and boxes of lightbulbs onto the floor. With a shrieking bellow, the half-drow brought her elbow up against the side of the orc’s face.

  One-Eye shot off a few hissing green charges at them both, but Cheyenne ducked aside. Tattoo wobbled on his feet and reached for her again, swiping with both hands and letting out a strangled growl. She sent her entire foot into the center of his broad chest and kicked him back. One-Eye’s magical attacks crashed into Tattoo’s back as purple and black energy hurtled from Cheyenne’s hands. Both orcs slammed into the ground against the opposite wall.

  The non-orc with blue skin stumbled across the scattered paper towel rolls, then found his footing and made himself an open target. Cheyenne snarled and summoned black and purple power into both hands.

  The blue guy pulled a gun from his hip and leveled it at her.

  “Seriously?” Cheyenne cocked her head, her nostrils flaring. “What is it with you people and guns?”

  “Let’s see if you can stop a bullet.” The blue magical breathed heavily, and Cheyenne picked up the sound of the three others in the building, all breathing faster than the two she’d rendered unconscious.

  “You wanna try?” She didn’t look at the gun, didn’t look away from the orange eyes in that blue face. Professor Bergmann’s words came to her.

  Put something in the jar.

  Right.

  The blue-skinned magical squeezed the trigger, and time slowed. Cheyenne heard the scrape of metal pulling back against metal and the slow hiss of the guy’s exhale. The chamber ignited behind the bullet just as the purple and black energy of her drow magic burst from her hand. She stepped sideways much faster than she’d realized she could, and then the world skipped to normal speed. The bullet left a hole in the wall behind where she’d just stood, while the blue guy screamed and doubled over as he dropped his gun and clutched his injured hand to his chest.

  Cheyenne knew the orc in the suit had made it behind her. She heard air being sucked into his lungs and the press of his rubber-soled shoes against the linoleum floor. She dropped into another crouch and twisted around toward him. Black, snaking tendrils lashed from her fingertips and coiled around the orc’s ankles. Her hands clenched into fists and pulled, jerking the orc off his feet and sending him flying across the back room of the shop. He let loose a grunt of surprise before his head cracked against the doorway into the front, and he passed out.

  Cheyenne stood and peered around.

  From the next room, she overheard: “We made a deal, Radzu.”

  “That didn’t include destroying my shop!”

  Cheyenne crunched across the broken lightbulbs and slammed her fist into the side of the blue-skinned guy’s head. He dropped, still cradling his arm, and she kicked his gun under a shelving unit. She stepped over the smashed table and the scattered supplies, slipping into the front room with her skin on fire and more drow magic coalescing around her hands.

  She came around the corner and saw the huge orc looming over the goblin owner, who was cowering in his office chair, obviously forced to sit by the orc leaning into his face. Cheyenne caught the glint of a knife pressed to the short goblin’s violet throat.

  The shop owner caught sight of her and lifted a finger. “She wasn’t part of the deal, either.”

  The orc jerked the blade away from the shop owner’s throat and turned. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “I think we all agree the deal’s off,” Cheyenne said, spreading her arms. “Whatever it is.”

  The squabbling magicals exchanged a confused glance, and the orc grunted. “She’s not one of mine.”

  “Seeing as I just put four of your guys down for a nap in the back, it would suck if I was.” Cheyenne held up a finger. Everyone listened to the utter lack of noise. “Yeah. They’re out.”

  “What do you want?” The orc raised his blade and pointed it at her, half in warning, half in invitation. “I don’t do business with drow.”

  “You do now.” Cheyenne nodded at his weapon. “You can put that thing away and tell me where Durg is…or I’m gonna take that knife and use it on you until you talk.”

  “K’shul?”

  “You.” The orc jabbed a finger at the goblin without taking his eyes off Cheyenne. “Shut it.”

  “Can you guys at least take this outside?” The goblin glanced at the main room of his store and grimaced. “I can’t do anything with a—”

  K’shul let out a mixed bark and battle cry. He leapt away from the goblin and started circling Cheyenne.


  She lifted a handful of crackling, churning magic. Purple sparks flew from her palm. “If that’s how you want it, I’ll play.”

  The orc could only move back and forth in a half-circle around her, seeing as she stood between him and the entrance to the backroom. He came closer each time and slashed at the air with his blade. In his other hand, he conjured a humming ball of silver that vibrated above his palm. Cheyenne cast it a dubious glance before K’shul came at her.

  She went on the offensive, ducking a knife swipe and sending a lash of black sparks out. She would have hit home, but the silver orb in his hand flashed and the air in front of him shimmered, deflecting her attack and sending it careening across the shop. A mannequin crashed to the floor, jewelry and a snapped strand of beads skittering across the floor.

  “Come on,” the goblin shrieked.

  Cheyenne released two more attacks, one at K’shul’s feet and the other at his head. The silver orb’s shield deflected them both, and she dropped her hands to her sides with an irritated shrug. “Fine. Your way.”

  The orc took two lunging strides toward her and slashed out with the knife. She dodged it, slipping to the side and out of his reach. He shouted in frustration, spittle gleaming on his huge lower lip between his protruding tusks. The blade came down again and again, and Cheyenne let off another attack just to be sure. It bounced off the shield and nearly singed the goblin, who leapt shrieking from his chair.

  The halfling let the knife-wielding orc close in on her. The next time he swung out with the blade, she caught his forearm between both of hers, shoving down on the inside of his elbow and jerking his wrist in the other direction. K’shul stumbled forward with a grunt, and Cheyenne grabbed his shoulders and lifted a knee into his gut. The silver orb toppled from his hand and disappeared before it hit the floor.

  Doubled over, K’shul swiped out with an empty, meaty hand. She caught his arm in her armpit and clamped down on it with her elbow, then kneed him in the face, and jabbed her other elbow down onto the back of his neck. The orc’s shoulder crunched, and his massive weight crumpled. K’shul roared in pain, his arm dislocated at the shoulder.