Once Upon A Midnight Drow (Goth Drow Book 1)

by Martha Carr

  A wave of stale cigarette smoke blasted her in the face, and when she sat behind the wheel, she found the seat slid all the way back and lowered almost to the backseat behind it.

  Cheyenne adjusted the seat to its regular position. She got inside and started it. All the windows rolled down without a problem, and she hoped a good drive with a blast of fresh air would get rid of the smoke. As she pulled away from her somewhat undetected parking spot beside the landfill, she caught a whiff of something like rotting fruit. Reaching between the passenger seat and the center console, she pulled out a blackened banana peel and an empty bag of Cheetos.

  “Gross.” She tossed the banana peel out. She’d have to stop to clean the rest of the car before she did anything else. The old burner flip phone Sir had given her came out of her pocket and bounced a little when she tossed it onto the passenger seat.

  I’ll take care of the stupid phone while I’m at it.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The Walmart parking lot was as good a place as any to make a quick trash stop. “Everybody goes to Walmart. Doesn’t make me stand out one way or another.”

  Cheyenne checked under every seat and in the glove box and trunk to make sure she wasn’t driving around with someone else’s secret stash in her car. As far as she could tell, whoever had been smoking with a Cheetos-banana chaser before a nice, cozy nap hadn’t done anything else to her stuff.

  She shut the burner phone in the glove box and locked the car before she strolled out of the parking lot and headed for her apartment complex, which was close by. No way are they gonna call me right after drugging me and dropping me off in the middle of nowhere. They know I’m not playing around about no tails. Plus, I need some time.

  After a fifteen-minute walk, the halfling unlocked the front door of her apartment and moved inside. Her backpack was where she had left it on the floor next to the kitchen counter. She fetched her laptop from inside it, then went to her room and yanked her phone charger from the wall socket. A glance at her tech setup in the living area made her pause—dual monitors, her small selection of specialized keyboards, the two desktop towers she’d built from scratch, and the private server hard drives on the wall behind the large executive desk. “I’ll come back to check things later. Right now, I have a burner phone in my car to make invisible.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she reached her Focus in the Walmart parking lot. She turned the car on to charge her regular cell phone, then pulled her laptop from her backpack and logged on to the closest public wi-fi network.

  Most burner phones were hard to trace by GPS or by pinging the cell signal, but she doubted the FRoE would give her something that wouldn’t let them keep an eye on her before they called the number-—which thankfully, they hadn’t done in the last half hour.

  “Like GRND0 taught me.” The brilliant, innocuous hacker who’d formed the Y2Kickass group when Cheyenne was a kid had had much to say about rerouting cell phone signals, whether they were from prepaid burners or numbers with a monthly bill and more than enough of a paper trail. Before he’d died, the old man had shown the half-drow more helpful tricks than she’d expected she’d have to use any time in her immediate or far future. “That’s how it works, though, right? You learn everything you don’t need to know until you end up needing to use what you know.”

  She opened the back of the phone and took out both the battery and the SIM card before she found the tiny tracking chip that wasn’t factory standard for burners. They can’t think I’m this stupid. No, they’ve got something else wired in here. She tossed the tracking chip out the window, then put it back together and hoped no one had tried to call in the last minute. They’re not that desperate, either.

  She connected the burner to the open wi-fi in the area, then switched back to her laptop. GRND0 had sent her a small program eight years ago for slipping into cell phone databases and fiddling around with the signal directions. It was a simple program and wasn’t useful for anything besides disconnecting a phone’s SIM card from the cell towers long enough to inject a manufactured location. “Look at that. The modern conveniences of sharing an internet network with whoever happens to be right next to me. Like a friendly little shock collar the FRoE’s trying too hard to put around my neck.”

  Cheyenne grimaced and synced the burner to her laptop with one-way encryption on GRND0’s program so the phone couldn’t read her IP address and send that information to whoever Sir had ordered to keep tabs on her. She scrambled the cell signal. If it worked, she’d still get their phone calls, and the FRoE would be able to trace her to only two locations: the tiny tracking chip she’d tossed out into the parking lot and a continually-shifting cell tower in the Richmond area.

  “Who am I kidding? Of course, it’ll work.”

  She took the phone off the public wi-fi network, dropped it on the passenger seat, and turned her attention to her laptop to check her VCU email.

  “Crap.”

  Five emails from five of her graduate professors, which was all of them. The one from Professor Hersh was full of its usual vitriolic snobbery.

  I expect you to either bring in a doctor’s note to my next class on Wednesday or have a good reason for skipping two more classes within the first month of the semester. You’re an obviously gifted student, Cheyenne, but I don’t have the time or the patience for playing games. If you don’t want to be in my class, withdraw. If I don’t see your face in every single class for the rest of the semester, I will fail you, whether or not you turn in the assignments on time or send me your work in advance of said assignments. This is not an online graduate program.

  There were two more paragraphs after that, but she didn’t bother reading the rest. The other emails were much the same, although they lacked the high levels of animosity. Two added a line that was supposed to show her professors’ concern over her absences: I hope everything’s okay, and this isn’t some type of emergency absence. If it is, please let me know as soon as possible, and we’ll see what we can work out.

  Cheyenne opened the most recent email, which was from her Advanced Algorithms professor Mattie Bergmann—the woman leading a secret life as a magical from the other side, dressed up as a human with an illusion spell, and the person who had given her first semblance of magical training Cheyenne had found. “Mostly lucky, I guess. We’ll see what she has to say.”

  Cheyenne,

  We’ve discussed that your knowledge and experience with the course material of my class is beyond what I can offer you. I’m not upset you skipped my class this morning, but I’m concerned about the radio silence. I expected you to stop by my office Friday and yesterday during my office hours. I believe there were some questions you wanted answered, and it seems out of character (for as much as we’ve gotten to know each other) that you didn’t come back to get those answers from me. Please reply to let me know you’re okay. I’ll be in my office today from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. if you feel like dropping by.

  M. Bergmann

  “Great.” Cheyenne rubbed a hand over her face and glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:30 p.m., which meant she had an hour and a half until Mattie packed up her little briefcase on wheels and rolled swiftly out of her magically-locking office. “Yeah, I should let her know what’s going on. And those answers would be nice.”

  The halfling’s phone beeped in succession after it finished charging. Five days of being incapacitated at a secret FRoE compound didn’t leave a lot of room for plugging in one’s phone. Cheyenne glanced at it and saw a missed call from a number she didn’t recognize and another call from her mom, followed by a voicemail.

  “Oh, boy.” The half-drow pulled up the voicemail and put her phone on speaker.

  “Cheyenne, you left in such a hurry the other day, we didn’t finish our conversation. I haven’t heard from you since, so I’m extending the invitation one more time. I hope whatever came up on Thursday has been resolved. You’re busy. You have a life, as it should be, and I understand that. Get back to me, dear.”
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br />   That was the full message. No, “It’s your mother calling.” No, “I’m a little worried, and I hope you’re okay.” No, “I love you. Goodbye.” Bianca didn’t believe in leaving unnecessary details on voicemails. Those were reserved for face-to-face conversations.

  I’m gonna have to have another face-to-face with her soon. Whatever she had to show me about my father has more to do with the FRoE than I realized. Especially considering those people still have no idea who I am.

  With another sigh, Cheyenne closed her laptop and stuck it in her backpack. She dropped it on the floor in front of the passenger seat and buckled up. “Never thought I’d have this big a mess to clean up after going AWOL for five days.”

  She pulled out of the Walmart lot and headed across Richmond toward Virginia Commonwealth University campus. Mattie’s answers first. I’ll call Mom when I get home and see what kind of chaos has been brewing on the Borderlands forum.

  After everything she’d seen last week, Cheyenne was certain the forum for underground magicals on the dark web would have plenty to say about Thursday night’s events between the FRoE operatives and the massive meeting of magical crime lords.

  “And I’m still looking for the orc asshole who shot Ember.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Cheyenne cut through the hall in the Computer Sciences building at 3:15, which meant she had forty-five minutes until Professor Mattie Bergmann hustled out of her university-provided workspace once her office hours were up. The door was open, as usual, but the half-drow knocked anyway.

  Mattie sat behind her desk, which was against the right-hand wall, her wavy dark hair piled into a loose bun. She jerked her head up from her computer screen, and her lips popped open in surprise. “Cheyenne.”

  “I know I’m a little late.”

  The professor huffed out a wry laugh. “A little. Come in and shut the door.”

  Cheyenne did and slid her backpack off her shoulders and onto the floor against the bookshelf. Mattie examined her with a narrow-eyed gaze, then stood from behind her desk.

  She probably thinks I only have three outfits.

  The drow halfling and the professor stared at each other and Mattie lifted her chin. “Did you get my email?”

  “About an hour ago, yeah.”

  “I sent it this morning after you didn’t show up to class.”

  “I know.” Cheyenne stuck her hands in her huge, baggy pockets and felt the FRoE burner phone at the very bottom. “I got kinda held up.”

  “That’s your excuse?” Bergmann moved around to the front of her desk and sat on the edge, propping her elbow on the opposite hand around her waist so she could rub her fingers over her lips. “You got held up.”

  “In a nutshell, yeah.”

  “Okay. Should I be worried?”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “I’m still here. If you were worried about a specific drow halfling getting picked up and shipped off somewhere she doesn’t belong, now you have proof there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Uh-huh.” The professor lowered her head and peered at Cheyenne without bothering to hide her suspicion. “You’re not going to tell me where you were or what happened, are you?”

  “It’s better if I don’t. At least until I figure out what happened. And what’s gonna happen next.” And whether I can trust these FRoE people.

  “Right. Well, you look like crap.”

  Cheyenne grinned. “Thanks.”

  The office fell silent, then Mattie put her hands together. “Well. We still have a little time left before I’m outta here. I could use a break from the boring part of my job. Wanna make the most of it?”

  “If you insist.” Cheyenne walked across the woman’s office toward the armchairs on the far side, which the professor hadn’t bothered to fix or replace over the weekend after Cheyenne’s magical training had left charred holes in one of them. Halfway there, the drow halfling slowed and tried to hide her limp. Her hip still throbbed, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been after Rhynehart’s impromptu training session.

  It’s not like a five-day disappearance and an unexplained limp are an everyday thing for grad students.

  When she turned, Mattie was frowning. “You know, I feel obligated to pry.”

  “You can try.” Cheyenne shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything right now.”

  “Because it’ll put you in danger?”

  “Probably not.” It’d probably put her in danger, though. Saying that out loud won’t help.

  “Okay, fine. Keep your secrets, halfling.” Mattie gave her student a dismissive wave. “I don’t wanna know most of them anyway. I’ve heard enough stories about drinking benders stretching way longer than the weekend and regrettable college hookups to make my skin crawl. We don’t know each other that well.”

  “Yeah. Gross, right?” Cheyenne smiled and pulled her hands out of her pockets. “So, where we left off?”

  “Sounds good. Slipping into your drow form long enough to cast a spell and back into a dreary Goth human again.” Mattie nodded. “Let’s see it.”

  “Any specific thing you want me to blow up this time?”

  “Ha. At this point, take your pick. Not the computer.”

  “I’d be doing you a favor with that piece of junk.” Cheyenne nodded at the old desktop monitor beside her professor’s scattered paperwork. “It would give you an excuse to upgrade.”

  “No, you’d be giving the university an excuse not to pay for a replacement. I don’t think accidental drow destruction is covered in the warranty.” With a dry chuckle, the professor folded her arms. “Sounds like you’re stalling.”

  “Nope.” I’m glad to be having a conversation with someone I know isn’t trying to squeeze something useful out of me. At least not for her own agenda. Cheyenne spread her arms and gave her professor an exaggeratedly mocking bow. “Observe.”

  She focused on the glass jar of pens sitting on Professor Bergmann’s desk next to the computer monitor.

  I can make that shot, no problem. Thanks, Rhynehart, for the target practice.

  An image of the FRoE operative’s giant magical rifle flashed through her mind, and Cheyenne gave herself over to the flare of heat shooting up from the base of her spine. It washed over her in a second, revealing the drow form she’d spent her whole life suppressing. She pointed at the jar and sent two hissing sparks arcing from her fingertip. By the time the purple drow magic fell into the jar and rattled the pens inside, Cheyenne had let go of her drow happy place and returned to her unhappy-looking human form.

  Mattie pushed herself off the edge of her desk and jumped toward the glass jar of pens. With a quick flick of her fingers and a smokey yellow light flashing in her hand, she snuffed out Cheyenne’s bottled sparks and froze. The woman glanced between the jar and her computer monitor with a surprised chuckle, then grabbed the pens from the jar and turned to dangle them in front of her student. “Neat trick. Now I’m out of pens.”

  The bottom half of every pen in the jar had melted, blue and black ink smudged around the already-cooled plastic.

  “I didn’t hit your computer,” Cheyenne smirked. “And I haven’t seen you use a pen once.”

  “Fair point.” Mattie reached around the corner of her desk to drop all the destroyed pens into the small wastebasket. When she snapped her fingers, a penny launched from the tray of loose change on the shelf and darted toward Cheyenne.

  The halfling snatched it from the air and tossed it at her professor. “I think I’ve gotten a handle on things since Thursday.”

  “Huh.” Mattie turned the penny over, then stuck it in the pocket of her high-waisted purple skirt with pale white daisies printed all over it. “That might be the most convincing thing I’ve heard you say.”

  “Well, maybe I should give my mentor some credit, right?” When Cheyenne smiled, she hoped it looked genuine. I’ll take Mattie over Rhynehart any day, but it seems like I don’t have a choice. I get both.

  “And unsolicited flattery. Now I
have to know what you spent the last five days getting yourself into. Any tips you can offer for a Computer Science professor who’s making it up as she goes along?”

  “Don’t shoot me.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Cheyenne thought it was funny, but Mattie clearly didn’t.

  “You’re not making a strong case for yourself when you say stuff like that. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.” The drow halfling closed her eyes and sighed. “Sorry. I’m making it up as I go, too.”

  “Clearly.” Mattie pressed a finger to her lips again, her hazel eyes glinting in suspicion and concern. “You know, for how eager you were to squeeze all the information you could out of me last week, I expected you to be cutting right to the chase today.”

  “Waiting for you to tell me I’ve mastered shifting in and out so we can move on to the next level.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ve mastered deflection pretty well, too. Let’s have a seat.” The professor gestured toward the armchairs behind Cheyenne, and the halfling turned to the one she’d blown holes through before Mattie could protest.

  They sat in silence, and Cheyenne propped her arm on the left armrest and leaned to take some weight off her sore hip. The gesture wasn’t lost on Mattie; the woman eyed her student’s right side, biting her lip, but she didn’t push for more information. “All right. We’re moving on to the next level. Ask your questions.”

  “What are the reservations?”

  Mattie blinked and sat back with a small laugh. “You didn’t even pretend to think about it.”

  “I had time to put my thoughts together.”

  All lies. But it might explain some of the questions I’m about to ask her, and maybe she won’t freak out as much.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “The reservations, huh?” Mattie took a deep breath and glanced at the blank wall beside the armchairs in thought. She puffed up her cheeks and exhaled again. “Simply put, Cheyenne, the reservations are pockets of safety for magicals who’ve crossed the border.”