Once Upon A Midnight Drow (Goth Drow Book 1)

by Martha Carr

  Sir watched his agent slide the menu and silverware down the table. “Huh.” But he slipped in beside Rhynehart just the same and folded his hands on the white tabletop with specks that looked like spilled black pepper. He pointed at her menu. “You know what you want?”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, I’m gonna go with the number-two special. Bite me.”

  “Oh. Well.” Sir raised his eyebrows and slid the menu toward him on the table, spinning it around so he could read the items. “I heard that one’s a little tough to swallow.”

  “Why am I here?” She leaned toward him and tried to keep her voice low enough not to make a scene. “I didn’t sign up for dead kids in a sick ritual before or after a casual dinner, so what else do you want?”

  Sir didn’t look up from the menu as he pulled a pair of reading glasses from where he’d hooked them on his shirt collar. He slipped them on with one hand and tilted his head back like somebody’s damn grandpa to read. “This is a conversation you want to have with me, Cheyenne—”

  “Don’t.” She spat it out harshly enough to make him look up from the menu. “I told you, you don’t get to say my name. Not in my mom’s house, not at this crappy diner, not even in your sleep. Got it?”

  “Would you prefer that I go back to using Blakely?”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t call me anything at all, and that I spend the least amount of time possible in the same room as you. I’m only here because you said you could tell me about him.”

  “Yes. Him. That’s why we’re here. But I have a hard time getting into a deep conversation on an empty stomach.” Sir looked back down at the menu and kept scanning. “So I’ll get the BLT, and you’ll sit here at this table while I eat it. And then we’ll talk.”

  Cheyenne clenched her jaw and glared at him.

  “Feel free to get something if you’re hungry. I heard you had quite the time at that church.”

  The halfling switched her burning glare from Sir to Rhynehart, and the operative just raised his eyebrows. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The server picked that moment as the perfect time to come back to the table, carrying not one but two steaming diner mugs of black coffee. She set them down in front of Rhynehart and Sir like one of them hadn’t just shown up out of nowhere and stuck her hands in the pockets of her apron.

  “Grace, you’ve always had perfect timing.” Sir removed his reading glasses, stuck them in his shirt again, and looked up at the woman. “BLT for me, please.”

  “No problem. Charlie?”

  Rhynehart cleared his throat—probably because Cheyenne had snickered when she heard his first name again—and handed Grace his menu. “Reuben, please. Tell Roger to make those fries—”

  “Extra crispy. Yeah, he knows.” Grace shot the man a wink and took both menus. “I’ll have those right out for ya.”

  Then she whisked herself away to put in their order, and Cheyenne was forced to sit there and watch both men take their sweet time sipping what smelled like the worst cup of coffee in Richmond. Sir sighed after a sip, put the mug back down, and neatly brushed a drop of coffee from his thick mustache. “Tastes exactly the same, doesn’t it?”

  Rhynehart chuckled and dipped his head. “If you can count on anything, it’s this cuppa joe.”

  Cheyenne took a deep breath and folded her arms, sitting all the way back in the booth. This is gonna be the longest meal I’ve ever been forced to sit through.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  It was all Cheyenne could do not to sit there through that endless meal with her fingers stuck in both ears, just to drown out the sound of Sir and Rhynehart munching on their sandwiches like they hadn’t eaten in days. The only other sounds besides all that chewing and swallowing were the drip of mayonnaise from Sir’s BLT, the splatter of Thousand Island dressing from Rhynehart’s Reuben, the occasional slurp of black coffee, and that godawful crunch of the extra-crispy French fries, which were occasionally dipped in a huge silver ramekin of ranch.

  She didn’t expect Sir to be finished when he was; he still had a quarter of a sandwich left. But he picked up his napkin, thoroughly wiped around his mouth and over his mustache, tossed the napkin on his plate, and slid it toward the edge of the table. He drained the last of his coffee while Rhynehart licked the dressing off his fingers.

  Cheyenne blinked slowly and focused on her breathing.

  “Boy, that was good. Never fails to put me in the right mood.”

  “Please tell me I didn’t sit through that carnival show just so you could upsell a BLT.” The halfling tilted her head and dared him with her eyes to keep beating around the bush.

  “I’m certain you’ll appreciate what I can tell you right now.” Sir swallowed and brushed a hand over his mustache again. “It isn’t everything, but it’s what I have the liberty to disclose to you today. And we’ll need more assurances from you before I hand over the rest of the jackpot. You get it.”

  “Sure. Let’s hear it, then.”

  “Do you hear that, Rhynehart?” Sir looked at his operative and gestured with an open hand toward the drow halfling across the table. Rhynehart just raised his eyebrows and stared at his empty plate as he wiped his mouth with his own napkin. “I guess we’ll just have to prove we have viable information. You can take from this what you will, halfling.”

  She stared at him. Like I need his permission.

  “You already know enough about your father to put things together. Inmate 4872, as he’s otherwise called in certain official documents. We prefer not to deal with the names of certain magicals of interest, given or otherwise. They change more often than they stay the same, except for this one. Inmate 4872 goes by the same name on this side of the Border as he did back there. L’zar Verdys.”

  Despite herself, Cheyenne felt a flutter in her chest, just hearing the name out loud. L’zar Verdys. That sounds like the truth. Whatever that meant; she’d just have to go with it. Very few things in her life had felt as certain as the name of the man who’d given her the drow magic running through her veins.

  “That’s a powerful piece of information, halfling. A powerful name. I’d be careful not to overuse it if I were you.”

  “Great advice,” she muttered, speaking in an emotionless tone because she couldn’t afford to let either of these men see how important that name was to her. “Anything else?”

  “Quite a bit, actually. But for now, I can tell you the drow you’ve been looking for is most definitely still alive. And on this side of the Border.” Sir glanced quickly at the agent sitting beside him. “According to Rhynehart, you’ve already heard of Chateau D’rahl, right?”

  Cheyenne swallowed. “A little.”

  “It’s a maximum-security prison just for those magicals on this side who’ve been deemed too dangerous on both sides of the Border to be re-released into society. It’s a FRoE-controlled prison, which not all of them are, by the way. I’ll tell you right now you won’t find it in any top-secret server or whatever files you might be able to hack your way into given enough time. Yeah, I know what you can do.”

  The halfling clenched her fists in her lap and leaned forward. “I want to see him.”

  “Sure. We can arrange that. But not yet.”

  “What?” Cheyenne glanced quickly from Sir to Rhynehart. The operative met her gaze and scratched his chin but didn’t offer anything else. “Why the hell not? I did what you wanted. I answered the phone and went on a fun little trip with your guys to that church in Manchester. You said you’d—”

  “I said I’d tell you more about your dear ol’ dad after you helped us out again. And I’ve done that. Now you know more.”

  Grimacing to keep her anger under control, Cheyenne hissed a sigh through her teeth. She wanted to launch herself across the table at the FRoE asshole who still called himself Sir. “That’s not enough. You gave me a name and told me I won’t be able to find him. How is that worth my time?”

  “Somebody needs to work on their an
ger management, I think.” Sir tapped his fingers on the table and looked up with a smile when the server Grace reappeared with the check. “Thank you, Grace. Here.” He whipped a credit card from the front pocket of his pants and handed it to her. Then she disappeared again. When he looked back at Cheyenne, his smile was tight and strained, like he enjoyed sitting here with her just as much as she did. “We need you and your special something extra for one more operation tomorrow. If you cooperate on that one like you did today, I’ll take you to Chateau D’rahl myself. Then you can have that father-daughter reunion you think you want so badly.”

  “Don’t pretend to know what I want, Sir.”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t even imagine what goes on in that halfling head of yours. Might find things in there that’d make me lose that excellent BLT I enjoyed so much. But that’s my offer. One more operation, and you go with Rhynehart tomorrow. When it’s done, you get to go on your first ride-along with me.”

  “Oh, joy.” It clearly wasn’t. Cheyenne held the man’s gaze and cocked her head. “How do I know you’re not gonna turn this deal around on me too?”

  “You don’t.” Sir shrugged. “But we both want something, halfling, and we’re in this goddamn annoying situation where we’re the only two people who can give the other person what they want. I’m a fan of what you can do, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not a fan of you personally.”

  The halfling scoffed and gave him a bitter smile. “We’re finally on the same page, then.”

  “Great. Keep that phone on. You’ll get another call tomorrow.” Sir sat there with his thick, bushy eyebrows raised, staring at Cheyenne until the server returned with the receipt and his credit card. He thanked her, signed the receipt, and glanced at Rhynehart without another word. Then he pressed his hands on the table and pushed himself up and out of the booth. His footsteps clicked across the sticky diner floor, echoing in Cheyenne’s ears almost louder than the clink and hiss of Roger working at the grill. When he thought he was out of earshot, she heard him mutter, “This goddamn heartburn.”

  She smirked when she heard it, and apparently Rhynehart thought it was aimed at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “He’s gonna have a rough night. Probably all the mayonnaise.”

  The man’s eyebrows flicked together, and he pointed at the empty plate in front of him. “Can’t find extra-crispy fries like that anywhere else.”

  Rhynehart slid out of the booth, and Cheyenne grudgingly followed. Not that she wanted to stay in this diner any longer, but because this was the part where she had to endure another car ride in the passenger seat of the man’s Jeep. Sitting next to him.

  “Thanks, Roger.” Rhynehart raised a hand as they passed the cook behind the counter.

  “Later, Charlie. Don’t take so long to come back, yeah?” The cook nodded at Cheyenne too as she shuffled behind the FRoE operative, and all she could do was raise her eyebrows at him.

  She wasn’t friends with any of these people, and she didn’t have to be. I bet Roger the cook and Grace the server don’t know jack about who he is or what he does. Of course, they like him.

  “All right.” Rhynehart clapped his hands and walked around the Jeep. “Just taking you right back to the mall?”

  “Unless you towed my car somewhere else without me knowing, then yeah.” The halfling jerked open the passenger-side door and slipped into the seat.

  He started the engine. “You know what? I think I’ll feel better too once I drop you off. It’s not like you’ve been all lollipops and rainbows since we met, but you’re just a little too salty today.”

  She strapped on her seatbelt and slowly turned to shoot him a blank stare. “Can you blame me?”

  Cocking his head, Rhynehart pulled them out of the diner parking lot and shrugged. “Not really, rookie. Can’t really blame you for anything you’ve done. Maybe especially today.”

  Cheyenne decided to go ahead and leave it at that. She wasn’t about to thank the guy, but at least she didn’t feel compelled to make things any more strained between them. Today, she’d made the choice to go against all her instincts and work with the FRoE on one more mission—at least, what she’d thought was one more. And today, she’d seen the worst side of the magicals who’d left their home to cross the Border and take advantage of those who were here to make a better life for themselves, if anything anyone had told her could be believed.

  Trees and cars and highway signs rushed past them as Rhynehart took the Jeep back down the freeway toward the strip mall. Cheyenne dropped her head against the headrest and stared out the window.

  When I’m done playing Sir’s stupid game, I’ll be sitting face to face with L’zar Verdys himself. That guy’s got a lot to answer for too.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  When she finally got back to her apartment that night—in her own car, alone, with all her stuff intact—Cheyenne dropped her backpack on the floor by the kitchen’s half-wall and headed straight for Glen. “Please tell me there’s some progress after the day I’ve had.”

  Her main monitor blinked on, and of course, she had to go through the steps of logging onto servers and checking for messages before she found anything. And she definitely found something.

  “Hey, no way!” The message had come straight from Todd on the Y2Kickass server, and she had to read it twice to make sure it said what she thought it did.

  T-rexifus088L: You’re one lucky hacker chick today, C. I reached out to our friends and asked for favors. No one’s willing to take your money, so I guess you can shove that offer. But DeathCage4Birdie said she’d take a look. Thought the double-encrypted file you sent over looked like something she’d seen before. You remember the kid, right? She came in right after GRND0 bid us all adieu. Kinda reminds me of you when the old man first brought you aboard. Not as fast. Not as creative around sharp edges. But she only took ten hours for this little pet project, and I think she just decrypted the whole thing for you because she could, and it was something to do. So that’s attached. Hope it means something to you.

  Oh, and DeathCage4Birdie said all she wants in return is a favor to call in later. Go figure, right? Not like we’re not already open to calling in favors in this cozy little group, but she was pretty damn specific that the favor came from you. I think you just turned into somebody’s role model. Enjoy.

  “Great. Everybody who looks up to me has no idea who I am.”

  Still, Cheyenne couldn’t help but be impressed that this new girl DeathCage had jumped right on the call for help and decrypted the entire file from gu@rdi@n104 without asking any questions. It was a decent gesture, even if it wasn’t free.

  When the halfling clicked on the clean file and brought the whole thing up on her monitor, though, it wasn’t anywhere close to a satisfying discovery. “What the hell is this?”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected to find, but it sure wasn’t a map. Not a normal map, either. It looked like Richmond. It even said Richmond, Virginia on the top, but all the lines were wrong. They weren’t street names or highways or the regular layout of the city she’d gotten to know pretty well over the last four and a half years. Some of the red lines crossed through the skatepark where Ember had been shot and the row of bars on East Clay Street, including Gnarly’s Pub. Blue lines crossed and intersected at various points on the VCU campus. Dotted black lines went down a few streets, disappeared, and picked back up again half a dozen blocks away.

  The key at the top didn’t make any sense, either. Instead of cardinal directions, the compass was labeled Truth, Hidden, Missed, and the last one was just a question mark. In the bottom left-hand corner of the map was a bunch of tiny print even the halfling’s better-than-good eyesight couldn’t make out. She zoomed in until the words were big enough for her to read the first line: If you want a little somethin’ for your troubles, better think outside the map and take a hint.

  gu@rdi@n104’s officially a total psycho. Wrinkling her nose, Cheyenne scrolled up to start reading the rest o
f the apparent directions at the bottom of the map. Then someone knocked on her door.

  She pushed herself away from her long desk, the executive office chair beneath her rolling backward across the plastic mat. Her hands gripped the armrests, and she stared at the front door of her apartment. In almost four years of living here, no one had ever knocked on her door. I don’t even order delivery. What the hell?

  The knock came again—polite and quick, but a little louder this time. The halfling froze, then she heard the whispering on the other side of the door.

  “Maybe she isn’t home. We shouldn’t be bothering her if she isn’t home.”

  “I’m telling you, R’mahr, I saw her from the front window. Walking right out of that…thing. With the wheels.”

  “A car, Maji.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, Bryl. Try again.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to be bothered? We should respect her—”

  “Knock on the door, or you’ll be cooking your own borshni for the next week.”

  Another brisk, succinct knock came at the door, and Cheyenne frowned. It’s like these trolls want to be disappointed.

  The halfling got up out of her chair and moved quickly toward the front door.

  “Yadje, maybe you only saw her—”

  When Cheyenne opened the door, the trolls stopped bickering and whipped their heads toward her to flash wide, crooked grins.

  “Cheyenne.” R’mahr’s dark-purple cheeks seemed to get darker than the rest of him. “Hello.”

  The halfling raised her eyebrows and glanced from one of her neighbors to the next. Little Bryl didn’t cling to either of her parents this time but instead stared intently at the drow halfling on the other side of the door, a basket covered in bright-orange squares of cloth weighing down her arms. “Uh, hi. Everything okay?”

  Yadje smiled a little wider, taking in the sight of the very human-looking young woman with pale skin and black hair standing in the doorway. Her gaze settled on Cheyenne’s upper arm. “You’re not wearing the armband.”