Once Upon A Midnight Drow (Goth Drow Book 1)

by Martha Carr

  Anasz shook her head furiously, whispering in her native tongue over and over, rocking while she shook her head.

  “The only person who can save you now is your own damn self, Anasz. You have two choices. Tell me what I want to hear, and we’ll take you back to Rez 38 to rethink your career path in a nice, cushy cell. Otherwise, your ass is getting dropped right back across that Border, and I don’t think you have it in you to make that trip again.” When the magical didn’t give him any other reply, Rhynehart dropped his hand to his fell pistol again, removed it from the holster, and slapped off the safety. The low whine of the weapon powering up filled the goblin’s dining room, followed by the brightening green glow inside the mechanism. Then the man lifted the fell pistol and brought the barrel up toward Anasz’s face.

  “What the fuck?” Cheyenne had had enough. She lurched toward the FRoE operative, the heat of her drow magic flaring at the base of her spine without her even having to think about it. The rage that had coursed through her when she saw Durg aim his gun at Ember and the other halflings—when that asshole pulled the trigger, and everyone left Ember there to bleed out at the skatepark—came rushing back to her with the same wild, erratic force as that night two weeks ago. Only this time, a guy she’d thought was mostly decent, just with a messed-up sense of duty to the FRoE, was training his weapon on another magical tied to a chair. And after everything she’d seen, Cheyenne was convinced Anasz was innocent.

  “Back up, rookie,” Rhynehart growled, glaring at the goblin woman at the end of his weapon.

  “She’s telling the truth, Rhynehart.”

  “I didn’t bring you here to fight me on this. Back up!”

  “Get that thing out of her face!” The halfling summoned her sparks in both purple-gray hands, her eyes glowing gold with rage and warning.

  In the blink of an eye, Rhynehart jerked the gun away from Anasz, lowered it, and pointed at the drow halfling, who now looked full drow. “Watch it.”

  “Are you serious?” Cheyenne glared at him, the sparks hissing and cracking at her fingertips. She didn’t look away from Rhynehart’s fierce gaze, but she saw Jamal just standing there and staring at them both from the corner of her eye. She’d hear him before he made a single move.

  “Don’t make me turn this gun on you, halfling. I will.”

  “You know I can dodge bullets, asshole.”

  “Not at this range.”

  “And you saw what I did to that stupid bazooka when you turned that on me. Breaking your arm won’t be nearly as hard.”

  Rhynehart studied her face, sneered at her with a little puff of amusement through his nose, and stepped back. He lifted the fell pistol again, but turned it around in his hand and offered her the grip instead. “You do it.”

  She blinked. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the gun, but the purple sparks in her hands disappeared. “You’re insane.”

  “I’m doing my job, rookie. I’m following orders. If you want us to keep up our end of the deal, you’ll follow orders too.”

  It took everything she had not to slap the gun out of his hand and send him flying across the goblin’s dining room. “I’m telling you, Rhynehart, she wasn’t involved in any of that crap.”

  “Oh, yeah? You have some kind of information I don’t?”

  “No, but I can hear her heart beating so fast that she’s on the verge of passing out. Trust me, that’s not the way anyone’s pulse sounds when they’re lying. It’s in her voice, too. Maybe it’s time for you to consider you got the wrong information.”

  Rhynehart bit his lower lip, then shrugged. “Maybe. But this goblin isn’t innocent. She’s still breaking the rules.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’ve already got her on another little side business she’s been handling from the back of her bakery. Isn’t that right, Anasz?”

  The goblin woman had stopped rocking and whispering in that unknown language sometime after Rhynehart had turned his weapon on her. When he looked at her now, she let out a sob.

  “This one’s been dealing potions on the side. To anyone. Magicals, humans—it doesn’t matter. Some of her regulars think she’s a goddamn witch, don’t they?”

  Anasz’s gaze darted between the FRoE operative and the glowering drow halfling, who were in a standoff. The goblin’s heartbeat slowed a little, but now it was erratic, speeding up and slowing down as she huffed out one breath after the other in little bursts. “Can you hear the difference in that, halfling?” Rhynehart raised an eyebrow. “Not completely innocent.”

  Cheyenne shot the goblin woman a quick glance, then shook her head. “Is she hurting anyone?”

  “Probably not, no. From what I hear, it’s mostly love potions and cold remedies. Pretty harmless, and her human clients can’t seem to get enough.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” The halfling forced herself not to scream at the guy like he’d screamed at Anasz. “If she’s not hurting anyone, why is this a big deal? Sounds like she’s helping people.”

  “That’s not the point.” The agent took another step away from the chair and pointed at his target tied and handcuffed to it. “This is part of what we do too, rookie. Call it law enforcement. Selling magic of any kind to humans goes against the Accord, and we can’t have random magicals breaking the Accord whenever they feel like it, whether they’re dangerous or not.”

  “Then slap her with a fine or something. Jesus.” Cheyenne shot the goblin a sympathetic glance. “This is way over the top. We should be talking to someone who’s dangerous, not wasting our time on love potions.”

  “Not my call to make.” Rhynehart extended the grip of his fell pistol toward the halfling one more time and nodded. “And this is part of the deal. You do what you’re told, and then you get what you want. Take the weapon.”

  Cheyenne finally let herself glance at the fell pistol in the man’s hand, which was still letting out that whining buzz and pulsing slowly with green light. Should’ve listened to Mattie when she told me not to mess with these people.

  “Take the weapon, rookie. Do your part.”

  Slowly, the halfling lifted her burning gaze to meet his and gave him her final answer. “Fuck you.”

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Without looking away from the half-drow, Rhynehart reached out behind him and snapped his fingers. Jamal growled and stomped toward the goblin woman tied in the chair. Anasz shrieked and violently shook her head, unable to get out a single word.

  Cheyenne glanced at Rhynehart, who’d lowered the gun again and was stepping across the dining room to let his ogre muscle do the dirty work the drow halfling wouldn’t.

  No way.

  A roiling orb of black energy with flaring violet magic at its center burst to life in Cheyenne’s palm, and she blasted it at the ogre the second it appeared. Her spell hit the magical’s chest, momentarily stopping him in his tracks. She stepped in front of the chair with the terrified goblin in it and sent another black orb into Jamal’s face. That stopped him for a little longer, but he blinked, shook the minor irritation off with a snarl, and stormed toward the halfling instead.

  The black tendrils of her drow magic burst from her fingertips. Given how big and brutish the ogre was, he moved with shocking speed. One meaty gray hand whipped up and caught three of the lashing tendrils. The other two whipped across his face and neck, but Cheyenne lost all control when he yanked the fistful of tendrils down by his side, pulling the halfling along with them.

  She didn’t have time to conjure another spell or slow the rest of the world down while she sped up. Jamal grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off the ground. Cheyenne screamed at the fire racing through her wounded shoulder, and the scream lasted as long as it took for her to fly across the dining room before she hit the window frame at the front of the house. Her back thumped against the wall before she crumpled onto the floor, tearing down the curtains and the curtain rod that came crashing down on her head. By the time she’d untangled hersel
f from all that fabric, Jamal had grabbed the back of the chair with one huge hand. The other was pulled back in a fist, aimed at Anasz’s face.

  The halfling roared and fired an orb of black energy at him with both hands before leaping back to her feet. Each spell knocked the ogre back a little, but they didn’t stop him from leaning down even farther and bringing his fist down toward the goblin. Cheyenne ran toward him again, frantically unleashing her magic. The lashing black tendrils bursting from her right hand whipped toward the ogre, while a shimmering curved sheet of opalescent energy materialized between him and the goblin woman.

  Jamal’s fist smashed into the drow shield Cheyenne had pulled out of nowhere. It let off a sound like a gong being hit with a thousand volts of electricity. The ogre’s fist, arm, and shoulder bounced off the shield, spinning him sideways and away from the half-drow launching herself at him. The black tendrils wrapped around his wrist and arm as he roared in surprise and pain, and she jerked him away from Anasz with all the strength she had.

  Apparently, it wasn’t enough. The ogre only staggered sideways, grabbed the tendrils again with the other hand to rip himself free of them, then sent shards of dull-silver light shooting from his palm toward the halfling. Cheyenne slipped into her enhanced speed long enough to duck beneath the attack and rush Jamal at top speed. Time slowed again when she crashed into him, knocking all the air from her lungs as the ogre sailed backward into the dining-room table and turned the whole thing into a pile of well-polished kindling. She landed on top of him and smashed a fist into the side of his jaw.

  The ogre threw her off him and clambered out of the pile of splintered wood just before the halfling sent her foot into his chest. He staggered back, and when she spun and sent her other foot arcing toward his thick jaw, Jamal surprised her with his speed again. Her leg smacked right into his open hand, his thick fingers wrapped painfully around her ankle, and then he jerked her off her other foot and tossed her to the floor.

  The black tendrils she had coiled around his neck wrapped tightly enough to keep her from hitting the faded rug on the hardwood floor. She landed awkwardly on her feet and jerked down with her lashing vines of magic. Jamal stumbled toward her. Cheyenne released the tendrils from her hand just so she could pull her fist back for what felt like a punch that might take his head off.

  The power behind her arm, flaring through her body and numbing everything else she felt came out of nowhere, completely unexpected. She was briefly aware that her entire arm and her curled fist had erupted in flickering black flames, licking at her skin and the air around her and fueling her with more fury and chaos than she knew how to handle. It was almost enough to make her stop, but that decision was made for her.

  Jamal dropped to one knee in front of her, gazing up at her, not with fear, but with a fierce admiration and approval she didn’t understand. His hands fell to his sides, and the low whine of Rhynehart’s fell pistol tore through her head when the FRoE operative brought the barrel of his weapon up to the side of her head. Whether that barrel pressed against her flesh or hovered an inch or two away, Cheyenne couldn’t tell. She couldn’t feel anything but the chaotic, violent force ripping through her and out of every part of her body, and she thought she saw those same black flames from the corner of her eye, flickering along her cheeks.

  “That’s enough.” Rhynehart said it calmly enough. Maybe a little too calmly. It didn’t sound anything like the warning threats he’d given both her and the goblin woman tied to the chair. He sounded like a movie director calling it a wrap so they could move on to a different scene. “Stand down.”

  Cheyenne badly wanted to release all that quivering power, to send it straight at the ogre on one knee in front of her, who shot her as close as an ogre could get to a wicked grin. But she didn’t. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her voice through the buzzing hum of the drow magic that had burst through her skin to cover her head to toe in black flames.

  You could do it, and then that gun would fire at your head, and you’d be dead anyway. See what he wants. Wait.

  The halfling took in a shuddering breath and let out a long shout of frustration and pent-up chaos. The black flames racing across her purple-gray flesh and her bone-white hair receded and snuffed out. She lowered her fist with a trembling arm as the agony of the two black magic acid burns in her shoulder returned with full force.

  Jamal stood and moved back, clasping his huge hands behind his back.

  Rhynehart stepped away from her too, nodded, and lowered the fell pistol. The high whine and the green glow cut off the minute he reactivated the safety, and then the weapon went right back into its holster at his hip. “That was your last test, rookie. Now we’re done.”

  That brought Cheyenne out of her anticlimactic frustration. She blinked and turned her head toward the operative. “What?”

  “You showed me exactly what you would do. What you could do. I’ve seen all I needed to see here.” Rhynehart shrugged. “That’s all. Now get out.”

  “Wait. You just—what kind of test?” The halfling stepped back when Jamal headed toward her, but he moved around her and went for the goblin woman tied to the chair. “Don’t touch her—”

  “Relax, halfling. It’s over.”

  Only after he’d said it did she realize what was happening. The ogre untied the rope strapping Anasz to the chair and tossed it on the floor with a thump. Then he disengaged the dampening cuffs around her wrists and hooked them back onto the loop at the waistband of his black fatigue pants.

  The goblin woman had stopped wailing and muttering now. More than that, she looked calm, the hint of a smirk lifting the corner of her blue-green mouth as she met Jamal’s gaze and nodded. She stood and rubbed her wrists, but that was it. Both the goblin and the ogre just stood there, facing an expressionless Rhynehart and a completely baffled drow halfling.

  “This was a test?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Frowning, she glanced from Rhynehart to the two stoic, unaffected magicals standing side by side like best buds, and couldn’t let herself believe this was happening. She moved away from Rhynehart and stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you at least gonna tell me if I passed?”

  That was the most ridiculous question she could have asked, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

  “Listen, rookie. We have work to do now, so unless you wanna pitch in and hop on the cleaning crew, get lost.”

  Her mouth opened soundlessly, and she realized that no matter how long she stared at the FRoE operative who was raising his eyebrows at her, he wasn’t going to give her any kind of answer. Not now.

  Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the dining room. The busted-in front door and splintered shards crunched under her Vans as she marched out of Anasz’s olive-green bungalow and down the flagstone walkway toward the street.

  The cool evening air washed over her skin, reminding her that it was time to call off the drow berserker and start looking like she belonged here. Cheyenne took a deep breath, let herself feel the wind on her face in the receding light at the end of the day, and dropped back into her human form mid-stride. She stopped beside the black Jeep at the curb to double-check her reflection in the tinted windows. She looked like Cheyenne, human daughter of Bianca Summerlin and graduate student at VCU. With some added wear and tear, of course.

  Forcing herself not to punch out the Jeep’s windows, she stalked down the sidewalk through the neighborhood and headed back toward the first false address Rhynehart had given her, where she’d parked her car. She didn’t even care about the walk. In fact, she needed it. Otherwise, she thought she might explode.

  If that really was a test, I definitely failed. No meeting with L’zar Verdys now.

  A small, humorless chuckle forced its way up her throat. At least I’m finally done with those FRoE assholes and all their mind games.

  That realization felt pretty good. As Cheyenne moved quickly down the sidewalk, she figured this
was the perfect time to focus all her energy on her real goal, which was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. That had always been more important.

  Now she could spend her time finding Durg and making him pay for what he did to Ember. Whatever was in that brown bag in her car had better be worth the trouble of gu@rdi@n104’s shitty scavenger hunt.

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Half an hour later, she reached her car. Fortunately, it was untouched, and also fortunately, the walk had given Cheyenne plenty of time to cool off and get her head back on straight. Focusing on finishing up this scavenger hunt and finally getting her hands on whatever Gu@rdi@n104 wanted her to find would be a lot easier without any more FRoE interruptions.

  Just the way I like it.

  She unlocked her car, sipped behind the wheel, and started the engine. Her shoulder felt like someone had poured more of Q’orr’s nasty black sludge all over it, but she ignored the pain for now—or however much longer that would be possible—and reached for the brown paper bag on the passenger seat.

  The thing inside, wrapped up in thin, crinkly white butcher paper, was just as heavy as she remembered it. Written across the top in bright-blue pencil was one more message. This one also started with yet another address, followed by, Deliver ASAP and do not open. He’ll know.

  “Wow. Now I’m a delivery girl. Fan-freakin’-tastic.”

  The halfling typed this new address into her phone’s GPS, then slid the heavy, wrapped item back into the paper bag and buckled up.

  The new address was about a twenty-minute drive back toward downtown Richmond. It led her to a huge three-story house with a rickety-looking staircase leading to apartment doors on both the second and third floors. The whole place needed serious repairs, from the crooked rail to the peeling paint to the gutters tilted downward at the corners.

  Cheyenne parked her car in the almost complete darkness after sunset, grabbed the brown paper bag, and locked up. Then she took her time gazing at the house-turned-rental-unit to make sure she found the right apartment. The lettering went from A to C, but the unit number on the package’s address was for 1462-D. There wasn’t a door labeled D anywhere.