The Drow Hath Sent Thee

by Martha Carr

  She was sure she’d deserve everything she felt the next morning, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Neros returned to her in her scattered dreams, flickering in and out of clarity. No Ba’rael Verdys hanging suspended in a tomb of dark light, but Cheyenne’s cousin wasn’t any less insistent in her mind.

  “Don’t stop, Cheyenne. Find the vessel. Use it the way it was meant to be used. You cannot do this alone, and Ambar’ogúl will not survive without you. The vessel, Cheyenne. Cheyenne!”

  She bolted awake again with a raw, gasping breath. Pain and nauseating dizziness burst through her head when she sat up way faster than she should have. “Oh, fuck.”

  Thumping back down on the bed, she rolled over on her side, fully intending to curl up in the fetal position and sleep through what was sure to be a twelve-hour hangover at least. But as her eyelids fluttered closed, she couldn’t ignore the bright silver light strobing with growing intensity on the floor. What?

  Cheyenne slowly opened her eyes again, grimacing at the blaze inside the pile of her trenchcoat still where she’d shrugged out of it the night before. No way I’m getting back to sleep with whatever the hell that is shining in my face.

  With a grunt, Cheyenne pushed over to the edge of the bed and slapped the floor, trying to grab her trenchcoat without leaving the mattress. Her finger finally snagged in the thick folds of black fabric, and she tugged the whole thing up onto the bed with her. The violent silver flashing continued until she snarled and all but ripped her coat apart to get to the source. “Fucking stop already!”

  She finally found the pocket, shoved her hand inside, and felt the cold, metallic exterior of the Darkglass with Neros’ four-pointed star inside. The second she pulled the container free from her pocket, the silver light flashing around her cousin’s manifested magic cut out. And at the same second, in the master bedroom on the other side of the second floor, Bianca Summerlin screamed.

  It wasn’t so much a scream as a shout of surprise and pain and outrage, but it was as close to a scream as Cheyenne’s mom got.

  The halfling forgot all about the Darkglass and her coat and leaped off the bed. She’d almost forgotten about her hangover too until the first jarring steps across her childhood bedroom reminded her of the poor decision she’d made last night. One poor decision and you’re useless.

  She nearly barreled into Ember, who came out of the guestroom, her purple-streaked hair frazzled and sticking out in all directions. They glanced briefly at each other in surprise, then Ember cast her human-illusion charm, and they took off around the top of the wide main staircase, past the breakfast room, and finally to the closed doors of Bianca’s bedroom.

  The woman’s surprised shouting had died down, but she’d started yelling her daughter’s name from behind closed doors. “Cheyenne! I need you in here!”

  Cheyenne jerked down on both door handles and threw the doors open at the same time. “Mom, what’s going on?”

  Bianca lay on her back, slightly propped up by pillows with her arms lying straight and rigid at her sides. Her chest heaved, and she looked up at her daughter with wide eyes. “I wish I could say.”

  “Oh, man.” Racing toward her mom’s bedside, Cheyenne looked Bianca over, grimacing both at the dizzying pain in her head and the painful-looking rune burns all over her mom’s flesh. Every single one of them glowed with bright orange light coming from within the marks, and the skin around each O’gúl rune looked red and raw and very painful.

  “What is this?” Bianca panted, then closed her eyes and let out a slow sigh. “Besides highly uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t know. Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t apologize, Cheyenne. Get me a glass of water and some ibuprofen at the very least.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You can stay here,” L’zar said as he materialized in the room as if walking through a portal.

  Cheyenne jumped and spun around. “Where the hell did you come from?”

  “I’ve been in this house for forty-eight hours, Cheyenne. Hardly a difficult concept to grasp.” The drow thief brushed past her to stop at Bianca’s bedside and frowned down at her in concern. His golden gaze swept across her body, moving quickly back and forth. “Where does it hurt?”

  Bianca let out a bitter laugh. “Everywhere, you idiot. Where do you think?”

  A low hum escaped him. “The most.”

  She sighed, blinking quickly at the ceiling. “Here.”

  Bianca grimaced when his fingers brushed the raw, glowing flesh in the center of her chest beneath her silk nightshirt.

  L’zar reached for her shirt, but she slapped his hand away.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I need to see.”

  “Then ask me to show you.” She waved his hand away and glared at the open doors on the opposite side of the room. “I’m bedridden and weak, not unconscious.”

  A tiny smile crept across the drow’s face. “Please, Bianca. Show me.”

  Pursing her lips, Cheyenne’s mom reached for the collar of her nightshirt one more time and pulled it aside. “That’s the worst of it. Right here.”

  “Hmm.” L’zar bent down until his face was a mere six inches from her chest, ignoring her burning glare. “I believe that’s because it’s new.”

  “What?” Cheyenne stepped over to them and tried to get a better look at the newest rune burning itself into her mom’s skin. “I thought that part of the curse was done.”

  “Apparently not.” He straightened and shot his daughter a quick sidelong glance. “Smells like you had quite the night.”

  “Shut up.”

  Bianca let out a shuddering sigh as she fought to control her reaction to the pain blazing across her skin. “I’m not a fan of you knowing which injuries were already on my chest and which were not.”

  L’zar shrugged. “I cataloged them for the purpose of discerning a pattern, but if you’d rather I didn’t monitor either the improvement or the decline of your personal health, Bianca, say the word, and I’ll take my leave.”

  “No.” She shut her eyes and let out another long, slow, forced breath. “I don’t know the first or last thing about any of this.”

  “As I suspected.” He dipped his head and waited for her to keep going.

  “Don’t leave yet.” Bianca didn’t look at him; couldn’t look at the drow man who’d turned her life on its head twice in two decades as she asked him to stay without really asking. That was painful enough.

  “So, why is this still happening?” Cheyenne asked.

  L’zar tapped a finger on his lips and stared at the new rune on Bianca’s chest. “I imagine it’s a message. Information leftover from Ba’rael’s curse when it formed the other runes.”

  Bianca cleared her throat, her mouth dry when she opened it. “I want knowledge and facts, not imagination. Especially not yours.”

  He dipped his head to her, though she still hadn’t opened her eyes. “Then we’ll call it an educated guess.”

  “What does it mean?” Cheyenne gestured at her mom’s chest. “The new one. I can’t read this stuff.”

  “Not even with your activator?”

  The halfling glared at her father, her head pounding. “Not when it’s written in flesh, L’zar.”

  “Interesting. That new one means ‘vessel.’”

  She blinked in disbelief, then cocked her head and kept staring at the rune. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Cheyenne, watch your fucking language!”

  The bedroom fell silent at Bianca’s uncharacteristic outburst.

  Cheyenne swallowed and stepped away from the bed. “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” her mom muttered. “I’m enough of a hypocrite as it is.”

  Turning to shoot Ember a glance, Cheyenne shrugged and removed herself from the vicinity of the bed. I’m gonna make her blow up like that again, and then I’ll go off too. She rubbed her forehead, forcing herself to stay here instea
d of retreating to her bedroom to sleep off her hangover.

  “You okay?” Ember muttered as L’zar and Bianca held a private conversation in hushed voices Cheyenne couldn’t even pretend to be interested in right now.

  “I hit the booze way too hard last night, Em, and now I’m feelin’ it.”

  “Oh.” Ember chuckled and floated behind her friend to place both hands on Cheyenne’s shoulders. “I’m a total dick for not doing this sooner.”

  “Not doing what?” Cheyenne’s eyes widened as a blazing warmth trickled from Ember’s hands through the halfling’s entire body. Something like an electric jolt and a chill raced through her and raised goosebumps on her arms, then the pain in her head subsided, her nausea disappeared, and she didn’t feel like curling up in the corner anymore. “Holy shit,” she whispered, making sure only Ember could hear it this time.

  “You’re welcome.” Ember gave her friend a firm slap on the back. “Pretty neat, huh?”

  “For sure. Thanks.” Cheyenne smiled at her, then frowned. “How’d you know you could cure a hangover?”

  “Because I drank almost as much as you did last night and woke up fresh as a daisy.” The fae shot a quick glance in Bianca’s direction. “Given the circumstances.”

  “So, you healed yourself of a drunken stupor, is that it?”

  “Yeah, without even trying. I knew it would work on you. A fae thing, I guess.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m a grateful halfling either way.” And I need to figure out what the hell’s going on with all this “vessel” bullshit now that I can think. “L’zar.”

  He stiffened where he stood hunched over Bianca’s bedside. “Cheyenne.”

  “Tell me about the vessel.”

  With his hands clasped behind his back, L’zar straightened and looked at her over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Try again.” She folded her arms and walked over to him. “If everyone’s been coming to me about this vessel, whatever it is, I have a hard time believing you don’t know anything about it.”

  “Define ‘everyone.’”

  “I really have to get into it? Okay, fine.” Cheyenne counted on her fingers. “Venga and his backfiring potion. Two dreams of Neros now. The Sorren Gán.” Her father’s eyes widened at that last one like she knew they would. “And now it’s showing up on my mother’s skin. So what’s going on?”

  “Well.” L’zar turned back to Bianca and eyed her. She was breathing steadily again now, her eyes still closed, and almost looked asleep if it weren’t for her fists clenched tightly around handfuls of the bedspread at her side. “As intrigued as I am to hear about all this, I can’t answer that question.”

  Cheyenne cocked her head at him. “That’s strike two.”

  A small chuckle escaped him as he shrugged. From anyone else, it would’ve sounded nervous. From L’zar, it sounded careless. “Then I suppose I’ll be striking off.”

  “Out,” she corrected. “Striking out.”

  “You don’t watch baseball, do you?” Ember asked.

  Bianca sighed. “How is any of this relevant to the current situation?”

  “Sorry.” The fae clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s not.”

  “She doesn’t have anything to do with all this other stuff.” Cheyenne gestured at her mom and glared at her dad. “So why is it showing up on her skin?”

  L’zar cleared his throat. “Strike three, I suppose.”

  “Whew.” Eleanor pushed a stainless-steel cart into the room and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s been wrong with me the last few days. Forget trying to talk.”

  The woman stopped when she looked up and saw three magicals standing in her employer’s bedroom and Bianca lying motionless in bed.

  Eleanor’s mouth dropped open and closed two more times without any sound. Her eyes widened when she looked at L’zar, and the drow thief grinned at her.

  “I see you’ve brought breakfast. Excellent.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “This isn’t time for Christmas lights!” Eleanor blurted. She clapped both hands over her mouth and breathed heavily through her nose.

  L’zar chuckled. “Certainly not for another few months.”

  Cheyenne studied the housekeeper with narrowed eyes. “Still not feeling any better, huh?”

  Eleanor cocked her head. “I can’t remember which key goes in the pizza.”

  Ember and Cheyenne exchanged a confused glance. “Eleanor, maybe you should sit down for a second.”

  “I don’t know why everyone’s punching the sleeping bag.” Furiously shaking her head, Eleanor stared at the prepared tray of Bianca’s breakfast resting on the cart and pushed it all at the bed. She glared at L’zar, then lifted the serving lid from the tray and stuck it on the cart’s lower shelf.

  “Ah.” L’zar leaned forward to sniff at the still-steaming scrambled eggs, sautéed spinach, and granola-filled yogurt. “I don’t see anything wrong with your cooking.”

  “No!” The housekeeper batted at L’zar’s face until he straightened and stepped away from the cart, chuckling.

  “Eleanor.” Bianca had opened her eyes and now gazed intently at her friend. “What is the matter?”

  “I’m not inclined to blow bubbles,” the woman muttered, her head shaking in quick, trembling jerks as she stared right back at her employer.

  Then Bianca’s gaze slowly shifted to L’zar. “I want an explanation for this.”

  “For what?”

  Cheyenne set a hand on Eleanor’s rigid shoulder, trying to reassure the woman who clearly wasn’t herself. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Oh, come on.” The drow spread his arms. “It’s not fair to gang up on a guest.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing.” He glanced from Cheyenne to the housekeeper and back again. “Of consequence.”

  “L’zar.”

  “It’s just a small charm.” He chuckled and stepped away, walking and talking himself into a corner beneath the unamused stares of all four women in the room. “I wanted a little privacy. You know, in case the wrong kind of person found their way into this house looking for the right drow if you catch my drift.”

  “Not cool.”

  “It’s nothing harmful.”

  Cheyenne slowly shook her head. “You don’t need a privacy charm to keep Eleanor from making any sense when she opens her mouth. Take it off.”

  L’zar rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers at the housekeeper.

  Eleanor let out a surprised squeak, covered her mouth with both hands again, and flushed a bright red. Her anger pushed her even farther into finally speaking her mind. “You asshole!”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve heard that one before. Many times.”

  The housekeeper skirted past the breakfast cart, glaring at L’zar the whole time, and sent a swift, powerfully angry kick into his shins.

  “Ow.” He hunched over and stepped away from her, then glanced down at her shoes. “Those don’t look like steel-toed boots.”

  “No. They’re Danskos. And you’re the worst sort of villain I’ve ever met.” Turning swiftly with her nose turned up, Eleanor grabbed the handle of the cart and stepped backward to bring it all the way up to Bianca’s bedside. Cheyenne moved back, but when L’zar didn’t budge because he was too busy smirking at her boiling frustration, she smacked him in the chest and stomach. “Out of my way. You shouldn’t even be here. Bianca needs rest, and you’re the last thing to aid anyone’s healing.”

  L’zar dipped his head. “Also not a new predicament for me.”

  “Move!”

  He finally stepped aside, and Eleanor shot him another scathing glare before situating the cart beside Bianca and offering the woman a glass of orange juice.

  “At the very least, drink this.”

  “Thank you, Eleanor.” Bianca slowly sat up and pulled herself up the bed to lean against all the pillows again. She accepted the orange juice with as much decorum
as if she weren’t in excruciating pain from remnants of a drow curse and her housekeeper hadn’t been charmed into idiocy by that same drow. “Breakfast looks lovely. I hate to ask you for one more thing.”

  “Whatever you need.” Eleanor nodded, shot L’zar a quick scowl, then gave Bianca a tight smile.

  “Ibuprofen, please. Something stronger if we have it.”

  “I’ll see what we have. There’s a bottle of champagne in the cellar.”

  “Not this morning, Eleanor. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” The housekeeper spun around again, snorted in disgust at L’zar. “And don’t even think about laying a hand on that food. Do you hear me? I’ll sweep you right out with the trash.” Without waiting for a reply, she bustled through the room to the open doors. When she met Cheyenne’s gaze, Eleanor rolled her eyes and didn’t say another word as she left.

  L’zar stared after her and tilted his head. “With a broom, do you suppose?”

  “Do not mistake my allowing your presence in this house as full permission for you to do whatever you please.” Bianca’s voice was low, authoritative, and carried as much weight in its warning as every time she’d used it with Cheyenne.

  Been a long time since I’ve heard that. And I’m so glad to see it’s not directed at me this time.

  L’zar spread his arms. “I was merely—”

  “There was no ‘mere’ anything about what you did.” The woman didn’t have to shout to get the same effect. “If you think I’ll allow this grotesque invasion of personal autonomy to continue—with Eleanor, with me, with Cheyenne or Ember—I will rescind any amount of goodwill you’ve received thus far, however little that may be.”

  “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m beyond anger at this point.” She stared at him with the undrunk glass of orange juice in her hand until L’zar stepped back and dipped his head again.

  This time, though, he was frowning. “I apologize.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “Mom.” Cheyenne seized the chance to interrupt the tension a little and steer the conversation back to where it needed to be. She gestured at her own chest. “Can I take a look at that?”