The Drow Hath Sent Thee

by Martha Carr

  First, she weaseled her way into the VCU Medical Center database, and her activator helped her find the template she wanted for a doctor’s note. If any of the VCU program faculty ended up calling Dr. Andrews to follow up, Cheyenne had a feeling the guy would cover for her. He hadn’t said anything about her first shoulder wound or the FRoE tracker he’d removed from it what felt like forever ago. The man could handle covering for her.

  On Dr. Andrews’s electronic letterhead, she typed a quick explanation of the condition she didn’t have, some kind of septic blood infection, followed by an assertion that Cheyenne Summerlin required at least the next week free from external stressors, including working and teaching.

  When she finished, she found an image of his signature, slapped it at the bottom, and read it one more time. Good enough. Ordering myself to be on bed rest might be taking it a little too far.

  The note got emailed to each of her graduate professors, including Maleshi, then Cheyenne pulled up her VCU email account and typed another version of the story she was sticking with.

  Professors Bergmann, LePlant, Beckwith, Dawley, and Hersh,

  As you are all aware, I’ve been struggling with personal issues over the last week. I was able to make it in for class yesterday, but I’ve recently become ill, and I am in need of recovery time. My physician, Dr. Andrews, should be forwarding each of you written communication he was kind enough to draw up on my behalf. I won’t be able to return to campus to teach the Advanced Programming class at least until Wednesday of next week, but it may be longer, depending on how long it takes me to recover. Should I need more time, Dr. Andrews will reach out again to verify this need.

  I highly value my position as an undergraduate instructor and greatly appreciate all of your willingness to provide an alternative route through the graduate program this year to accommodate my schedule and my skillsets. I also want to apologize for not having been as available to teach this course as I would have liked, and I do hope this doesn’t affect the future of my academic studies at Virginia Commonwealth University or within the graduate program.

  However, if changes need to be made or you as my professors conclude that this temporary leave of absence is unacceptable, I understand. Hopefully, I can recover quickly without any other obstacles getting between me and my pursuit of higher education and earning my master’s degree. 2021 has been one heck of a year.

  Thank you for your time and understanding.

  Cheyenne Summerlin

  When she finished typing the email, she sat back in her mom’s executive desk chair of mahogany and chocolate-brown leather and read it one more time. Fifty-fifty chance they’ll believe I wrote this. Maybe Maleshi can put in a good word after the fact.

  CC-ing all her professors, Cheyenne sent the email and typed another one to her undergrad students that was a lot shorter and sounded a lot more like the instructor they’d come to know over the last few weeks.

  Advanced Programming Students,

  I won’t be in for tomorrow’s class, Friday’s, or Monday’s. If I have to stay home longer than that, I’ll let you know. Apparently, doctors still write notes for grad students and undergrad instructors. Just because I’m taking sick days, it doesn’t mean you don’t have to show up for class. Either you’ll have a sub, or the program will contact you to let you know if and when the classes are canceled.

  Don’t hang around the quad too long on your way to the Computer Sciences building. I think there’s some kind of gas leak (and no, that’s not why I’m sick).

  See you next week. Probably.

  Cheyenne

  The email was sent to her dozen students, then she clicked out of everything, shut down the VPN, and put everything back into place before shutting off her mom’s computer.

  Then she sat back in the chair and stared at the black monitor with a grimace. Probably won’t even be getting my master’s now, at least not when and where I planned. It sucks, but that’s not even on the priority list.

  The chair rolled smoothly and silently away from the desk as she stood, and Cheyenne wheeled it perfectly back into place before gazing around her mom’s study. The room was neat and tidy, everything made of wood and leather in dark, intimidating colors. Bianca’s usual smell of vanilla and sandalwood filled the space and made her want to go check on her mom again.

  No, she’s fine. Despite the amount of sleep she’d gotten in the last twenty-four hours, all of it forced on her by either a bane-breaker’s magic or a potion poured down her throat, Cheyenne couldn’t hold back a massive yawn. Blinking quickly against the welling tears it brought, she sniffed and headed back across the study. And I need to lie down.

  Before she reached the doors, a framed photograph she’d seen a million times on the built-in bookshelf on her right made her stop. She stared at it for a moment, then slowly approached the bookshelf to take down the dust-free frame for a closer look.

  Cheyenne’s grandfather grinned, his eyes narrowed so much they nearly disappeared within the laugh lines and wrinkles around the corners. Her grandmother stood on his left, her smile thin, composed, and dutifully prim. On the man’s right, a much younger Bianca echoed the same thin smile, her hands clasped in front of her. All three of them stood on the steps of the H. Carl Moultrie Courthouse on a gorgeous spring day, the cherry trees in full blossom in the background.

  I never asked when this was taken.

  Frowning, Cheyenne turned the frame over and undid the clasps to open the back. Sure enough, there was her mom’s neat, looping handwriting across the back of the picture in thick black ink: Moultrie Courthouse March 4th, 2000.

  “Holy shit.” It sighed out of the drow as a whisper, and she quickly replaced the frame’s backing before setting it exactly the way it had been on the shelf.

  Bianca would have been eight weeks pregnant the day this picture was taken. They never knew. Did she even know that day?

  For some reason, deep in her gut, Cheyenne knew the answer was yes.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Even in the eerily quiet house with nothing to distract her for the next four hours, Cheyenne couldn’t get past the first stages of slipping into unconsciousness before her brain kicked her awake again. She tossed and turned in the twin-sized bed, and her poor sleep this time had nothing to do with how much she hated being in her childhood bedroom.

  Finally, after being jolted awake one more time by her subconscious, she tossed the covers aside and sat up with a grunt. Her eyes ached under the bright light when she grabbed her phone and turned on the lock screen. One forty-two. Great. Three minutes before the alarm, and now I get to cross into Ambar’ogúl on zero sleep.

  Running her fingers through her hair, she set the phone in her lap and stared at the dark shapes in her room. Mom needs extra guest rooms.

  She turned on the bedside lamp, grabbed her activator off the nightstand, and picked her trenchcoat up off the floor before shrugging into it. The lack of searing pain in her still-sore shoulders this time brought a small smile to her lips. Improvement. Better than becoming a blighted zombie-drow, that’s for damn sure.

  By the time she went back into the breakfast room for her Vans, Ember was already floating down the wide central staircase. The fae stopped halfway down to wait, then gave Cheyenne a sympathetic smile and descended the rest of the way with her.

  “You’re looking a little rough.”

  “Really?” Cheyenne snorted. “After being drugged by a healing potion and deciding to escort my mom across the Border, I figured I’d be glowing.”

  Ember let out a wry chuckle. “Didn’t sleep, huh?”

  “I almost slept about a dozen times. Does that count?”

  “Probably not.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to head to the back of the house and the low drone of voices coming from the dining area. “What about you?”

  Ember shrugged. “Four hours of sleep in an armchair might not be any better. It was super comfy, though.”

 
; “Yeah, I know.”

  When they reached the dining area beneath the stairs, L’zar, Maleshi, and the goblins sat at the table. They all looked at Cheyenne and Ember, the conversation on hold, and nodded grimly.

  Maleshi spread her arms. “Just another day in the life, huh, kid?”

  “I guess.” Cheyenne stuck her hands in her pockets. “I’m hoping we never have a repeat of this day.”

  “We won’t.” Ember nodded. “After what we we need to on the other side, Bianca won’t ever have to make the crossing again.”

  “Speaking of Bianca, has she come down yet?”

  Lumil shook her head. “Nope. It’s almost two, right?”

  “Hey.” Byrd’s eyes widened. “You don’t think she, like, got worse all of a sudden and can’t even walk down the stairs?”

  Lumil slapped the back of his head and scowled at him. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  “Ow. What? It’s a fair question.”

  “Even if that were the case,” Bianca said as she came into the sitting area, her hand firmly clenched around Eleanor’s forearm, “I make a habit of always providing myself with alternatives. That includes getting from one floor of my home to another.”

  L’zar stood immediately from the table and clasped his hands behind his back, looking Bianca over with barely concealed concern. Maleshi frowned at him but got to her feet as well.

  Byrd rubbed the back of his head and studied the woman, who was dressed in loose, charcoal gray joggers and a matching zip-up sweater. “You mean, like another staircase?”

  “Like an elevator,” Cheyenne muttered.

  “No way.” Lumil’s yellow eyes widened. “You have a fucking elevator in this place? Of course you do. Why am I even surprised?”

  Cheyenne approached her mom and the grim-faced Eleanor. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a pincushion, Cheyenne.” Bianca gave her daughter a thin-lipped smile and stopped at the head of the dining table. She stood as stiffly as she’d walked and didn’t move when Eleanor plunked the small duffel bag onto the table. The thing was stuffed almost to bursting.

  “Now, I packed everything she could possibly need for something like this. Extra clothes, toiletries, a heavier pair of shoes. You know, for more difficult terrain.” Eleanor patted the top of the bag and stared at it. “A light jacket. A heavier jacket. Oh, and there’s a hunting knife and a can of Mace.”

  “You think that’s what she needs to make the crossing?” Lumil blurted.

  The housekeeper looked quickly at her. “We don’t know how long she’ll be gone.”

  “Well, she sure as shit won’t need Mace.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Eleanor hissed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll kindly ask you to mind your own damn business, gobbler.”

  Byrd barked a laugh. “We’re goblins.”

  “I honestly couldn’t care less.”

  “Eleanor.” Bianca shot the woman a sidelong glance. “Until we depart, these magicals are still our guests. And they’re here to help.”

  Cheyenne and Ember exchanged quick, surprised looks. More proof she’s losing it. She’s trying to catch on to the magical world’s lingo.

  Eleanor glared at the goblins, then turned to Bianca with tears in her eyes. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure you have what you need. This nonsense from the green peanut gallery over here doesn’t help anyone.”

  “Oh, come on.” Byrd spread his arms. “She doesn’t need a bag like that. You think Hangivol doesn’t have way better stuff than whatever you packed up for a trip that’ll take us twenty minutes?”

  “I have no idea what that is,” Eleanor muttered.

  “The city, lady.”

  “I got it.” Cheyenne grabbed the strap of the duffel bag and slipped it over her head and shoulder. “Thanks, Eleanor.”

  “Yes. Well. It’s not like I’ll be particularly useful here after you all take off.” Blinking quickly, the woman wiped away the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and sniffed.

  “I still need you.” Bianca reached out and took her friend’s wrist. “You’re the only person I trust to keep things running smoothly while I’m gone, Eleanor, and I will most certainly need you when I return.”

  “I know.” Eleanor gently patted the back of her employer’s hand before Bianca let go.

  “We’ll come back as soon as we can.” Cheyenne stepped over to the housekeeper and opened her arms for a hug.

  “You’d better.” Eleanor practically threw herself at the drow, sniffling, but she was aware enough not to crush Cheyenne in her embrace as usual. When they drew apart, the woman swallowed thickly and tucked the drow’s hair behind her ear. “Be careful, sweetheart. I know I don’t need to tell you to take care of her. I’ve been the one doing it for so long.”

  “Made an excellent example for her.” Bianca nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve both been excellent hosts under the circumstances, especially on such short notice.” Maleshi stepped away from the table and over to the windows to cast a portal. “It’s time for us to go.”

  As Ember and Eleanor hugged and said their goodbyes, the goblins headed after Maleshi to wait for the portal. L’zar headed to Cheyenne, his hands still clasped behind his back. His golden eyes widened as he dipped his head toward her. “I don’t agree with every decision you’ve made since we set out on this path together, Cheyenne.”

  “Wow.” She raised her eyebrows. “The feeling’s totally mutual, and you still need to work on your pep talks.”

  “But I know you will succeed in every endeavor you undertake. Just like you always have.”

  “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

  His eyebrows drew together, and he glanced briefly at Bianca, who had focused intently on the dark window of light opening on the other side of her dining area. “I didn’t anticipate this, and it’s not entirely comfortable to say it, but I do wish I could go with you.”

  “Better not try your luck on this one though, huh?” Cheyenne jerked her head at her mom. “And I don’t think she’d do this willingly if you could.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re all exactly where we need to be, L’zar. We’re making the crossing to undo everything Ba’rael screwed up, and you’re staying here.” Where he can’t fuck with our plans and make an even bigger shitshow out of the whole thing.

  L’zar cocked his head, frowning at something only he could see behind his daughter’s head. “I don’t enjoy having no choice in the part I play.”

  Cheyenne reached out to give his shoulder a quick pat, half-reassuring, half-condescending. “You’ll get used to it like I did.”

  She turned away from him and headed over to Maleshi, the goblins, and the now-open portal into the barn at Colonial Williamsburg. Ember floated quickly across the floor behind her, giving L’zar a brief nod as a goodbye.

  The drow thief strode briskly toward Bianca and Eleanor, who were saying their private farewells in low voices. “Bianca.”

  She turned slowly to look up at him and took a step back when he leaned toward her.

  “It would have been quite the adventure to accompany you on your first journey into my world.” L’zar studied her face before a frown of L’zar-style remorse wrinkled his eyebrows. “I never intended for any of this to happen. You must know that.”

  “Your intentions apparently had no effect on the end results.”

  “No. Indeed, they didn’t.” He cleared his throat, at a loss for words and clearly confused by it. “I’m so sorry I can’t accompany you.”

  Bianca lifted her chin and raised her eyebrows, assessing him with the calculated apathy she’d honed over a lifetime. “I’m not.”

  She stepped around him and headed over to the group of magicals standing in front of Maleshi’s open portal.

  “Bianca, wait.”

  Despite the obvious pain it caused her, Bianca moved a lot more quickly than Cheyenne expected. “Is this thing ready for us, Gener
al?”

  Maleshi blinked in surprise and fought back a laugh. “We just walk right through.”

  “Excellent.”

  L’zar headed after them. “Bianca. Please.”

  She ignored him and stepped boldly through her first nightstalker portal without hesitation.

  “Oh, shit.” Byrd grimaced at L’zar and shrugged. “Better luck next time, man.”

  Lumil chuckled as she followed the other goblin through the portal.

  L’zar clenched his fists at his sides and gazed at Cheyenne. “I can’t do anything.”

  “I know. But we will.” She and Ember both stepped through the dark window.

  Maleshi lifted her hand to the drow thief and shook her head. “Whatever it is can wait.”

  “What am I supposed to do until then, General?”

  “That’s up to you. Done any meditating lately?”

  L’zar glared at the general as she stepped through the portal, then the whole thing closed with a soft pop. He spun to face Eleanor and smoothed his white hair away from his face. “Well, then. It looks like it’s just the two of us.”

  “Oh, no, it’s not.” With one hand on her hip and the other pointed to the front of the house, Eleanor scowled at him. “This is the part where you leave this house. Immediately.”

  He chuckled and spread his arms. “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Eleanor.”

  “Exactly. And I won’t be able to go back to sleep, knowing you’re skulking around this house doing God knows what. You know where the door is.”

  Eyeing her, L’zar dipped his head. “I can recognize when I’m no longer welcome.”

  “Good. I’ve made it quite obvious.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched, and he walked halfway to the hall before pausing. “Could you spare a meal before I go?”

  “Out!”

  “Fine.” He rolled his eyes and stomped to the front of the house.

  Eleanor hurried close on his heels to make sure she saw him step through the front door before it slammed shut behind him.

  Chapter Seventy-Two