by Martha Carr
A cold prickle climbed up the back of her neck—the feeling of being closely watched that had followed her for a week now. The halfling scanned the narrow side street in the industrial area and quickly found the one other person walking around out here just before 4:00 p.m. on a Friday. The guy was heading away from her down the street, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his tan coat. And he was wearing a VCU baseball cap.
I got you now, you goddamn creeper.
Chapter Twelve
She didn’t even know what she’d do when she got to him. The only thing flaring through Cheyenne’s mind now—and racing through her half-drow veins—was that she’d finally found the asshole who’d been following her everywhere.
An earsplitting crack echoed through the industrial buildings around her as she took off at full speed toward the man in the VCU hat. He jumped and spun around to search the street. At the same second, another crack blasted toward him, followed by the shockwave of Cheyenne’s appearance. The man would have fallen on his ass if she didn’t have a fistful of his shirt in one hand. She threw him against the closest building and brought a shower of purple sparks spitting from her fingertips by her side.
“Why the hell have you been following me, you—” Cheyenne stopped. The man’s face had gone so white, he looked like he was about to pass out right there against the brick wall. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he stared at the raging golden eyes in the purple-gray face surrounded by wild, stark-white hair. She could smell the terror oozing off him and hear his heart racing in his chest as he struggled to breathe, and she couldn’t understand why he’d react like this. Then she glanced up at the baseball hat on his head and growled.
Not the right hat. Same dark maroon color as VCU’s mascot, but this guy’s hat had a South Carolina Gamecocks bird embroidered on the front instead. Not the right guy, either.
“Shit. Sorry.” The halfling snuffed out her purple sparks, which the guy hadn’t seemed to notice because he’d been too terrified of her face. She quickly released his shirt, tugged on it to smooth it out, and shrugged. “My bad. Thought you were my brother.”
“Y-y-your…” The man wheezed and sagged back against the brick wall.
The halfling took a deep breath, grimaced in apology, and stepped away. “Just forget what you saw. It’s not real.”
She’d pulled back her drow rage and returned to her human form by the time she spun away from the wrong guy to head back toward her car. Halfway there, she heard the guy whimper and take in a sniveling breath.
She unlocked her car with a quick jerk of the keys, slid behind the wheel, and quickly shut the door. Her backpack went right back into the passenger seat, and the halfling gripped the steering wheel with both hands to give herself another few seconds for complete cool-down. No berserkers behind the wheel.
With her next deep breath, she realized that prickling sensation on the back of her neck was gone. The watchful eyes were gone.
The engine turned over in her Focus, and she headed down the side street toward the edge of this mostly abandoned industrial area of Richmond. Apparently, magicals had figured out how to take over some of the places nobody else wanted. As long as that kept working out for everyone, she didn’t have a preference one way or the other.
Right when she turned back on the freeway to head toward downtown Richmond and her apartment complex, a loud buzz came from the passenger seat. With a sigh, she unzipped the front pocket and whipped out the vibrating burner phone. “Here we go.”
She flipped it open with one hand and put it to her ear. “What?”
“Very nice, rookie. You’re already answering the phone like a pissed-off pro.” It was Rhynehart this time.
“I’m a quick study. What do you want?”
“Sir told me he gave you a heads up about another little operation tonight. We’re ready to head out, so where do you want me to pick you up?”
She rolled her eyes and glanced at the signs coming up on the freeway. “Just meet me at the mall again.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. That’s where I’m heading, so if you wanna pick me up, get your ass to the mall.”
Rhynehart barked a laugh, making her jerk the phone away from her ear. “You really are starting to sound just like one of us, rookie. Same place I dropped you off the other day, then. Twenty minutes.”
“Great.” It came out flat and uninterested—exactly the way she meant it. She closed the phone and dropped it onto the passenger seat.
Fifteen minutes later, Cheyenne stood at the curb in front of the strip mall, right where Rhynehart had dropped her off the last time she hadn’t wanted to meet him anywhere that wasn’t completely public. With her hands shoved down in her pockets, she didn’t move until the black FRoE Jeep had pulled up beside her. Then she waited even longer for Rhynehart to get the hint. He rolled his eyes and leaned over to open the passenger-side door and push it open for her.
Cheyenne stepped into the Jeep and shut the door without looking at the FRoE operative, who might at one point have become her trainer for like a day. Before he told a troll healer on Rez 38 to jam a tracking device into her shoulder wound and call it healing.
Rhynehart smirked at her. “You want me to buckle your seatbelt for you too?”
“Shut up.” She snatched the buckle behind her shoulder, grimacing at her aching upper arm, and slammed it into place across her lap.
“You’re in a good mood.” The operative pulled the Jeep slowly out of the parking lot, headed who knew where. “Seeing me again get your drow side all hot and bothered?”
The halfling let her irritation and anger completely take over as she slipped quickly into her drow form. Rhynehart didn’t flinch, even when she opened her hand and brought up a thicker spray of purple sparks than was strictly necessary. She finally tilted her head toward him and gave him a blank stare. “This kinda hot. That’s what you meant, right?”
“I’m just busting your balls, rookie. Put that away and keep it together, huh?”
The sparks went out, Cheyenne slipped out of the dark skin, white hair, pointy ears, and glowing golden eyes, and the Jeep fell silent. Unfortunately for her, that only lasted for about five minutes.
“Okay. Brief on what we’re up against tonight. Remember that Skaxen asshole whipping up all the black-magic potions spreading through the state and killing a bunch of magical kids?”
Cheyenne snorted. “Good ol’ Q’orr.”
He glanced at her just long enough for another smirk, then returned his attention to his driving. “We found one of his distribution sites. Seeing how his handiwork melted his brain, I don’t think the Skaxen was smart enough to be concerned about the bigger picture. He just got his rocks off making the shit. We still haven’t caught the dirtbags who were smuggling all those potions and charms off Rez 38, but a warehouse with a stockpile is the next best thing, right?”
With raised eyebrows, the halfling turned more to study the operative’s face. “Distribution center for the black magic potions?”
Rhynehart whistled. “I’m hearing a goddamn echo in here. What gives?”
She rolled her eyes and dropped her head back against the headrest. Kind of a cheap trick for the FRoE to go into the Borderlands forum to scour through the topics looking for their next mission. They were supposed to have a handle on things.
After a few seconds of silence, she shot him a sideways glance. “This distribution center doesn’t happen to be in Carytown, does it?”
Rhynehart did a double-take, then huffed out a laugh. “Where’d you get that information?”
“I thought you people already figured out that I’m just that good at finding information I want.”
“Ha. Was that supposed to include high-security information? Wait, don’t answer that. Just tell me how you found out.”
She cocked her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Just something a guardian shared with me.”
“What?”
“You know, Third Qua
rter Projections and everything. Real dark stuff.” The halfling watched his reaction, waiting for him to give something away.
Rhynehart just snorted and shook his head. “You get your head bashed in one too many times in the last two days?”
“Like you’d care if I did.”
“You are talking batshit crazy, rookie. Forget I asked.” He puffed out a laugh again, still shaking his head, and smirked at the road.
He’s either a better liar than I thought, or he has no idea what I’m talking about.
The next time she slipped onto the dark web to do a little window shopping on the Borderlands forum, she’d keep an eye out for any avatar names only a FRoE imagination could come up with. Judging by the way these guys ran their secret operations, it’d be something too stupid to miss, like EpicFRoEDown or RezRUs2000. The thought made her snicker, and Rhynehart shot her an amused glance.
“Great. We brought in a half-drow with only half her sanity in check.”
“That’s the only kind you want, human.”
“As long as you keep your head in the game on this one, I don’t care how crazy or sane you are.”
“Sure, you don’t.”
Chapter Thirteen
Ten minutes later, Rhynehart’s black Jeep was at the front of a line of other black FRoE vehicles moving silently through Manchester. Cheyenne counted two large black vans behind them in the side mirror, but who knew how many more were gearing up to take this place down?
The Jeep pulled up to the curb, and Rhynehart pointed at what looked like an old brick church ahead of them. “It’s up there on the right. Guess the people who used this church before built themselves a new one outside of town, and nobody wanted the leftovers.”
“They just abandoned an old church?”
“Or these thugs pitched in together to buy the thing. Who gives a shit how they got it? They’re in there. Come on.”
Seatbelts unbuckled, doors opened and closed. Cheyenne didn’t realize she’d been trying to shut hers quietly until she opened it one more time and tried again.
Rhynehart opened the horizontal door at the back of the Jeep and rummaged around in the back. “What’s wrong with you, rookie?”
“That’s a loaded question.” Cheyenne eyed the stone church two buildings down, which still seemed abandoned to her, and stepped toward the operative. “Any of you think it’s a little weird to be rolling up in full FRoE SWAT gear at the start of Friday rush-hour traffic?”
The man slipped one of those thick, black dampening vests over his head, thumped the chest, then pulled on huge gloves of the same material. “Not our job to worry about what we look like.” He spared her a quick glance and shrugged. “Didn’t think that was high on your priority list, either.”
“Thanks, asshole. I’m not talking about me or your gung-ho outfit. I mean, what if people see us running into a church? Your guys brought a lot of guns, and that place is gonna light up with magic once you shoot first and ask questions later.”
“We, halfling. You’re coming too. And the idiots in that church didn’t choose the place for sentimental reasons. You see anybody else walking around out here?”
Cheyenne glanced down the street, which had some closed storefronts and what might have been an old house turned into a rental of three or four apartments. “I’ve seen regular humans in places they weren’t supposed to be. Like today. And I almost tore the poor sucker’s head off.”
“But you didn’t. So what? We have people to deal with that kind of thing if it happens. Not our department. Not our problem.” Rhynehart slipped on the weird black helmet that made him look like he was gearing up for a fencing match and closed the back of the Jeep. He stepped onto the sidewalk next to Cheyenne and stuck his fist out like he was about to punch her in the shoulder, then remembered how bad an idea that had been the last time he’d tried it. He smashed the gloved fist into his other hand and nodded. “Let’s go.”
With a quick signal toward the other FRoE operatives from the vans behind them—who all had their gear on and ready to go, including those huge fell rifles like the one Rhynehart had used to test their new half-drow asset—Rhynehart led the team down the sidewalk toward the church. Cheyenne kept pace beside him, glancing at the buildings around them just in case there was somebody watching.
If they are, they’re about to get the show of a lifetime.
Rhynehart signaled for the team to stop in front of the stone steps leading up to the church’s front door. Cheyenne smacked the back of her hand against his dampening vest and muttered, “Wait a second.”
“We already got all the intel we need on what’s going on in there, rookie.” His voice was muffled through the helmet. “You’re holding us up.”
“You have any idea how many of them are in there right now?”
“No. We don’t have an exact headcount.”
“Would you like one?”
Rhynehart jerked off his helmet and tucked it under his arm to stare at her without a mask between them. “You telling me that’s one more thing on your list of tricks?”
“Yeah.” The halfling folded her arms. “You brought a drow halfling with you, man. Might as well use her, right?”
He hissed out a sigh, closed his eyes, then shrugged and gestured toward the stone steps. “Make it quick. And make sure they don’t know you’re there.”
“You know what? If you hadn’t driven me here, you wouldn’t even know I was here.” Cheyenne spread her arms and walked backward toward the front of the church. Rhynehart tried not to smile, which made her turn around so he wouldn’t see her grin.
Her feet moved swiftly and soundlessly up the stone steps. Cheyenne could make herself nearly invisible and completely unheard when she wanted. A childhood spent in the middle of nowhere in Henry County had made her really good at it. When she reached the top step, she paused in front of the wooden double doors with thick iron rings instead of handles. A quick release of her drow magic sent the heat bursting up from the base of her spine and across her shoulders, then she pressed a purple-gray hand lightly against the stone wall and closed her eyes.
She must’ve been getting better at using this ability on command. The colored silhouettes of about a dozen magicals appeared in her mind’s eye. Green for the orcs, purple for trolls, blue goblins, and a dark-orange outline that made her think of Gúrdu’s eyes.
After a moment, Cheyenne figured she’d seen enough and removed her hand. Then she leapt off the front landing and landed silently in front of Rhynehart, who stood there with his arms folded, tapping his combat boot on the cement.
“Show-off.”
She smirked. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed. There’s thirteen in there, I think. Four orcs, five goblins, two trolls, and some other type. You guys deal a lot with Raugs?”
“That’s real funny, rookie.”
“I’ll take that as a no. Then it’s probably two more Skaxen in there.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.”
Cheyenne frowned over her shoulder at the church. “They’re all just standing there in a weird circle. Like, not moving around or anything. I heard a bunch of whispering but couldn’t make it out.”
Rhynehart turned back toward his team standing patiently behind them—well, they might be patient since their faces were covered by the giant space helmets—but no one moved. “You telling me you saw them in there?”
“Just their shapes. And colors.” She shrugged.
“Uh-huh. Standing around in a circle.”
“Fine, don’t believe me. You’ll be shaking my hand when you storm in there and it’s set up exactly like I said.”
“You wouldn’t let me shake your hand if both our lives depended on it.”
She snorted. “Maybe.”
“Okay, rookie. Talent show’s over.” Rhynehart turned toward his team and flashed a series of quick signs with fists and fingers and flat palms that Cheyenne didn’t even try to reason out. Then he pointed toward the front door of the chur
ch, and his guys swarmed around him and the halfling to go get the job done. “You’re stickin’ with me.”
“We’re going in too, right?”
“Duh.” The man pulled a rather large pistol from the holster on his hip and clicked off the safety. A low whine rose from the weapon, followed by a green glow inside the mechanism that grew quickly brighter.
Cheyenne glanced at it, then smirked at him. “Couldn’t get a bigger one like your friends’ guns?”
“Didn’t have room to bring Lorena along for the ride.”
“Lorena’s dead.”
“Lorena 2, then.”
As the halfling and the FRoE team leader reached the bottom of the stairs, the two operatives closest to the doors threw them open and burst inside, weapons drawn. There were six guys in all, not counting Rhynehart, and they moved in unison as if they’d been practicing this one maneuver all week.
“Put it down, asshole!”
“Hands up. You’re done.”
“I said now, orc. Drop the—”
A snarl of rage and challenge erupted inside the church as Cheyenne and Rhynehart hurried in after his men. Sure enough, the church was already lighting up, with different-colored magic flying around the vestibule. The magicals currently getting busted still stood in a ring in the center of the room, where all the pews had been pushed against either wall. Around the circle of magicals were twelve tall iron candle holders, each with lit candles.
In the center of the circle was a fourteenth body Cheyenne hadn’t counted when she’d used her drow sight to look through the walls of the church. A new burst of rage flared through her when she realized it was because the fourteenth body, lying on the floor in this messed-up circle, was dead.
“Drop it!” Rhynehart shouted, moving into the room with his men. “Hands in the air!”
A snickering goblin with a beaker of some dark-purple substance leered at the operative and tossed the whole thing at Rhynehart’s head. He ducked, and the beaker smashed against the pews behind him. The smell of rotting vegetation mixed with cheap perfume filled the church.