by Martha Carr
Cheyenne pressed her lips together and didn’t quite manage to look into Ember’s blue eyes. “Then just don’t push your luck, huh?”
“Right.”
“If a good thing comes your way, take it and run.” The halfling stopped short and looked at her friend. “I mean, figuratively.”
“Shut up.” Ember chucked her wadded-up napkin at the half-drow and laughed. “I might not be able to move my legs for a while, Cheyenne, but I’m not made of glass, either. Got it?”
Cheyenne gave her friend a little salute and glanced at the clock mounted on the wall beside the TV. “When does that doctor of yours usually show up?”
“Uh, right about now? I don’t know, though. Might be different on a Saturday.”
“Still, I should probably get outta here.” Gathering up all the trash from the super-quick breakfast, Cheyenne rearranged the giant orange juice and Ember’s leftovers on the nightstand, rolled the thing a little closer to her friend, and bent over to give the fae a hug. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“What? You brought it.”
“Still can’t have breakfast with you if you’re not around.” The halfling gave her friend’s shoulder a little pat and stuck her hands in the pockets of the black Dickies she’d bought just for all the extra pockets. “Oh, hey. Quick question.”
Ember raised her eyebrows.
“You ever see anybody walking around with a big pendant on a chain? Like, in the shape of a bull or something. Not super detailed, just kinda big and clunky?”
“Not that I remember. Why? What is it?”
“No idea. I ran into some dirtbags yesterday, and they were all wearing one. It probably means something. I was just curious.”
“Ran into some dirtbags, huh?” Ember smirked and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “That all it was?”
“Not really. There’s more. I’ll tell you later, but I don’t wanna run into that doctor with all the questions. Not into that today, you know?”
The fae let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll know I’m in trouble when he asks more about you than he does about me.”
“Not gonna happen. Just keep telling him you have no idea who I am or what I want.” Cheyenne pointed toward the bedside table on wheels as she headed for the door. “And maybe, I dunno. Hide that takeout or something.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll just slip it under the sheets, and no one will suspect a thing.”
With a little laugh, the halfling opened the hospital-room door. “See ya, Em. Call me if you need anything.”
“Yep.”
Cheyenne closed the door again and moved quickly through the hall toward the front of the hospital. Maybe Dr. Andrews didn’t make his usual rounds on Saturdays, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She’d already risked enough by asking him to take that tracking device out of her shoulder, not to mention that she probably should’ve stayed to let him clean the wound a little more and maybe sew it up. Her shoulder felt as crappy today as it had yesterday, and she was trying not to believe that maybe it was getting worse.
But the halfling wasn’t going to let herself be distracted by the aching wounds in her shoulder that might or might not get better on their own. Her body usually didn’t have much trouble healing. Today, at least until something popped up or she got a phone call on that stupid burner phone of Sir’s, the half-drow was going on a treasure hunt.
Okay, gu@rdi@n104. Let’s go see what you think is so hard for everyone else to find.
Chapter Twenty
She decided to park her car in the public lot just down the street from Gnarly’s Pub. Cheyenne hadn’t set foot in the place since the last time she was there with Ember almost two weeks ago. Driving back down East Clay Street to get to the lot felt a little like guilt-ridden déjà vu, but she pushed that aside.
The late-morning sun made the day bright and clear despite the chill. It was a little colder than normal for late September, but fall temperatures were right around the corner. Cheyenne snatched her black canvas jacket with all the extra silver buckles out of the trunk, shrugged into it, and locked the car. Then she pulled out her cellphone and brought up the synced file of gu@rdi@n104’s decrypted treasure map.
If it led her to the information she needed on how to find that bastard Durg and show him a lesson or five, it would all be worth it in the end.
She zoomed in until the apparent directions in super-tiny script in the map’s bottom-left corner were big enough to read and leaned against her car.
If you want a little somethin’ for your troubles, better think outside the map and take a hint.
The halfling still had no idea what that meant and kept scrolling.
There’s nothing like a little heat to get the fires burning. Just don’t forget to wear gloves and wash your face.
“What is this crap?” Sure, the map had all kinds of different-colored lines across it, half of them not even following the streets she knew were there, but that had somehow not made it into gu@rdi@n104’s special secret file.
Turning around in the parking lot, she glanced down East Clay Street and saw the row of bars and pubs and restaurants stretching out in front of her. “Gloves and wash your face. That doesn’t even make—”
When it hit her, she thought she was losing her mind. Sheppard’s Hothouse? Is this guy for real?
The restaurant a few blocks down was pretty popular among people in the area who had turned culinary appreciation into an extreme sport. The place on her mind right now had some of the hottest wings in Richmond. Cheyenne would know. She used to go there every week when she was living in the dorms at VCU during freshman year.
She stuck her phone and her hands into her jacket pockets and took off down East Clay Street away from the parks, heading southeast.
There were plenty of people out and about on a nice day like this. Most of them were college kids. The rest apparently found it impossible not to stare at the Goth chick stalking down the sidewalk in broad daylight, probably scowling like she hated the entire world and couldn’t wait for it to end.
Fortunately, she’d stuck her earbuds into one of the side pockets of her pants before she’d left the house, and pulled these out now to plug them into her phone. Then the earbuds went in her ears, and she pulled up the last System of a Down album she actually enjoyed listening to. The volume went up as loud as it would go.
This is the sound of my happy place. Before the happy place turned into slipping in and out of drow mode whenever the hell I feel like it.
The walk to Sheppard’s was short enough in the scheme of things, and by the time she stopped in front of the entrance, the halfling was starting to feel a lot like she was missing something. Not that she’d picked the wrong place from that stupid clue. More like she’d picked the right place and couldn’t see why the hell gu@rdi@n104 had chosen it.
She stopped, ignoring the chick with the almost creepily pale skin staring at her in the restaurant window’s reflection, and her gaze settled on a flyer taped up on the window.
Flamin’ X Wings. You’ll wish you never tasted hot like this before, and then you’ll keep coming back. Just don’t forget to wear gloves and wash your face when you’re done.
“Huh.” The halfling glanced down at the map file on her phone and the blown-up text of the most useless directions ever. Except they weren’t. Not really.
This has to be the right place. So what the heck am I looking for?
Cheyenne moved slowly down the sidewalk, peering through the windows into the restaurant and wondering whether she’d see anything more than menus, fresh food on plates, and customers ready and willing to burn off their taste buds. She got to the end of the restaurant windows, wrinkled her nose, and stopped when her shoe scuffed against something in the middle of the sidewalk.
It was just a broken piece of concrete, smashed in by who only knew what. But just on the other side of the upturned chunk was a dotted black line shooting diagonally away from Sheppard’s Hothouse and into the alley
on the other side. That’s too easy.
She zoomed out on the map on her phone and found the area where she thought she was right now, which was harder to do without any street names. There was one of those dotted black lines that cut off right about where she was standing before picking up maybe three or four blocks farther east.
Maybe it was a total long shot. But with heavy metal blasting in her ears and the cool, crisp air blowing through her hair, why not step into an alley beside a hot wings joint and poke around for some other weird-ass clue?
Cheyenne moved slowly to the end of the sidewalk, watching the dotted black line that was scratched and scuffed with so many footsteps. These have been here a while. How old is this crazy map?
Turning into the alley, she scanned the middle-height walls on either side, noted the dumpster halfway back, and checked out the fire escape. The dotted black line ended at the wall on her right without picking back up again. The halfling followed it anyway, thinking maybe she’d find something at the place where the dotted black line and the wall met. But when she got there, that was all it was—just a wall in an alley.
I’m an idiot for thinking a map from a dark-web forum admin would actually—
She stopped and cocked her head. Then she slowly took the earbuds out of her ears and tried to figure out if this was real. System of a Down was replaced by the pedestrians’ voices, the rush of cars making their way down the street, and birds cawing annoyingly, but the tug between her shoulders was still there, like someone had pulled a string of Cheyenne’s senses right out of her back between her shoulder blades and was trying to jerk her toward something else. Definitely a new feeling.
Slowly, she turned around and faced the other wall of the alley. The little tug spun with her and moved through her chest now, leading right to that other wall and…what? Cheyenne crossed the alley, frowning at the bricks, and the pull by an invisible hand got stronger with each step she took. Then she was standing right in front of the wall with only a few inches of space between the toes of her black Vans and the bricks.
“What kinda weirdness is this?” She studied the wall. There was something there. She could feel it.
“Mommy? What’s that scary lady doing?”
Cheyenne turned to see a three-year-old on the sidewalk outside the alley, one hand in her mother’s and the other pointing at the Goth chick staring at bricks. The mother gave Cheyenne an uncomfortable apologetic smile and tugged on her daughter’s hand without answering the question. The half-drow turned back toward the wall and rolled her eyes.
“Just another crazy person talking to herself in an alley,” she muttered under her breath.
She lifted a palm toward the wall and drew it over the bricks, almost but not touching them. There was still air between her hand and the wall, until it wasn’t. A sharp tingle like an electric shock without much power behind it zapped through the center of her hand. Cheyenne frowned and drew her hand away. The zap returned when she passed her fingers over the same brick, and she couldn’t help but glance around the alley to make sure this wasn’t some kind of joke meant just for drow halflings.
There was no one here but her.
Feeling like an idiot, she pressed her fingers to the brick that had not quite zapped her and heard something click behind it. “No.”
She pressed harder, and that brick withdrew into the wall like a secret doorway opening. There wasn’t much space there for much of anything, but the bright-blue piece of paper wadded up and stuck into the recessed opening caught her attention. When she reached in to pluck it out, she still hadn’t written off the possibility that she’d lost her mind.
The paper unfolded easily enough, and then Cheyenne was looking at the same cramped, tiny handwriting that had been too hard to read on the decrypted file at normal size. It was clear enough now.
Roses have thorns. That’s just how they’re made. This one has rough edges all around, but a few pokes never hurt anyone much. Especially when they’re asked for by name.
“What?” Cheyenne stepped back from the wall, and the recessed brick closed on its own. Tiny crumbs of red brick slid out of the opening and dropped onto the floor of the alley, and the half-drow turned with the next ridiculous clue in her hand.
She had no idea what this one meant, and it was even weirder. Cheyenne wasn’t much of a flower person, except for the black goth roses she’d used to decorate her room with back when she lived with her mom. But Bianca Summerlin’s estate was way out in Henry County, and it was pretty clear that a scavenger hunt with a map only of Richmond wasn’t supposed to send her over forty-five minutes out of the city.
“A few pokes.” The halfling snorted. “That could be taken so many different ways.”
She sniffed and rubbed an itch out of her nose. Her fingers brushed against her nose ring, and she froze.
Glancing back down at the blue paper and the clue, Cheyenne tried to find something written there that would undermine her first guess, but it all made sense. And that didn’t make any sense at all.
The Jagged Rose was a tattoo and piercing parlor about a five-minute drive from here. Cheyenne didn’t have any tattoos, but she had plenty of piercings, and she used to have even more than the ones she’d kept. When she’d graduated with her Bachelor’s last year, she’d treated herself at the Jagged Rose with the industrial piercings through both ears, just for fun and because she could. She hadn’t been there since, but that was the only place she could think of that fit the ridiculous description laid out in that clue.
Crumpling the blue paper, she shoved it back in her pocket and stuck her earbuds in again.
It took her a little over ten minutes, and then she was standing outside the Jagged Rose, gazing through the windows at the front desk and all the sketches and artwork—on skin or otherwise—displayed by the tattoo artists who worked there. Nobody passing her on the sidewalk or tossing her brief nods through the tattoo parlor’s windows thought twice about a Goth chick standing out front here.
Now all she had to do was find another clue. Or not do that and call this whole thing a failed attempt on her part to find useful information and a roaring success on gu@rdi@n104’s part to waste her time.
She looked the storefront over, then compared the closest area on that screwed-up map to where she now stood. No more dotted black lines. There weren’t any lines, blue or red or otherwise, so that was another short, quick dead end.
Awesome. Back to square one. And now I feel like a total idiot— Wait. What’s that?
Blinking, Cheyenne stared at the potted plant sitting on the window ledge of the Jagged Rose’s storefront. It was pretty much empty, full of dry dirt with a dead twig of whatever the plant had been poking out of the top. But she wasn’t looking at the plant or the dirt. A gold shimmer came from the bottom of the pot. It wasn’t something stuck on the outside or buried beneath the rim of the little plate the thing sat on. The halfling took one step to the side, and the shimmering gold shape stayed where it was. It looked way too much like her drow sight when she used it to see through walls and count the colored body shapes of anyone who was on the other side. But that was with her eyes closed.
She glanced at all the people walking around completely ignoring her, then sidled up to the window ledge and leaned against the glass at the corner of the Jagged Rose. That little gold shape was still there, even when she slipped her fingers between the back of the pot and the window. Her fingers brushed another thickly folded piece of paper, and she stared with wide eyes at the sidewalk.
How the hell did I find this thing?
When she got a good grip on the paper between her fingers, she pulled her hand back as nonchalantly as she could and pushed herself off the corner wall and the window. Then she took off walking again down the street because she didn’t want to stay in one place while she opened another clue she’d somehow been able to see through the pot.
The paper wasn’t glowing with that golden shimmer anymore when she looked down at it. Just a normal
scrap of blue paper in her hand, with the same twisted handwriting on it as the last.
There’s no better way to learn than by tossing around ideas with one’s peers. Or opinions. Careful, though. When everybody screams all at once not the void, it’s hard to hear a single thread of truth.
“Okay, that sounds like Twitter.”
She looked up and down the sidewalk and met the gaze of a middle-aged man in a sweater with a rolled-up newspaper tucked under his arm. He nodded at her and muttered, “Yeah, I don’t understand it, either.”
It made her laugh when he walked past without another word. Then she stared back down at the blue paper and the written clue and wanted to tear her hair out.
Something about learning. About…the VCU campus?
The second she thought it, that prickling tingle of the invisible thread she hadn’t felt until the first clue at the brick wall flared up again between her shoulder blades. It might have excited her, thinking she was on to something, if she wasn’t totally creeped out. Her magic had flared up three times now to help with clues from a stranger, and she didn’t have to go drow mode.
She wished she could turn the music up even louder in her earbuds because she didn’t want to be able to hear herself thinking about what was happening right now. That maybe she really was losing her mind, and this was just the last piece of the puzzle before she went full drow-halfling psycho.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cheyenne followed that tingling pull—first from between her shoulder blades, then sort of through her shoulder until she turned and it tugged at her chest again—all the way to the VCU campus. Not really a big surprise, honestly, seeing as the whole “pull a drow halfling along by an invisible string” trick had started up again when she’d thought of her school. That didn’t make it any less weird.