by Martha Carr
Shaking her head, she slipped behind a thick sugar maple on the other side of the sidewalk and realized where they were. Gangs meeting at skateparks. Low on the originality score.
Ember turned to glance across the open space of grass and trimmed hedges, then she moved toward the six-foot-high fence around the skatepark. Cheyenne crouched outside the pool of light cast by the parking lot streetlamp. No one else around, as far as she could see; yet, it would take serious effort not to hear angry, hushed voices arising from the cement playground of halfpipes across the park.
Cheyenne stood and crept as fast as she darted across the grass. Luckily, she’d worn her black Vans. She went wide around the tall chain-link fence and the pavilion outside the skatepark. The arguing voices stopped when the gate creaked. Ember stepped inside the open-air structure, leaving the gate open, while Cheyenne crouched on the other side of the closest pillar. From her position, she got a clear view of everyone, including her friend.
“Who’s this?” The deep, gruff voice came from a hulking figure the size of an NFL linebacker. He held a pistol pointed at the concrete rise beside the dip of the halfpipe, and Cheyenne could tell his flesh had a dark green tint. An orc.
“She’s with us.” Another guy in a group of three faced the orc and his six cronies. A lot of ‘em. Fantastic.
Ember joined a man who ran his hand through his tuft of dark-blue hair, and Cheyenne realized his skin was a light purple shade. Halfling. Earth-sider, definitely.
“She’s human,” the big orc snarled and waved his pistol at Ember. “This is between you and me, Earthside-lover. Get her the hell outta here.”
“I’m not human.” Ember stepped beside the purple guy and faced the orc. “I’m just smart enough to hide my face when I’m in public. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you all did the same.”
“Masks.” The orc grunted with disdain. “I didn’t cross the Border to betray everything I stand for just to blend in. And I sure as hell didn’t expect this much shit from a goblin traitor who wouldn’t know his place if it bashed him over the head.”
Cheyenne narrowed her eyes. Goblin?
“Watch it, Durg.” The guy with blue hair standing next to Ember pointed at the orc. “I’ve been minding my own business for years, okay? And I came here to meet with you because I wanna keep minding my own business. But you’re making that fucking hard.”
“Careful, Trev.” The woman standing just behind Ember lifted a hand like she meant to pull him away from the orcs, then reconsidered and chewed on her fingernail.
“Careful? I’ve been careful for thirty years, Jackie. And this Border-rider storms in from Ambar’ogúl thinking he runs the place. You know what?” Trevor turned back toward Durg, whose beefy face was split by giant yellowed tusks jutting from his lower lip. “This is what I came to tell you tonight, face to face. Six months and a few terrified gremlins coughing up your so-called protection money doesn’t change a damn thing about how this world works.”
“Trev.” One of the other guys in the small group of Ember’s friends stepped behind the goblin and put a hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “I don’t think this is how you wanna handle things.”
“No, this is exactly how I wanna handle things. This orc doesn’t own me. He doesn’t own this city or any of us who came across to make something of ourselves instead of being parasites.”
“Your turn to watch it now, you halfling piece of shit,” Durg growled, lifting the gun in his hand and leveling it at Trevor’s gut.
“Okay, hold on.” Ember raised both her hands and stepped forward, throwing Trevor a harsh glare that meant one thing: shut up. She peered at the orc thugs who’d called this poor excuse for a meeting and nodded at the loaded pistol. “We don’t need to go there, okay? I’m pretty sure there’s a way for all of us to get what we want. So let’s talk and keep all the weapons pointed elsewhere.”
Trevor leaned toward Ember and muttered, “Is she coming?”
“Not now, Trev.”
“Not…you said you’d get her to come.”
“Hey!” The orc snapped his thick, meaty fingers then pointed at them, his gun still trained on the goblin’s gut. “I didn’t bring my guys all the way out here to sit in on your little conference, so shut the fuck up. This is how it’s gonna go.”
Seething, Trevor hissed at Ember through gritted teeth. “I did this because you said we had help.”
“And I told you to wait. If these guys found out what we are, how long do you think it’s gonna take the FRoE to find us? It’ll take even less time for them to put us in chains and send us all back.” Ember shook her head, holding Trevor’s gaze with her hard glare. “Right now, Trev, we must help ourselves.”
The orc leader issued a harsh, barking laugh and pointed his pistol up toward the sky. He turned toward the half-dozen thugs behind him, who stood there with their beefy arms folded, watching everything with blatant disregard for their own intelligence.
Cheyenne studied them from her hiding place. Maybe they just want everyone to think they’re brainless on purpose?
“Can you believe these morons?” Durg laughed again as he gestured at Ember and her associates. “Standing up for the little guy. Fighting a fair fight. Like they still think anything on this side of the portal is fair at all.”
Trevor shrugged his friend’s hand off his shoulder and stepped toward the orc. “Hey, things are good when O’gúleesh stop thinking they rule everything over here too. Somebody’s gotta change your mind, and if I’m the one who has to do it—”
The orc’s crooked grin dropped, and he leveled the gun at Trevor again. “What makes you think I give two undead brainstems what’s good for any of you?”
“Whoa.” Everyone in Ember’s group stepped back, all of them raising their hands.
Cheyenne inched around the column. Heat flared at the base of her spine. It swelled beneath her skin like hot mercury in a thermometer—a thermometer in a microwave, the red line about to explode. She clenched her fists, unable to show herself, unable to look away.
It’s going to be okay. Ember negotiated herself out of homework for two semesters. Cheyenne’s chest filled with heated air. Yeah, this isn’t remotely the same. Shit.
Ember licked her lips and stared at the pistol’s barrel gleaming in the moonlight. “It doesn’t need to be like this.”
Durg’s upper lip curled into a menacing sneer above his yellowed tusks. His chuckle lacked humor. “We’ll do it the way I say we will, trash.” He moved his arm a few inches to the right, swinging it from Trevor to aim at Ember’s face. “And I say shut your Earthside-lovin’—”
Electric-blue light hurtled from someone in Ember’s group and struck Durg’s shoulder. The orc leader staggered sideways, and a gunshot rang out.
“End this!” Durg screamed as he grabbed his injured shoulder.
His thugs barreled forward as one. Spells flashed and exploded on both sides, striking a few targets, mostly making craters in the park’s pavilion and skating area. Chunks of concrete flew in every direction, and Ember’s friends staggered across the ledge beside the halfpipe, flinging spells and retreating toward the chain fence’s open gate.
Cheyenne spotted her friend sprawled on the concrete at an awkward angle, her light brown ponytail splayed out on the ground in front of the halfpipe. A dark stain spread on the back of Ember’s shirt beneath the hiked-up hem of her leather jacket.
The mercury of Cheyenne’s rage exploded as searing heat flared up her spine, overwhelming the half-drow’s senses. She became vaguely aware of her skin turning, taking on her dark elf’s gray-purple hue. The tips of her ears lengthened and burned, the rage poured through her, and she roared.
Chapter Five
“What the hell?” Durg lowered his pistol, grasping his right shoulder, and stared at the shrieking shadow gliding beside the skatepark from the pavilion. “Brul, you were supposed to scout the—”
The shadow was a dark elf, and she surged forward with both hands raised. B
lack light erupted from her palms, and the chain-link fence between her and the orcs ripped apart in a tumult of tearing, twisting metal.
Durg thumped Brul on the back and pointed. “Whoever the hell that is, stop her.”
Brul nodded. “Got it, boss.” The orc headed after the attacking drow.
A streak of green slime sputtered past Durg’s head. He turned to snarl at the idiot goblin halfling who’d thought he could stand up to him and his boys. He raised his gun again. “You’re not getting out of this!”
A blazing purple light flashed in the corner of his eye. Searing agony and purple-black sparks erupted in Durg’s right hand, and he bellowed in pain, his dropped gun clattering across the concrete before skittering to a stop at the halfpipe’s lip.
“It’s a goddamn drow, boss,” Brul shouted over his shoulder.
Durg rubbed his right hand and seethed. “I know what the hell it is, you moron. Take her down!”
The dark elf tossed magic in every direction. Snaking lines of black energy whipped from her palms, lashing out to send a pair of orcs flying across the skatepark. Durg glanced at his discarded firearm, growled, and turned toward the stranger. He balled his unaffected hand and summoned a crackling orb of green light.
The drow flung her hand toward him before he could release his spell, and another burst of purple with the darkest black at its center erupted from her fingers. It crashed into his fist and sent his spell in the wrong direction. The black tendrils of energy slapped the ground at his feet and two more orc thugs fell victim to the dark elf’s power.
Durg whirled around at the choking, gasping sound behind him and found Hamal—all six and a half feet of him—dangling midair by one of those coils wrapped with deadly intent around his bulging neck. Ceeru screamed as another black tendril whipped around his ankle, jerked his feet out from under him, and yanked him across the concrete.
“Get out!” Durg shouted.
The orc leader turned and darted toward the chain-link fence behind him, shoving one of his own guys out of the way to avoid a blast of that crackling, purple-black energy. The grind rail beside him exploded in steel fragments and cement chunks. A thick piece of it tore into Durg’s neck and stung like hell as he leapt up onto the fence and started to climb. Something lashed at his ankles. He thought he’d be ripped from the fence or his thick fingers would be severed by the metal in his grasp since he’d be damned if he let go.
Durg fought through the tug on his ankle and flung himself over the top. The fence came down with him in a jingle of links and another grating squeal of metal. He pushed himself from beneath the section that had fallen on him as a bolt of searing magic scored the ground two feet away, spraying up dirt and chunks of grassy soil. Durg risked a glance back as he got to his feet at his orcs, who were getting beaten and pelted with purple-black spells. He spotted Brul running toward him.
Durg didn’t wait. He took off for the trees and toward a streetlamp on the other side of the park. Brul kept on his heels, yelling for his boss to wait up. A few more gunshots rang out behind them, followed by shouts of rage. More concrete exploded, and the orcs kept running.
Cheyenne lowered her trembling hands and released a shaky breath. The skatepark was empty and utterly destroyed, upturned chunks of concrete and twisted metal here and there, the chain-link fence pulled down in places or ripped open. The closest tree smoked from where one of the orc’s spells had lodged itself in the bark instead of her own skin.
And everyone was gone.
Slowly, Cheyenne closed her fists and blinked. The searing rage still coursed through her, but it was less now—so much less and not nearly satisfying enough. Her gaze fell on Ember, and with a grunt, she hurried through the overturned rubble to her friend.
“Em!” She slid to her knees on the concrete, ignoring the ripping of her thick pants and sting as her knees scraped the pavement. “Ember, get up.”
Cheyenne’s hands were sticky with blood before she even touched her friend. She turned Ember over, noticing the pool of blood on the ground glistening in the moonlight.
Ember groaned and her eyelids fluttered, yet they didn’t open.
“No, no, no. Come on!”
Cheyenne’s oncoming tears burned as she found Ember’s wound a few inches beside her navel. The stain of crimson on her friend’s shirt at the small of her back grew by the second. “Okay. Just hold on. Okay.”
Sucking in a breath, Cheyenne slid one arm under Ember’s shoulders and hooked the other behind her friend’s knees. She stood and cradled Ember in her arms and nearly slipped on the pool of blood. Ember hung limp, and Cheyenne stormed back toward East Clay.
She didn’t think about how many other magicals—the first she’d seen in the twenty-one years of her life—she’d scattered into the night. She didn’t think about how light Ember was or how clearly she could smell her friend’s blood. Instead, Cheyenne focused on the faint but audible wheeze of Ember’s shallow breathing. She moved as fast as she could toward the university Medical Center’s ER.
“They just left you,” she muttered, stalking across the street. “How could they just leave you? If you can hear me, Em, you better stay with me. I’m getting you help. You got it?”
A group of college kids parked outside a bar on East Leigh Street laughed and jostled each other until they saw Cheyenne carrying a bloody woman in her arms.
“Oh, my god.” One of the girls clutched at the closest guy standing next to her, and they all stared. Yet, none of them offered to help. They didn’t even ask if she was okay.
They’re useless anyway.
Cheyenne picked up the pace, glancing every few seconds at Ember’s soaked shirt. Every time, rage flared up in her anew. Adrenaline pumping once more, she started running. Streetlights flashed by in a blur, punctured by the white streaks of headlights and the red of taillights. A woman stepped from the passenger side of a sedan parked at the curb. When Cheyenne ran past her, the only thing the woman saw was a flash of dark gray and black and white before the shockwave of the half-drow’s speed knocked the woman against the side of her car and slammed the passenger door shut.
Darting around the last corner, Cheyenne saw the flashing lights of an ambulance pulling up to VCU’s emergency room doors. She reached the entrance before the ambulance driver had pressed the brakes.
A muted crack ripped through the air when she stopped. Those few people making their way into the ER glanced about in surprise at the whipping wind. Several gawked at the dark-skinned woman appearing in front of them.
Cheyenne ignored them all, took a deep breath, and carried Ember through the automatic doors. The ER waiting room was filled with humans hacking and coughing, moaning, cradling bloody limbs, pressing ice packs to their faces, and leaning their heads against the wall as they waited to be seen while trying not to lose composure.
Cheyenne fought back panic when she sensed Ember’s sluggish heartbeat dwindle even more. As the drow carried her dying friend into the ER, she remembered to lose the dark-gray flesh and returned to her natural paleness.
People didn’t see me. They’re just staring at all the blood.
She made a beeline to the intake desk. “I need help here!”
The two nurses behind the desk stood abruptly. “What happened?”
“She was shot.” Cheyenne stopped in front of the desk and stared at the women. Both of them took in the young woman with wild black hair and eerily pale makeup, the chains, the tears in Cheyenne’s pants, and the blood-soaked Ember, who was taller than Cheyenne who seemed to weigh as much as an empty box in the Goth girl’s arms. “Do something!”
The nurses jumped to attention. One ran around the desk toward a gurney against the wall and kicked up the wheel locks, while the other grabbed the phone and blurted “ER Code Blue!”
Cheyenne barely heard anything but her friend’s slow, whispering heartbeat.
“Ma’am?”
“What?” Cheyenne looked up with tears in her eyes.
�
�What’s her name?”
“Ember Gaderow.”
The other nurse patted the gurney. “Here. Lay her down…gently, that’s it.”
After she lowered her friend onto the gurney, she gripped Ember’s hand, everything slick with blood.
“You said she was shot?”
“Yeah.”
“Shot by what?”
The half-drow blinked at the nurse. “A gun.”
“Any other injuries?”
“Yeah, probably. I don’t know. Look, she needs help right now. She’s barely breathing.”
“Our CPR and Code Blue team are on the way, ma’am.”
The other nurse started to wheel Ember through the triage doors but stopped when the force of Cheyenne’s grip on Ember’s hand nearly pulled the unconscious woman off the gurney. “Ma’am, you can let go. She’s in good hands.”
Cheyenne glanced at her own hands, white skin beneath all that blood. She let Ember’s fingers slip from hers. “Where are you taking her?”
“The OR.”
“I’m coming with you.” Cheyenne surged forward.
The other nurse rounded the desk and stepped between the half-drow and her unconscious friend. “I’m sorry. You can’t—” The nurse staggered and removed her hands from Cheyenne’s shoulders. A little gasp escaped her at the force of Cheyenne’s last step that had almost knocked her backward across the ER floor.
“Ma’am, please, you have to stay out here. Let’s get a look at you too.” The nurse was joined by a strong-looking man in scrubs, who smiled and gave off a calming disposition.
“I’m fine.” Cheyenne blinked away her tears and watched Ember get wheeled through the swinging doors.
“You’re covered in blood, and you’re in shock.” The woman standing in front of her nodded toward a triage room across the hall from the intake desk. “Come with me, and we’ll take a look at you.”
Both nurses tried to guide Cheyenne toward the room, the woman with her hand on the half-drow’s back, and the man right behind them, still smiling. Cheyenne jerked away and tried to see Ember again through the swinging doors.