by Martha Carr
“Jeez, relax. She took the night off.” The guy behind the counter ran a hand through his hair, then placed both hands on the counter and shrugged. “Working nights isn’t my thing, but I’m making the most of it. I tell you what, there’s a whole different kinda people come in after eight p.m.”
Without a word, Cheyenne turned away from him and walked down the second-to-last aisle. She liked the instant pad-Thai—just add water and a microwave—but she seemed to have lost her craving for anything. She would have turned and walked back out if it weren’t for her growling stomach. Last thing I need is passing out from hunger in the middle of a fight.
The chime behind the counter dinged when the door opened, and a new customer walked in.
“How’s it goin’?” the clerk muttered.
“Hey.”
Cheyenne almost froze when she heard that voice. Then she pulled herself together and picked two packs of instant Pad Thai off the shelf. I’ve heard that voice before. Where?
She turned and headed toward the drink coolers. The customer looked harmless enough, wearing jeans and a dark-green t-shirt that bordered on too tight. He was lean but muscular and had to be at least ten years older than her, if not more. Cheyenne had half-expected to see one of the burglars with guns she’d had a little powwow with, but this guy wasn’t one of them. The only thing about him that stood out at all was the small, almost indiscernible tattoo of a gnarled tree on the left side of his neck a few inches above his collarbone. It might have gone on beneath the collar of his shirt, but it wasn’t like Cheyenne was about to ask to see the rest of it.
The guy smiled at her before turning his attention to the assorted variety of beef jerky hanging on the shelf. Cheyenne reached into the cooler and grabbed some kind of iced tea without bothering to look at the flavor. She went to the counter to pay for her dinner, trying not to turn around again to look at the guy with the neck tattoo. I know I’ve heard his voice somewhere.
A crash came from behind her. She turned to observe the guy with the tattoo fumbling with half of the hooks on the shelf as they came free from the backing. Beef jerky and bags of Cheez-Its scattered across the floor.
“Sorry. I was just trying to get one bag—”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention that.” The clerk chuckled and nodded at the mess at the end of the aisle. “I’ll take care of it. The owner placed an order for a new one this morning, but those always take longer than they should to come in. It’s the last thing that needs fixing after last night.”
The other customer stepped away from the fallen snacks and headed toward the counter to get in line behind Cheyenne. “What happened last night?”
“You didn’t hear? Cool. I’ve only told the story about twenty times tonight, and it still doesn’t get old.” The clerk glanced at Cheyenne as she set her purchases down on the counter and winked before grinning at the customer behind her.
Seriously? I should—nope. Think about the deer, Cheyenne. She opened her clenched fist and drummed her fingers on the counter while the clerk took his sweet time telling his awesome story instead of ringing her up.
“Place got robbed last night. Well, almost. Nothing was stolen, but a dude walked in with a gun and tried to get the girl who normally works this shift to open the register. Probably why she thought she couldn’t come in tonight, so I have her to thank for an extra shift.” He hissed out a judgmental laugh and picked up Cheyenne’s tea to ring it up. “Nothing happened to her, so I don’t get why she couldn’t come back to work. Women and their drama, right?”
Cheyenne gritted her teeth and glared at him when he looked at her. I’ll show you drama.
The clerk’s smile faltered, then he shrugged and nodded at the guy behind Cheyenne. “Some crazy in a mask walked in at the perfect time. Some kinda superhero wannabe, maybe. Dunno. I didn’t get to see the camera footage, but the owner told me this weirdo dodged a freaking bullet. Had some kind of, I dunno, electric whip or something.”
“That’s…unbelievable.” The guy behind Cheyenne didn’t sound like he was buying any of it, which she couldn’t blame him for. It almost made her smile.
“Right? Then I guess the guy ran away screaming and sent a couple buddies in here to get the job done for him. More guns. Lots of shooting. Bullet holes everywhere.” The clerk pointed to the corner beside the end of the beer cooler. The security camera had been taped back into place and reinforced with a couple of pieces of cardboard. “Oh, yeah. Guess we’re getting a new camera, too.”
“Hmm.” The guy standing behind Cheyenne sounded unimpressed. “Maybe you should let your coworker tell the story, seeing as she was there, right?”
“Hey, I heard it straight from the owner. He watched the camera footage. So, I can tell the story.” The clerk grabbed Cheyenne’s first package of Pad Thai and waved it around as he spoke. “I’m sure Katie—she was the one working last night—isn’t gonna want to talk about this. It’s a cool story, but she’s…” He sucked his teeth and made a poor attempt at a sympathetic grimace. “She’s one of those real insecure girls, you know? Sits here alone all night six days out of the week and—”
“Dude.” Cheyenne pointed at her dinner and cocked her head. “Just ring me up.”
The clerk blinked at her with wide eyes and wrinkled his nose. “I’m getting to it, okay? Who crapped in your cornflakes?”
Cheyenne cocked her head the same way, her nostrils flaring. “The guy who thinks this gas station is a hair salon.”
The customer behind her snorted, but the clerk just clicked his tongue at her and frowned in disappointment. “Hey, if you don’t wanna hear about it, don’t ask.”
“I didn’t.” Is this guy for real?
The clerk’s dismissive smile looked way too painful on his face, and he finished ringing her up before muttering, “Twelve eighty-seven,” and tossing a hand toward the card reader.
“Awesome.” Cheyenne ran her card, snatched her Pad Thai and tea, and turned to leave.
“Want your— Yeah, she doesn’t want her receipt.” The clerk crumpled up the bit of paper and tossed it into the trash behind the counter.
As Cheyenne turned around to press her back against the door, she found the guy with the neck tattoo smiling at her. It wasn’t just a polite smile coming from a stranger, either. The way he looked at her felt way too much like he knew who she was and where she was going. It was like he was trying to tell her something.
She stepped out into the parking lot and let the door close behind her. If he had something to say, he should’ve said it. And now I’m talking about a complete stranger like we have a history. A familiar voice isn’t enough to go on. Focus.
For the entire walk back to her apartment, she repeated a ridiculous mantra about Bambi and the woods and keeping it together.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Pad Thai tasted like soggy cardboard with peanuts thrown in. Turned out she’d bought the only flavor of iced tea she didn’t like, but she drank it anyway. “I hate mint.”
Cheyenne drained the tea and wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. She slumped into the chair behind her computer. She wanted to pull up all the info Todd had returned to double-check that she was heading to the right place.
“Nope. I saw it the first time, and I’d be stupid to open that door. Anonymous creeper’s still on my trail.”
Cheyenne had a moment of inspiration. She pulled up YouTube and went for the most obnoxious laser-cat video she could find—terrible CG, loud, fake laser blasts, and obnoxious background music that mixed house music and reggae and death metal. She muted her speakers but set the videos to keep pulling the next best match for however long she left the window open. “That’s what he gets for tailing me.”
Rolling back in her chair, Cheyenne stretched her legs all the way out and spun from side to side, trying not to check her phone every two minutes. Half an hour. Then I can get the hell out of here and do something useful.
For half an hour, she practiced slipping in and ou
t of her drow form on command. She tried to repeat using a quick spell between forms, but the third burst of sparks from her fingertips brought up interference on her monitor. The screen fizzled with a line of static. It cleared the moment she dropped the spell.
“Magical sparks and computers don’t play well. Huh. Should’ve expected that.”
She thought about trying Ember’s cell. She realized how unlikely it was that Ember would have a phone charger, anyway. Besides, Cheyenne didn’t have a bunch of time to talk. I’ll check in tomorrow.
For the last fifteen minutes, she went through her cabinets and tossed everything past its expiration date. Which was most of the mac ‘n cheese and a few cans of garbanzo beans.
The alarm she’d set for 10:20 p.m. played an irksome tune called Harp. Cheyenne snatched her phone and rushed out of her apartment.
Party time.
It took twenty-five minutes to get to the event center and another five to find a place to park that wasn’t along the side street and visible from the building. She ended up parking on a turnoff beside a landfill a mile and a half away, and now it was 10:52 p.m.
Cheyenne headed toward the event center on foot until she was far enough from her car that anyone who’d seen her get out of it couldn’t see her anymore—that is if anyone was hanging around a landfill for some strange reason. She brought up an image of Durg’s crooked tusks. Heat slid up her spine, and she took on her drow form. She nodded. Durg’s face was as effective as thinking about guns, which made sense, she supposed, since the two were associated in her mind.
After a glance up and down the street, the drow halfling took off running faster than anyone would have been able to see clearly. The tall weeds growing on the side of the road whipped after her as she streaked past in a blur of gray and black and white. She only had to stop once to catch her breath. By 10:58 p.m., she slowed outside the entry gates to the event center parking lot.
A sharp crack split the air when she slowed, and the open gate creaked behind her. She stuck out a hand to stop it from moving and hurried out of the lamplight, opting to take the long way around through the dirt and grass. She counted over a dozen cars parked in the lot, so there were plenty of people inside.
There’s gotta be someone in there who thinks fashionably late is still cool.
Cheyenne reached the side of the event center in the dark and looked for a door. She didn’t find one until she’d skirted the wall all the way near the back, and someone had set the handle so it didn’t lock behind anyone passing through it.
You’d think these guys would be a little better at security. Or common sense.
Before she opened the door, she pressed her hand against the wall and let her mind expand through the metal and into the back of the event center. The shapes of glowing bodies lighting up in her mind’s eye were blurry and a little muted, which meant a few walls and rooms were between the backdoor and the clandestine hangout for magical crime lords. As far as she could tell, this little trick of hers hadn’t steered her wrong yet—there wasn’t anyone watching the back of the building.
Not sure it’s supposed to be this easy, but I’ll take it.
The drow halfling slipped inside and guided the door into place to keep things quiet. Muffled voices came from farther down the hall. In drow form, her hearing was heightened enough that they could be on the opposite side of the building. Cheyenne crept down the hall and crouched behind a trashcan first, then behind boxes of paper cups and plastic lids. She didn’t hear anyone following her, and the tone of the conversation hadn’t changed since she’d stepped inside.
So far, so good.
When she came to the closest entrance into the center arena, broken down to the bare floors and a few tables and chairs pushed to the sides of the room, she pressed against the wall beside the doorway. Glaring light spilled toward her from the arena, and the voices echoed beneath the high ceiling and the bare walls.
“We said eleven!” That voice was pissed.
I guess fashionably late doesn’t fly with magical criminals.
“He’ll be here.” The second voice, nasal and thick with saliva, made Cheyenne think of a slobbery chihuahua. “Mardok’s the one who set this whole thing up. He’s got more riding on this than anybody.”
“Where is he?” The third voice thundered through the arena and echoed much longer than the others.
Cheyenne crouched against the wall and waited until the ringing in her ears faded. She stayed still.
“You want me to call him?” Chihuahua barked. “I’ll call him.”
“Don’t. If he’s making a statement, let him make it. I’ll talk to him about how we handle things.”
“Listen to him.” The whisper came from right behind Cheyenne on the other side of the wall, and her drow hearing picked it up as if the wall didn’t exist. “Thinks he’s already sitting on a throne with a crown on his head. I ain’t going down on one knee for any asshole, especially on this side.”
Someone beside the whisperer grunted. “Shut it, Rezen. We do what he wants and wait for our day. It’ll come.”
“Better be soon.”
The tension was so thick in the arena, Cheyenne was surprised they hadn’t torn each other to shreds already. Which is why they’re all here at the same time. Get one massive deal over and done with so they don’t have to do it again soon.
“I’m thirsty,” the giant voice muttered. “Go.”
“Yep.” Someone with light footsteps strode across the arena and headed for the archway leading into the hall where Cheyenne was hiding.
She crouched lower behind the propped-open door and waited.
Yeah. Let’s get in a little one-on-one time.
The lanky magical skittered into the hall and passed right by her without noticing a thing. His bald head was an inflamed shade of red with deep black lines scored through it. Cheyenne wasn’t looking forward to seeing his face after a peek at his scalp, but she stood from her crouch and stalked behind him.
Redhead turned the corner into the other hall surrounding the arena and opened a door on the left. He switched on the light and stepped inside, oblivious to the drow halfling following him. She heard the sound of a fridge being jerked open and glass bottles clinking against each other, accompanied by the guy’s low muttering about always getting sent to fetch the drinks.
Cheyenne slipped through the door and pressed it almost all the way closed behind her, leaving it open a crack so she could hear whatever else was happening in the arena. So far, it was just a bunch of impatient whining.
“Got time for a little chat?”
The red-skinned magical with his head stuck in the fridge jumped and banged his head on the top, almost knocking himself unconscious. He grunted, drew his head out and up, and rubbed it with a scowl. His eyes widened at the drow standing in the break room with him, and he stumbled back against the open fridge door. The bottles rattled. “Fellfire and—”
“Good one. Now, take a seat.” Cheyenne nodded at the round table on the other side of the break room and the six chairs around it.
Redhead’s nose wrinkled, and his beady black eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”
“You can sit for a talk, or I can make you do both.” Cheyenne spread her arms, opened both hands, and let off a few intimidating bursts of purple and black sparks. “Your choice.”
“We don’t have no drow on the list. How the hell’d you—”
Cheyenne lashed her hand toward him. The jingling of her wrist chains was covered by the sharp hiss and crack of the black tendrils shooting from her palm. Two lashed around the man’s neck, cutting off his sentence and his breath, and the drow yanked him toward her. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor as her fist connected with the side of his face.
The black tendrils disappeared as he dropped, but Cheyenne jerked him back up by the shirt collar before he had the chance to hit the floor. “I’m sure you’ll make better choices after this.”
She dragged him toward the ta
ble, kicked out a chair, and tossed him into it. The guy’s blazing-red bald head wobbled on his shoulders, and although it was hard to tell with his all-black eyes, Cheyenne was confident they were rolling around in his head.
“Hey!” She slapped one hand on the table and snapped her fingers in the guy’s face with the other. “Come on. We’re just getting started.”
The guy puffed out a thick breath and tried to lift his head to look at her. A crooked grin split his face. His lips had veiny black lines running across them. “You got no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me.” Cheyenne buried her fist in his shirt collar again, jerked him toward her, and summoned more sparks that, for his sake, would hopefully be just a warning. “I’m looking for a piece of orc shit named Durg. Ring any bells?”
The guy laughed. She shook him, and he choked when her fist hit his throat.
Maybe bring it down a notch, Cheyenne.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not playing around, asshole. Help yourself out and give me something.”
“You came to a—” The guy coughed and sucked a bunch of spit back from the sides of his mouth. “A meeting like this, outnumbered over your head, looking for one nobody orc?”
Half-choked laughter spilled from his open mouth. The guy’s black tongue flicked around in there, and Cheyenne turned up the notch on the sparks. They glistened in his all-black eyes, and he stopped laughing. “After I deal with you, I’ll be breaking up that little party. You have one more chance before I knock you out for the next month. Wanna try again?”
“You haven’t done this before, have you?” This time, the guy ran his tongue between his teeth until it stuck out at her, his wrinkled nose squashed even more by the disgusting grin.
“Ew. I think we’re both about to learn a lot.”
Cheyenne drew her fist back, jerked up on the guy’s shirt, and let her punch fly. She landed a good one. The magical issued a low grunt and a groan of pain as he slumped sideways in the chair.