Quote the Drow Nevermore

by Martha Carr

  Cheyenne’s dreams were eerily like those she’d had of L’zar’s prophecy before Corian had given her the magic-dampening pendant, only this time, they were all smashed together. She dreamed of the clearing at the new Border portal instead of the dark, cold room of black stone smeared with blood. The cloaked figure kneeling in the center of all the dead drow bodies wasn’t L’zar or his halfling daughter but Maleshi Hi’et, her green eyes glowing above that wickedly predatory grin. The Oracle Gúrdu’s voice mixed with a woman’s as they laughed together in the same cadence. Black, glistening tentacles rose from the dark spires of the portal ridge. A beetle-thing scurried and scrambled along on its hundreds of legs.

  Then the halfling became the portal, rising higher than any of the jutting spears of black stone, stretching out like the black wall of shimmering light across the entire clearing. The tentacles waving around and bashing the fallen drow bodies were her black tendrils of magic shooting from unseen hands.

  The beetle-thing shrieked and jumped around to face her. When it reared on its back legs and exposed its underbelly, L’zar’s distorted face had replaced the nightmarish creature’s gaping red mouth, and when he spoke, Bianca Summerlin’s voice emerged. “Blood bonds with blood tied to chaos. Everything has a price!”

  With a startled gasp, Cheyenne jolted up in her bed. “Jesus, these fucking dreams.”

  She ran the back of her hand across her forehead and the thin layer of sweat coating it. Hissing in frustration, the halfling tugged at the hem of her baggy hoodie. The front of it was soaked through with sweat, making the thing almost impossible to peel off. She finally got it over her head and tossed it onto the floor with a heavy thump.

  “Gross.” After trying to air out her long-sleeved shirt, she dropped her hands onto the bed. “Like that’s gonna work.”

  Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she woke the screen and blinked at the time. Seven fifty-two. Is that...yep. Eleven hours of sleep.

  The halfling ran a hand through her sweat-soaked hair and scratched her head a little. Then she slid off the bed and went to the window. The blackout curtains rustled when she swept them aside. Morning sunlight spilled into her room, and she jerked her head away with a groan. Good thing my class schedule changed.

  Her hand rose to the Heart of Midnight pendant, which was resting a little higher on her breastbone now that she’d tied so many knots in the repeatedly broken silver chain. Looks like this thing’s starting to wear off. Not so great for trying to lay low.

  Cheyenne pulled the blackout curtain over the window again, rolled her shoulders, and nodded. A small, pulsing ache rose from her left ankle, and she stuck out her foot to look down at the puncture marks around the hem of her pantleg. Should’ve looked at that sooner.

  Grimacing, the halfling went back to her backpack on the floor, sat beside it, and pulled out the brown glass jar of healing salve Yadje had given her. When she rolled up her pantleg, she sucked in a hissing breath and studied the half-dozen round punctures encircling her ankle. “Ugh. Could be worse, I guess.”

  She bent her knee to pull her ankle closer as she gave the jar’s lid a quick twist. The sharp smell of rotting strawberries blasted her in the face, making her nostrils flare. Anything less than a knife wound, huh? I’m trusting you, R’mahr.

  The white salve was thick and sticky, stretching like taffy when she scooped out the first bit with her fingers. “Great. Like putting Persh’al’s mohawk gel on a magical monster bite.” She snorted, got the stringy goo to separate, and dabbed a little onto the first puncture.

  An icy jolt shot through her ankle, followed by a searing heat that flared all the way to the tips of her toes. Cheyenne sucked in a sharp breath and thumped her fist on the polished wooden floor beneath her. “Shit.”

  With watering eyes, she squinted at her ankle and leaned forward for a better look. The agonizing burn subsided a little, and the puncture wound sealed itself from the inside out, closing up muscle and split skin until there was nothing left but flakes of dried blood. A low chuckle of surprise escaped her. “Oh, shit.”

  The halfling stared at the glob of white goo on the tips of her fingers and grinned. “This is gonna suck.”

  She transferred a bit into her other hand, rubbed her fingers together, then breathed deeply and smeared the salve over the other puncture wounds encircling her ankle. Clenching her teeth, she grunted and threw her head back to grimace at the ceiling while the salve burned through her leg and five more wounds. The halfling beat the floor with the heel of her fist, forcing herself to breathe through it and count. Twenty seconds, then the pain subsided enough for her to lean forward and watch the other five holes seal up around her ankle.

  Just to be sure, she ran her fingers along the perfectly smooth healed skin, then dusted off flakes of dried blood. Just like that. Damn. I’d take a black-magic potion to the shoulder over that any day.

  Cheyenne snorted, then a sharp laugh escaped her. When she imagined herself stuffing those two holes in her shoulder with darktongue salve from a socially confused troll, the halfling doubled over and howled with laughter. Here I am. Finally lost my mind.

  It took her another minute to calm down, then she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of a hand and sniffed. Another chuckle escaped her, and the fully healed drow halfling shook her head before closing the jar. “Hell of a way to start the day. Jesus.”

  She stood, absently wiped the last of the sticky salve on her pantlegs, then opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the apartment.

  “Someone’s in a better mood,” Ember called from the kitchen. The halfling peered across the apartment, squinting with heavy eyelids until the fae wheeled around the island with a grin.

  “Took a lot to get there.”

  “Bet you slept like a rock, huh?”

  “Just until the end.” Cheyenne cleared her throat. “Sorry I wasn’t up to help you with...whatever.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Ember spread her arms and glanced around the apartment. “I obviously needed you.”

  “Ha-ha.” Walking toward her friend, the halfling blinked heavily and took a deep sniff. “And you made coffee.”

  “Best part of waking up, right? This stuff’s supposed to be killer.” Ember sniggered and lifted the heavy-duty thermal coffee mug from where she’d wedged it in her lap. “Just finished brewing, if you want some.”

  “Yeah, I do.” When Cheyenne reached the kitchen, she smirked as Ember expertly spun her wheelchair to follow the halfling toward the counter. “Man, just the smell is getting me caffeinated.”

  “That’s nothing.”

  The half-drow glanced at the bag of coffee sitting beside the coffeemaker—black with a white skull and crossbones in the center and the bold-text brand name scrawled across the top. Just to be sure, she picked up the bag and studied it at a closer angle. “Death Wish Coffee, huh?”

  “I said it was killer.”

  Cheyenne chuckled. “This is my kinda coffee. You find this stuff online to match my Goth box?”

  “Uh, no, actually.” Ember lifted the coffee mug to her lips and took an unusually long slurp from the hole in the lid. “Matthew brought it over.”

  The coffee bag thumped back onto the counter. “Of course he did.”

  “His only condition for offering a friendly one-pound bag of neighborly coffee was that I convince you to try it.”

  Cheyenne squinted at the fae. “He obviously didn’t consider that saying it’s from him would convince me not to try it.”

  “No, but I did. And I call bullshit.”

  The halfling shot the bag of coffee—perfectly matched to her Goth tastes—a sidelong glance. Then she shrugged and opened the cabinet above the coffee maker to pull down a mug. “Good thing you know me better than he does.”

  “It would be weird if I didn’t.” Ember laughed. “There’s creamer in the fridge.”

  “I’m good.” Cheyenne filled the mug to the brim and bent over to slurp as much as she could off
the top. “Dammit.”

  “I know.”

  “Now I’m gonna have to thank the guy for turning me on to…” The halfling picked up the coffee bag again and read over the label. “‘World’s strongest coffee.’ They can actually put that on the packaging and get away with it. Unbelievable.”

  “Unbelievably delicious.” Laughing, the fae raised her to-go mug again for another sip. “I think I’m in love.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “Okay, I’ll thank Mr. Matthew Thomas for the coffee, but you’re gonna have to tell him that last part yourself.”

  “What? Shut up. I meant the coffee.” Ember wound her arm back with the coffee mug held tightly in her hand and pretended to throw the whole thing at the laughing half-drow.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Cheyenne leaned against the counter and brought the mug to her lips with both hands. “I’m with you on the coffee part, at least.”

  They stayed like that, sipping their beverages. Ember cocked her head and studied her friend’s tangled nest of black hair and the sweat stains barely visible on her black shirt. “More bad dreams?”

  “Wow. You’re takin’ pages right outta Sherlock Holmes, aren’t ya?”

  “Seriously, Cheyenne. I don’t know why you’re still surprised when people can see what’s going on. It’s written all over your face.”

  “Yeah, people keep saying that.”

  Ember smirked. “This time it’s written in dirt, though.”

  “Oh.” Cheyenne wiped her cheek and smeared a streak of sweat and dirt.

  “Aw. That just made it worse.”

  “Okay. In lieu of wanting to drink the best cup of coffee I’ve had in a ridiculously long time while it’s still hot, are you up for ignoring the way I look right now so I can drink the Death Wish and tell you all about it?”

  “Halfling, I thought you’d never ask.” Ember wedged the to-go mug between her legs again and wheeled herself across the kitchen and into the massive living room. “And just FYI, I’ve been ignoring the way you look since we met.”

  “How very thoughtful of you.” Cheyenne pressed her lips together through another smile and followed her friend toward the new black leather couch and the matching recliners. “Next, you’re gonna say you never judge a book by its cover, and the only thing that matters is what’s on the inside.”

  The fae pulled her wheelchair up to the edge of the black and silver area rug and shot the halfling a condescending look. “No, next I’m gonna tell you to quit being such a smartass and get to the good stuff already.”

  “How ‘bout one outta two?” Cheyenne lowered herself onto the leather recliner closest to her friend. “I don’t think I moved an inch all night.”

  “You know, I almost came to check on you. Then I figured it was in my best interests not to get my head blown off by a cranky drow halfling needing her beauty rest.”

  Laughing, the half-drow ruffled her mussed, damp hair, then waved her hand in a circle around her face. “Obviously, that was successful.”

  “Okay, I know I’m the one who brought it up, but if you can promise me this is the last time we ever say the words ‘beauty sleep’ again, I’m willing to forget this part of the conversation ever happened.”

  “Deal.” Cheyenne hovered over her steaming mug of coffee and took a long sip. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”

  “How about right after you bounced yesterday morning, rambling about urgent messages and driving to DC?”

  “Huh.” the halfling nodded slowly and lifted the mug over the side of the armchair so she could pull her legs up off the floor and cross them beneath her. “That feels like three days ago.”

  “Uh-huh. So does spending all day with our friendly neighbor, who’s apparently got an endless supply of ways to ‘make himself useful’ and excuses to stick around a little longer.” Ember smirked over the lid of her mug and took another sip when her friend snorted. “Just a heads-up. ‘I’ve got some time to kill,’ is Matthew Thomas code for ‘I’ll be here all day unless you tell me without smiling that you don’t want me here anymore.’”

  “That’s what you had to tell him, huh?”

  “Yeah, and he thought I was joking at first.” Ember raised her eyebrows and stared at the coffee table.

  “Ouch.”

  “You know what? It’s good practice for me. Forget Sherlock Holmes. I’m taking a page out of the halfling’s book. You don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.”

  Cheyenne licked her lips and tried not to laugh. “Well, don’t try to be too much like me, Em. I’m pretty sure that’s how I keep getting myself into these screwed-up situations. You’re gonna think I’m making this up when I tell you what happened yesterday.”

  Ember spread her arms and leaned forward in her chair to shout, “So why the hell are we still talking about it? Storytime. Go!”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  When Cheyenne finished rattling off the major points of her messed-up Sunday, Ember blinked and lifted her mug to her lips again. It tilted all the way up before she realized it was empty and jammed it back into her lap. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and go with eighty percent.”

  The halfling laughed and folded her arms, her right leg slung over one of the recliner’s armrests while she leaned back against the other. She’d put her empty mug on the coffee table halfway through the tale. “Eighty percent of what is what?”

  “Eighty percent of that story is total bull.”

  The housemates stared at each other, and Cheyenne almost pushed up out of her chair before Ember barked a laugh. The halfling rolled her eyes and flipped her friend the middle finger. “You gotta cut that out.”

  “When it puts that look on your face? No way.”

  “I’m not a gullible person, and you still get me every single time.”

  Ember shook her hair out of her face and laughed until it ran its course. “I’m just that good. And I’m probably the only person in the world who’d believe everything that just came out of your mouth.”

  “Maybe.” The halfling shrugged. Except for Bianca Summerlin. “Don’t call it a lie of omission, Cheyenne. Think of it as a tactful representation of the truth you want to present.” She snorted at her mom’s voice ringing so clearly through her head.

  “What?” Ember’s lips curled into a sly smile.

  “That’s why you’re the only person in the world I tell this crap to, Em.”

  “I’m honored by all your crappy stories. You know that.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  The fae wheeled herself back and forth, squinting at the abstract paintings hanging on the wall beside the front door. “It sounds like everybody knows about L’zar Verdys’ halfling daughter, huh?”

  “I guess so. And apparently, all I have to do now is finish the trials to ‘claim my legacy,’ fight off living nightmares that aren’t supposed to exist outside the portal, and stop a war between both sides of the Border with L’zar’s number-one guy and the greatest O’gúl, General Turncloak, who’d rather kill everyone than be a team player. Did I mention she used to be my Advanced Algorithms professor?”

  “You covered it pretty thoroughly, yeah.” Neither of them could contain themselves, and they both burst out laughing again. “Just minor requirements for the spawn of a rebellion leader, right?”

  “Don’t even go there.” Cheyenne dropped her head back against the recliner’s soft, cool leather cushion. “I’m gonna be pinching myself every ten minutes to make sure this is still real.”

  Ember shrugged. “No one ever said Cheyenne Summerlin has a boring life.”

  “Ha. No one ever said anything about anything. Man, if I’d just cornered Maleshi in her office a week ago and shouted that L’zar Verdys is my incarcerated drow dad, I would’ve been way more prepared for yesterday.”

  “Maybe. Sounded like you handled it pretty well, though.”

  The halfling said, “I’m workin’ on it. Not sure how I’m gonna keep it together when this stupid necklace shorts out and I’m
just wearing a pretty O’gúleesh rock.”

  “Start a souvenir box.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  Ember threw her head back and let out a full-on belly laugh. “I’m serious. You’re over halfway done with the trials. That box is gonna open right up, and bada-bing, you’re a super-powerful drow halfling. You’ll pull out that pendant just to remind yourself of the good ol’ days.”

  “Right before I smack L’zar across the face with it.”

  “Or that.” Ember stopped rolling and propped one elbow on the opposite arm, stroking her chin. “When’s the old man gonna break out again?”

  Cheyenne shook her head. “When he’s certain it won’t kill me, or something stupid like that.”

  “Oh, of course. What an asshole thing to do, right? Man, that’s so infuriatingly selfish. This guy inadvertently killed dozens of his kids over who knows how many centuries, and he’s finally playing it safe with you. You know what? I hope he rots behind those bars.”

  “Okay, okay. Damn.”

  Ember raised an eyebrow at her halfling friend with a mischievous smirk. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how long you let me go on with that before you stopped me.”

  Cheyenne scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I get it. He doesn’t wanna start all over again with some other unconceived kid if anything happens to me. Not like he’d have a lot of time for that at this point anyway.”

  The fae clicked her tongue. “You realize people do still hook up during a war, right?”

  “Look at you, throwing around the word ‘war’ just like Maleshi.”

  “Equally creepy is that it only took you twenty-four hours to stop calling her Mattie.”

  The halfling ran her hands down her face and groaned. “I don’t think Mattie Bergmann’s coming back, at least not anytime soon. That Nightstalker general is one seriously nutso badass.”

  “It makes perfect sense why you still like her so much.” Ember grinned and spread her arms. “If you were a cat-woman, you’d wanna grow up to be just like her.”

  “Nah, I wanna grow up to be just like me, thanks.”