by Martha Carr
Cheyenne glanced around the club. The dance floor was still full and in full swing, but the magicals who weren’t dancing or hadn’t drunk themselves into oblivion were silent, looking everywhere but at the skaxen arguing vehemently with the bouncers.
I wonder if this thing turns the volume up too.
Without needing to be prompted, the activator responded. Her eyelids fluttered as a river of electric energy climbed up her hand and arm and into the back of her head. Then the conversation she’d wanted to hear came in loud and clear.
“You good?” Persh’al leaned forward to catch her attention.
Cheyenne nodded and shot a second-long glance at the skaxen before tapping her finger on her lips and looking away. We need to work on our secret signs, apparently.
The troll said something else, laughed sharply, and drank more mudshine, but she wasn’t listening.
“This is the last time we’ll offer you a way out, Bergo,” one of the orcs grumbled. “Take the goldsmile and enjoy yourself. Forget about whatever happened and think about how good you have it here right where you are.”
“Lotta bastards would sell their kids to get moved into Uppertech, man. You know that. Hell, even just to get inside the city walls. You know what’s gonna happen if you start causing problems.”
The skaxen snarled and jabbed a clawed orange finger toward the second orc’s face. “Don’t talk down to me, Rinter. We came up the same, and you’ve sold your life for a fell-damn piece of junk.”
“It’s a job, and I’ll be around a lot longer than you if you don’t get smart and take the fucking vial.”
“I’m not touching that filth. You can’t drug me into complacency, not like she’s drugged you, apparently.”
The first orc, who Bergo the skaxen obviously didn’t know as well, glanced at the two silver orbs creeping quietly down from the ceiling toward the altercation. He nodded at the skaxen, and the orbs disappeared again.
“It’ll wear off in a few hours,” Rinter muttered. “Take it. Sleep it off, and screw your head on right, huh?”
“You can take the deathflame torch you’re holding so fell-damn tightly,” the skaxen sneered, shaking his fist, “and shove it up your ass. This is all wrong. All of it!”
“Shut up!”
“You’ve all lost your fell-damn minds,” Bergo screamed so everyone could hear. He jabbed a finger at the other club patrons, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. Cheyenne winced at the squeal in her head, and the volume dampened immediately. “It’s poison, you idiots. All of it!”
Rinter slammed his fist into his old friend’s jaw and sent the skaxen staggering sideways. Two seconds later, a panel opened in the metal wall behind him, and half a dozen snaking silver whips snatched him around the middle. Bergo screamed, the mechanical arms jerked him into the wall, and the panel slid back into place. The skaxen’s cries cut off abruptly, and the conversation in the club picked back up below the pounding bass of the weird music as if nothing had happened.
What the fuck? Cheyenne’s activator turned up the volume as she focused on the disappearing panel, which didn’t bring up a hint of a visual. She picked up the bouncers’ conversation instead.
“You gave him way too many chances,” the first orc growled. “We’re here to stop things before they turn into a shitshow like that.”
“Come on, man.” Rinter shrugged under his co-worker’s yellow glare. “I know the guy.”
“You knew the guy. Not our responsibility to keep friends or make new ones, got it?”
“You didn’t have to call in the—”
“Do I need to put in a request to transfer you, dae’bruj? Or you think you can handle yourself and keep following direct orders from the top?”
Rinter grunted and rolled his shoulders back. “No, sir. I got it.”
“Good. Keep your eyes open.” When the orc in charge scanned the room and found Cheyenne watching him, she pulled back the volume on her activator and shot him a winning smile she hadn’t pulled out since Bianca’s congratulatory party six years ago for the newly elected governor. She raised her glass of dark-brown Uppertech swill toward him before taking a sip.
The orc looked her up and down, then dipped his head and kept moving through the club.
“Fuck.” Cheyenne thunked her glass on the table and scowled. “What the hell was that?”
Persh’al glanced around the room with a thin smile, though his hand around his drink trembled with the effort to keep from chucking it across the room. “Something that shouldn’t be possible here. This isn’t Hangivol anymore. This is the Crown’s prison.”
“Hey, keep it down.” Cheyenne forced a soft chuckle and nodded. “If I could tune in on that whole conversation, anyone else in this place could be listening to us.”
“Remind me to ask you what they were talking about when we’re not on the verge of stepping through the deathflame, okay?”
“What does that mean?”
The flickering smile he gave her was mostly genuine. “The root of all death and life, kid. Carries the same versatility as the human f-bomb, but with a richer historical context.”
She snorted. “Whatever.”
“We’re stuck here a little longer than I wanna be, but anyone who gets up to head out after that brilliant demonstration is asking to be sucked up into the walls next.” Persh’al drained the last of his mudshine and slammed the glass on the table. “I’m gonna do some schmoozing. See what I can dig out of somebody.”
“You sure that’s a good idea right now, with everybody this tense?”
“Better now than never, and I’m an excellent conversationalist. Watch and learn, Cheyenne.” His lighthearted words were weighted by the quivering anger beneath his voice and his rigid posture as he stood from their table and made his way toward the goblin woman who’d upset the vanished skaxen.
Cheyenne sat back in her chair and swept her gaze across the other tables and what little of the dance floor she could see on the other side of the round bar. Really? He goes right for the magical involved in that whole thing?
Chapter Forty-Six
Persh’al stopped at the goblin woman’s table, which was empty now except for her, and nodded. “Enjoying yourself?”
The goblin woman turned her glass inward, as if she thought he would try to take it from her, and met his gaze without blinking. “Always.”
“That’s good to hear. But isn’t it always?”
She gave him a thin-lipped smile and swallowed. “Without fail. I come here quite a bit to reassure myself about how much I enjoy all this.”
Leaning over the table toward her, Persh’al said, “You know what would make me enjoy the rest of my evening?”
Her scarlet eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out if he was flirting with her or trying to send some other type of message. “I have no idea.”
“That was a first for me.” He set a hand on the table and barely jerked his head toward the club’s entrance, where the skaxen had vanished into the walls. “I would love to hear more about what happens next.”
The woman’s eyelids fluttered, and she swallowed thickly again despite the small, thin smile. All put together and viewed from a distance, it might have looked like she was flirting right back. Cheyenne saw the goblin woman’s fist clench around a handful of her skirt by her thigh. She’s trying not to lose her shit.
“You can keep walking.” The goblin woman met Persh’al’s orange gaze and lifted her chin. “I’m here to have a good time, not to tell you stories. That one doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Right. I won’t keep you from the party, then.” He nodded, and the woman turned away from him in her chair to watch the dancing on the other side of the club. Her hand shook as she raised her drink to her lips, then the tremor disappeared.
Persh’al turned toward Cheyenne and spread his arms, then made his way through the laughing, drinking magicals to schmooze with someone else.
The halfling spun her half-full cup in a slow circle on t
he table, watching intently. Nobody’s having a good time in here unless they’re hammered or hyped up on whatever is in vials.
Loud, startling laughter came from somewhere closer to the dancefloor. There was Persh’al, spreading his arms and grinning from ear to ear while he fake-laughed it up with a group of magicals in fine evening clothes. He pointed to his head, then at a puff of purple-gray hair rising two feet above the circle of magicals. More laughter followed, then Persh’al’s eyes widened, and he barked genuine laughter this time. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I mean, who told you that was a good idea?”
The laughter faded, and the blue troll spun in a small circle and scratched his head. “Oh, sure. We’ll walk right up to the fightmaster and say, ‘Hey, why don’t we bring back mercy killings? Wouldn’t that be a trip?’”
Cheyenne clenched her jaw. What the hell is he doing?
Persh’al stumbled backward with a giggle, then widened his eyes. “No offense, you puffy-haired whatever-you-are. But you’re an idiot.”
The circle of partygoers who’d just been laughing right along with him quickly disbursed, leaving him alone with a short, pink-faced woman with two long rabbit-like ears dangling past her shoulders. The puff of purple hair belonged to her, and her eerily glowing green eyes darted back and forth as she searched for an escape.
“You know what I’m saying, though, right?” Persh’al practically shouted, waving his hand around.
So we’re going with the public-drunkenness plan. That would’ve been nice to know. Cheyenne stood and grabbed both their packs. Persh’al’s nearly pulled her over as she struggled to free it from the corner table without smacking anyone in the back of the head.
“Well, lemme lay it out for you,” Persh’al continued, swaying back and then dangerously forward until he loomed over the rabbit-eared magical. “There’s tradition, and then there’s a useless show of weakness. It’s pathetic. If we wanted mercy, we’d be somewhere else, wouldn’t we? Mercy didn’t build this mighty empire. Mercy didn’t open up this club. I mean, look at this place. It’s fantastic!”
Another orc bouncer with a silver charm dangling from one bleached-white tusk rounded the other side of the bar. He walked with his hands behind his back, not ready to step in yet.
But Persh’al sure as hell got his attention. Guess we’re improvising now.
“Of course, you already know that, don’t you?” Persh’al laughed and jabbed a finger at the magical woman, who looked like a startled rabbit. Her indecision and the pressure of being noticed but not exactly watched made her freeze.
“You…you…” Persh’al wagged his finger at her and squinted with one eye. “What are you, anyway?”
“I-I’m…” The short magical lifted her chin and tried to collect her dignity. “I’m finished with this conversation.”
Before she could walk off in a huff, the bouncer had made it to the wide circle everyone else had given Persh’al and his unintended victim. The orc dipped his head. “How are we this evening?”
“Thirsty.” The rabbit-eared woman squeaked and bustled toward the bar.
“Aw, come on!” Persh’al turned and reached after her. His gaze paused briefly on Cheyenne with their packs, and his wink could also have been a drunken eye roll. “We were having such a good time. Don’t go and ruin it now. I can’t help it if I haven’t seen a…a…” He pouted and turned back toward the bouncer, his face contorted in disappointment. “I don’t even know what she is.”
“I see.” The orc reached into his pocket. “I might have a little something to cheer you up, lugahw’o. Make you forget about all the things you don’t know.”
Cheyenne paused in front of a recessed niche in the wall and caught a glimpse of huge, clawed gray hands covered in a patch of wiry red fur wrap tighter around a glass. She ignored the urge to peer around the corner to see what kind of magical sat in the hidden cubby in the wall and watched Persh’al’s over-the-top acting. I’ll give him credit for that, at least. Might be the only way to get our hands on one of those vials.
“I’ve been abandoned,” Persh’al whined, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Spurned, man. You hear me?” He clapped a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder and leaned toward the other magical’s ear. The orc bore it with surprising dignity and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s gonna help this mood.”
“Trust me. This will.” The orc pulled another small metal vial from his pocket and turned to block the transaction from everyone else’s view. No one was looking, anyway. “And it’s on the house, lugahw’o. Make you right as the old fighting pits.”
Persh’al’s shoulders sagged, and he let out another nostalgic whine. “The fighting pits.”
“I miss ‘em too. Here.”
Cheyenne took one step toward the scene playing out, then leaped back again when the magical sitting in the alcove beside her stirred. The table bumped, and a huge shadow emerged from the recessed wall, blocking all the flashing lights and flickering candles from Cheyenne’s view.
Whatever the hulking magical was, it took two slow, thudding steps toward Persh’al and the bouncer and loomed over them. Two massive, hooked wings tipped with thin lines of red fur stirred against the magical’s back, and Cheyenne nearly dropped Persh’al’s pack.
“I’ve been looking for you.” A low, female voice cut in above the pounding music coming from everywhere.
Persh’al looked into the face Cheyenne couldn’t see and broke out in a wide grin. “Hey!”
“You need a little boost too?” the bouncer asked, craning his neck to look up at the newcomer to the conversation.
“No, hidna. But thank you. I’ve got to take this naughty little troll out to District 3 to help him pay some of his debts. You know how strict Melsaria is with making payments on time, don’t you?”
The orc chuckled and stuffed the vial back into his pocket. “You better go with the golra, brother. I’ve seen the Matron’s bad side. And no doubt she can help you perk right back up again.”
Persh’al groaned and held his hand out toward the orc. “I don’t want to go to District 3 moping like a carandyll before Brightforge Day.”
“You won’t.” The hulking magical nudged him toward the front of the club. “I brought you something myself.”
“Oh, lovely.” Persh’al clapped his hands, then leaned around the giant creature in front of him and waved at Cheyenne. “Come on. You have to come with us! My friends are your friends.”
He shot her another flashing grin, but the beast with wings nudged him forward again with her clawed hand.
The bouncer stepped toward Cheyenne and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re friends with that sniveling troll?”
She lifted her gaze and let it linger on the charm dangling from the loop around his tusk. I’ve channeled Mom before. Feels like a good time. When she looked at the orc’s yellow eyes flashing with amusement, she raised an eyebrow and gave him a tight smile. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who my friends are. And I’ll thank you not to ask me that type of prying question again.”
In an instant, the orc’s smile disappeared. He blinked and dipped his head before stepping around her to take up some other post around the club.
Cheyenne headed toward the club’s entrance. Lucky for me this is drow city. And apparently, drow rule the world.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Cheyenne’s new activator showed her exactly where to knock on the solid metal wall beneath the arched doorway inside the club. The metal in front of her disappeared, and she hurried down the short tunnel. I’m screwed if he doesn’t stall that thing before I lose him.
When she stepped back into the fancy dining room of the Wildhaven, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Persh’al’s blue head and fallen orange mohawk before the giant winged thing blocking her flew through the front door. The windows lining the front wall were useless for seeing through. They’re probably not even glass. Everything in this messed-up city is metal.
She h
urried toward the front door and shoved it open, not paying a second thought to the pair of magicals in their party finery who leaped away from her, hissing and sneering until they realized she was a drow. Then they shut up and averted their gazes while she stormed out into the bright, glistening plaza of District 5. The halfling turned and scanned the brilliantly shining buildings. Come on, Persh’al. I’m out of my element here.
When she’d almost turned a full circle with no sign of her troll guide, a green light flashed in an alley three buildings down. Her activator-enhanced vision lit up with a bright-yellow circle at the same alley, which flashed again. Gritting her teeth, Cheyenne took off past the rows of bars and meticulously clean storefronts. Every magical who saw her heading their way moved aside to let the drow pass, and none of them looked her in the eye.
These guys make everyone in Peridosh look like bold warriors. Or maybe just incredibly stupid.
She had two more yards to go until the flashing yellow light in her vision and the alley met each other. Then a hand stuck out of the alley, making her flinch until she realized Persh’al was the only magical she’d seen with blue hands like that. She picked up the pace and slipped into the alley just as Persh’al withdrew his hand.
“Don’t ever leave me stranded like that again.” She shoved his bulging pack against his chest, cutting off his low chuckle as the force of her swing slammed him back against the metal wall. “And what the hell was that back there, huh?”
“I told you I was a great conversationalist.” Persh’al caught his breath and fumbled with his pack before slinging it over his shoulders again with a grunt. “And you did fine back there, kid. Talked your way outta something else, from the looks of it.”
