by Martha Carr
Rhynehart joined the tall goblin and peered into the first box before stepping away again, scratching his chin. “Yeah, they wouldn’t leave all this here for us to find. Not with their supplier behind bars.”
Cheyenne scanned the open room around them, sunlight filtering in through the wooden frames and casting flickering shadows across the plywood floors. A soft, warning buzz crawled across her shoulders. “Something’s wrong.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” The troll who’d helped keep her captive her first day at the FRoE compound tossed a hand toward the drow halfling and turned toward Rhynehart. “She’d better be more useful than that.”
“She’s not the problem, Bhandi,” Rhynehart said, running a gloved hand over his head. “Not when we’re all standing here with our dicks in our hands.”
“I mean, something else.” Cheyenne turned in a slow circle, scanning the floor and the boxes on the tables and the open frames of the rooms above them on the second floor. “Something’s still here.”
“Yeah, a fat load of zero assholes we were supposed to bring in.”
The halfling ignored the other agent’s irritated quip, biting her lower lip against the buzz along her shoulders quickly growing into a painful itch. Then she spotted a pile of brightly colored clothes on the far side of the open room and took off toward it. “Wait a minute.”
“Unless you found a trapdoor into a bunch of tunnels, rookie, I don’t think there’s anything worth our time in here.”
She turned back over her shoulder and pointed at the pile of clothes. “I’d say it’s worth our time to find out why whoever was in here last stripped off all their clothes and dumped them over here.”
“What?”
“Yeah, look at this.” When she reached the pile, it was a lot bigger than it looked from the other side of the room. What the hell happened?
There were tons of clothes—pants, t-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets. Socks were tossed around the outside of the pile, and then she spotted all the shoes. Sneakers, boots, a pair of dark-brown UGGs. Cheyenne glanced down at her black Vans. About the same size. But I have small feet.
A bright-green backpack strap peeked out from the bottom of the pile, and she reached down to pull it out. When she turned the backpack around, she found herself staring at the Incredible Hulk bringing a fist down on a squashed car. “This isn’t right.”
“Does somebody need to tell our friend we didn’t come here to window-shop?” another agent shouted.
“Come on, rookie.”
“Just wait a second.” Cheyenne turned and held out the backpack for the team to see. “Anybody else think it’s weird that these guys dealing black magic are running around with cartoon backpacks?”
Jamal shrugged. “I like the Hulk.”
“It’s a damn backpack,” Rhynehart shouted across the room. “We kinda have bigger problems right now?”
Rolling her eyes, the halfling dropped the backpack and swallowed. She rubbed her lips and stared at the pile. What am I not seeing?
She took a step around the pile, and something hard crunched between the plywood and the bottom of her shoe. Picking up her foot, she looked down and felt her stomach drop. No!
Some of the black and silver paint had chipped away, but the huge metal skull was exactly the same. So was the black satin ribbon strung through the top of the pendant.
“Shit. Rhynehart!”
“I’m not helping you with a new wardrobe, rookie.” The man pointed toward a stack of wooden crates across the open room from the row of tables. “Payton. Zynd’r. Go check out what’s in there. The lids look bolted down. Might be something we can work with.”
Cheyenne whirled around to face him, clenching her fists. “They didn’t care about the potions or any of this other crap. They took the kids!”
Rhynehart turned slowly toward her and frowned. “I know you didn’t skip breakfast this morning, rookie. What the hell are you talking about?”
Payton and Zynd’r bent over the first crate, struggling to pry open the lid.
“Like the troll kid in the church. They’re being used for some kind of—”
“Hey, ogre face!” Zynd’r turned over his shoulder with a hand on his knee and waved Jamal toward him. “You’re good for more than aiming those cannons, right?”
Rolling his eyes, Jamal cracked his knuckles and headed toward them.
The burning itch across Cheyenne’s shoulders crept up into her neck now. I’m still missing something…
“I’m serious, Rhynehart. This is a pile of kids’ clothes. Backpacks, shoes. I saw a girl wearing this necklace two nights ago. They took the kids.”
“Yeah.” One of the other agents gestured toward Cheyenne and the pile, then folded his arms. “A bunch of black-magic-dealing thugs walked out of here with a shitload of naked magical kids, and nobody noticed.”
Rhynehart’s eyes widened. “No. The troll kid at the church was in a black robe.”
“What kid?”
The team leader shot his agent a dismissive glance and took off toward Cheyenne. “The dead one.”
Jamal grunted as he tried to open the first crate with brute strength. He let out a roar and finally released the wood, snarling at the whole thing.
“Hey, look.” Payton bent down and picked up a crowbar lying beside the stacks. “Here you go, big guy.”
“Stupid box.” The ogre snatched up the crowbar and tried again.
Rhynehart reached Cheyenne beside the pile of clothes, and his eyes widened. Drawing a gloved hand down the side of his face, he clenched his teeth and muttered, “Those pieces of shit. This is all kid stuff.”
“That’s what I’m saying—”
The wooden crate creaked again, nails squealing out of the wood as Jamal pressed down on the crowbar.
Cheyenne spun around and glared at the ogre trying way too hard to open something that just didn’t matter.
Zynd’r chuckled. “Don’t hurt yourself, Bigfoot.”
Through the thick wood of the crate, Cheyenne saw two round shapes glowing brighter with golden light. None of the agents noticed, even when the light grew so bright, it should’ve been streaming through the slatted wood. That’s not good.
“Hey, hold on.” The halfling moved across the room, pointing at the crate and the round glowing shapes inside it. “Are you guys seeing this?”
“What, you mean a giant ogre who can’t outsmart a box?” Payton slapped Jamal on the back, eliciting a low growl from her fellow agent.
“No. Inside the crate.”
“That’s what they’re trying to figure out.” Bhandi folded her arms, her scarlet eyes flashing beneath a frown. “No one calls you Einstein, do they?”
“I’m serious. Jamal, stop for a second.” The halfling picked up the pace because now the glowing shapes were solidifying into much more detail. Shit. That’s a bomb.
Chapter Nineteen
Cheyenne reached toward the ogre with the crowbar. “Hey, don’t open the fucking crate—”
The last few nails gave way with a screech. The lid didn’t peel open so much as it exploded off the top of the crate, sending splintered wood and loose nails and a spray of black, shimmering sludge in every direction. The crowbar clattered to the floor as Jamal staggered back with a bellow. The other agents beside him screamed, and then the sound was cut off by the next massive explosion a second later.
All three of the agents around the crate were tossed backward across the open room. The other agents burst into action, shouting and lifting their weapons at the ready again, sweeping them across the room. Some went to help their fallen, screaming comrades as thick, green-black smoke billowed from the fractured crate. A low hum rose from two metal spheres on the ground, both of them sparking and spewing out more of the dark, glistening sludge while black light strobed from the orbs.
Cheyenne reached out with both hands and shot her black tendrils of magic toward what remained of the wooden crate. A breeze kicked up and filtered the green-black smoke th
rough the room. It burned her nose and eyes, but she snatched up both of the metal orbs with her lashing whips of magic and jerked her arms toward the outer wall of the building. The orbs sailed through the air toward the trees around the site and detonated with two deafening cracks. Sludge and smoke and strobing lights sprayed across the side of the construction site. Metal shards peppered the wooden support beams and the building’s frame.
“What the hell?” Rhynehart yelled as he ran toward her, coughing and choking on the dark-green smoke swirling around in the wind. “Goddamnit. Everybody move your asses!”
Another explosion made the rough flooring beneath them tremble. Cheyenne glanced up at the source of it on the second floor and watched with widening eyes as one magical bomb after another detonated in a chain every few feet around the room right above them.
“Shit!” Rhynehart waved everyone out of the room. “Get out—”
A final blast erupted one more floor up, and the top of the unfinished building crumbled. Plywood and nails, rebar, wiring—all of it came down from the top floor and dropped straight toward them.
Cheyenne skidded to a stop and shot both hands up toward the falling wreckage with a roar of effort. The shimmering black wall of her drow shield bloomed five feet above her and arced out over the open room. Splinters and metal shards rained down on the dome she’d created, followed by larger chunks of snapped two-by-fours and thick beams. They pounded onto her shield and scattered off, filling the site with one loud rush like golf-ball-sized hail hitting a metal roof.
“Holy shit…” Yurik stared up at the partially translucent underside of her spell, then launched back into action.
“Okay, everybody out!” Rhynehart waved his team back through the building, glancing up occasionally to double-check the shield.
The drow halfling’s arms shook with the force of holding up such a massive spell, watching the other side of the room as one FRoE operative in black after another raced back the way they’d come. One of them tried to dart through the side of the building but pulled up short when a huge beam crashed to the dirt outside the frame, more debris raining down.
“Move!” Cheyenne screamed, gritting her teeth against the force of her magic, battling a lot of gravity and a lot of weight.
Two agents stopped to slip their arms around Payton’s and Zynd’r’s chests before dragging their wounded back out through the building. It took three more to lift Jamal from the floor and hurry him out. The halfling caught sight of the ogre’s face, half of it bubbled and mutilated by the explosion of black magic.
Then the pressure forced her down. One knee slammed into the rough floor, and she let out another roar through her clenched teeth. Her shoulders burned. Everything burned. More green-black smoke filtered through the open room on the breeze and made her eyes water so much, she couldn’t see.
“Okay, we’re good.” Rhynehart doubled back and helped her to her feet. “On the count of three. One, two—”
More of the exterior framing of the third and second floors crashed down on her shield, and a straggling explosion shuddered through the site.
“Three!” Rhynehart grabbed her wrist and half-pulled, half-dragged her toward the other side of the room. The shield held long enough to protect them until they got to the framework of the hall. Then it dropped, and everything else rained down on them.
The building in front of them caved in, the upper levels dropping toward them with a splintering crunch. Cheyenne jerked her hand out of Rhynehart’s grip.
“What are you—”
She slipped into her drow speed and ran toward him. Crouching, she lifted the suspended FRoE agent up and over her shoulder like a sack of laundry and just kept moving. That’s gonna hurt. Sorry.
The halfling ran as fast as she could through the crumbling building falling in slow motion. The opening on the other end sank lower and lower by the second, like a giant, shattered mouth closing down on its next meal.
She reached the end and had to duck beneath the first beam dropping slowly to the ground. Then her drow speed failed her. The halfling stumbled over her own feet, and Rhynehart went flying off her shoulder across the dirt. The other agents shouted in surprise when their superior skidded toward them and a drow halfling appeared out of nowhere.
“How the hell did she do that?”
“Grab Rhynehart!”
“Keep moving!”
“Somebody get the—”
Another explosion erupted in the crumbling building, muted by all the debris. The blast of dust and compressed air hit Cheyenne in the back, and she staggered forward on her feet. She caught sight of someone helping Rhynehart up, the man doubled over with an arm wrapped around his ribs.
The drow halfling’s body wouldn’t do what she wanted anymore. She finally dropped to her knees in the dirt, catching herself with both hands. I pushed too hard. With a grunt, she tried to stand and only lurched forward about a foot before dropping again. Worth it.
“Hey.” A blue-green hand shot out toward her. “I thought I told you not to wear yourself out?”
Cheyenne looked up to see Yurik smirking at her. “You’re welcome. I’ll just let the building bury you next time.”
Her arm shook when she lifted it to grasp his hand. The muscular goblin with the ring through his nose pulled her to her feet with a chuckle. “Yeah, there’s always a price, huh?”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that.” Her voice sounded muted and watery to her own ears. When she took her next step toward the black vehicles and the FRoE agents helping the wounded into the seats, her legs wobbled. Not now.
“Whoa. You got it?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed, trying to blink away the wave of dizziness and the line of way more than five black vehicles dancing back and forth in front of her. “You have any more of those gross energy bars?”
“Probably. In one of the Humvees.” Yurik dipped his head toward her with a concerned frown. “Maybe we should get you a portable IV instead. You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine. I just need a little—” Cheyenne took two more steps. Push through it.
“Watch it.”
Her hand clamped down on Yurik’s arm and slipped off again as she watched the ground rise to meet her face. I can’t feel anything…
“Aw, shit.” The goblin knelt beside her to help her back to her feet, but her eyes fluttered closed, and even her drow hearing didn’t catch the guy telling her to hang in there.
Chapter Twenty
When she woke up, the first thing she saw were bright white lights shining right into her face. Not again.
She lurched up, her magic flaring from the base of her spine and purple sparks erupting from the fingertips of both hands.
Blinking heavily, she shut down the spells and raised a hand to her throbbing head. Did I hit this somewhere?
Then she realized her wrists weren’t chained to the bed this time. Cheyenne jerked her foot across the hospital bed, and it moved freely too. A glance at her shirt showed nothing but her regular black-on-black clothes, coated in sawdust and brown dirt. How considerate.
She looked around the room. The only difference between the first time and now was the lack of dampening cuffs and monitors beside the bed. Groaning, the halfling swung her legs onto the floor and pushed herself slowly to her feet. Her arms shot out to her sides when she wobbled. “Woah. Pull it together.”
Her head settled down a little more with every step toward the door on the other side of the room. The only thing on the low stainless-steel table against the wall was another one of those energy bars for magicals in the silver cellophane wrapper. Cheyenne snatched it off the table, then jerked open the door and stepped out into the hall.
The wrapper split apart between her teeth, then she bit off a huge chunk and grimaced.
A short, squat goblin woman with thick yellow hair spilling out from beneath a black baseball hat pushed a silver cart down the hall toward her. “Tastes like shit, huh?”
> “Yeah.” Cheyenne kept chewing.
“End of the medical wing’s back that way.”
“Thanks.”
The cart’s wheels squeaked as the goblin kept pushing it down the hall. The halfling turned left and made her way past a bunch of rooms identical to hers. Her black Vans moved quickly and quietly across the linoleum floors, and she looked both ways at the next corner before turning left again. Yeah, now it’s coming back to me.
It was hard enough to swallow the gross, overly chewy energy bar that made her jaw ache. She rolled her shoulders back and walked a little steadier, picking up the pace and biting off another chunk. The more she ate, the faster she walked.
She finally reached the short hallway that opened into the common room and paused. Two of the round tables had been pushed together, and at least a dozen FRoE operatives sat around them, speaking in low tones. Except for Sir.
“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what they’re saying. The intel went bad before I took my morning shit, and I wanna know why.”
Cheyenne stepped slowly into the common room, which was empty except for the meeting taking place right out in the open. The wrapper crunched in her hand as she popped the last bite of energy bar into her mouth. The conversation stopped, and everyone at the tables looked up or turned to see the drow halfling munching away with a grimace of disgust.
“Sorry.” She swallowed and stuffed the wrapper into her front pocket. “Someone really needs to fix the flavor of these things. It’s almost bad enough not to want one.”
“There she is.” Sir slapped the table and pushed himself out of his chair. “Back on her feet in no time.”
The other operatives around the table broke out into applause. Someone whistled. A few stood, nodding and clapping and shooting her small, approving smiles.
Cheyenne slowly looked back over her shoulder. Nope. That’s for me.
“Get your ass over here, halfling.” Sir waved her forward, and an orc she hadn’t met got out of his chair and gestured toward it before leaning against the back of the couch and folding his arms.
