Quote The Drow Nevermore (Goth Drow Book 2)

by Martha Carr

  Frowning, Cheyenne headed slowly toward the table. The applause died down, but Bhandi nodded at her with a tiny smile. “Good work.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “That’s how we look after our own.” A man sitting beside the open chair with hair so blond it was almost white shook a fist at her.

  Across the double table, Yurik crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I knew I should’ve started a betting pool before we shipped out. Would’ve split it fifty-fifty with you, too.”

  “For real?” Cheyenne lowered herself into the chair and scooted toward the table. “You think starting a betting pool and me saving your ass are on the same level?”

  Surprised laughs rose around the tables, and Yurik just smirked.

  “All right, people.” Sir sat back down and scooted toward the table. “We all agree, if we even gave out goddamn medals for this kinda crap, the halfling would get a whole damn box of them.”

  “Medals?” Beside Sir, an orc with a crack running the length of one tusk leaned away from his superior and snorted. “We don’t need no stinkin’ medals.”

  Someone else thumped the table.

  The corner of Sir’s mouth twitched, and he glanced around the table while waving his hand in front of his face. “Jesus, Bozni. Anyone got a breath mint? No? Then the party’s over.”

  On the other side of him, Rhynehart caught Cheyenne’s gaze and gave her a short nod. She just raised her eyebrows at him and sat back in the chair. Someone better tell me what’s going on.

  Sir thumped his elbow down on the table and pointed at her. “The halfling did us all a goddamn service this morning. All of you jerkoffs on the op know what I’m talking about. And thanks to this one, Jamal, Payton, and Zynd’r are all gonna say the same thing when they wake up.”

  Cheyenne leaned forward. “Where are they?”

  “Medical ward.” Rhynehart’s eyebrows flickered together.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Sir dipped his head with a half-assed shrug. “They got hit worse than you did on Rez 38, halfling.”

  His mention of her shoulder wound made her clench her fists in her lap, but Sir didn’t seem to notice. Rhynehart’s eyes widened, and he dropped his gaze to the table.

  “Those lucky bastards are healing as much as they can under Dr. Minkert’s nurturing hand,” Sir continued. Someone else at the table snorted. “And when they’re conscious, yeah, they might have to look a little extra hard in the mirror to recognize their reflection. In Jamal’s case, it might be an improvement. But they’re still breathing, and that’s what matters.”

  “And that everyone else got outta the building alive,” someone else added.

  “Well, the halfling’s the only person who gets a damn cookie for that one.” Sir pointed at Cheyenne again, to another round of wry laughter. “Now that we’ve all put on our shoes and socks like functioning goddamn adults, let’s get back to the point. How did we screw this up?”

  The ogre leaning against the back of the couch grunted. “Might’ve been a bad tip.”

  “It wasn’t a bad tip.” Rhynehart shook his head, staring at the table with his arms folded.

  “You sure about that?”

  The team leader glanced briefly at Sir. “One-hundred percent. They loaded up the building with contraband, and they were in there for long enough to get comfortable.”

  “How comfortable?”

  Bhandi leaned toward Sir across the table. “Comfortable enough to plant a bomb on a tripwire in one of those crates, plus at least a dozen others around the building.”

  “Then someone better fucking enlighten me.” Sir folded his hands on the table with forced civility and just kept shouting. “’Cause I can’t figure out why the hell you people went all the way out there just to blow up their sloppy seconds and get pulled out of the fire by a halfling as green as Bozni.”

  The orc beside him rolled his eyes.

  “I’m waiting for a goddamn answer. Pull it out of your ass for all I care. But somebody better start talking.”

  “Does our informant have any buddies? Maybe someone’s taking a piece of both pies?”

  “If somebody squealed, it’s an inside job on their end. Not our job to smoke out their rats.”

  “No, our job is to get that black-magic shit off the streets and away from any more kids.”

  “Bet your parents never locked you out of their medicine cabinet, huh, Franklin?”

  The conversation faded into the background as the operatives tossed insults back and forth between quickfire brainstorming. Cheyenne tuned it all out and stared at Rhynehart, who wouldn’t look up from the table and hadn’t moved since he’d folded his arms. He knows. Why won’t he say it?

  “They’re stealing kids now.”

  The common room fell silent as everyone looked at Cheyenne. Sir snorted. “Right. They have plenty of time and energy to round up a bunch of magical tweens and take ‘em all out on a field trip. Keep trying, halfling.”

  “I’m serious.” Cheyenne widened her eyes at Rhynehart, but he wasn’t helping. “The group we took down in the church had a kid in there too. Dressed him up in a robe and sacrificed him for a ritual.”

  Sir blinked at her. “Someone’s been watching too much Netflix.”

  “I don’t watch Netflix. Or TV.”

  “And I don’t do very well with dumbass ideas.”

  The halfling snatched the empty plastic water cup in front of the agent beside her and chucked it at Rhynehart. “Tell them!”

  Sir leaned away from the agent and scowled at Cheyenne. “Hey, who shit in your Frosted Flakes?”

  “Rhynehart saw it too. The huge pile of clothes at the back of the building. Kids’ clothes. Shoes. Backpacks.” She started to rise from the table, but Sir snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

  “Sit down—”

  She leaped up from her chair and pulled up a burst of purple sparks in one hand. No one at the table moved. “I’m not a dog you can train with hand gestures.”

  “Looks like I can’t train you at all.”

  Ignoring him, the halfling shook her head and snuffed out her reactionary magic. “Rhynehart. Did you tell them anything?”

  The operative took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. Then he finally looked up at her. “I had the same thought when we were there, rookie, but we haven’t heard anything about missing kids. We don’t have any proof that what you and I saw didn’t come from some imp who raided a teenager’s trashcan and wanted to go through it all in private.”

  Is that what they’re called? She shook the thought away. “There was a necklace in the pile. I saw an orc Sunday night who was wearing the exact same one. She was still in high school, and I’m willing to bet the necklace was taken right off of her and tossed into that pile with everything else.”

  “One orc kid, halfling.” Sir spread his arms. “That doesn’t mean a whole bunch of kids was snatched up to be turned into sacrifices. For all you know, the kid could’ve dumped her crap there and took off.”

  “Not half an hour away from where she lives.”

  “Not a strong enough case, rookie.” Rhynehart shrugged. “Until we’re a hundred percent on this, it’s just a theory.”

  “Those kids could be dead before you’re a hundred percent on anything!” Cheyenne slammed her palm on the table.

  “Not your call to make,” Sir shouted back. “Our priority is figuring out where those assholes went with the rest of the crap before they hawk it all and split. Then we’ll have all the proof in the world and a lot more dead kids. Now get lost before I take back those medals I never gave you.”

  It was a stupid threat, but he waved her off, scowling beneath his bushy graying eyebrows.

  Cheyenne removed her hands off the table and glared right back at him. “You guys have your priorities seriously mixed up.”

  “Well, a dark elf with daddy issues is the last person who’s gonna screw my head on straight. Get lost.”

 
Gritting her teeth, the halfling stayed where she was. “What about cashing in my points?”

  “Uh-uh. I said after we brought those thugs down, halfling. You haven’t even taken down one.”

  “What?”

  “That was the deal. Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere.”

  She snarled at him and stormed away from the table, feeling all those agents’ eyes prickling her skin as she went. He’s too scared to say L’zar’s name where they can hear it. I can be scary too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cheyenne leaned against the wall, her arms folded, and listened to Sir’s little meeting for the next five minutes. Nobody asked her opinion or even looked at her until Sir stood and thumped his fist on the table.

  “We all have work to do, people. Get to it. And don’t make me come after you for results.” The man spun sharply and stormed out of the common room, his thick boots clomping across the floors.

  The table burst into multiple conversations at once, agents groaning and rolling their eyes, nodding and heading off to their own tasks, leaning toward each other and muttering. Some looked at Cheyenne with nods of approval or a quick, apologetic shrug.

  The halfling stayed where she was, glaring at Rhynehart as he moved around the awkward shape of two round tables pushed together. He headed toward her.

  “Just the way things have to be done around here, rookie.”

  “You made me sound like an idiot.”

  “Hey, no one thinks you’re an idiot. Pretty much the opposite. You really stepped up your game at the site this morning.” He gestured behind him toward the other FRoE agents, slowly clearing out of the common room. “You didn’t have to, but you proved yourself to my guys. They trust you now. That’s a big deal.”

  “And what about who I can trust?”

  Rhynehart just frowned at her.

  “How am I supposed to keep going out there with you to take these assholes down if you won’t back me up?”

  “Hey, I’ve backed you up plenty.”

  “No. You just bring a gun with you and hope you won’t have to use it while I’m around.” Cheyenne shook her head. “First you have a healer stick a tracking device in my—”

  “Those were my orders, rookie.”

  “Sure. Just like you had your orders to make me think we were bursting into some goblin woman’s house to take her out for selling love potions. You had orders to lie to me then too. Just for one last test, right?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Right. A test you passed with flying colors, so I don’t know why you’re whining about it.”

  “Nobody ordered you to sit at the table next to your master and tear down everything I said. That was all on you.”

  “We don’t have proof—”

  “Bullshit. You saw that pile of clothes. You agreed with me at the site before your ogre with oatmeal for brains opened the crate. I know the people we’re looking for took those kids, Rhynehart, and you know it too.”

  “Okay.” The agent lifted a hand toward her and turned halfway around to look at the agents still in the common room. Some of them were watching the tense conversation. Most of them clearly tried not to. “Keep it down, huh?”

  “If being loud saves those kids from whatever they did to the kid in the church, I’ll scream all damn day.”

  “Come on, rookie. Look. I can’t tell you your theory is just plain wrong—”

  She snorted. “It’s not a theory.”

  “Fine. What I’m trying to say is I don’t think you’re wrong. I agree with you. That pile of stuff wasn’t just dumped there by some random person for fun. And sure, maybe a whole bunch of kids got lured onto the construction site and…I don’t know. Magicked into tossing all their clothes away. Whatever. But we don’t have any leads, kid. Not a single piece of evidence that ties any kids to the magicals trying to sell them that crap, so we can’t follow it.”

  Cheyenne pressed her lips together and let out a slow, furious breath through her nose. Breathing fire would be some nice surprise magic right now. “What if we did have proof?”

  Rhynehart blinked and leaned toward her. “You have something you didn’t share at the table?”

  “No. Not yet. But what if I brought you guys something that proves those kids are missing? Kidnapped. What then?”

  “Then we follow it down the rabbit hole. For now, we have to go with what we’ve got.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Tracking down those dealers is the priority right now. If you can find proof about the kids, great. And if you’re right, we’ll find the kids when we find the scumbag dealers, won’t we?”

  The halfling looked away from him, forcing her rage back down just enough to keep from socking him in the face. “It better be fast. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Yeah, me too, rookie. Me too.” Looking her up and down, Rhynehart shook his head and stepped hesitantly away. “Go get some rest or something. Let off a little steam. Whatever you gotta do to pull yourself together. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find what we can’t.”

  Averting his gaze, he nodded and headed for the other side of the common room. The halfling glared after him until he turned the corner toward the side of the compound where they kept the padded training room and whatever else went on in this place.

  I will. Just wait.

  “Hey, halfling!”

  Cheyenne slowly turned her head to see Yurik, Bhandi, and another troll with black and dark-blue tattoos swirling up both sides of his neck. The agents moved quickly toward her, taking their chance now that Sir and Rhynehart were both out of the picture.

  “Don’t let the higher-ups ruffle your feathers, yeah?” The metal ring through Yurik’s nose wobbled a little when he nodded. “Sir only knows how to give orders. He sucks at taking suggestions.”

  “I noticed.”

  “We’re with you, though,” Bhandi added, her dark-purple lips pressed together in determination. “There’s definitely something going on with those kids. We just gotta find out what it is.”

  “Yeah. Well, thanks.” The halfling nodded, feeling her rage settle even more. They just won’t say it in front of Sir.

  “Oh, hey. This is Tate.” Yurik thumped the tattooed troll across the chest.

  “What’s up?”

  Cheyenne gave him a little smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Yurik clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “You got any plans for the rest of the day?”

  “It’s still Tuesday, right?”

  The agents laughed, and the muscular goblin just nodded. “Yeah, halfling. It’s still Tuesday. Listen, we’re heading down to Union Hill in about ten minutes. Gotta go change first. Figured we’d stop by the pub, have some drinks. Pretend to forget about what happened this morning. You interested?”

  “Drinking with you guys?” Cheyenne squinted at them, her smile growing wider. “You don’t care about bringing a civilian with you?”

  “No one gives a shit about that,” Tate replied. “You’re half-drow, man. And at this point, you might as well be one of us anyway. That’s the only thing that matters.”

  Bhandi snorted. “So, you in, or what?”

  Taking a deep breath, the halfling shrugged. “Why the hell not?”

  “That’s right.” Yurik pointed at her. “There literally isn’t a good answer to that question. Hang out here. We’ll be back in a jiff.”

  The troll woman turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. “In a jiff?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Tate turned with his fellow agents. “Nobody actually says that.”

  “Well, I just did. Maybe I’m bringing it back. You ever think of that, you inked-up grape?”

  Cheyenne watched them walk away, and she couldn’t help a little smile. Drinking with magical FRoE operatives. Yeah, why the hell not?

  * * *

  When the trio came back almost exactly ten minutes later, they’d all changed out of their black fatigues and into civilian clothing. Bhandi wore a pair of maroon
corduroys almost the same color as the scarlet braids falling down her back. The t-shirt and gray blazer made her look a lot more friendly. Tate came out in a white t-shirt and jeans, and Yurik apparently thought mustard-yellow pants and a sweater with jagged stripes in brown and bright-orange were a good look for bar hopping.

  Cheyenne choked back a laugh. “Where’d you find that getup?”

  “What?” The muscular troll glanced down at his clothes, the yellow braid running down the center of his otherwise bald blue-green head swinging behind his neck. “It’s fall, right? I’m autumnal.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Tate let out a low laugh. “Come on. Better get outta here before somebody decides we look like we could use more paperwork.”

  They headed across the common room, which was still fairly empty except for two ogres sitting on the couch watching a basketball game on the huge flatscreen mounted above the fireplace. One of them thumped the other in the chest. “They call it a slam-dunk. Ha. I could get the ball in a net twice as high.”

  “Yeah, right. You can’t even get your trash in the right can.”

  Biting back another laugh, Cheyenne followed her new maybe-friends through the much shorter hallway leading out toward the lobby of the FRoE compound. Nobody sat at the little cubicles lining the back of the room, but apparently, these guys didn’t need to check out of anywhere.

  “How often do you guys get to leave like this?”

  “About twice a month, usually.” Yurik turned and walked backward toward the front door, spreading his arms. “Unless we get into some really hairy shit like this morning. Then we get the rest of the day off to do whatever we want.”

  “If we’re not laid up with Minkert, anyway.” Tate snorted and rubbed his shaved purple head. There were swirling designs tattooed on his scalp, too.

  “Man, Payton’s gonna be so pissed when she finds out we went without her.” Bhandi shot Yurik a warning look.

  “So what? She’s always pissed.” Yurik held the door open for everyone, letting it swing shut again after Cheyenne stepped outside into the early evening light. “We’ll take her out again when Minkert’s done with her.”