Quote The Drow Nevermore (Goth Drow Book 2)

by Martha Carr

  “Piss off, Heesha. Everyone knows you’re trying to sell us last week’s leftovers.”

  The magicals who’d heard the jab laughed and Cheyenne kept walking after her new FRoE friends. There’s always someone trying to make trouble.

  The sound of at least four drums beating a fast-paced rhythm echoed toward them from up ahead. Yurik did a weird little jig and spun to grin at her. “What do you think?”

  “It’s big.”

  “Ha. Big and loud and noisy and smelly. Best way to blow off steam.” The beefed-up goblin rubbed his hands together and glanced at a cart with some kind of produce, bubblegum-pink with a bunch of dangling roots like floppy carrots sprouting from the sides. “Woah. No, thanks.”

  More vendors shouted out into the fray, trying to draw in new customers. One storefront had a table set up just outside the front door, laid out with plates, cups, vases, and shields, all of it made of one metal or another. Tate caught Cheyenne staring and pointed at the table. “Those are supposed to have been made on the other side. You know, across the Border. Protective talismans or something.”

  The halfling frowned and peered at the items spread out on the bright purple-and-red-striped table runner. “Are those lamps?”

  “Oh, probably. I wouldn’t rub any of those, though. Good luck trying to deal with a genie down here.”

  “Don’t tell me there are genies in there?”

  The troll laughed. “I seriously doubt it.”

  Brightly woven rugs, tapestries, and clothing hung from the fronts of the next few shops on either side of the wide avenue, and the group navigated their way through the thick crowd of magicals in every shape, size, and color. Two skaxens snarled and hissed at each other as the orc trying to buy a curved sword from them stood by and waited for the orange guys to figure it out.

  When they passed the stall, Cheyenne stopped short and pulled her head away, blinking quickly. “Woah.”

  Yurik turned back toward her with the same grin, but it faded when he saw her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not gonna pass out on me again, are ya?” He laughed when she shot him a glare in response.

  “Just a lot of…smells.”

  “Tell me about it. Drow are supposed to have super-noses. Better than the rest of us. That true?”

  The halfling closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. “No one else looks like they’re about to get a headache.”

  “Aw, you’ll get used to it. We’re almost to the pub anyway. Here, it’s right down—”

  “Hey! What’s the holdup?” Bhandi spread her arms in front of a building, the wooden sign over the door reading in thick black letters The Empty Barrel. “We doin’ this or what?”

  Tate had almost reached her, and he turned to spread his arms too and shoot Cheyenne and Yurik an exaggerated imitation of Bhandi’s irritation.

  “Come on.” Yurik stuck his hands in the pockets of those ridiculous yellow pants and nodded at the others. “This is the best part.”

  “If you say so.” The halfling blinked quickly again, surprised to find no tears squeezing out of her eyes from the thick spices blasting through the air, then rubbed her nose. Probably won’t get used to this.

  She followed Yurik toward the front door of the Empty Barrel, glancing at the smaller storefront beside it. A wiry, wrinkled orc whose skin was more brown than green stood inside the shop. Thick gray hair covered the sides of his face without meeting at his chin like a beard, and his yellow eyes stared at her. Cheyenne’s skin prickled, and she pulled her gaze away from the old orc to see all kinds of dried herbs and plants hanging upside down from the ceiling. A row of bottles and vials of both clear and brown glass filled the back wall behind the orc. Potions. I’ll check that out later.

  “Christ, you look like a lost puppy, Cheyenne.” Bhandi laughed and waved the halfling forward as she held open the door. “We wanna get a seat, at least. This place fills up faster than you can imagine.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to soak it all in.” Cheyenne shrugged and couldn’t help but smile as she stepped through the door.

  Bhandi tossed an arm around her shoulders and nudged her. “Oh, you’ll take it all in, all right. The Empty Barrel has the best grog for getting plastered quickly. Not the best taste, though, but who gives a shit, right?”

  The halfling’s smile tightened, and she shrugged out from beneath the troll woman’s arm. “Sure.”

  “Woah. Sorry.” Bhandi lifted her hands and stepped away as they headed toward the bar along the right wall. “Didn’t know you were so hands-off.”

  “Not the hugging type.”

  “Yeah, I’m pickin’ up on that.” Bhandi tossed scarlet braids back over her shoulder and shot a hand up in the air. “Hey, Ogsa!”

  A huge orc woman with giant golden hoops strung one after the other up both ears nodded at Bhandi as she wiped the rim of a copper cup with a stained rag. “What do you want, Bhandi?”

  “The usual. For four this time. Wait.” The troll turned quickly back toward Cheyenne and leaned in close. The halfling fought not to pull away. “You ever had fellwine?”

  “Nope.”

  Bhandi looked her up and down, then nodded. “Yeah, this is your lucky night. Ogsa! Add two cups of fellwine. It’s on Yurik’s tab.”

  Grinning, Bhandi almost skipped down the bar toward where the other agents leaned against the chipped and sticky wood. Yurik groaned. “Are you kidding me right now? I swear, if you don’t buy the drinks next time, I’ll—”

  “What?” Bhandi leaned against the bar beside him and laughed. “You’ll quit coming down here? Come on. I’m your best drinking buddy, and you know it.”

  “Not if I’m paying for you every single goddamn time.”

  Cheyenne leaned against the bar beside Bhandi, though she left a lot more space between her and the troll than Bhandi seemed to leave anybody when she was this worked up. She looked up at the shelf on the wall behind the bar while Yurik and Bhandi kept up their back-and-forth payment dispute, looking for alcohol she recognized. There wasn’t any. Instead of liquor bottles or a tap or even a fridge, the wide shelf was stacked with wooden barrels with spigots and unmarked brown bottles nearly as wide as they were tall. Something like a metal urn sat at the far end, and there was only one of those.

  The orc bartender stepped into view, the apron around her waist damp with spilled drinks. “Not every day we see a drow in here.”

  The halfling looked up at the orc’s glowing yellow eyes and the intricate gold wiring around the tips of both tusks. “How many come through here?”

  The bartender raised the thick ridge of her eyebrows. “You’re the first.”

  “Come on, Ogsa.” Bhandi drummed her hands on the bar. “We’ve been waiting all day for this. Don’t make us wait any longer.”

  The orc eyed Cheyenne again before turning toward the off-duty agents and sticking a hand on her hip. “Do I need to cut you off already, troll?”

  The buzzing energy making Bhandi pretty damn annoying petered out in seconds. She blinked and slumped her shoulders, her forearms propped on the bar. But she held the orc woman’s gaze. “No.”

  “Great. Then I’ll make you wait as long as I damn well please. And then you’ll pay me for it.”

  “Naw, Yurik’s gonna pay you for it.” Tate laughed and nudged the huge goblin’s muscular shoulder beneath the zig-zagging sweater. Yurik rolled his eyes but didn’t try to argue.

  Ogsa turned and pulled two massive metal pitchers from a shelf beneath the wooden casks. Bhandi bounced a little where she leaned against the bar, watching the orc’s movements with eager anticipation.

  Yurik shot her a frown. “You need to take a piss?”

  “Fuck off.”

  A minute later, Ogsa set the metal pitchers down on the bar in front of the off-duty agents. Brown-red foam spilled over the sides, and Bhandi licked her lips.

  “Woah, woah, woah.” Yurik stuck an arm between the troll and the closest pitcher. “At least
wait for a cup, will ya?”

  The orc stared at them with a deadpan expression as she grabbed two metal tankards in each hand and thumped them down on the bar.

  “Yes.” Bhandi didn’t waste any time pouring grog into the closest tankard, which went immediately to her lips. Cheyenne could hear her swallowing like she hadn’t had a thing to drink in days. The troll’s fellow agents stared at Bhandi with mixed expressions of amusement and concern.

  “Not sure if I wanna pour you two cups of fellwine now,” Ogsa grumbled.

  Bhandi lowered the cup with a loud sigh. She wiped the foam off her mouth with her forearm and shot Cheyenne a quick glance. “Oh, yeah. Pour the fellwine. She definitely needs one. I don’t care who gets the other. I got my grog, and I am happy.”

  The tankard tilted back again as the troll guzzled more down.

  “For fuck’s sake, Bhandi.” Tate leaned over the bar to peer around Yurik. “Wanna wait ‘til we get to the table?”

  “Oh, come on. He wants me to wait for a cup. You want me to wait for a table. Can’t a troll drink her goddamn grog in peace?”

  Tate let out a low whistle and met Cheyenne’s gaze with a helpless shrug.

  The halfling just shook her head and turned back toward Ogsa to watch the bartender pour the fellwine. I’d drink like that if I was FRoE too.

  The fellwine came from the metal urn at the end of the shelf, as it turned out. Ogsa’s broad back blocked Cheyenne’s view of the process, and then the orc woman turned and brought back two copper cups. When she set them on the bar, Yurik leaned sideways to glance at the drinks and quickly pulled away. “Whew. You couldn’t pay me to drink tonight. Not after last month.”

  “I’ll take it.” Tate reached across his buddy and slid one nearly overflowing copper cup across the bar.

  “Running tab?” Ogsa asked, wiping her hands on her stained apron.

  Yurik let out a long sigh. “Guess so. Hey, and none of you assholes orders anything else without me knowing about it. You hear me?”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” Bhandi grabbed her tankard in one hand and a pitcher in the other before turning away from the bar. “Thanks, Ogsa.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” Yurik growled and picked up the three empty tankards while Tate grabbed the other pitcher and a copper cup. “She should be thanking me.”

  Smirking, Cheyenne stared into the cup of fellwine in front of her and frowned. Green wine, huh? Should’ve known.

  “Enjoy it, drow.” Ogsa nodded at the halfling, a smirk rippling around the giant tusks.

  Cheyenne lifted the cup and nodded. “Thanks.”

  She turned to follow the agents as a skaxen wearing a green suit as bright as his orange skin slammed his clawed hands down on the counter. “Ogsa! I’m dyin’ over here.”

  “You shut your rat-faced trap, Rork! You’re not the only one breathing down my neck.”

  The halfling moved as quickly as she could across the tavern toward a metal table in the back corner. The off-duty agents had already taken the chairs facing the rest of the room, and she set down her copper cup with a sigh. “So, I get the chair with my back turned to the whole damn bar, huh?”

  Yurik shrugged with a little smirk as he poured brown-red foaming grog into the other three tankards. “We pulled rank. And you’re the new guy. You can handle it.”

  Cheyenne pulled out the chair and slowly lowered herself into it, staring at Bhandi beside her. “Maybe she should’ve sat here instead. Doesn’t look like she’s paying attention to anything but the tankard.”

  The troll woman leaned back in her chair, tipping the tankard until her head almost hit the wall behind her. Then she slammed the thing down onto the table with a clang, wiped her mouth again, and let out a massive belch.

  “Woah,” Cheyenne muttered with a hushed laugh.

  “Jesus.” Yurik shook his head.

  All the other conversations from the tavern’s patrons died down, then someone shouted from across the room, “Goin’ for a fell-damn record over there, Bhandi?”

  “I will for twenty bucks.” The troll woman pumped her fist in the air without turning to see who’d yelled at her, then the drone of many voices picked back up again. Bhandi looked up at everyone else around the table and smacked her lips. “What were you guys saying about me?”

  “Oh, just that you might need to find some kinda twelve-step program,” Yurik replied. Tate snorted into his tankard.

  “Yeah? Like Magicals Anonymous? Shit, Yurik, if that’s it, we’re living a goddamn twelve-step program.”

  Tate held up three fingers and gulped his grog.

  “What’s that, Tate?” Yurik cupped a blue-green hand around his ear. “Didn’t hear you.”

  The troll lowered his tankard with a hissing sigh and thumped his elbow down on the table, his fingers still raised. “Three-step program. Don’t let them see you, don’t be late—”

  “And don’t fucking die,” the three agents shouted, lifting their tankards to crack them together at the center of the table. Dark grog sloshed over the sides, and they drank.

  Cheyenne laughed, her hand wrapped around the untouched copper cup. “That’s all that matters, huh?”

  “When you do what we do for long enough, Cheyenne, yeah.” Yurik took another long drink. “That’s all that matters.”

  Bhandi grabbed a pitcher to fill her tankard again. “And grog. Everything and everyone else can kiss my purple ass.”

  Tate barked a laugh and smacked the table. “Could’ve gone another fifty years without that image.”

  “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  On the other side of Cheyenne, Yurik nodded. “You tryin’ to hatch an egg or something?”

  “What?”

  Bhandi waved at the halfling like she’d shove the cup up to Cheyenne’s lips if she had to. “Drink, Goth drow. Come on!”

  Laughing, Cheyenne grabbed the copper handle and stared down at the swirling bright-green fellwine. “This stuff any good?”

  “Good for you, yeah. That’ll put hair on your chest.” Tate thumped his chest and drank more grog.

  “Man, half the shit you say doesn’t even make sense.” Bhandi leaned back in her chair and scowled at the other troll, shaking her head.

  “It’s a figure of speech. Come on. I don’t think any of us wanna see Cheyenne with a hairy chest.”

  “Okay, quit talking about my chest.” The halfling tilted her head at him in warning. “You’re digging the hole even deeper for yourself.”

  Bhandi threw her head back and cackled. Smirking, Yurik glanced from the copper cup to Cheyenne and leaned forward. “Drink. I gotta see this.”

  “Reassuring. Thanks.”

  “Yeah, just take a big ol’ swig.” Tate mimed knocking back the drink. “Goes down smoother that way.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She lifted the cup to her lips and didn’t have to sniff to catch the fumes rising from the fellwine. “Shit. What is this?”

  “Go!” Bhandi shouted.

  With a disbelieving laugh, Cheyenne cocked her head and lifted the cup even higher. “Fuck it.”

  She took a huge gulp of the overly sweet fellwine and almost dropped the copper cup into her lap. Green liquid sloshed over the sides when she set it sharply on the table, and she doubled over with wide eyes. “Holy shit!”

  The off-duty agents burst out laughing. Bhandi slapped the halfling’s back. “There you go! Now you’re in.”

  “She did it.” Tate’s low chuckle filled their little corner. “The damn drow actually did it.”

  Cheyenne pounded on her chest and gasped for breath. “Jesus, how much worse is it if you drink it slowly?”

  “It isn’t.” Tate lifted his cup and took a much smaller drink. Bhandi and Yurik snickered and the troll lowered the cup again, smacking his lips. “Fellwine’s for sipping.”

  “Shit!” Sniffing back the burn in her nose, Cheyenne wiped the stinging tears from the corners of her eyes and let out a little chuckle. “I t
hink I get step three now.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Yurik lifted his tankard in another toast for the drow halfling. “If you survive tonight, Cheyenne, you’re, well…” He laughed and shook his head. “You’re gonna wish you were dead in the morning.”

  Cheyenne grinned and toasted him right back with her copper cup. “You’re on.”

  “Here.” Bhandi filled the last empty tankard with grog and slammed it on the table in front of the halfling. “Have a chaser.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Wait, a minute. Wait.” Cheyenne stuck her hand out and leaned over the table. “None of you made the Border crossing?”

  Tate puffed out a breath through loose lips. “Are you kidding? That’d be like, I dunno. Driving down the wrong side of the street.”

  Bhandi grunted into her tankard and quickly lowered it. “That’s the stupidest analogy I’ve ever heard. Wait. Not including Sir’s.”

  “But you’re all, you know…” Cheyenne took another long drink of foamy grog to cover her cluelessness. Is there even a word for it?

  “Purebloods?” Yurik’s head wobbled in an imitated of superiority. “Genuine G-class?”

  Tate snorted. “You’re the only goblin at this table, man.”

  “Right. Not human.” Cheyenne nodded, the room jerking up and down. She widened her eyes and put a hand on the table to steady herself in the chair.

  “You think every single magical Earthside crossed over the Border? Shit.” Bhandi slung her arm over the back of her chair and pointed at the halfling, her finger swinging from side to side. “Don’t tell me you’ve never met a magical who was born in this world?”

  “No, I have. A friend of mine is a…fourth-generation fae over here. No, wait. Third-generation.” She shook her head, then glanced over her shoulder at the bar. “They serve water here?”

  “Did you just say ‘fae?’” Yurik’s yellow eyes bulged in his blue-green face. “For real?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Don’t talk so much. Leave Ember out of it.

  “Woah.” Tate rubbed the top of his tattooed head. “Didn’t know there were any left.”

  “Except for ones who made it Earthside and kept having little fae babies.” Bhandi shivered and wrinkled her nose.