by Martha Carr
Maybe I pushed a little too hard.
Blinking off the dizziness, Cheyenne shook her head, righted herself on shaky legs, and limped along the side of the Jeep until she opened the passenger door. She almost didn’t make it into the seat. She slumped next to Rhynehart, closed her eyes, and melted into the black leather.
Rhynehart stared at her. “You look pale. Even in drow form.”
Cheyenne turned her head against the headrest and blinked at him. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Thinking of the woods isn’t hard. I destroyed a bunch of it on my way here.
A wave of cool relief washed over her, and when she opened her eyes again, she’d returned to human form, with pale skin and pitch-black hair to match her outfit. “How ‘bout now?”
“That’s a given. Here.”
The crinkle of a cellophane wrapper filled the car, then Cheyenne was staring at an unmarked silver package hovering over her lap. “What’s this?”
“Keeps our magical operatives from draining themselves in the field. I only have one, so try not to pass out between now and when we finish this assignment.”
Puffing her cheeks out, Cheyenne grabbed the package and fiddled with it as Rhynehart started the engine and pulled off the shoulder. Her fingers weren’t strong enough to rip the thing open, plus her shaking hands made fine motor skills impossible. She opted for ripping the package open with her teeth and blew the piece of torn silver wrapping off her lips.
Chewing the first bite of the FRoE-approved energy bar hurt her head. “This is nasty. It tastes like moldy broccoli.”
“That’s a new one.” Rhynehart got them up to the speed limit and draped one arm over the center console. “I’ve heard ‘old sock’ and ‘freezer burn,’ mostly. One guy said it was like chewing on the leg of a starving rabbit. Wasn’t about to argue with him on that one.”
“Sounds like you haven’t tasted it.”
“It’s for magicals. And it works.” Rhynehart glanced at the mottled chewy bar of black and sludge-green with specks of light brown and nodded. “Eat the whole thing. You’ll feel it in ten.”
Cheyenne slowed her chewing, sucking the sticky goop out of her teeth, and scowled at the power snack for magicals. “You know, this is basically you drugging me again.”
The man chuckled. “Not the same. We’re both on duty this time. You’ll be thanking me once we get there.”
Trying to ignore the scents of wilted spinach and sweaty socks, she lifted the bar to her mouth and took another bite.
Thanking you. Yeah, right.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Five minutes later, Rhynehart pulled the Jeep onto a dirt frontage road leading into a wooded area. On such a clear day, Cheyenne could see for miles. She saw the open expanse of flat land, cleared of trees, five minutes before they pulled up. The other side of the open space, a steadily sloping rise of layered gray rock, looked like an empty campground more than anything.
Great. He’s gonna drive me off the edge of a cliff, and there’s no one around to see it happen. Good luck, Rhynehart.
The Jeep crunched to a stop at the end of the frontage road. Rhynehart got out without a word. Cheyenne stayed where she was and watched him walk away from the Jeep with his hands on his hips. He laced his fingers together behind his back and pushed out for a nice stretch, then peered over his shoulder to catch her gaze. “We don’t have all day, halfling.”
Cheyenne let the crumpled silver wrapper of the FRoE energy bar drop on the floor. She stepped outside. The air was crisp and fresh, the sun beating down, and she smelled saltwater in the air. Far below the edge of that shallow incline of sloping gray rock, the waters of Chesapeake Bay crashed against the side of the cliff.
All the way to the coast. Yeah, the surf on the rocks down there would be a good place to hide a body.
Cheyenne stepped in front of the Jeep and spread her arms. “What are we doing here?”
“I told you already. We came to have a little chat.”
“With the ocean?”
“If you quit talking long enough to pay attention, halfling, your questions’ll answer themselves.” Rhynehart cocked his head and waved her forward. “Let’s go.”
With a sigh, Cheyenne headed toward him. The sun was warm on her face, the breeze from the ocean carrying mist with it from the edge of the cliff. She approached Rhynehart and brushed strands of black hair from her face. “I still have questions.”
The man shot her an irritated glance, then walked forward and disappeared.
“Uh, what?” Cheyenne spun around to search the empty dirt road and the empty Jeep sitting at the end of it. The woods were empty and still, and the waves kept crashing against the cliffs hundreds of feet below. “Huh.”
Raising her eyebrows, the drow halfling walked to where Rhynehart had disappeared and felt a tremble in the air around her. The world darkened. “Whoa.”
A tall spire of slate-gray stone rose high in front of her, leaving her in its long shadow and blocking her from the sun. The tower was surrounded by a dozen other buildings with more buildings behind those, maybe stretching all the way back to the cliff. They looked like pictures she’d seen of castles built centuries ago in Scotland, although the electric gate in front of them was from this century like the little gate tower beside it and the rust-colored metal doors on all the buildings.
“How’s that hip?” Beside her, Rhynehart smirked, his arms folded.
“Better.”
“Told you.” He nodded at the electric gate and headed that way.
Cheyenne followed after him, her limp less despite the irritating twinge with each step.
Gotta give credit to that broccoli bar. It worked.
When they approached the gate, Cheyenne realized a goblin with blue-gray skin, a pointy nose, a violent overbite, and dark-green eyebrows manned the gate tower. That must’ve been the guy’s hair color, too, although it was hidden beneath a black baseball cap with an embroidered number 38 on it in bright yellow.
Rhynehart raised a hand and nodded at the goblin, who nodded, looked Cheyenne up and down and picked up a radio to mutter something into it. Then he pressed a button on the controls, and the air filled with a low buzz before the electric gate swung open.
Rhynehart placed a hand on his hip. Cheyenne noticed a holstered pistol at his waist.
He wouldn’t have brought me here if he planned to use that thing. It’s gotta be more for show.
When the gate opened with a clang, Rhynehart waved her toward him without a word and strode into the compound of black buildings and the massive spire casting its shadow over everything. Cheyenne caught up to him as the man headed toward the closest single-story building to their left. “What is this place?”
“Res 38, halfling.” Rhynehart glanced at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Reservation 38.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that.”
“You been to a Border rez?”
Cheyenne stared at him.
Rhynehart looked away with a crooked smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Come on. We gotta check in first.”
The man led her to the closest building. Above the gray metal door, rusted metal letters had been bolted to the stone wall: Q1 Intake. Rhynehart grabbed the metal bar serving as the handle and held the door open for the half-drow to go first.
Inside, Cheyenne took a glance around. The place could have passed for a police precinct except for the floating orbs of light the size of golf balls hanging in the air. Rhynehart strode to the front desk, where a purple-skinned troll in black fatigues typed on a computer newer than anything at VCU. The troll peered up from his screen and nodded at the FRoE operative. “Good. You’re here.”
“Hey, Vanx. Got the call.”
“Who’s that?” Vanx nodded across the small space serving as a waiting room.
Cheyenne returned his blank expression.
Rhynehart stuck his thumb over his shoulder without turning. “Got a rookie shadow today.”
Ch
eyenne glared at him.
“Gotta start ‘em somewhere, huh?”
“They either sink or they swim. I’m here to push.”
An uncontrollable snort followed the troll’s chuckle. His upper lip caught on a particularly crooked tooth before it jerked back down into place. “All right. The guy you’re looking for is out in Q4. Last house on the row. That’s about as lucky as we got with this one, but the rest of us have given up trying to talk any sense into him.”
“Yep. That’s why we’re here.” Rhynehart stuck his hands on his hips. “Anything I should know first?”
“Uh, yeah.” Vanx stood from his chair behind the desk and leaned forward to lower his voice. “He’s rigged the whole place since the last time we tried to handle it on our own. Tripwires everywhere. Some kinda nasty…spray. I don’t know. Melted the skin right off one of my guy’s arms and put him in bed for two weeks. We have dampening gear in the back if you wanna take any with you.”
“Better safe than melted into a puddle, I guess.”
The troll nodded. “Right. Don’t know how much good it’ll do you. He’s had a lot of time out there by himself. But it’s better than nothing. I’ll be right back.”
Vanx moved between the rows of desks and went into the back.
Cheyenne shook her head, while Rhynehart gazed at the glowing round lights illuminating the room instead of regular lightbulbs. He hummed in approval. The troll returned with two vests and two pairs of gloves like the ones Rhynehart had worn in the training room at the FRoE compound. These were more beat up and didn’t look like they’d hold up as well. One glove was missing the tip of its pinky.
Rhynehart took all the gear. “Thanks. You’ll get a call from processing once we take him in. Q4 will be cleared for new residents, and you won’t have to tiptoe around anymore.”
“Right. We’ll see who’s tiptoeing when you’re done.” Vanx shook his head at the operative but held that crooked, snaggle-toothed smile. “Hope the rookie makes it through.”
“Yeah, me too.” Rhynehart turned around, his arms loaded with two frayed black vests and two pairs of thick, raggedy gloves. He nodded at the door. “Can you get that for me?”
Cheyenne turned and pushed on the crash bar, opening the door into the fresh, salt-smelling air. They went outside, and the door to Q1 Intake clicked shut behind them. “What’s that all about?”
“Making sure the information I got is on par with what they’ve been dealing with here on their end.” Rhynehart stopped by the corner of the building and dropped the gloves into the dirt, then handed one of the vests to her. “Might as well put this on.”
“I don’t need one of those.”
He looked up at her and blinked. “You heard what that troll said, right? Melted the skin off one of his guy’s bones. You wanna go up against that without any kinda protection?”
“I mean, I heard you call me a rookie, too. Sounds like everybody’s twisting the truth a little.”
“Watch it.” Rhynehart thrust the vest toward her again and raised an eyebrow. “Part of the deal, Blakely. You’re on a ride-along with me, so you do what I say.”
Cheyenne snatched the heavy vest out of his hand and held it in front of her with a scowl. He brought me with him because he wants a drow halfling for whatever this little problem is, not because he wants to show me the ropes. We’re playing the same game, aren’t we?
Rhynehart slipped his vest over his head and shoulders, and Cheyenne relented and put hers on too. He bent to pick up the gloves and extended a pair toward her.
“Nope.”
He frowned. “Everything I said went in one ear and out the other, huh?”
The halfling lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers at him. “Did you forget the part where I blast magic from my hands? If I wear those and have to cast any kind of spell, you’ll be returning a used pair of scraps.”
Rhynehart sucked his teeth, eyed her raised hands, and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
He tossed the gloves into the dirt and clutched the other pair in one hand. “Time to move out.”
“To where, exactly?”
“Come on, Blakely. You got shot in the hip, not the head. We’re hoofing it to Q4.”
Cheyenne sighed and took off after him. “That tells me nothing.”
“You’ll figure it out. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, rookie.”
“Cute, human.”
Rhynehart lifted his chin and smirked.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“So, Q4 is…”
“All the way on the north side.” Rhynehart nodded in the direction they were headed and glanced at the thick, magic-dampening gloves in his hand.
“This place isn’t exactly huge.” Cheyenne turned halfway around to stare at a large military utility vehicle driving by, loaded with whatever important things needed to be covered by a tan tarp.
“Yeah, doesn’t look like it, huh?” Rhynehart nodded at a pair of trolls in the same black fatigues as Vanx who walked out of a black outbuilding. The trolls nodded in return and slipped back into their conversation. “That’s the point of the whole rez layout. You know, I shoulda realized a halfling who doesn’t come up in our system wouldn’t know the first thing about a Border rez. You don’t, do you?”
Cheyenne gave him a sideways glance. “Isn’t it your job to teach the rookie?”
“Yeah, I see what you did there. Watch this.”
They approached the ends of the rows of buildings stretching away from the massive tower behind the entrance gate. Cheyenne didn’t know where these people could have possibly fit Q4, assuming she and Rhynehart hadn’t already reached it without him saying so. The man didn’t stop at the edge of the outbuildings. He kept walking toward the forest on the other side of the clearing where this Reservation 38 had been built.
Then he disappeared again.
“Oh, come on.” Cheyenne hurried to catch up. Her insides squirmed as she passed through the same spot, then she was staring at another huge black tower rising toward the sky in front of her and to the right. She saw more thick forest behind it, while on the other side of the tower, the same gently sloping rise of flat gray rock jutted over the ocean. To her left was the same open space and dirt frontage road they’d driven on to get there. The Jeep was where they’d left it, but she saw no electric gate or goblin in a checkpoint tower this time.
“What happened?”
“Q2,” Rhynehart called without stopping. “Don’t get lost, halfling. Come on.”
Cheyenne took another glance at the vast, dark-gray spire blotting out the sunlight. This is some serious déjà vu, except everything else is different.
Where the dark gray and black stone outbuildings had been before, there were now taller, wider gray buildings that looked more like an indoor convention center or a mall separated physically by stores. The closest building they passed had a billboard-sized sign bolted to the roof, a black background with a bright yellow sunburst in the middle and rows of green vines snaking across the center.
“What’s that?”
“Hospital, more or less.”
“What’s with the sign?”
“It’s a hospital for magicals.” Rhynehart swept his arm in a dismissive arc as they moved down the same track in front of the buildings as they’d traveled the first time. All the buildings were different. “Q2 is where the rez keeps its functional stations, right? Hospital. Food processing and storage. Supplies. Research and development. There’s a lab on the other side of the hospital. Schools.”
“Schools?”
The man shot her a sideways glance and nodded. “Lotta little magicals growing up on the rez, Blakely. You might see some. Behind all these big buildings are some of the more fun places. Training facilities. A gym. I think 38 has tennis courts. Or maybe they’re basketball courts. Hey, you ever watch orcs play basketball?”
Cheyenne snorted. “I would remember if I had.”
“They’re good. Maybe it’s the height, I dunno. Never
thought those tusked bastards were very coordinated until I walked in on an orc pickup game. Blew my mind.”
The drow halfling didn’t have anything to say about that, so she skimmed her gaze over the tall gray buildings on their right. A few minutes later, they reached the end of the buildings and approached the edge of the forest again.
“We’re stepping through another magical wall, aren’t we?”
Rhynehart kept walking until he disappeared, and Cheyenne sighed in frustration before following him.
There was that tug on her gut, and then she found herself at the beginning on the south side of the cleared, flat landscape at the edge of the coastal cliff. She turned to look over her shoulder and checked if the woods were behind her. “So, we keep walking across the same strip of land over and over until we get to Q4?”
“Look at that, halfling. That energy bar must’ve juiced up your brain cells. Now we’re in Q3.”
Q3 also had a huge black spire rising into the sky, and Cheyenne followed the FRoE operative beneath its shadow as he headed across this next version of the same damn space. “Why couldn’t they build the place all on one…what? Plane?”
“Kind of a useless question, don’t you think? Seeing as the reservations are already built.”
Cheyenne rolled her eyes.
Rhynehart chuckled. “Okay, listen. This is all I know about it, and after that, you’ll have to take your questions somewhere else. When the Borders opened however many hundreds of years ago—don’t ask me how many, because I don’t know—the magicals built their own versions of these compounds. Of course, this is one of the older ones, so I’m not sure how the higher numbers have laid out their space, but I know 38 pretty well. Those giant towers?” He pointed at the huge spire as they passed out from beneath its shadow. “There’s one of those in every quarter. Those towers draw some kinda power from the Border, right? The portal. And it projects something, like, layers of all four quarters, which I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Walking the same strip over and over again? Yeah, I noticed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the same strip. Which you would’ve realized if you’d bothered to take another look around.”
