by Martha Carr
She gritted her teeth and flexed her hand beneath her folded arms. A few purple sparks flared at her fingertips, which she immediately snuffed out. With a deep breath, she forced her drow magic to settle back down in the base of her spine. It didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as spending over an hour with her magical side up and running, but she didn’t come to class to fight anybody with sparks.
The illusion armband came off easily enough, and she stuck it into the outside pocket of her backpack beside the FRoE burner phone, which she’d remembered to put on silent this time. Sir had said he wouldn’t call her until later tonight, but she wasn’t about to trust anything he told her. Not that she had before she found out about the tracking device.
Running a hand through her now-black hair, the halfling tuned out the droning monotony of Hersh’s voice and resigned herself to another agonizing day of listening to a bunch of computer science crap she’d learned years ago. Gotta get legit credentials somehow.
* * *
The only other marginally interesting part of her day was right before her second class started. A small group of students was gathered out in the hall, speculating in low voices about the half-assed attack on campus earlier that morning. Cheyenne picked up on all the speculation without trying—“terrorist attack” and “gunshot” and “bomb” were tossed around. She just shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to ignore the burning ache that had returned to her shoulder, apparently to stay.
Once all her classes were over at two and she’d gone through the obligatory motions of barely pretending to care, the halfling took off across campus again. Her teeth ground together as she took the exact same route for the second time today. This back and forth is getting old way too fast.
But while she carted herself and her backpack across the grounds one more time, she might as well stop in on Mattie Bergmann’s office hours and check about that name. Her professor hadn’t sent her an email yet with the name of that Raug who might know about the drow puzzle box. Cheyenne figured she’d check in and give the Nightstalker posing as a college professor a nudge in the right direction.
Mattie’s door was open as usual, and the woman was pretty deep in her work, grading papers or planning lessons or whatever she did during office hours when she wasn’t trying to train her first half-drow.
Cheyenne knocked on the door and stepped inside. The professor’s head jerked up, and she let out a surprised laugh. “Just when I stopped expecting you to show up, you’re back. What can I—oh. What time is it?”
“Little after two, I think.”
“That’s right. I knew I forgot something.” The woman peeled a sticky note off the top of the stack and scribbled furiously.
“I hope that doesn’t include the name of that Raug you were gonna pull up for me.”
“Well, yeah, actually.” Mattie waved her off and kept writing. “I got in touch with the guy and completely forgot to email you about it.”
“Hey, no big deal. It’s not like I wanted to talk to him for anything important.”
Mattie finished writing, glanced up at her student, and smirked. “I hear the sarcasm, Cheyenne. It’s not misplaced, but I promise I wasn’t trying to avoid you. This time.”
At least she admits it. The halfling approached Mattie’s desk, readjusting her grip on the strap of her backpack over her good shoulder.
The professor’s pen toppled onto the desk, and Mattie pushed herself to her feet before peeling the sticky note off another piece of paper. “Here you go. The Raug Oracle Gúrdu.”
Cheyenne took the sticky note and squinted to make out Mattie’s handwriting. “This is an address.”
“Good job. Oddly enough, Gúrdu apparently doesn’t want phone calls, emails, handwritten letters, magical summonings, or any other form of communication from magicals he hasn’t met first. So the first meeting has to be face to face.”
“And he can tell me more about the drow box?”
Mattie’s lips twitched to the side of her mouth, and she tilted her head from side to side. “Maybe. I wasn’t about to spill all your secrets over the phone, kid. But for as long as I’ve known him, Gúrdu has had answers for everything. Most of them are completely convoluted and require a massive amount of caffeine and uninterrupted focus to even begin to comprehend. In my experience.”
“Oh, great.” The halfling folded the sticky note and stuffed it into her pocket. “So I’m going to a magical I’ve never met to listen to a bunch of riddles.”
“If you’re lucky. If he’s even willing to talk once he gets a good look at you.”
“What?” Cheyenne leaned away from her professor and scowled.
“What? Oh. No. I’m not talking about your face.”
“Good to know that’s the first assumption you made.”
Mattie scoffed. “It has nothing to do with the way you look, Cheyenne. I’m sorry. That came out wrong. You could show up covered in week-old spaghetti and smelling like a fishery, and that wouldn’t make a difference to this guy.”
The halfling snorted. “Gross.”
“Just an example. Gúrdu sees through the extra layers of whatever we want the rest of the world to see. So he’ll either agree to talk to you, or he’ll send you on your way. I put in a good recommendation for you, and hopefully that’s worth something.” Mattie bumped her fist playfully against the halfling’s shoulder and drew back immediately when Cheyenne sucked in a hiss.
“Wrong shoulder.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t even— You covered that pretty well today.” The professor studied the barely noticeable outline of the new gauze bandage beneath Cheyenne’s black London After Midnight shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves. “You get that looked at yet?”
“Had a doctor in there yesterday, yeah.” Grimacing, the halfling rubbed gently below her shoulder and forced herself to leave the damn thing alone. “I had something stuck in there, he took it out, and apparently that made things worse.”
“Huh.” Mattie tapped her fingers on her lips, then her green eyes darted around her office. She shook a finger and turned back toward her desk. “You know, I might have something that could help with that. Maybe.”
Cheyenne let out a dry chuckle. “You keep a hidden stash of Percocet in your desk to deal with the really annoying students, huh?”
“Ha!” Mattie glanced back up at her and grinned. “Nice try. But no. That’s not what you’re looking for, is it?”
“Wouldn’t work on me anyway.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.” The woman opened drawers, rummaged around, and closed them again. “Damn. I forgot to bring it back in once the semester started. I’ve got a…a collection of really great recipes for salves, some healing potions, and painkillers. Not sure how much of it will be useful to you.”
“Lemme guess. Nothing’s been tested on a drow halfling, huh?”
“You’re catching on, kid. But it’s worth a shot, right? You don’t want those holes in your shoulder to get any worse.”
“Nope.” Cheyenne clenched her right hand into a fist and breathed through her throbbing shoulder. “Kinda slows me down.”
Mattie looked quickly back at her student and blinked. “That’s borderline more than I want to hear. You know what? I’ll put together copies of what I have over the weekend for you. You can pick ‘em up on Monday when you stop by. If you want to stop by.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
“Excellent.” The professor snorted and shrugged. “Never thought I’d have much of a use Earthside for those stolen recipes—”
She blinked at the ceiling, realizing what she’d let slip.
“Stolen, huh?” Cheyenne gripped the backpack strap with both hands now. “Is that why you crossed the Border to live off the radar in Richmond?”
“Oh, hardly.” Mattie rolled her eyes. “And we’re not getting into that. But come in for office hours on Monday, and I’ll have something for you.”
“Okay. What about illusion spells?”
&
nbsp; Tilting her head, the professor pursed her lips and studied the halfling. “What about them?”
“I just saw some things this morning that might be useful for me to know. Potions, I guess. An illusion spell. This one actually was a piece of jewelry, like you mentioned a while ago.”
Mattie stuck her hands on her hips and nodded. Her smile widened as she looked the halfling up and down. “You want to break into the learned magic, don’t you?”
“If that’s what all that is, then yeah. I guess. Can’t hurt, right?”
“It most certainly can, if you don’t have the right ingredients. Or the right teacher to show you what not to confuse during the complicated gestures. Spells are a whole different level. You think you’re ready for that?”
Cheyenne gave her professor a deadpan stare. “Think you’re ready to teach me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. All this stuff is more of a ‘practice on your own time’ kinda thing. Assuming you don’t blow yourself up in the process. But sure. I’ll get you started.”
“Thanks.” The halfling stood there while her professor nodded and settled back into the chair behind her desk. “So is there a better time to go knock on this Gúrdu guy’s door, or do I have to make an appointment?”
“Ha. The minute you decide to head on over there, kid, he’ll know you’re coming. Trust me.”
“That’s not creepy.”
“That’s Oracles for ya.” Mattie winked.
“I can’t wait,” Cheyenne added dully, then nodded at her professor before turning toward the office door. “If you could email me those healing recipes or whatever, sooner might be better than later.”
“Come on. It can’t be that bad.”
The halfling shrugged. “I hope not.”
“Sure thing, Cheyenne. I’ll send you an email before your shoulder falls off.”
With a snort, the half-drow stepped out of the office, shaking her head. At least she had something she could act on immediately. Even stopping by for an unpredictable visit with a Raug Oracle was better than sitting around doing nothing.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The armband helped her get off campus again without anyone seeing anything except a Goth chick in all black one second, and nothing the next. Cheyenne wasn’t about to repeat the mistake of leaving her car on the frontage road where anyone could find it. And use it. I just got the cigarette stench aired out.
Gúrdu’s address took her to the industrial side of Richmond, right by the canal walk and Triple Crossing. There were old warehouses, boarded-up factories, and a run-down theater. She pulled onto a narrow side street and stopped at a four-story brick apartment building that looked like it should have been as abandoned as everything else. She stared up at the stained brick and the ironwork around the windows, doors, and the fire escape, then got out of her car with her backpack over her shoulder and locked up.
A cat screamed somewhere on the other side of the alley beside the building, followed by a quick series of hisses and a metal trashcan falling over. Cheyenne ignored it all and headed for the front door to the apartment building. It was propped open by a broken cinderblock, the entry filled with scattered clumps of dirt and dry leaves.
Taking the sticky note out of her pocket again, she double-checked the apartment number and shrugged.
A rising series of muted clucking came from down the hall, where faded light from outside poured through another open door at the other end.
“Out! Get out, you obnoxious little scavengers.”
Three chickens burst from an open apartment door all the way down on the left, squawking and fluttering and running wildly in every direction. A woman with her hair wrapped up in a bandana and wearing patched, flowing skirts chased two more chickens out of her apartment with the end of a broom.
“Ma! Come on. They don’t have anywhere else to go.”
The woman whirled around and pointed her broom into the apartment. “And you won’t have anywhere else to go if you keep bringing vermin into my house—”
“They’re chickens. Not vermin.”
“I don’t care if you brought in the Cu’ón himself. He’d get a good whack from me just the same. I didn’t spend all my hard-earned coin for that damn trip to see my own flesh and blood hand it all away to every—” The door slammed shut behind the woman as she disappeared inside again, her shout instantly muted.
Cheyenne tried not to listen, although she couldn’t help it that her hearing picked up almost everything anyway. Maybe this is just an apartment building for magicals.
She made it down to apartment 14 on the right and stopped to take in the old worn metal door with seriously weird designs scratched into the surface with a nail or a rock or something. Up top was a crude eye with rays shooting out of the bottom. Below that was either a snake or a river—it was impossible to tell—and images that looked like a tree, a slightly offset moon traced over itself five or six times , and a 3D cylinder at the bottom beside a tall, thin rectangle ending in a point. The first thing it made Cheyenne think of was the huge black tower in the center of Rez 38—the one structure that had stayed where it was across all four Quarters.
Taking a deep breath, the halfling lifted her fist to knock on the door. The handle turned and the thick sheet of metal jerked open before her knuckles made contact, and she found herself staring at the center of someone’s chest. Slowly, she lifted her head to meet the orange-brown gaze of the Raug standing before her, one clawed hand gripping the edge of the door.
“Go ahead, then,” the Raug grumbled. “What do you want?”
If he already knew I was coming, why would he even have to ask? Cheyenne cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Gúrdu.”
“Huh. Course you are.” The Raug’s thin lips drew back from his sharpened teeth, his nose scrunching like a snarling dog’s muzzle.
“Is that you?”
He looked her up and down again, having to dip his chin all the way to his chest to get the whole view. The guy had to be at least seven feet tall. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Well,” Cheyenne cocked her head, “I just did.”
The Raug sucked on his pointed teeth, then ducked his head below the frame of the door to glance quickly up and down the hallway. “And you’re here because…what? You wanna know your future? Trying to put a hex on some jerkoff who stole the rest of your clothes?”
“What?”
“What do you want?” He barked the last question, the words echoing down the hall before disappearing altogether.
“A friend sent me your way. Mattie Berg—”
“I don’t know anyone with a stupid fell-damn name like that.” The Raug started to shut the door, and Cheyenne couldn’t hold onto her patience any longer.
Her palm cracked against the thick metal door as the heat flared at the base of her spine and washed over her. If she hadn’t had her drow strength to fall back on, the door would have slammed shut in her face, but it didn’t.
The Raug’s eyebrows flicked up as he took in the transformation from pale-skinned Goth human to the purple-gray flesh and bone-white hair of a drow. Then he grunted. “She didn’t tell me what you were.”
It sounded almost like a question, but Cheyenne didn’t feel like giving him extra information just for fun. “What you see is what you get. Can you help me or not?”
“Sure, I can. Question is, will I? Do you deserve it? Who knows, right?” The Raug’s clawed hand dropped from the edge of the door, and he turned slowly away. The walls seemed to creak around him when he stepped back into his apartment, stooping below the exposed beams. A crooked hand waved for her to follow. “Hurry up and ask your questions, then. I’m busy.”
Cheyenne stared into the semi-darkness in front of her, then quickly slipped inside after him. The door shut with a loud, metallic bang behind her. At least I’m in. Pretty sure we both wanna make this quick.
Dozens of long, beaded strands hung across the entryway in front of her, clacking together after the Raug passed
through them. The halfling lifted them aside so she could follow and found herself in what looked like an old smoking lounge. Round pillows were tossed all over the place, set around low tables with small, flickering lanterns. Two of the tables had tall glass pipes in the center, each with a long hose sticking out of the middle. Hot coals burned at the top of one of these, and the halfling smelled tobacco and something else that made her nostrils flare. Sweet. Sour. Not even remotely worth trying to find out more.
The Raug stopped at the far end of the room at a raised platform against the wall. It wasn’t so much a chair as it was some kind of giant throne, stacked with pillows. Silk drapes were tacked to the ceiling and floated down on either side of the largest pile of cushions. Her host stepped onto the platform, spun gracefully around, and tucked the loose end of some kind of long tunic beneath him as he sat. With one clawed hand, he gestured toward the cushions on the floor in front of him. The other hand twirled in a complicated pattern of gestures, and a tarnished silver tray lifted from the floor beside the platform before settling beside the Raug’s knee.
Cheyenne eyed the cushions in front of her, some of which were stained. One had a series of round burns dotted across the surface, tufts of stuffing poking through. The lanterns flared to life with a burst of intense flame before settling back down, and she thought she saw a cockroach scuttling across what little of the floor was visible beneath all the pillows. Maybe it was just the shadows.
“I wasn’t just being polite when I said I was busy,” the Raug grumbled, dipping his hand into a wooden bowl of water on the tray beside him.
I like this guy. We have the same definition of being polite. “Are you Gúrdu?”
“What the hell does it look like, drow?” The magical traced a dripping claw down his face from forehead to chin and sucked in a long breath.
He doesn’t know I’m a halfling.
“Okay, then. I’m Chey—”
“I don’t need your name. Just your question. And then I’ll decide on payment.”
“Payment?”
Gúrdu’s orange-brown eyes flickered open, and he glowered at her. “We’re not some O’gúl bazaar, Dark Elf. You might have had the merchants and sellswords and half-cracked fortunetellers falling all over you at no charge, but the rules are different Earthside. Because I make them. You should know that by now.”
