by Martha Carr
The halfling whirled around to glare at the orc, laughing and coughing through sprays of his own blood. Rhynehart nudged her toward the door. They passed other magicals cuffed and pinned down beneath the FRoE team’s fell weapons. The last thing Cheyenne expected to see were so many faces—orc, troll, goblin, and Skaxen—staring up at her as best they could from the ground, all of them sneering up at her like a bunch of hungry hyenas. The halfling glared back at all of them, hissing at a Skaxen licking his bright-orange lips. Then she saw the thick silver chain spilling out of his robes and the crudely crafted shape of a bull at the end.
Just like that asshole in my neighbors’ apartment.
The Skaxen tittered at her as she passed and tried to draw himself up onto his knees.
“I don’t think so.” The FRoE agent behind the magical stuck a black boot into the center of the Skaxen’s back and pushed him back down to the floor.
Rhynehart shot her a sideways glance, frowning despite the joking tone in his voice. “Those friends of yours?”
Cheyenne found enough energy to storm out of that church as fast as she could. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she fought to get that goblin kid’s face out of her head. Or maybe she was trying to keep it there because then she’d have a good reason to still be this pissed off. That energy had faded completely by the time she hit the bottom step, and she quickly sat down before she ended up on her face, just like all the thugs inside who’d used black magic to take a kid’s life.
“All right. I guess this works.” Rhynehart shifted his helmet under one arm and turned to face her. He glanced at the open church doors, then muttered, “You have about a minute before the new-prisoner parade gets marched out here. Wanna tell me what the hell made you break like that back there?”
Cheyenne grunted.
“That kinda response only works for ogres, rookie. Maybe some of the dumber orcs. Not an acceptable answer from you.”
The halfling fought as hard as she could not to blast the FRoE operative back into the street and out of her personal space. She swiped quickly at her burning eyes with the back of a hand, surprised to find it dry. “You can’t seriously tell me I need to explain why I did what I did.”
“No, kid. I get that part. Hey, if I didn’t have to answer to the higher-ups, I woulda let you cave his goddamn skull in. It’s more than any of them deserve.”
“He couldn’t have been older than, what? Twelve?”
Rhynehart sighed, pulling off his thick dampening gloves around the giant helmet under his arm. “Something like that, yeah. Those magicals are into some seriously sick shit.”
“It has to stop.”
“I know. That’s why we’re here. I hate to say it, rookie, but this isn’t even the worst of it. You’ll see things that’ll make you swear you’ll never get a good night’s sleep. Maybe you won’t for a while, but you just keep movin’. Hell, I won’t even say it gets easier the more it happens. Just gets easier to focus on how to keep it from happening again.”
Cheyenne blew a thick strand of white hair out of her face. “Don’t talk to me like I signed onto this bullshit as part of the team.”
Rhynehart glanced at the church doors again, where the first two operatives were jostling their first two cuffed prisoners outside onto the landing. “I know that’s not why you’re here, but you’re part of this world whether you like it or not. The FRoE just sees one side of the equation, but that doesn’t mean the other magicals on this are blind to the rest of it. Let’s take this to the Jeep, huh?”
He stuck out an ungloved hand again, but Cheyenne pushed herself to her feet and brushed him off, making a quick retreat to the black Jeep at the curb. She reached it just in time to slam a hand on the hood and keep herself from buckling to the concrete right there.
“Yeah, see, that’s what I was asking about.” He’d already gotten the message that she didn’t want help, so Rhynehart just leaned back against the Jeep’s front bumper and folded his arms. “That whole collapsing thing. I thought it was the bullet in your hip that did it the last time—”
“It was,” she hissed. “I don’t know what happened.”
The first two prisoners were hustled quickly out to the first waiting van. The troll thug with a raw gash that looked like a fresh burn across his face eyed Cheyenne and ran a tongue over his crooked upper teeth. “You’re next, mór úcare.”
She flipped him the finger and turned her back on that side of the street and the church, stabilizing herself with both hands on the hood of the Jeep. The van’s doors opened and shut again after a little snarling and muttered curses from the cuffed magicals. Cheyenne tilted her head at the sound of some kind of electric current kicking on in the back of the van, then the two agents came back around to head into the church again. They’d pulled their helmets off along the way, and an intensely muscular goblin—his head shaved clean except for a single braid of faded yellow stretching across his head from front to back like a racing stripe—paused beside the Jeep.
“Halfling.”
Cheyenne turned just enough to catch sight of the thick bullring through the goblin’s blue nose before he tossed something at her. Her hand darted through the air to snatch the unmarked silver cellophane wrapper of what could only be one of those nasty magical energy bars.
The goblin nodded. “Never seen anyone move so fast in the field. Those were some pro moves. Try breaking it up with a little cool down in between, and maybe you won’t lose your footing again.”
He nodded at her, then followed the other agent back into the church to take over while the next three agents brought out three more prisoners.
Rhynehart chuckled. “No kidding.”
“What?” Cheyenne ripped at the silver wrapper and didn’t wait to move it completely out of the way before she tore off a huge chunk of the green-black bar of who knew what between her teeth. She spat out the wrapper and eyed the bar. Tastes like rotting asparagus.
“You just pushed yourself a little too hard, looks like.”
She scowled at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have pushed a little less and let that troll blast the vest right off your back?”
“I’m glad you didn’t. That was good work. And it’s good to know your limits for next time, yeah?” He slapped the hood of the Jeep. “I tell you what, though. My guys have seen some seriously powerful magicals in the field. Long time before I came around. If they’re taking their hats off to you, rookie, you must be doing something right.”
Cheyenne forced the energy bar down her throat and took another bite. Didn’t really matter when that kid was still lying in that church without a pulse.
A low, warbling croak came from the open doors of the first van behind them. It changed in pitch, rising up and down, and Rhynehart rolled his eyes.
“Hey!” He walked back beside the van and pounded on it. “Don’t make me come back there and crank up the voltage. Actually, you know what? Keep singing. I’d like to really hear you belt it out with all that juice running through you.”
The broken crowing stopped, followed by raspy chuckles. But the magicals in the back of the van kept their mouths shut. For now.
Cheyenne munched on the magical energy bar, feeling most of her strength returning. Or maybe it was just the hard-to-control rage flaring up inside her with each new magical the FRoE operatives shoved down the church steps toward one of the waiting vans. When the last one had made it out and was hooked or cuffed to whatever electrically charged parts keeping them neatly locked up in the vans, she crumpled the empty wrapper and shoved it in her pocket.
The crackle of a radio caught the halfling’s attention.
“…unforeseen casualty. Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. We’re bringing him in too. Try to contact his people as soon as possible.”
Two agents went back into the church, one of them carrying a large, empty black bag folded over his arm. Rhynehart cleared his throat. “My guys’ll handle the rest of it. We’re good to go if you wanna get outta here.”
“Yep.” Rhynehart hopped into the Jeep behind the wheel. Cheyenne was already feeling like her regular drow self again—high energy, high rage, heightened senses, and everything.
She closed the passenger door behind her and reached up for the seatbelt, grimacing again when her shoulder protested with another flare of pain. The way I’m going, those holes are never gonna get a chance to heal.
Rhynehart started the engine but paused, watching her as she pulled her seatbelt across her lap and buckled herself in. When she looked up, she saw him staring at the mostly hidden lump of gauze bandage beneath her shirt. He saw her watching him and nodded at her arm. “How’s your sho—”
“Don’t even go there, asshole.” The halfling sat back in her seat and thumped her head against the headrest.
With a grunt, the operative sniffed, cleared his throat, and pulled the Jeep away from the curb without a word. He didn’t laugh this time or smirk to himself either, which probably saved him from getting a blast of drow magic to the face.
I’ll work with him to bring these scumbags down and save all the kids we can, but we’re not friends. If he cared about how my shoulder was doing, he wouldn’t have put a goddamn tracking device in it in the first place.
Chapter Eighty-Two
After driving another ten minutes in complete silence, Cheyenne figured she might as well break it to ask a question she wanted to know the answer to. She shot Rhynehart a sideways glance and cocked her head. “You see those weird pendants those guys were wearing?”
“The what?” He glanced at her in surprise, probably because she’d said something to him. “On those black magic morons?”
“Yeah.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see any pendants. What did they look like?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of silver bull’s head. Not real intricate, but they were all wearing them.”
“Huh. Probably just part of the damn ritual. I swear, you people put more stock in rituals and symbols than I’ll ever—” He stopped himself before Cheyenne could stop him with some choice words of her own and cleared his throat. “Sorry. I don’t mean… Just magicals in general. I don’t know what you’re into, and I don’t care.”
“Good.” She stared at him a little longer because she liked how uncomfortable it made him. When Rhynehart got uncomfortable, he let off this smell that made the halfling think of those huge grasshoppers she’d found in the open field behind her mom’s house during the summer—a dusty, grassy sweetness that turned sour if she sniffed it for too long. She slid her hand onto the button for the automatic window and pushed it down.
He shot her another quick glance. “Getting too hot in here?”
“You smell.”
Rhynehart choked on a laugh and shook his head. “A drow’s sense of smell is exactly what everyone talks it up to be, huh?”
“I don’t know, but I kinda wish it didn’t work so well right now.” She leaned toward the open window and let the fresh air blow her hair away from her face. That hair was black again, her skin returned to its normal human paleness. At least she’d managed to calm herself enough after the church fight to bring her drow magic back under control. She’d have thought it would have been impossible after what she’d seen.
The sign for the exit that would take them back to the mall where he’d picked her up crept steadily closer. By the time they reached the exit, Rhynehart didn’t slow down at all, and then he passed it.
“You were supposed to get off there, by the way.” She jerked her thumb behind her.
“Yeah, we’re not heading back to the mall just yet.”
“Seriously? I did the freakin’ job with you. You’re gonna hold me hostage again?”
Rhynehart sighed. “Just one more stop, rookie. It won’t take long, I promise.”
“You promise? That supposed to mean something to me?”
He shot her an irritated frown before gazing back out at the highway. “I get that you’re pissed, kid. I would be too if I were in your shoes. And I was just following orders, yeah? That’s something we do. But now that everything’s all laid out on the table, you might find things get a little easier if you stop holding a grudge.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll stop holding a grudge when you stop springing surprises on me, like missing the exit for the mall.”
The operative puffed out a sigh through loose lips and didn’t say anything else.
They pulled up five minutes later outside a diner on the edge of Richmond—the kind with the silver runners all the way around, the rest of the outside painted that glittery red that made a diner a real diner. It might’ve even been the same place Ember had taken her to one of the first times they’d gone out together freshman year, mostly because the place was open twenty-four-seven. It was the kind of place that would have made Bianca Summerlin press her lips together in silent distaste. Cheyenne didn’t think the food was all that bad, but the timing was just plain awful.
“You are not taking me out to dinner.” She scowled at Rhynehart when he parked the Jeep in the lot and turned off the engine.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on it. You got any cash on you?”
The halfling blinked at him and spread her arms.
“Nah. That’s cool. If you want something, I’ll float you this time. Come on.” The guy got out of the Jeep like he’d been waiting for a sit-down with a plate of fried diner food, smiling up at the building as he shut the door behind him.
“A freakin’ diner.” Cheyenne shook her head and jerked the seatbelt out of the buckle before tossing it against the door. Then she got out and had to fight not to slam the door so hard it shattered the windows.
She stalked after the operative, who was all but skipping toward the diner with his hands in his pockets. When she reached him at the front door, he held it open for her until her blank stare convinced him to drop the attempted chivalry. With a shrug, Rhynehart stepped inside, and the halfling held the door for her own damn self.
The little bell on the door chimed, and the smell of frying oil, frozen burgers, slightly burned buns and fries, and cooking eggs assaulted her. Her stomach turned on her in an instant and growled, but fortunately, the hiss of the grill and the clack of the metal spatula against it made it impossible for anyone else to hear.
Rhynehart nodded at the cook behind the order counter. “Hey, Roger.”
“Charlie, my man.” The giant man in a grease-spattered apron gave Rhynehart a huge grin. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”
“Couldn’t stay away for much longer. I tried.” Rhynehart shrugged and pointed toward a booth halfway down the diner.
Cheyenne almost choked on her own laugh. “Charlie?”
The operative slid into a red vinyl booth behind one of the white-topped tables lined in the same silver ridges around the edge. A woman wearing a pink dress and an apron straight out of the fifties approached with menus and silverware. She couldn’t have been older than mid-thirties, her blonde hair in a neat bun. She stopped beside their booth as Cheyenne slid in across from Charlie and laid everything down.
“How you doin’, honey?” The gum smacked obnoxiously loud between her teeth as she smiled politely at Rhynehart.
“Better now that I stopped here.” The man skimmed the menu, then dropped it onto the table. “Just bring me a black coffee for now, yeah?”
“Sure thing. How about your friend?”
The halfling blinked up at the server and cut Rhynehart off as he opened his mouth. “We’re not friends. And I’m not getting anything.”
“Oh.” The woman shrugged like it didn’t make a difference to her either way—like she hadn’t even picked up on the sting in the Goth chick’s words—and kept smacking her gum. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be right back with your coffee, hon.”
<
br /> “Thanks, Grace.” Rhynehart smiled after the woman, then sat back with a thump and ran a hand vigorously over his dark hair. “I usually go with the bacon burger, but I’m feelin’ like switchin’ it up a little.”
Rolling her eyes, Cheyenne leaned toward him over the table. “I’m not sitting here with you while you eat a burger or whatever the hell else you feel like. Is there a reason I’m here, or do you just like screwing with me?”
“Relax, rookie. There’s a reason. You’ll find out soon enough.” He didn’t look at her as he pored over the menu, hmmming at some of the offerings and tapping them in thought.
Cheyenne started to get up out of the booth. “This is bull—”
“Sit.” Rhynehart kept his voice low, but the urgency of that one word made her pause.
The half-drow narrowed her eyes at him and tried to figure out what was pushing his buttons like this. Then the front door of the diner swung open, jingling the little bell hanging from the top, and Rhynehart nodded over Cheyenne’s shoulder.
Maybe she should’ve thought about it before she turned around because the person walking through that door was the last person she wanted to see right now. She turned quickly back and thumped her hands on the table, glaring at Rhynehart. “Are you serious?”
“What do you think?”
Sir walked through the diner like he owned the place, lifting a hand in greeting to Roger on the other side of the counter. The cook didn’t have nearly as friendly of a hello on his lips this time, but he raised his metal spatula in reply and nodded. When the man stopped beside the booth, dressed like just another civilian and with his hands clasped behind his back, he eyed Cheyenne with those dark, beady eyes beneath his salt-and-pepper hair. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”
The halfling raised her eyebrows and glared at him.
Rhynehart tapped her shin with his boot under the table, and she gave him a derisive snort. With a sigh, the operative scooted over on his side of the table and made room for Sir beside him.
