The Drow Hath Sent Thee

by Martha Carr

  “Oh. Cheyenne!” The man looked up from the paperwork on his desk and grinned. “That was fast.”

  “Yeah, I had a friend drop me off.”

  “Huh. Funny. I didn’t hear anyone drive up past the gate.”

  She gave him a small smile. “The kind of friend who doesn’t need a car.”

  “Ah. I see. You’re not the only one, then.” He dropped his pen on the stack of papers on his desk and walked around it heading toward her.

  “Well, I don’t always need a car, but I can’t always get around without one, either.”

  “Good thing you brought your car to me and she’s all fixed up and ready for you, huh?” Lee extended his hand for a quick shake, then spun again and waved her after him into the garage. “Come on. She’s a little farther down the line today. Closer to some of my tools and whatnot.”

  “Sure.” Cheyenne stuck her hands in her pockets and quickly glanced at the framed photograph of Lee and his daughter that hadn’t moved since she’d brought it up two days ago. Yeah, we don’t have to go there again.

  “All right. Here we are.” The man chuckled and readjusted the huge cream-colored Stetson on his head. “Now, if anything stands out to you as unacceptable, you let me know.”

  “Holy shit.”

  He grinned at her and nodded slowly. “I’ll take that as a good sign, sure.”

  With a laugh of disbelief, Cheyenne peered through the driver’s side window and shook her head. “You did all this in two days?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Lee, you made me a Gothmobile.”

  He laughed sharply. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling it.”

  “Go ahead and get in. Take a look.”

  Cheyenne didn’t hesitate to open the door and slip behind the wheel, the center of which was now covered with small silver studs that matched nearly half her clothes. Her smile widened as she scanned the changes to the inside of her car: the silver skull at the top of the gearshift, the swirling flame designs in black and silver that covered the dashboard and the glovebox, the tiny black skulls decorating the seatbelts that were barely visible from more than a few inches away. “This is awesome.”

  “Wait ‘til you turn her on.” Lee ducked to watch her in the driver’s seat and nodded at the fob lying in the center console with a new silver rim around the black. “Go ahead.”

  When she pressed the keyless start button, the Panamera’s engine turned over with a purr. The entire dashboard lit up in various shades of purple light instead of the usual blue, green, and white. “Oh, man!”

  “Overhead lights, too.”

  Cheyenne looked at the roof of the car to find the dome light had been replaced with a rounded silver-and-black skeleton hand. When she switched on the light, it was the same dark-purple as the lights on the dashboard, and she laughed. “This is insane.”

  Lee chuckled and rubbed his upper lip. “In a good way, right?”

  “Absolutely.” She got out of the car and laughed again at the purple light in the wheel well. The license plate holders on the front and back were both made of tiny silver skulls stacked on top of each other, and looking in through the front windshield, the mount for the rearview mirror looked like it was made out of silver chains. She couldn’t find a single dent or scratch on the body as proof that she’d been stupid enough to let Maleshi drive her car. “Yeah. Definitely a good insane. What about the engine problems?”

  Wrinkling his nose, Lee folded his arms and stepped back. “Yeah. There weren’t any. I had this feeling, you know? Wanted to see if I was right.”

  Cheyenne looked at him and couldn’t stop grinning. “What if you hadn’t been?”

  “Well, you know. I would’ve reversed the whole thing free of charge and reminded myself not to stick my nose too far into other people’s business.”

  “This is definitely the best experience I’ve ever had with bringing my car into the shop.”

  He laughed, nodding slowly, and took her hand when she extended it.

  “Seriously. Thank you. I kinda needed something like this today.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Listen, if you have any other issues with this car or anything else, give me a call. Or if you want some updates to the Gothmobile. Whatever.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. You will be my guy for a while.”

  Lee hit a switch on the far wall of the garage, and the door lifted and slowly swung out, letting daylight in. “You’ll be able to drive her right outta here. I’ll draw up a final receipt.”

  “Yeah. Sounds good. Do you take credit cards?”

  “If I told you not to pay me and that the fun I got out of this project was more than enough, would you let it go at that?”

  “Nope.”

  “I didn’t think so. Yeah, I take credit cards.” He nodded at the other end of the garage and took off that way.

  Cheyenne gave herself a moment longer to look over the Panamera from the outside and shook her head. He’d just done it. What kinda crazy person remodeled the inside of someone’s car without asking? This was the best thing she’d seen in months.

  Laughing, she found her severely improved mood making it a lot easier to move around and at least ignore most of the pain in her body as she joined Lee at his desk. They worked out the final price, she handed him her card, and they waited for his machine to print a receipt.

  “That’s what I call a good deal, Cheyenne.” He tapped the desk. “We’re both happy with the final outcome but not satisfied with the price.”

  “Because what you did is worth way more than you’ll let me pay you.”

  “We’ll be arguing about this all day if I don’t change the subject.” With a quick rip of the serrated paper, Lee handed over her receipt and raised his eyebrows. “So, this is me changing the subject. You give that friend of mine a call yet?”

  Stuffing the receipt into her pocket, she shook her head. “No, not yet. I thought I was gonna have to put it off today, but I’m feelin’ like things are lookin’ up now.”

  “Ha. Yeah, custom work tends to have that effect.” He held her gaze, his lips twitching in and out of a smile as he held back a laugh. “I’m interested to know how things work out for you once you make that call. If you feel like tellin’ me.”

  “Do you know a lot about the magical world?”

  “Enough to hold my own in a conversation about it, sure. That’s neither here nor there today, is it?” He gave her a curt nod and pointed at the Panamera three cars down. “Now get outta here.”

  Cheyenne laughed and headed to her car. “Thank you. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And if you end up with a bunch of new customers knocking down your door after seeing what you did to my Porsche, you have only yourself to blame.”

  Lee threw his head back and laughed, slapping a hand on his belly. “I’ve learned to deal with it. Drive safely.”

  “Yeah, I will.” Safe and fast weren’t mutually exclusive. She slipped into the driver’s seat again, strapped herself in, and closed the door. This is exactly what I needed today. If Maleshi even looks at this thing the wrong way, I’ll… Shit, I don’t know.

  Cheyenne backed the Panamera smoothly out of the garage and raised her hand for a final wave at Lee through the window. She laughed when her hand came down on the silver skull as she shifted into drive. “Fuck, yeah.”

  Then she was heading down the gravel drive and out through the open gate, the ride feeling smoother than she remembered. I don’t care if he did that or if I’m too stoked about this to feel any bumps.

  Once she reached the end of the gravel drive and turned onto the frontage road leading back toward downtown Richmond, she pulled out her cellphone and found the number she’d saved for Inolu. Might as well take advantage of the good mood. Let’s see what’s up.

  She connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth and sent the call. Her foot pressed down bit by bit on the g
as as she stared down the straight shot of asphalt in front of her. The call rang and rang, and as she was about to hang up and try again, the ringing stopped with a click, and the strangest voicemail greeting filled the inside of her car.

  “Yes, you called the right number.” The female voice was flat and droned like the speaker couldn’t possibly have been more bored than she was at the time of recording it. “And yes, this is Inolu. If you haven’t already been made aware by whatever idiot gave you my number and didn’t mention these things beforehand, I don’t do consultations after nine o’clock at night or on the weekends. No exceptions.”

  Cheyenne snorted. For real? It sounds like she’s reading an instruction manual.

  “The following is a list of services you will not find under my current offerings. No love potions. No reincarnations or bringing any living creature back from the dead. I don’t do temporary IQ increases or permanent physical restructuring. No reanimation. And yes, that includes first-time animation. Inanimate shit doesn’t need to move.”

  The halfling barked out a laugh. “Oh, my God.”

  “I also don’t provide my services to minors, human or magical, without the written permission of an accompanying adult and a signed waiver. I will not be held accountable for your stupidity. And no, I still do not accept online payments. The internet can suck it. Now that you’ve listened to all this incredibly interesting bullshit, we can move on. If you don’t leave a message after the beep, you’ll never hear back from me. I don’t answer calls as a general rule, but I do call back within twenty-four hours. Lay down your issue, ailment, unfulfilled desire, or specific request for vengeance, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. So, yeah, I guess that’s it.”

  The line clicked again, followed by a two-second beep, and Cheyenne cleared her throat to make sure she wouldn’t laugh when she started talking.

  “Yeah. Hi.” Guess I might as well start with the thing that gets every other magical’s damn attention. Can’t hurt with this one. “I got your number from Lee McDurn. He said you might be able to help me, so I thought I’d give this a shot. My name’s Cheyenne Summerlin. That might not mean anything to you, but if it does, maybe it makes a difference. I don’t know anymore. I’m L’zar Verdys’ daughter, and I need help with a personal problem. A curse. Not on me, on someone close to me.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head and glanced briefly at the dashboard as if she could see Inolu in the touchscreen window. Cut it out with the verbal diarrhea and leave the damn message.

  “Anyway, I’d like to know what you can do for me. So, call me back.” She left her phone number just in case, then snatched up her phone and ended the call. “Jesus. That was a mess.” There’s no way my voicemail was the weirdest one she’s gotten. Didn’t expect Inolu to be a woman, either. Or female magical. Whatever.

  Cheyenne forced herself to focus on the drive home.

  About ten minutes out of the Pellerville Gables Apartments, her phone rang. Cheyenne connected it to the Bluetooth one more time and accepted the call. That was fast.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Inolu.”

  Cheyenne smiled at the highway stretching out in front of her. “Hi. Thanks for calling me back.”

  “I haven’t heard the Weaver’s name in a long time, Ms. Summerlin, and certainly not invoked. You’ve definitely caught my attention.”

  “Ah.” Cheyenne wrinkled her nose but managed to keep the distaste out of her voice. “I thought that would do it.”

  “I’m assuming your request is fairly urgent.”

  “Yeah. Fairly.” Cheyenne readjusted her grip on the steering wheel and cocked her head. I wonder what gave it away.

  “Then I’d like to see you as soon as possible. I’m free now. Be at this address in the next thirty minutes, and I’ll take fifteen percent off my regular consultation price.” Inolu’s bored, monotonous voice rattled off an address. “And make sure you’re alone. I’m not a fan of moochers or stowaways.”

  “What? Yeah. I’m alone. Can you repeat that address?”

  Inolu scoffed. “No, but I’ll text it to you. This is a cell phone, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The line went dead, and the Bluetooth call ended. Cheyenne frowned at her dashboard and took a deep breath. “Okay, guess I’m going to hang out with a bane-breaker who doesn’t sound like she enjoys her job but won’t give me a chance to say no. This is gonna be weird.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  After plugging Inolu’s address into her GPS, Cheyenne ended up in South Richmond fifteen minutes later. After sticking her activator behind her ear, she slipped into drow mode long enough to select the command for her illusion charm and went to her human-Goth self. There was no one around before noon on a Tuesday to see it.

  She had to pay for parking in the public lot before she stalked across the street toward the line of row houses and Inolu’s alleged home. Every few steps, she looked over her shoulder to take another glance of her newly Gothed-out Panamera, and when she pressed the lock button on the key fob, the ensuing chirp and flash of purple at the top of the headlights brought another small smile to her lips.

  Okay, that made it worth it.

  She walked down the row of two-story homes and stopped at the address she’d been given. The brick exterior was a faded green-yellow, and the front door was navy-blue with black trim. The shutters and trim around the rest of the unit were black too, and Cheyenne narrowed her eyes. Right. Bored-sounding bane-breaker. Obnoxious paint job. I have no idea what to expect.

  She knocked swiftly on the door and waited.

  A buzzing whir came from a panel mounted on the narrow side wall of what was supposed to be the front stoop. Cheyenne looked up and found a relatively sophisticated swiveling camera lens spinning, readjusting, and zooming in to get a clear image of her face. Normal Earthside tech, at least. Not off to a terrible start.

  “State your name.” Inolu’s droning voice had a metallic, robotic tinge to it as the camera lens kept twisting and zooming in and out, with Cheyenne as its central focus.

  The halfling cleared her throat. “Cheyenne Summerlin.” First time I’ve come out and said it in public. Maybe the first time it hasn’t meant anything during an appointment.

  “State your business.”

  Cheyenne narrowed her eyes at the camera. “We spoke on the phone.”

  “Consultation or repeat visit?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a standard series of questions, Miss Summerlin. I record and collect this data for all clients, visitors, mail carriers, delivery personnel, salespersons, survey providers, and the unsuspecting morons who somehow find themselves on my doorstep instead of any of my neighbors’ where they belong. Consultation or repeat visit?”

  Cheyenne widened her eyes at the camera, then finally looked away and stared at the door instead. “Consultation. First one ever.”

  “Please refrain from providing extraneous information or smart-ass comments, Miss Summerlin. It junks up my data categorization, and I don’t enjoy having to start the process all over again.”

  The camera lens spun repeatedly and stretched out on a long lever toward the halfling with a constant whir that didn’t let up. Cheyenne glanced up at the thing’s opening shutter and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you currently have on your person anything fragile, liquid, perishable, or potentially hazardous, including lithium batteries and perfume?”

  Cheyenne couldn’t help an exasperated laugh. “Define potentially hazardous.”

  “Answer the question, Miss Summerlin.”

  “I mean, if we’re going by the regular post-office rules, then no. I don’t have anything like that on me.” There’s one good thing about being fresh out of darktongue serum. I’d have to hand over my injection canister for inspection. Jesus.

  The camera stopped whirring and retracted back into place behind the panel on the narro
w side wall. Something heavy and metallic clicked into place behind the door, followed by a loud buzz.

  “You may enter,” Inolu droned. “When the door opens, please stand inside the red circle and try not to move. The standard security scan lasts twenty-two point three seconds. Unless, of course, you don’t consent to said security scan. In that case, you can turn around right now and get the fuck off my property.”

  “Whoa.” Cocking her head, Cheyenne held up both hands as if Inolu stood right in front of her with a loaded shotgun instead and fought back a laugh. “I consent.”

  “Very good.” The navy-blue front door opened swiftly to reveal a short, dark entryway.

  The only thing Cheyenne could see at first was the bright-red circle painted on the wooden floor two feet inside. Stand inside the red circle. This better be worth all the bullshit.

  She stepped forward and centered both feet in the designated area. The front door shut on its own with a bang, and the entryway fell into complete darkness. The next second, there was another buzz, and a dark orange light flared to life in a rectangular doorway around Cheyenne like a metal detector. Security scan. Right. The kind I can apparently feel on my skin.

  A loud, rhythmic click sounded around her, and while the one and only time Cheyenne had had an MRI was when she was ten, the memory of it came back to her with surprising intensity. But she did as she’d been told and tried not to move. The clicking continued, and she thought she felt an unwelcome heat stretching toward her from the orange light.

  “Hello?”

  No one answered, and she couldn’t see anything but the orange light and the complete darkness everywhere else. Twenty-two point three seconds. I’ll be fine.

  The warmth intensified into a slightly concerning heat on her skin.

  “This isn’t something I should be concerned about, is it?” She blew out a quick breath. “Listen, you didn’t say anything about a heater, okay? This doesn’t feel…”

  The clicking sped up into a startling crackle, then the orange light burst with blinding intensity and a flash of blood-red. The dart wounds in Cheyenne’s shoulders and hip felt like they were ripping open all over again. She thought she shouted for Inolu to stop the fucking scan, and then she wasn’t thinking anything. Fortunately, that happened before she hit the floor in the bane-breaker’s front entryway and lost consciousness.