Realm of Infinite Night (Goth Drow Unleashed Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  Jamal’s fist smashed into the drow shield Cheyenne had pulled out of nowhere. It let off a sound like a gong being hit with a thousand volts of electricity. The ogre’s fist, arm, and shoulder bounced off the shield, spinning him sideways and away from the half-drow launching herself at him. The black tendrils wrapped around his wrist and arm as he roared in surprise and pain, and she jerked him away from Anasz with all the strength she had.

  Apparently, it wasn’t enough. The ogre only staggered sideways, grabbed the tendrils again with the other hand to rip himself free of them, then sent shards of dull-silver light shooting from his palm toward the halfling. Cheyenne slipped into her enhanced speed long enough to duck beneath the attack and rush Jamal at top speed. Time slowed again when she crashed into him, knocking all the air from her lungs as the ogre sailed backward into the dining-room table and turned the whole thing into a pile of well-polished kindling. She landed on top of him and smashed a fist into the side of his jaw.

  The ogre threw her off him and clambered out of the pile of splintered wood just before the halfling sent her foot into his chest. He staggered back, and when she spun and sent her other foot arcing toward his thick jaw, Jamal surprised her with his speed again. Her leg smacked right into his open hand, his thick fingers wrapped painfully around her ankle, and then he jerked her off her other foot and tossed her to the floor.

  The black tendrils she had coiled around his neck wrapped tightly enough to keep her from hitting the faded rug on the hardwood floor. She landed awkwardly on her feet and jerked down with her lashing vines of magic. Jamal stumbled toward her. Cheyenne released the tendrils from her hand just so she could pull her fist back for what felt like a punch that might take his head off.

  The power behind her arm, flaring through her body and numbing everything else she felt came out of nowhere, completely unexpected. She was briefly aware that her entire arm and her curled fist had erupted in flickering black flames, licking at her skin and the air around her and fueling her with more fury and chaos than she knew how to handle. It was almost enough to make her stop, but that decision was made for her.

  Jamal dropped to one knee in front of her, gazing up at her, not with fear, but with a fierce admiration and approval she didn’t understand. His hands fell to his sides, and the low whine of Rhynehart’s fell pistol tore through her head when the FRoE operative brought the barrel of his weapon up to the side of her head. Whether that barrel pressed against her flesh or hovered an inch or two away, Cheyenne couldn’t tell. She couldn’t feel anything but the chaotic, violent force ripping through her and out of every part of her body, and she thought she saw those same black flames from the corner of her eye, flickering along her cheeks.

  “That’s enough.” Rhynehart said it calmly enough. Maybe a little too calmly. It didn’t sound anything like the warning threats he’d given both her and the goblin woman tied to the chair. He sounded like a movie director calling it a wrap so they could move on to a different scene. “Stand down.”

  Cheyenne badly wanted to release all that quivering power, to send it straight at the ogre on one knee in front of her, who shot her as close as an ogre could get to a wicked grin. But she didn’t. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her voice through the buzzing hum of the drow magic that had burst through her skin to cover her head to toe in black flames.

  You could do it, and then that gun would fire at your head, and you’d be dead anyway. See what he wants. Wait.

  The halfling took in a shuddering breath and let out a long shout of frustration and pent-up chaos. The black flames racing across her purple-gray flesh and her bone-white hair receded and snuffed out. She lowered her fist with a trembling arm as the agony of the two black magic acid burns in her shoulder returned with full force.

  Jamal stood and moved back, clasping his huge hands behind his back.

  Rhynehart stepped away from her too, nodded, and lowered the fell pistol. The high whine and the green glow cut off the minute he reactivated the safety, and then the weapon went right back into its holster at his hip. “That was your last test, rookie. Now we’re done.”

  That brought Cheyenne out of her anticlimactic frustration. She blinked and turned her head toward the operative. “What?”

  “You showed me exactly what you would do. What you could do. I’ve seen all I needed to see here.” Rhynehart shrugged. “That’s all. Now get out.”

  “Wait. You just—what kind of test?” The halfling stepped back when Jamal headed toward her, but he moved around her and went for the goblin woman tied to the chair. “Don’t touch her—”

  “Relax, halfling. It’s over.”

  Only after he’d said it did she realize what was happening. The ogre untied the rope strapping Anasz to the chair and tossed it on the floor with a thump. Then he disengaged the dampening cuffs around her wrists and hooked them back onto the loop at the waistband of his black fatigue pants.

  The goblin woman had stopped wailing and muttering now. More than that, she looked calm, the hint of a smirk lifting the corner of her blue-green mouth as she met Jamal’s gaze and nodded. She stood and rubbed her wrists, but that was it. Both the goblin and the ogre just stood there, facing an expressionless Rhynehart and a completely baffled drow halfling.

  “This was a test?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Frowning, she glanced from Rhynehart to the two stoic, unaffected magicals standing side by side like best buds, and couldn’t let herself believe this was happening. She moved away from Rhynehart and stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you at least gonna tell me if I passed?”

  That was the most ridiculous question she could have asked, but it was the only thing that came to mind.

  “Listen, rookie. We have work to do now, so unless you wanna pitch in and hop on the cleaning crew, get lost.”

  Her mouth opened soundlessly, and she realized that no matter how long she stared at the FRoE operative who was raising his eyebrows at her, he wasn’t going to give her any kind of answer. Not now.

  Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the dining room. The busted-in front door and splintered shards crunched under her Vans as she marched out of Anasz’s olive-green bungalow and down the flagstone walkway toward the street.

  The cool evening air washed over her skin, reminding her that it was time to call off the drow berserker and start looking like she belonged here. Cheyenne took a deep breath, let herself feel the wind on her face in the receding light at the end of the day, and dropped back into her human form mid-stride. She stopped beside the black Jeep at the curb to double-check her reflection in the tinted windows. She looked like Cheyenne, human daughter of Bianca Summerlin and graduate student at VCU. With some added wear and tear, of course.

  Forcing herself not to punch out the Jeep’s windows, she stalked down the sidewalk through the neighborhood and headed back toward the first false address Rhynehart had given her, where she’d parked her car. She didn’t even care about the walk. In fact, she needed it. Otherwise, she thought she might explode.

  If that really was a test, I definitely failed. No meeting with L’zar Verdys now.

  A small, humorless chuckle forced its way up her throat. At least I’m finally done with those FRoE assholes and all their mind games.

  That realization felt pretty good. As Cheyenne moved quickly down the sidewalk, she figured this was the perfect time to focus all her energy on her real goal, which was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. That had always been more important.

  Now she could spend her time finding Durg and making him pay for what he did to Ember. Whatever was in that brown bag in her car had better be worth the trouble of gu@rdi@n104’s shitty scavenger hunt.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Half an hour later, she reached her car. Fortunately, it was untouched, and also fortunately, the walk had given Cheyenne plenty of time to cool off and get her head back on straight. Focusing on finishing up this scaveng
er hunt and finally getting her hands on whatever Gu@rdi@n104 wanted her to find would be a lot easier without any more FRoE interruptions.

  Just the way I like it.

  She unlocked her car, slipped behind the wheel, and started the engine. Her shoulder felt like someone had poured more of Q’orr’s nasty black sludge all over it, but she ignored the pain for now—or however much longer that would be possible—and reached for the brown paper bag on the passenger seat.

  The thing inside, wrapped up in thin, crinkly white butcher paper, was just as heavy as she remembered it. Written across the top in bright-blue pencil was one more message. This one also started with yet another address, followed by, Deliver ASAP and do not open. He’ll know.

  “Wow. Now I’m a delivery girl. Fan-freakin’-tastic.”

  The halfling typed this new address into her phone’s GPS, then slid the heavy, wrapped item back into the paper bag and buckled up.

  The new address was about a twenty-minute drive back toward downtown Richmond. It led her to a huge three-story house with a rickety-looking staircase leading to apartment doors on both the second and third floors. The whole place needed serious repairs, from the crooked rail to the peeling paint to the gutters tilted downward at the corners.

  Cheyenne parked her car in the almost complete darkness after sunset, grabbed the brown paper bag, and locked up. Then she took her time gazing at the house-turned-rental-unit to make sure she found the right apartment. The lettering went from A to C, but the unit number on the package’s address was for 1462-D. There wasn’t a door labeled D anywhere.

  She moved slowly down the sidewalk, studying the house, and just for fun went to take a look at the other side. That was when she found the dark-stained concrete steps that headed down into the ground beside the house.

  Sure, go with the creepy-looking basement.

  With one more glance up and down the street, which only had two other houses sectioned into rental units like this one across from an open space, Cheyenne moved quickly down the gritty steps until she reached the bottom landing. Dry leaves crunched beneath her Vans before she stepped on something soft and grossly squishy, but she ignored it. Instead, she placed a hand against the rusty metal door with a D on the top in peeling black paint and closed her eyes.

  Her drow sight illuminated behind her eyelids, showing her what looked like the basement when the house was built—one giant storage room. But she did find a silhouette of one person inside, and they were human. She knew it was a human only because the shape was a dull shadow against the backlight moving through the walls. Drawing her hand away, she studied the rusty door again and shook her head.

  With a deep breath, the halfling gave the metal door a quick, firm knock and waited.

  A round of shuffling came from inside, followed by quick footsteps. Then the door opened all the way, and Cheyenne found herself staring at a man wearing a VCU baseball hat and grinning at her. Instantly, the sharp tingle of those watchful eyes she’d been feeling on her skin for two weeks—which she realized hadn’t turned up once today—washed back over her, only this time, the sensation moved over her face like a fan blowing straight at her. Even without the VCU hat, she knew this was the guy.

  “You.” It came out low and threatening, although she was more shocked than anything else.

  The man dipped his head toward her, and the grin didn’t waver. “I sure hope so. Hi, Cheyenne.”

  The first thought through her mind was the image of her hands around his throat while she screamed at him to explain how he knew her name. Then she figured any good stalker knew who their target was.

  “You’re the one who’s been following me.”

  “Oh, that. We’ll get to that later. First, though, since you found me here, I assume you have a package for me.”

  Too confused to do anything else, Cheyenne thrust the long, heavy whatever in the brown paper bag toward the man, who took it with both hands and a nod. He hefted the thing in his hands, then frowned. “It’s a little warm.”

  “No one said anything about what temperature it was supposed to be.”

  “Huh. Guess I overlooked that part. All right. Come on in.” The man stepped away from the door and gestured for Cheyenne to join him inside.

  From where she stood, the room beyond looked like any other basement—cement walls, cement floors, one or maybe two lightbulbs she assumed hung from the ceiling and were turned on by pulling the dangling strings, judging by the light.

  Staring at the man and watching for any sudden moves, the halfling slowly stepped through the doorway and into the creepy basement with the guy who’d been following her everywhere for days.

  He closed the door firmly behind him, some of the dry leaves crunching when they got caught in the doorframe. Then he gestured toward the cheap folding card table off to the left and the two matching metal chairs set up across from each other. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

  The halfling glanced at the table, even less inclined to sit down since it was apparently the only furniture in the room.

  “Hey, relax, will ya? I’m coming too.” The man chuckled and shook his head as he crossed the cement floors toward the table. He sat in the closest chair, patted the other side of the table, and set the brown paper bag on the vinyl surface to start unwrapping the thing.

  Thinking the package might have her next clue, Cheyenne relented and went to join him at the table. As she sat down in the other cheap metal chair, the man finished unwrapping the package. Amidst all that white butcher paper was a foot-long sub overflowing with banana peppers.

  The halfling stared at it and gritted her teeth. “A sandwich.”

  “One of the best. I get them to make it a special way for me every time. And it’s always perfect.”

  He lifted one half from the paper and took a massive bite, sauce and red onions dripping onto the wrapper with thick splats. The sound of his chewing filled the basement, although he kept his lips politely sealed. The halfling clenched her fists in her lap and forced herself to stay in that chair.

  Should’ve eaten it and brought him the wrapper.

  Then she realized she hadn’t smelled a thing under all the odors assaulting her from the dry-cleaners and wondered just how much this guy knew about her. Specifically her enhanced sense of smell and how to work around it by sending her to pick up a snack from the dry-cleaner’s because he had the munchies.

  “Hmm. It’s really not the same when it’s not cold.” The half a sub went back onto the paper with its twin, and the man rolled it all up again before sticking it back into the brown paper bag and sliding that to the far side of the table. When he looked up and saw Cheyenne glaring at him, he paused. “Oh, sorry. Did you want some?”

  “This is ridiculous. I’ve spent enough time watching assholes eat sandwiches.” The halfling pushed to her feet, making the folding card table wobble on its unsteady legs.

  She’d only made it a few steps before the other chair screeched across the cement and the man stood behind her. “We’re not done here. Where’s the Cuil Aní?”

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  “The copper box with the drow runes etched into the surface.”

  That made Cheyenne stop dead in her tracks. Her first question would have been how the hell he knew about the puzzle box, but he’d been watching her for weeks, so that was useless. “I’m not stupid enough to carry that thing around with me all the time just for fun.”

  “Well, maybe you should be. Because you’re here, and I’m the only person you have access to who can show you how to use it.” The man folded his arms and studied her a little longer, then that knowing smile crept back across his lips—not quite a grin, but just as eager. “Your father’s been waiting a long time to see you solve that thing.”

  Cheyenne spread her arms. “My father’s locked up in Chateau D’rahl, so he won’t be seeing me do anything.”

  “I know. And he sends his regards.”

  It was exactly the right thing to
say to make the halfling reconsider storming out of that basement and writing off the whole thing.

  She shot him a sideways glance. “Are you FRoE?”

  The man chuckled. “Now, what would make you ask me a dumbass question like that?”

  “How else would a human know about that prison and my dad?”

  The only response he gave her was the return of that grin, which looked a lot like that of a person who’d finally gotten the drow halfling to step right into his trap. Slowly, the man lifted both hands to show her they were empty. He whipped the VCU baseball hat off his head and tossed it to the floor, then brought his hands together. His fingers twisted and turned in a quick series of intricate gestures, and the air around him shimmered.

  Before, Cheyenne’s stalker had looked like every other nondescript middle-aged man in Richmond. Now, his dark hair lengthened around his face, fading into a lighter, mottled brown. He gained maybe an inch in height, and the clean-shaven face now boasted tufts of the same light-brown hair like ruffled muttonchops grown too close to his ears instead of along his jawline. His nose flattened, the bridge wrinkling with extra skin, canines elongated. The glistening eyes that had regarded her with silent amusement now flashed bright silver in the dimly lit basement.

  I have a Nightstalker stalker.

  The halfling pursed her lips. “Nice trick.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You could’ve just started with that.” The halfling studied him and shook her head. “I’m really not amused to have brought you your sandwich.”

  “This was the only way I knew to get your attention without bringing far more people into this than I wanted. Go home, Cheyenne. I’ll send you the information you wanted on Durg.”

  “What?” That new revelation was even more surprising than a Nightstalker’s illusion spell that had shown up as a human when she’d glanced through the walls. “You’re gu@rdi@n104?”

  “Now you’re puttin’ it together.” The Nightstalker’s thin lips twitched into another smile, wrinkling the flattened bridge of his catlike nose even more. “No one calls me that outside the forum, though. Name’s Corian.”