Realm of Infinite Night (Goth Drow Unleashed Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  And at the end of the first paragraph was the last registered address of the orc bastard she’d been trying to find for the last two weeks.

  The rest of the document contained the same cut-and-dried information about the FRoE reservation officer who processed the orc, where Durg had lived in Q4, known or speculated acquaintances, and the training modules he’d been put through and subsequently passed as part of his assimilation into the human world on this side of the Border. Same thing with the FRoE official who’d processed the orc’s request to be released from the reservation and shipped on out on his own almost seven months ago.

  None of that interested Cheyenne because now she had an address and a clear lead. Stupid FRoE system actually made itself useful.

  She typed the address into her search engine and pulled up a map of the area. Turned out the orc lived just blocks from the skatepark where he’d had his little powwow with the other halflings. Where he’d shot Ember and fled before Cheyenne had a chance to rip him apart right then and there. “I know where you live now, asshole. And I’m coming for you.”

  Despite her exhaustion and the pain throbbing in her limbs and pretty much every other part of her body, the halfling leaned back in her office chair and let herself have a good laugh. She hadn’t traditionally had a fondness for weekends over weekdays—they all tended to run together—but she was really glad that tomorrow was a Sunday and she had absolutely nothing else planned.

  “No, I’m overflowing with joy.”

  The flatness in her voice made her laugh again, and in a weird, twisted way, the laughing started to make the rest of her feel better. They call this “slap-happy.”

  After looking a little closer at the area where Durg the orc lived and would soon be having a chat with a drow halfling who only had one real goal these days—whether or not he liked it—she’d come up with a plan to pay the bastard a visit he’d never forget.

  She saved the Durg file on her server just in case, then shut Glen down and turned off the monitor. Before she could stand up and shuffle into her room, a loud buzzing came from the outside pocket of her jacket. “You’re kidding me.”

  After her surprise visit with Corian, she’d pretty much forgotten about Sir and Rhynehart and the FRoE and that screwed-up mission today that was apparently supposed to be her one last test. And she’d forgotten about the burner phone she’d slipped into her jacket pocket in the dry-cleaner’s parking lot. Slowly, Cheyenne pulled the clunky flip phone from her pocket and just held it, staring at the blue light illuminating the tiny square screen on the front.

  It felt pretty good to imagine herself squeezing all that plastic and not-so-advanced tech in her fist until she’d crushed that phone to mangled junk. But her curiosity got the better of her.

  Cheyenne flipped the phone open and brought it to her ear. She didn’t say a word.

  “Good work tonight, halfling.” Sir sounded weirdly cheery. “Maybe you’re already aware, but I don’t give a steaming pile of shit what you think you already know. The FRoE was formed for a reason. Many reasons, actually, and it sure as shit wasn’t to hurt people who don’t deserve to be hurt.”

  He paused, and Cheyenne had no freaking clue what he wanted from her. “Congratulations.”

  “I wanted to make sure you meant it when you said the same thing about who you do and don’t hurt. Rhynehart wasn’t lying when he said that was your last test, kid. Had to make sure your priorities are in order. The last thing we need is to work with someone who doesn’t have their head on straight. You’ve got drow blood in you. That’s about as much room as we have for liabilities.”

  She had to ignore that jab about her drow heritage. Otherwise, she’d get herself more worked up than she could handle right now. So she focused on the second most important thing she’d heard from the other end of the line.

  “So, I passed your idiotic test.”

  “Yeah, halfling, you passed. Don’t expect any gold stars or a goddamn sticker book, and I’m not throwing you a party.”

  Cheyenne clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Bummer.”

  “But I will say this. Although you might not want to admit it, your conscience was showing in that goblin’s house. Apparently, you’re not so blinded by your need for dear ol’ daddy that you’ll do anything we tell you, even if it isn’t right. Maybe especially if it isn’t right.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t even know the guy, so don’t flatter yourself.” She lifted her hand to brush her wild hair away from her face and grimaced at the brief muscle spasm it sent racing down the left side of her back.

  “Poor you. Listen, I’m about to send you an address. I want you to meet me there at oh-six hundred hours tomorrow.”

  “Why? So you can tell me more about my exposed conscience?”

  “I’m not interested in boring myself into an early grave, halfling. This is so you can meet L’zar Verdys face to face. You interested?”

  Holy shit. He was actually gonna follow through with it.

  Cheyenne blinked and pulled the phone away from her ear to look at it, just to make sure it was really there, and she was really having this conversation with Sir, of all people.

  “I can’t read your mind, halfling. I’m gonna need a verbal response on this one.”

  “Yeah.” The half-drow swallowed and felt a little dizzy. “Yeah, I’m interested.”

  “Okay. Keep this phone on you.”

  There was no goodbye, no “see you tomorrow,” but that would’ve been weird anyway. The line went dead, and Cheyenne slowly lowered the flip phone into her lap.

  “Six o’clock tomorrow morning. That’s a lot earlier than I wanted to be up.”

  The phone buzzed in her hand again, and she glanced down at a text from Sir with nothing but an address. It was enough.

  Too curious to leave it at that, she ran a search on the address and found herself looking at a commercial business park on the north side of Richmond that couldn’t possibly be where Chateau D’rahl was located. Sir’s gonna love riding in the car with me.

  She stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket again and pushed herself to her feet. Everything still hurt. Walking into the bathroom felt like she’d put on a hundred-pound weighted vest. She stripped in front of the sink and turned the shower as hot as it would go. Tonight, she could wash off the worst of the day and watch it swirl down the drain. Probably the best of the day too. That didn’t matter, though, because tomorrow, Cheyenne would wake up without any of it weighing her down. And then the halfling would be on her way to see the drow prisoner she’d waited her whole life to meet.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two minutes before six, Cheyenne pulled into the parking lot of the business park at the address Sir had given her. Small birds swooped down from one of the streetlights in the parking lot, flitting around each other in the bright orange and gold sky in the last few minutes of a crisp September sunrise.

  She got out of her car, locked it, and stuck her keys in the pocket of her black canvas jacket with all the extra silver buckles. Then she turned slowly, scanning the nearly empty parking lot. If he doesn’t show, I’ll find that FRoE compound and wrap my hands around his thick neck.

  “Morning.”

  Cheyenne whirled around to see Sir leaning against the hood of a metallic-orange Kia Rio. He wore civilian clothing—jeans and a dark-green polo shirt. Tucked in. They made him look older somehow, even with the salt-and-pepper hair at his temples and the lines in his wrinkled brow. Or maybe those were just because he was squinting at her against the rising sun. And what the hell was he doing in a Kia Rio? An orange Kia Rio?

  “All right, halfling. Quit standing there like a narcoleptic chihuahua and get your ass in the car.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before pushing himself away from the hood and walking around the front of the Kia Rio toward the driver’s door.

  The halfling didn’t waste any time trying to figure out what he’d meant by that analogy. She was too busy walking across the parking lot,
trying not to run and give herself away. When she sat down inside, Sir already had his seatbelt on and was slipping a pair of black-tinted aviator glasses onto his face. Pulling down the sun visor with one hand, he pointed at the center console with the other. “Put that on.”

  Cheyenne lifted her arm to find a thick black sack lying between them. She grabbed it, shook it out, and wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

  “We’re headed to the highest-security prison full of the most deadly, bloodthirsty magicals this side of the Border. You think we give that location away to every emo millennial with daddy issues?”

  “Aw, come on.” She smirked at him. “You don’t trust me?”

  Sir started the car and still didn’t look at her. “If you don’t put that bag over your head, halfling, I get to pump you full of the knockout juice you got from Rhynehart when you met. Your choice.”

  Hissing out a sigh, Cheyenne rolled her eyes and lifted the bottom of the heavy, thick black bag over her head. “Am I gonna have to do this every time I want a ride to Chateau D’rahl?”

  Her voice was thick and muffled through the fabric, even to her own ears.

  “Probably. If you even get to make another trip after this.”

  “Wait, why wouldn’t I?”

  “It’s still up in the air. But we might use a repeat visit as a reward for good behavior.”

  She snorted. “You seriously don’t have to try bribing me anymore. I can behave.”

  “Congratulations. I was talking about him.”

  That made her sit back in her seat and blink against the heavy fabric of the bag over her head. So L’zar has issues with authority and following the rules. Big surprise there.

  After the first ten minutes of riding in Sir’s passenger seat in complete silence, Cheyenne didn’t care about being able to see where they were going or trying to remember the way to Chateau D’rahl. She just wished she had something to see, or look at, or distract her. Every time Sir smacked his gum like some kind of barn animal munching on hay, she wanted to slap it out of his mouth.

  “Any chance you could turn on some music or something?”

  “Can’t hear you under that bag, halfling. Speak up.”

  She rolled her eyes and raised her voice. “Can you turn on some music?”

  “Too quiet in here for you, huh? Fine. What’d you have in mind?”

  Cheyenne shrugged and turned her head toward what she thought were the controls on the dash for the radio. “Anything. I don’t care.”

  “Gotcha…” Sir leaned forward in his seat to turn on the radio, flipping through stations without stopping to hear what was playing. When he did stop, the halfling didn’t know if she wanted to smash the radio to pieces or just open the door and throw herself head-first out of the car. “Hey, listen to this. This is good stuff right here. Classic stuff. You know Taylor Swift, right?”

  The halfling rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “Never mind.”

  “Can’t hear you when you’re mumbling, halfling.”

  “I said, never mind!” She thumped her head back against the headrest and turned to look out the window, which of course, she couldn’t see.

  “Whatever.” Sir punched the radio button again, and the music cut off. “What would you prefer, huh? Satanic ritual chanting?”

  “If those were the only two options, yeah. Probably.”

  Sir snorted and started with the gum-smacking again. Cheyenne leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. Longest car ride of my life.

  The Kia Rio had hardly slowed down before they passed off the smooth pavement and onto a severely bumpy gravel drive. They skidded a little, maybe fishtailed once or twice, and Cheyenne thought she’d end up hurling into the thick black bag over her face and herself if Sir didn’t cut it out with the crazy maneuvers.

  Then they stopped, and the engine cut off. Sir unbuckled his seatbelt and just sat there for a moment. “Take that stupid thing off. You look like an executioner on welfare.”

  Cheyenne whipped the black bag off her head and tossed it onto the dashboard. Blinking against the sunlight bouncing at her from the hood of the car, she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door as Sir closed his behind him. Getting out and looking around brought a wild sense of déjà vu washing over her.

  This is Chateau D’rahl, all right. Only I’m seeing it up close and personal instead of through security footage in Mom’s study.

  There was the chain-link fence topped in concertina wire. In front of her and a little to the right were the open chain-link gates on huge wheels, just inviting her to come in and take a look around. The low guard tower sat six or seven feet up from the ground, the walls glass from halfway up. There was a prison guard in there too, wearing a navy uniform and a matching navy baseball cap with the letters CDR across the front in light gray. Two more guards stood halfway between the front doors of the prison and the open gate, wearing full protective gear minus a helmet or mask, with large rifles slung across their chests by a strap.

  Looks like outdoor security hasn’t changed much in the last twenty-one years. I’m guessing they upped their game on the inside.

  “Come on.” Sir nodded toward the open gates and pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. “I wanna get this over with before lunch.”

  Cheyenne slipped her cell phone out of her jacket pocket to check the time. It was only 7:15.

  Maybe the better question was why Sir was willing to give the drow halfling so much time inside the maximum-security prison for untouchable magicals. It really didn’t matter. She would’ve taken twenty minutes if that was the only option. Hopefully, it wasn’t.

  Their footsteps crunched along the gravel drive until it gave way to the pavement stretching past the front gates. Cheyenne stuck her hands in her pockets because she had no idea what to do with them, but she made sure to keep up with Sir’s quick, authoritative pace.

  “Morning, Sir.” One of the armed guards nodded, but neither of them moved from their posts as their guests passed.

  “It’s definitely morning,” Sir replied, raising his eyebrows like he couldn’t believe he’d let himself be talked into bringing her here.

  When they reached the entrance doors, another guard in the same uniform appeared out of nowhere to push the door open from the inside and hold it for them. He exchanged a curt nod with Sir, all business, and surprised Cheyenne by giving her the same. She lifted her chin at him, and that was it. They wouldn’t be this polite if they knew who I am.

  Sir led her across the front lobby and past a small enclosed room on the left with a narrow pane of bulletproof glass. Another guard stood behind the window and the counter, but he barely looked up at them as they made their way toward the metal detector on the other side of the room.

  Apparently, Sir was used to the process. He pulled out his keys, cell phone, and loose coins, then took off his sunglasses, undid his watch, and dumped it all in the plastic tray on the table. The guard standing behind the table nodded and ran the tray through the x-ray on a conveyer belt. Then Sir stepped through the extra-wide, extra-large metal detector that could’ve fit three people through it at the same time, and he was on the other side.

  When Cheyenne stepped up to empty her pockets, the guard behind the desk raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t say a word. Out came her phone and her keys. She went ahead and took off her jacket, just in case metal buckles were an issue. Then she double-checked both pockets of her baggy black pants and didn’t turn up anything else. Last to go were the thick silver chains wrapped around both wrists. The guard behind the table just stared at her as she unwrapped them over and over before dropping the long string of chains into the plastic tray.

  “Okay.” She rubbed her hands together and stepped through the metal detector. It flashed and beeped before she’d even gotten both feet through and onto the other side.

  “Ma’am, please step back through. We need to try this again.”

  Sir just raised his eyebrows at her, so she
walked back through and waited for the guard to tell her what came next.

  “Sometimes it’s the shoes. Take those off and place them up here on the belt, please.”

  “Seems like a lot.”

  “It’s policy.”

  “Okay.” The halfling pulled off her shoes and ran them through, then headed under the metal detector one more time. The alarm went off just as quickly, and another guard stepped toward her from where he’d been standing by the opposite wall.

  He grabbed the metal-sniffing wand from his belt and stopped just a little too close for Cheyenne’s comfort. “Spread your legs, please. Hold your arms out on both sides.”

  Staring at Sir, the halfling did what she was told and waited for the guard to pass the wand up and down, side to side, from her collarbone all the way down to her socked feet and back up again. Then he looked up at her face and seemed to notice her piercings for the first time. He hesitated a little, then brought the wand up from her chin to the top of her head. The thing let out a squeal and two high-pitched beeps.

  “Ma’am, I have to ask you to remove the various—”

  “Yeah, the piercings aren’t coming out.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “No.”

  The guard shot Sir a questioning glance, and the FRoE official shrugged. “Let her leave ‘em in.”

  “Ma’am, is there a specific reason why you’re refusing to remove the various pieces of metal from your person?”

  Cheyenne cocked her head and gave him a deadpan stare. “Yeah. They’re part of my religion.”

  With a confused frown, the guard glanced one more time at Sir, then just shook his head. “Okay. Are you carrying any knives, firearms, or other weapons at this time?”

  “No.”

  “Do you currently have anything on your person that could be considered a weapon?”

  She couldn’t help herself. This was Chateau D’rahl, after all, and it wasn’t like she had anything these guards hadn’t seen before. The halfling spread her arms and lifted both hands in front of her hips. It could have been a shrug or a wordless gesture to search her again if he was so worried about it, but then she slipped into her drow form in the blink of an eye and conjured the purple sparks, all the while staring at the man who’d asked the dumbest question he could have asked her.