by Martha Carr
“Well, they still owe me, like a lot. And Rhynehart’s not the one who got the mental shit kicked out of him by Bianca Summerlin.”
Ember snorted and spread out in the armchair with a grin. “I love the way that sounds.”
“Well, whoever that other man was,” Eleanor added, nodding sternly, “he was a real piece of work.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why isn’t he here again?”
Cheyenne scrunched her face and tried to keep her amusement to a minimum. Ember’s gonna lose it. “I’m sure he’s terrified of me at this point. Pissed-off and scared don’t make for a threatening figure.”
Eleanor chuckled. “Good. He should be terrified.”
Ember grinned. “Now’s your chance to tell that story. I’ve been waiting all day.”
“The address I found was still good. It was his house.” Cheyenne started to pull her legs up onto the loveseat, stopped when Eleanor eyed her black Vans, and drew her feet up to cross her legs beneath her anyway. What Bianca doesn’t know won’t do shit. And she knows almost everything. Eleanor raised her eyebrows and looked away with a smile. “I roughed him up a little. And yes, Em, by a little, I actually do mean ‘a little.’ I slammed him against the wall a few times. We got interrupted.”
“At his house?”
“By his wife.” Cheyenne licked her lips, trying to wipe off the smile. “He told her I was one of his work associates, and she asked me to stay for drinks.”
Ember threw her head back and roared.
Eleanor didn’t seem anywhere near as amused. The woman’s face darkened as she met Cheyenne’s gaze, then she lifted her glass to her mouth and muttered, “You should’ve killed him.”
“Jeez, Eleanor.” Cheyenne laughed in surprise. “That has to be the first time you’ve said that about anyone.”
“I stand by my statement.”
Ember laughed even louder.
“I think you’re angry and don’t really mean that,” Cheyenne added, trying to keep a straight face. “So I’m gonna forget it ever came out of your mouth.”
“I think your mother would agree with me, Cheyenne.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” The halfling rubbed her lips. “As it turns out, he might be a little more useful alive than dead, unfortunately.”
Ember twirled her hand. “Keep going.”
“I mean, showing up at his house and having drinks with his wife was blackmail enough. She has no idea what he does for a living or the kind of person he is around everyone else. He clammed up quick when he saw how famously she and I got along.”
Eleanor’s scowl loosened. “Good girl.”
“Yeah, I have Mom to thank for that. He said he’d look into Colonel Les Thomas for me. I have no idea what that means, and I can’t tell yet if he’s playing me until he can get out from under this or if he’s finally starting to fire some neurons and realizes I know what I’m talking about.”
“He wouldn’t lie to you about it, right? I mean, you know his wife.”
“I sure do,” Cheyenne said, “and I’m starting to think I know Major Guy Carson pretty well too.”
“Who’s that?” Eleanor asked.
Ember burst out laughing again. “Guy? Sir’s first name is Guy?”
“Believe it or not.”
“Oh, man. Please tell me you called him by name every chance you got.”
Cheyenne spread her arms. “You know me too well, Em.”
Eleanor smiled softly as she watched the two young women sitting with her share a good laugh over something she didn’t fully understand.
“Now I’m waiting to hear back from him.” Cheyenne leaned over her crossed legs and studied the area rug beneath the polished coffee table. “I need to get to the colonel and make sure he’s screwing around with the Bull’s Head before we can do anything about it. If he is, we need to cut him out, or the loyalists are gonna keep getting everything they need and throwing it at me.”
“Or both of us.” Ember sighed. “They got my magical signature or whatever too.”
“Right. I have a feeling they’re not gonna stop with us, either. Whatever the Crown put them up to on this side, they’ll do whatever they can to finish it.” Cheyenne stopped short and blinked. “Oh, shit.”
Eleanor snorted. “I haven’t heard you curse this much in one sitting since your mother refused to let you apply to college three years early.”
“Sorry.” Cheyenne frowned at Ember. “Those missing kids, Em. The ones the FRoE took forever to believe me about. They were part of this whole thing Earthside too—Ba’rael stealing magic. Planning to wage war across the Border.”
The fae’s eyes widened, and she swallowed. “She did that to kids?”
“Well, just the one we found in that church. As far as I know.”
“It’s still disgusting.”
“No argument there.” Cheyenne slowly shook her head. “We need to find the Bull’s Head and the rest of those machines. Tracing the machine signal didn’t work. That name Matthew gave us didn’t work. My guess is Les Thomas is a hell of a lot more on top of feeding the loyalists information than I thought. It shouldn’t be this hard to dig up a couple dozen crates of smuggled O’gúl tech parts. I mean, seriously.”
“I think the smuggling was the easy part,” Ember muttered.
“I don’t know what they’re waiting for, Em, but we can’t afford to find out. Any other time, I’d say the FRoE is equipped to handle magical issues, idiotic leadership notwithstanding, but they’ll have a hell of a time trying to tear those things apart without tech of their own. Which none of them even know about.”
Ember nodded. “Or they’ll be ordered to stay back and not bother with a war-machine attack. You know, traitor in the higher-ups and everything.”
“Yeah. It could go either way.” The sitting area fell silent, and Cheyenne shrugged. “Eleven days, Em. That’s all we have to shut down the war machines, put together those terms for Ba’rael, chose the next Crown, and get Bianca out of that curse-trap.”
Ember gave her a small, knowing grin. “I feel like you can get more done in eleven days than anyone else in the history of the planet.”
“Thanks, Em.”
“Well, this planet, at least.” The fae shrugged. Maybe not Ambar’ogúl.”
“Thanks for the distinction.”
“I’m just sayin’. I could be wrong. Once you whip Ba’rael’s ass, you could be the drow on the throne who heals the world and turns things around for everyone in eleven days or less.”
Cheyenne blinked at her friend and folded her arms. “You’re thinking out loud, aren’t you?”
“What?” Ember laughed in surprise. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Em. If I’m gonna be the drow on the throne—”
“When you’re the drow on the throne.” Ember pointed at her and dipped her head. “We’re staying positive here.”
With a snort, Cheyenne continued, “It’ll only be for a few minutes tops. Hopefully. ‘Cause I’ll be turning around and shucking that throne off on someone else. We have to find the right magical for the job, one who isn’t hated by half of Ambar’ogúl, doesn’t have a greedy-for-power streak, and isn’t bound to a drow who can’t cross the Border again and live. One who can fight, knows their subjects, sticks to the old laws, and won’t try to kill me for suggesting they become the Crown instead of me.”
Eleanor let out a low whistle. “That’s some laundry list, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Ember leaned all the way back in the armchair. “So, who do we know who comes close to ticking half those boxes?”
“Maleshi and Corian are out. So are you, Em.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Foltr’s too old, and he doesn’t want it anyway. Can’t imagine a raug ruling a world built on super-advanced tech and not getting annoyed by the constant hum of the system around him.”
Ember asked, “Constant hum?”
“Sorry to break it to you, Aranél, but a lot of things are just you.”
Eleanor cleared her throat. “What’s that?”
“What?”
“That word you called her. Did I hear you call her ‘Ariel?’”
Cheyenne and Ember exchanged glances and tried not to laugh. Eleanor was drunk enough to start hearing things and sober enough to ask questions. Hope she stops with drink two.
Ember leaned toward the housekeeper and nodded. “Aranél. It’s an O’gúleesh word, I guess. Right?”
Cheyenne nodded.
“It means ‘princess.’”
Eleanor barked out a laugh. “Princess!”
The halfling playfully rolled her eyes and waited for the woman’s fit of slightly buzzed laughter to die out.
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s just… That’s the most… Ha!”
Cheyenne almost lost it when Ember stared at the housekeeper in confusion. “Bianca used to freak out about pet names like that.”
“She doesn’t like ‘princess?’”
“Try to picture it, Em. In what reality would Bianca Summerlin call a person anything other than their name? Unless she was pissed and started talking down to them, I mean.”
Ember frowned in concentration, then shrugged. “Yeah, I’m getting nothing. What about ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey?’” The fae stopped when she got the same eyebrow lifted the same way by both Cheyenne and Eleanor. “Wow. No Christmas and no terms of endearment. Got it.”
Cheyenne snorted. “That was my childhood in a nutshell, but we’re not sitting here to talk about that. We’re building a list of possible new Crowns, remember?”
“Got it.” The fae rested her head against the high back of the armchair and stared out the massive house’s floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear veranda. “What about that giant thing? Oh, man. What’s her name? Red hair and horns and wings?”
“’Wings?’” Eleanor echoed.
“Nu’ek?” Cheyenne tilted her head in consideration. “Maybe. It would be a hell of a lot of work to keep her comfortable in the Heart, though. She can’t fit through half the doorways at least. Maybe not ninety percent of them.”
“Is that enough to make her the wrong magical?”
“I don’t know. Might be enough to make her say no, though.”
“Ooh, what about the ogre? Sakrit.” Ember grinned. “He’s cool.”
“He’s a rebel bartender, Em.”
“Okay, fine. Do you have any ideas?”
Cheyenne sighed and slouched over her crossed legs. “I did before they all told me to piss off.”
The sitting area fell silent again. Cheyenne stared at the area rug. Why is this so damn hard?
“Well.” Eleanor downed the last of her drink and pushed up off the chaise. “While you two brainstorm, I’ll have another drink.” The woman swayed on her feet and giggled softly as she raised her empty glass in their direction.
“Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do,” Cheyenne said as the housekeeper toddled to the wet bar, “but do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Cheyenne, I can handle my liquor.” Eleanor hiccupped. “I need more of it if I’m going to hang around and listen to you two naming creatures with horns and wings and ogres and I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Cheyenne watched her a moment longer, then returned her attention to Ember. At least Eleanor’s not sobbing anymore. Whatever it takes at the time, right? “Anyone else even remotely come to mind?”
“I’m drawing a blank. It’s not like we had a whole bunch of time to get to know every single magical in L’zar’s happy band of rebels.”
A loud, snarling shout rose from the valley behind the Summerlin estate, followed by an echoing burst of angry yelling in reply.
“Come on.” Cheyenne stood. Either those magicals outside couldn’t keep their shit together, or the portal ridge had another fun surprise for them. She couldn’t tell which was worse.
“What’s going on?” Ember floated out of the armchair and followed her.
“I’m about to find out.” Cheyenne walked to the wall of windows and saw the magicals and the FRoE agents out beside the portal ridge. Two bright circles of red light appeared around Lumil’s fists, followed by flashing green in Byrd’s hands. No green fell bullets came from the FRoE agents’ weapons yet. “Jesus, they’re almost as bad as Maleshi or L’zar.”
“What? Who?”
Ember joined the halfling at the windows as Cheyenne jerked the door to the veranda open and growled, “Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber out there. I’ll tell you right now, Em, we’re adding those damn goblins to the ‘hell, no for the throne’ list.”
“Everything all right?” Eleanor turned from the wet bar and raised her freshly refilled cocktail.
Ember glanced from the half-drow darting onto the balcony to the housekeeper swaying beneath the stairs. “All good.”
“I’ll just be here, then.” Eleanor took a long sip of vodka tonic and raised her eyebrows at the glass, then returned with it to the sitting area and relaxed on the chaise.
By the time Ember slipped through the open doors onto the veranda, Cheyenne had disappeared. Two seconds later, a blurred streak of slate-gray, black, and streaming white darted across the manicured lawn.
Ember stopped at the balcony and grabbed the rail to watch. Here we go again. Might as well turn the Summerlin estate into a giant O’gúl fighting pit at this point.
Chapter Sixty
Cheyenne dropped out of drow speed between the magically threatening goblins and the team of FRoE agents scowling and shouting at them. Most of them flinched and backed away when the halfling appeared with a sharp crack and a burst of crisp evening air.
“Okay, whatever the hell’s going on right now, cut it out.”
“Turn that shit off, asshole!” an agent shouted.
Lumil raised both fists and snarled. “They started it. I’ll finish it. What’s the big deal?”
“You can’t pick fights with the team I called here to protect us!” A low, warbling sound rose from the grass behind the goblins, followed by a dark, sinister laugh and a static-filled scream. “What is that?”
Cheyenne whirled to face the goblins. Byrd held balls of green fire at the ready, but he met Cheyenne’s gaze with innocent eyes. Lumil scoffed and didn’t look away from the agents. While the halfling waited for an answer, the shrill scream cut off, and a man’s deep, spooky-sounding voice rose from the grass.
“Tonight’s the night, ghouls and goblins. Join us for another six hours of Halloween fright as we take you through the darkest, most terrifying realms known to man and beast.”
“Seriously?” Cheyenne scanned the grass behind the goblins, pinpointing the source of the sound before stalking past Lumil and snatching the goblin woman’s cell phone off the ground. A livestreaming radio app was pulled up on the screen, displaying a blood-splattered picture. I should break the phone. She turned off the app and shook the phone at the goblins and the FRoE agents, fighting to keep a straight face. This is ridiculous. “You guys were going to tear each other apart over a radio show? Are you kidding me?”
“Tear each other apart?” Lumil barked a humorless laugh. “Don’t give those Earthsiders more credit than they deserve, halfling.”
Cheyenne scanned the lawn and found Rhynehart standing away from his team, his hand on the grip of his fell firearm. L’zar still sat perfectly motionless in his meditation, and Corian and Maleshi both watched the confrontation with barely visible smiles.
“Did nobody else think this was a bad idea?”
Byrd tossed a ball of green fire like it was a baseball. “Not our fault if the team you called up here turned out to be a bunch of pussies.”
“Say that again, shitface.”
“Make me!”
One of the agents stepped forward and drew his weapon from its holster. The others followed suit, read
ying again for a fight. Rhynehart finally stepped forward to intervene. “Stand down.”
“Get rid of the spells.” The jumpy agent glared at the spinning red runes around Lumil’s fists and the green fire in Byrd’s palms.
“You think you’re scary, don’t you?” Lumil sneered. “With your little toys, pretending to be a magical.”
“Lumil, shut up.” Cheyenne stepped toward her and pointed at the goblin woman’s runes. “Kill it.”
Rhynehart’s grip tightened on his fell service weapon and he glared at the agent, who still hadn’t followed orders. “I said, stand down, Borris. These clowns aren’t worth a dishonorable discharge. Let it go.”
“Who are you calling clowns?” Lumil spat.
Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “I swear to everything, Lumil, if you don’t turn those spinning lights off, I’ll shut them down for you.”
Byrd’s green fire immediately snuffed out. He stepped back and stuck his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket with a shrug. “Too easy anyway. That’s a one-hit knockout right there.”
Lumil sneered at the agents, but when Cheyenne took a step toward her, the goblin woman shook out her hands, and the spinning red runes disappeared. “Way to ruin Halloween, dipshits.”
Corian chuckled, and Cheyenne shot him a warning glance.
She turned to the FRoE agents. “Just to put things into perspective, aren’t you guys supposed to be the best on this side of the Border? You fought those things coming out of this portal right here, and I can’t believe I have to tell you how much more deadly those are than a radio show.”
“I mean, it did sound pretty creepy,” Lumil muttered.
“Seriously, goblin, stop talking.”
The agent, who still couldn’t seem to settle down, turned from the goblins to Cheyenne. “Who do you think you are, halfling?”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t show up at a FRoE op and start telling us what to do.”
“Hey, I called in this op, Borris.” Cheyenne spread her arms. “You wouldn’t even know about these new portal ridges if I didn’t think you could handle yourselves out here.”
