There were tons of clothes—pants, t-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets. Socks were tossed around the outside of the pile, and then she spotted all the shoes. Sneakers, boots, a pair of dark-brown UGGs. Cheyenne glanced down at her black Vans. About the same size. But I have small feet.
A bright-green backpack strap peeked out from the bottom of the pile, and she reached down to pull it out. When she turned the backpack around, she found herself staring at the Incredible Hulk bringing a fist down on a squashed car. “This isn’t right.”
“Does somebody need to tell our friend we didn’t come here to window-shop?” another agent shouted.
“Come on, rookie.”
“Just wait a second.” Cheyenne turned and held out the backpack for the team to see. “Anybody else think it’s weird that these guys dealing black magic are running around with cartoon backpacks?”
Jamal shrugged. “I like the Hulk.”
“It’s a damn backpack,” Rhynehart shouted across the room. “We kinda have bigger problems right now?”
Rolling her eyes, the halfling dropped the backpack and swallowed. She rubbed her lips and stared at the pile. What am I not seeing?
She took a step around the pile, and something hard crunched between the plywood and the bottom of her shoe. Picking up her foot, she looked down and felt her stomach drop. No!
Some of the black and silver paint had chipped away, but the huge metal skull was exactly the same. So was the black satin ribbon strung through the top of the pendant.
“Shit. Rhynehart!”
“I’m not helping you with a new wardrobe, rookie.” The man pointed toward a stack of wooden crates across the open room from the row of tables. “Payton. Zynd’r. Go check out what’s in there. The lids look bolted down. Might be something we can work with.”
Cheyenne whirled around to face him, clenching her fists. “They didn’t care about the potions or any of this other crap. They took the kids!”
Rhynehart turned slowly toward her and frowned. “I know you didn’t skip breakfast this morning, rookie. What the hell are you talking about?”
Payton and Zynd’r bent over the first crate, struggling to pry open the lid.
“Like the troll kid in the church. They’re being used for some kind of—”
“Hey, ogre face!” Zynd’r turned over his shoulder with a hand on his knee and waved Jamal toward him. “You’re good for more than aiming those cannons, right?”
Rolling his eyes, Jamal cracked his knuckles and headed toward them.
The burning itch across Cheyenne’s shoulders crept up into her neck now. I’m still missing something…
“I’m serious, Rhynehart. This is a pile of kids’ clothes. Backpacks, shoes. I saw a girl wearing this necklace two nights ago. They took the kids.”
“Yeah.” One of the other agents gestured toward Cheyenne and the pile, then folded his arms. “A bunch of black-magic-dealing thugs walked out of here with a shitload of naked magical kids, and nobody noticed.”
Rhynehart’s eyes widened. “No. The troll kid at the church was in a black robe.”
“What kid?”
The team leader shot his agent a dismissive glance and took off toward Cheyenne. “The dead one.”
Jamal grunted as he tried to open the first crate with brute strength. He let out a roar and finally released the wood, snarling at the whole thing.
“Hey, look.” Payton bent down and picked up a crowbar lying beside the stacks. “Here you go, big guy.”
“Stupid box.” The ogre snatched up the crowbar and tried again.
Rhynehart reached Cheyenne beside the pile of clothes, and his eyes widened. Drawing a gloved hand down the side of his face, he clenched his teeth and muttered, “Those pieces of shit. This is all kid stuff.”
“That’s what I’m saying—”
The wooden crate creaked again, nails squealing out of the wood as Jamal pressed down on the crowbar.
Cheyenne spun around and glared at the ogre trying way too hard to open something that just didn’t matter.
Zynd’r chuckled. “Don’t hurt yourself, Bigfoot.”
Through the thick wood of the crate, Cheyenne saw two round shapes glowing brighter with golden light. None of the agents noticed, even when the light grew so bright, it should’ve been streaming through the slatted wood. That’s not good.
“Hey, hold on.” The halfling moved across the room, pointing at the crate and the round glowing shapes inside it. “Are you guys seeing this?”
“What, you mean a giant ogre who can’t outsmart a box?” Payton slapped Jamal on the back, eliciting a low growl from her fellow agent.
“No. Inside the crate.”
“That’s what they’re trying to figure out.” Bhandi folded her arms, her scarlet eyes flashing beneath a frown. “No one calls you Einstein, do they?”
“I’m serious. Jamal, stop for a second.” The halfling picked up the pace because now the glowing shapes were solidifying into much more detail. Shit. That’s a bomb.
Chapter Nineteen
Cheyenne reached toward the ogre with the crowbar. “Hey, don’t open the fucking crate—”
The last few nails gave way with a screech. The lid didn’t peel open so much as it exploded off the top of the crate, sending splintered wood and loose nails and a spray of black, shimmering sludge in every direction. The crowbar clattered to the floor as Jamal staggered back with a bellow. The other agents beside him screamed, and then the sound was cut off by the next massive explosion a second later.
All three of the agents around the crate were tossed backward across the open room. The other agents burst into action, shouting and lifting their weapons at the ready again, sweeping them across the room. Some went to help their fallen, screaming comrades as thick, green-black smoke billowed from the fractured crate. A low hum rose from two metal spheres on the ground, both of them sparking and spewing out more of the dark, glistening sludge while black light strobed from the orbs.
Cheyenne reached out with both hands and shot her black tendrils of magic toward what remained of the wooden crate. A breeze kicked up and filtered the green-black smoke through the room. It burned her nose and eyes, but she snatched up both of the metal orbs with
