Cheyenne snorted. Her stomach lurched as the vehicle drove through the invisible wall into Q1, and the minute they reappeared at the north end of the reservation’s entrance quarter, she knew something big was happening. The tarp covering the back of the vehicle made it impossible to see anything, but she could hear fine. At least half a dozen large vehicles like this one were driving around. Boots hit the dirt and stomped off. Rez guards shouted at each other, and the metal doors on all the black outbuildings were opening and shutting like they’d been set on a five-second timer.
“What’s going on?”
Rhynehart pursed his lips and stared at the tarp overhead as he listened. “Sounds like a bunch of excitement.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
With another chuckle, Rhynehart nodded. “You’ll figure it out.”
The utility vehicle rolled to a stop, jerking Cheyenne sideways, and she grimaced at the flare of agony in her shoulder. The driver hopped out and walked around to the back. He pulled the tailgate down and tossed the tarp up onto itself overhead, then he leaned toward one of the outbuildings and shouted, “Got ‘em over here.”
Booted footsteps pounded their way. Cheyenne pushed to her feet before three other magicals—an orc and two goblins—appeared at the back of the vehicle.
“Whoa,” one goblin sneered. “Took him right the hell out, didn’t ya?”
“He’s all yours,” Rhynehart said, getting to his feet. “Don’t be too careful with him, huh?”
The Rez 38 magicals sniggered. The orc cracked his knuckles and glared at the unconscious Q’orr.
Rhynehart jumped out of the utility bed and clapped the orc on the back. The other goblin offered Cheyenne a hand down from the high jump. Holding her right arm, she cocked her head at him and muttered, “I’m good, thanks.”
She hopped down, ignoring the goblin’s disappointed glance, and followed Rhynehart toward the outbuildings around the black spire. Cheyenne hadn’t noticed they’d been dropped off somewhere within all those buildings until she turned around to see more of the same stretching out in front of her. Rhynehart stopped at the closest door and held it open for her, gesturing for Cheyenne to enter.
“What’s this?”
“R-38 Correctional. I told you they all have their own prison too. And yes, we keep those in Q1 for a reason.”
“Medium-security.”
“That’s right.” The man dipped his head and turned the corner down a narrow hallway toward what was probably the front entrance to the prison on this particular Border reservation.
“Wow. So Q’orr only gets medium-security.” Cheyenne huffed out a breath and shook her head. “What does someone have to do to get shipped out to Chateau D’rahl?”
Rhynehart stopped short and turned to shoot her a suspicious frown. “Where’d you hear that name?”
Uh-oh. Cheyenne shrugged and winced when her shoulder flared in protest. “I don’t know. I think one of those magicals at the event center Thursday night might’ve mentioned it. You know, before you and your guys raided the place.”
“Yeah, ahead of schedule, thanks to you.” The operative’s frown stayed where it was as he examined her. Then he shook his head and kept walking.
What Cheyenne wanted was to ask why talking about Chateau D’rahl was such a big deal. But she knew she’d be playing right into his hand, and the stakes were way too high. I might have slipped a little too far on that one. Not my fault if I didn’t know the name of a maximum-security prison for magicals would make me sound suspicious. Can’t bring that up again. Not if I don’t want him to make the connection between me and Inmate 4872. Proud, anonymous father, Bianca Summerlin’s half-drow daughter.
Gritting her teeth, she limped after Rhynehart, clutching her injured arm and hoping they could get through the booking process in a shorter time than it had taken to capture Q’orr so she could get some relief.
They emerged from the hall into the apparent front of the reservation prison, or at least where Rhynehart would be taking care of the booking process for the unconscious Q’orr. Cheyenne didn’t see the wrinkled orange-brown magical anywhere. No doubt the rez guards were dragging him wherever he needed to be.
Rhynehart gestured toward the uncomfortable plastic chair against the wall. “You can have a seat if you want. This might take a while.”
“Right.” Cheyenne nodded and settled into the farthest seat from the front door, which happened to be the closest chair to the end of the first counter, where Rhynehart was headed.
“Hey, French.”
“Rhynehart,” a human greeted him from behind the counter. “Finally found someone with enough balls to go after the bastard, huh?”
The FRoE operative shot Cheyenne a knowing glance. “Something like that. Here to process the report or whatever. Make sure Q’orr gets everything that’s coming to him. And before you pull up all the extra crap I need to fill out, can you make a call to Sha’gron?”
“You get hit by something?”
“Nope. For my friend here.” Rhynehart jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Cheyenne, who raised her eyebrows when the guy behind the counter leaned over to take a better look at her.
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Thanks.” The FRoE operative leaned his forearms on the counter and drummed his fingers there as French dialed a number and asked for Sha’gron.
Cheyenne reclined in the plastic chair and closed her eyes.
I’m so ready for this day to be over.
Conversations around the processing room filtered toward her, but most of them were drowned out by the pain. Then, her attention locked on the closest conversation.
“The orderly said she’s cleaning up from some other unscheduled surgery, I think. Should be here in about ten minutes.”
“Thanks, French. Hey.” Rhynehart lowered his voice and leaned farther over the counter. “Can you look something up for me while we’re waiting? For fun.”
“You got some messed-up version of fun, man.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve been doing this too long.”
French snorted. “Sure. What do you wanna know?”
“Do we have any Nightstalkers entered in the database?”
“That doesn’t narrow things down at
