The halfling shoveled the rest of her linguini into her mouth, ignoring the over-cooked crunch around the edges, then shut Glen down one more time and downed the vitamin water.
By the time she stepped into her bedroom, stuck her phone on the bedside table, and stripped, it seemed ridiculous that she’d thought she had the energy to go out on a private mission tonight. Cheyenne climbed into bed, stretched out on her stomach until her fingertips scraped the wall, and passed out.
* * *
Apparently, she wasn’t supposed to get a decent night’s sleep. Her dreams kept her tossing and turning, aggravating her shoulder even more. She kept seeing the copper puzzle box, her drow legacy, neatly bundled up in that infuriating package of runes etched in thin lines. She dreamed about the damn thing glowing again, spinning in every direction while some mechanism whirred and clicked inside it.
Things got really weird when a face materialized behind the puzzle box—old, wrinkled, deathly pale, and covered with painted symbols in black and deep blood-red. The eyes were nothing but empty black pits, smoking around the edges, and the mouth when it opened with an expectant slowness looked like it might have been filled with blood. It had only four sharp, stained teeth.
“The Cu’ón will be doomed to lose his bloodline time and again. The endless search for an heir will bring each of them to death’s door. Only the scion never pursued will rise to their destiny. When the shackles of the old laws crumble, their purpose will be fulfilled.”
The copper box flashed with that golden light like a strobe, growing brighter and brighter before that grotesquely wrinkled face let out a high-pitched, grating cackle.
* * *
Cheyenne jolted upright and groaned. The first thing she did was check the bedside table for the drow legacy box, but she found only her cell phone and the lamp. She sighed in relief, then shook the grogginess and confusion out of her head. What the hell kinda dream was that?
Her hand slapped sleepily down on her phone so she could check the time—6:23 a.m. “I could’ve slept another forty minutes. Great.”
She tossed her cell phone onto the sheet beside her and grimaced at the sharp pain shooting through her shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she jerked off the gauze taped over the wound, grunting when the dried, crusty layer of blood stuck to the bandage and ripped away. The tracking device was gone now, sure, but the two black-magic-acid burns in her flesh looked almost as fresh as when she’d gotten them.
“Should’ve let Dr. Andrews patch me up. Shit.”
Pushing herself out of bed, Cheyenne went into the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide from her personal attempt at home surgery. The liquid splashed onto her shoulder, in and around the wounds, and into the sink. She gritted her teeth against the pain. If things got bad enough, she might have to make another phone call to her mom and ask if that offer for one of Bianca’s personal physicians was still on the table.
With a fresh bandage taped to her shoulder again, Cheyenne got dressed, added more heavy eyeliner over what was left from yesterday, and ran a brush through her black hair. She had plenty of time to stop by the gas station for breakfast before an entire day of wanting to gouge her eyes out in all her boring classes.
TGIF, right?
Rolling her eyes, she stepped out into the living room and turned on her computer. No new messages from Todd or anyone on the Y2Kickass server, but she knew the guy would find a way to sweeten the deal for anyone willing to take a look at her file from gu@rdi@n104. There was a chance nobody there even wanted to help her after how long she’d been silent on the server. Taking on magical crime rings and living a double life could take all the credit for that. I just need a mask and a skin-tight costume, and I’d have an in with the Avengers.
She snorted, turned away from her desk, and grabbed her things for school. Screw that.
With her backpack slung over her good shoulder and the wounded shoulder still screaming at her beneath the new bandage, the half-drow slipped into her black Vans and reached for the doorknob.
Before her fingers touched the cold metal knob, an image of that wrinkled, almost-toothless face from her dream burst into her mind. The shrieking cackle was so loud, she staggered away from the door with a growl of surprise. Then it was gone, and the drow halfling stood in front of her door, feeling like she stood in front of an open furnace.
“What the actual—”
“Only the scion never pursued will rise to their destiny.” Cheyenne shook her head. “Worst dream ever.”
She reached for the knob again and saw her fingers, purple-gray and tipped in black fingernail polish instead of her normal ridiculously pale skin. That hand went up to her ears to check for the tell-tale points of her drow side fully unleashed. Sure enough, there they were.
With a hiss at such a close call, Cheyenne dropped her hand again and closed her eyes.
In a moment, she’d gotten her drow magic back under control where it belonged. The next time she reached for the doorknob, her pale human-looking hand had returned.
Having locked the front door behind her, the halfling shook her head, readjusted her backpack, and took off down the hall. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet before an electric-blue light flashed and sputtered from beneath the door three apartments down. Cheyenne kept walking.
Then someone screamed, shouts rose from inside that apartment, and she slowed with a sigh and stared at the door.
“Stop! You can’t just show up whenever you want and—”
“Shut it, Earthside-lover.
