“What? You brought it.”
“Still can’t have breakfast with you if you’re not around.” The halfling gave her friend’s shoulder a little pat and stuck her hands in the pockets of the black Dickies she’d bought just for all the extra pockets. “Oh, hey. Quick question.”
Ember raised her eyebrows.
“You ever see anybody walking around with a big pendant on a chain? Like, in the shape of a bull or something. Not super detailed, just kinda big and clunky?”
“Not that I remember. Why? What is it?”
“No idea. I ran into some dirtbags yesterday, and they were all wearing one. It probably means something. I was just curious.”
“Ran into some dirtbags, huh?” Ember smirked and tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “That all it was?”
“Not really. There’s more. I’ll tell you later, but I don’t wanna run into that doctor with all the questions. Not into that today, you know?”
The fae let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll know I’m in trouble when he asks more about you than he does about me.”
“Not gonna happen. Just keep telling him you have no idea who I am or what I want.” Cheyenne pointed toward the bedside table on wheels as she headed for the door. “And maybe, I dunno. Hide that takeout or something.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll just slip it under the sheets, and no one will suspect a thing.”
With a little laugh, the halfling opened the hospital-room door. “See ya, Em. Call me if you need anything.”
“Yep.”
Cheyenne closed the door again and moved quickly through the hall toward the front of the hospital. Maybe Dr. Andrews didn’t make his usual rounds on Saturdays, but she didn’t want to take the chance. She’d already risked enough by asking him to take that tracking device out of her shoulder, not to mention that she probably should’ve stayed to let him clean the wound a little more and maybe sew it up. Her shoulder felt as crappy today as it had yesterday, and she was trying not to believe that maybe it was getting worse.
But the halfling wasn’t going to let herself be distracted by the aching wounds in her shoulder that might or might not get better on their own. Her body usually didn’t have much trouble healing. Today, at least until something popped up or she got a phone call on that stupid burner phone of Sir’s, the half-drow was going on a treasure hunt.
Okay, gu@rdi@n104. Let’s go see what you think is so hard for everyone else to find.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
She decided to park her car in the public lot just down the street from Gnarly’s Pub. Cheyenne hadn’t set foot in the place since the last time she was there with Ember almost two weeks ago. Driving back down East Clay Street to get to the lot felt a little like guilt-ridden déjà vu, but she pushed that aside.
The late-morning sun made the day bright and clear despite the chill. It was a little colder than normal for late September, but fall temperatures were right around the corner. Cheyenne snatched her black canvas jacket with all the extra silver buckles out of the trunk, shrugged into it, and locked the car. Then she pulled out her cellphone and brought up the synced file of gu@rdi@n104’s decrypted treasure map.
If it led her to the information she needed on how to find that bastard Durg and show him a lesson or five, it would all be worth it in the end.
She zoomed in until the apparent directions in super-tiny script in the map’s bottom-left corner were big enough to read and leaned against her car.
If you want a little somethin’ for your troubles, better think outside the map and take a hint.
The halfling still had no idea what that meant and kept scrolling.
There’s nothing like a little heat to get the fires burning. Just don’t forget to wear gloves and wash your face.
“What is this crap?” Sure, the map had all kinds of different-colored lines across it, half of them not even following the streets she knew were there, but that had somehow not made it into gu@rdi@n104’s special secret file.
Turning around in the parking lot, she glanced down East Clay Street and saw the row of bars and pubs and restaurants stretching out in front of her. “Gloves and wash your face. That doesn’t even make—”
When it hit her, she thought she was losing her mind. Sheppard’s Hothouse? Is this guy for real?
The restaurant a few blocks down was pretty popular among people in the area who had turned culinary appreciation into an extreme sport. The place on her mind right now had some of the hottest wings in Richmond. Cheyenne would know. She used to go there every week when she was living in the dorms at VCU during freshman year.
She stuck her phone and her hands into her jacket pockets and took off down East Clay Street away from the parks, heading southeast.
There were plenty of people out and about on a nice day like this. Most of them were college kids. The rest apparently found it impossible not to stare at the Goth chick stalking down the sidewalk in broad daylight, probably scowling like she hated the entire world and couldn’t wait for it to end.
Fortunately, she’d stuck her earbuds into one of the side pockets of her pants before she’d left the house, and pulled these out now to plug them into her phone. Then the earbuds went in her ears, and she pulled up the last System of a Down album she actually enjoyed listening to. The volume went up as loud as it would go.
This is the sound of my happy place. Before the happy place turned
