She’d only made it a few steps before the other chair screeched across the cement and the man stood behind her. “We’re not done here. Where’s the Cuil Aní?”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“The copper box with the drow runes etched into the surface.”
That made Cheyenne stop dead in her tracks. Her first question would have been how the hell he knew about the puzzle box, but he’d been watching her for weeks, so that was useless. “I’m not stupid enough to carry that thing around with me all the time just for fun.”
“Well, maybe you should be. Because you’re here, and I’m the only person you have access to who can show you how to use it.” The man folded his arms and studied her a little longer, then that knowing smile crept back across his lips—not quite a grin, but just as eager. “Your father’s been waiting a long time to see you solve that thing.”
Cheyenne spread her arms. “My father’s locked up in Chateau D’rahl, so he won’t be seeing me do anything.”
“I know. And he sends his regards.”
It was exactly the right thing to say to make the halfling reconsider storming out of that basement and writing off the whole thing.
She shot him a sideways glance. “Are you FRoE?”
The man chuckled. “Now, what would make you ask me a dumbass question like that?”
“How else would a human know about that prison and my dad?”
The only response he gave her was the return of that grin, which looked a lot like that of a person who’d finally gotten the drow halfling to step right into his trap. Slowly, the man lifted both hands to show her they were empty. He whipped the VCU baseball hat off his head and tossed it to the floor, then brought his hands together. His fingers twisted and turned in a quick series of intricate gestures, and the air around him shimmered.
Before, Cheyenne’s stalker had looked like every other nondescript middle-aged man in Richmond. Now, his dark hair lengthened around his face, fading into a lighter, mottled brown. He gained maybe an inch in height, and the clean-shaven face now boasted tufts of the same light-brown hair like ruffled muttonchops grown too close to his ears instead of along his jawline. His nose flattened, the bridge wrinkling with extra skin, canines elongated. The glistening eyes that had regarded her with silent amusement now flashed bright silver in the dimly lit basement.
I have a Nightstalker stalker.
The halfling pursed her lips. “Nice trick.”
“Thank you.”
“You could’ve just started with that.” The halfling studied him and shook her head. “I’m really not amused to have brought you your sandwich.”
“This was the only way I knew to get your attention without bringing far more people into this than I wanted. Go home, Cheyenne. I’ll send you the information you wanted on Durg.”
“What?” That new revelation was even more surprising than a Nightstalker’s illusion spell that had shown up as a human when she’d glanced through the walls. “You’re gu@rdi@n104?”
“Now you’re puttin’ it together.” The Nightstalker’s thin lips twitched into another smile, wrinkling the flattened bridge of his catlike nose even more. “No one calls me that outside the forum, though. Name’s Corian.”
“So all that hunting for clues—”
“Was just to bring you here in person. Don’t tell me you would’ve jumped up out of your desk chair if gu@rdi@n104 had invited you out for a one-on-one over lunch.”
No. She wouldn’t have.
Corian nodded and scratched his chin. “I know you wanna get that orc, and you made it this far, so I’ll keep my promise. You’ll have everything you need by the time you get home. When you’re finished, come back here with that copper box, and I’ll show you what it’s for.”
“You just wasted two hours of my day tracking down some really awful clues with nothing to show for it. Why would I come back here with the box?” A humorless huff of a laugh escaped the halfling. “Why would I come back here at all?”
“Because you can’t find anyone else willing to so much as touch the thing. Because I’m a lot more than willing, and because I’ve been around enough legacy cycles to show you the way yours works.” Corian spread his arms and lifted his chin with a smirk. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me, huh?”
“Right. You know, somehow I’m not convinced.” Scoffing, Cheyenne flung her hand toward the card table and headed for the door again. “Enjoy your sandwich.”
The door opened easily enough, and the Nightstalker who claimed to know her drow father didn’t try to stop her. Smart move, stalker.
The dry leaves crunched under her feet as she stomped up the stained concrete stairs, feeling the heat flaring at the base of her spine. She pushed it back down and headed down the sidewalk toward her car. It was completely dark outside now, the two streetlamps on either side of the open space across the street casting pools of dirty yellow light across the asphalt.
She was so focused on trying to work out in her head how Corian could have anything to do with her dad, let alone know how the puzzle box worked when he wasn’t even a drow that she didn’t hear the cars pull up to the curb on the other side of the street. The halfling barely registered the sound of multiple car doors closing, and she didn’t look up until she heard low chuckles and a menacing growl.
Still a short distance from her car, she spared a glance across the street and saw a dozen magicals headed toward her. The orc in the lead looked remarkably familiar, which surprised her until she recognized that bent tusk—the one she’d almost uprooted from his fat jaw with her right hook.
Chapter Ninety-Three
The orc saw her recognize him, and he grinned. The darkness around him glowed from the ball of green fire he’d conjured in
