Two of her programs and one of his beat against the site’s security until they unlocked the password protection and let her in.
“Thank you, Ground Zero. Wherever you are. Enjoying unrestricted access to all information everywhere.” She snorted and killed the other programs before they left too much of a trail.
The document in front of her now made no sense. It was written in English, all right, but it looked more like a dossier than anything else—some convict escaping from a max-security prison called Chateau D’rahl, plus a whole outline of updated protocol and guard qualification requirements.
“This has nothing to do with—”
There it was. Her last name.
B. Summerlin—suspected interaction with Inmate 4872. Exact date and time unconfirmed.
“Uh, what?” Cheyenne blinked and shook her head, but the words were the same when she opened her eyes again. “What the hell is Mom doing in a prison incident report?”
She paid a lot more attention to the rest of the document, but B. Summerlin wasn’t mentioned again. There was, however, an addendum to the writeup dated January 3rd, 2000.
Project FRoE started at 1100 hours. First successful operation for Border control at Rez Alpha 1 and Rez Charlie 4. 72 non-human entities detained, cataloged, and entered the exchange system. Results still pending. *See Reports C-182 and CM-014 for further analysis.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Cheyenne scrolled through the initial report, then went back down to the addendum and had to get up out of her chair. “FRoE and Bianca Summerlin on the same report about non-human entities and escaped convicts. What did she do?”
The only thing Cheyenne could do was pace around her small living room while trying to put the pieces together —her mom, Inmate 4872, the FRoE, which started the year Cheyenne was born. “That makes it sound like she was gettin’ it on with a convicted non-human. Jesus, was that what happened?” She spun around and stared at the back of her monitor, then brushed it off and kept pacing. The chains on her wrists clanked against each other in succession as she shook out her hands and studied the carpet that hadn’t been replaced since before she was born.
“Beyond turning into someone else for a night and gettin’ freaky with a drow, what could she have to do with Border patrols? And these reservations, and the damn FRoE. Man, I had to dive deep into this.”
A wry chuckle escaped her, and she mussed her hair on the back of her head, trying to get rid of the jitters that hit every time she put the pieces together of a big puzzle. “She’ll tell me. She has to tell me. Maybe I just found the right question to ask…”
Cheyenne jerked her phone out of her pocket and texted her mom. Although it was almost 3:00 a.m., she had no issues with texting. The woman kept the cell phone in her office and didn’t take it to bed. Urgent calls were to go to the house number, the landline. I don’t wanna talk to her right now. She’ll find it in the morning.
Call me when you’re up. I have some questions. Big ones.
She’d get a call, most likely at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Bianca Summerlin might have retired early from the political spotlight, but she still kept pristine office hours out of her home, having done so the past twenty-one years.
“I need to get out.” Cheyenne shoved her feet into her Vans, grabbed her keys off the counter, and rooted around in her backpack for her wallet. Then she locked the door behind her and headed to the convenience store on the corner.
The gas station was open twenty-four-seven, which had helped her through many a sleepless night. Plus, they carried every single package of junk food and instant meal she’d fallen in love with way more than she should have during her freshman year at Virginia Commonwealth University. She had Ember to thank for most of it. And it’s not like anybody expects grad students to be eating organic, locally-sourced, sustainably-grown meals made by their in-house chef every single day. Nope. I got to leave all that behind me at the Summerlin farm.
She caught her reflection in the glass door of the gas station. I look insane. The last twenty-four hours have been insane too.
The electric bell by the checkout counter dinged when she pulled open the door. Katie looked up from her yoga magazine and jerked her chin up at her latest customer in the middle of the night. “Hey.”
“Katie,” Cheyenne muttered, giving the convenience store’s night-shift employee a nod and a fleeting, distracted smile. She headed for the chip aisle, craving Funyuns.
“Got anything interesting going on tonight?”
“Not really.” Cheyenne didn’t think she could look at the girl who was her own age. Sometimes, she’d spend a few minutes telling Katie about the random programs she was building or the ridiculous things some people thought they could hide on the internet. Not like Katie understood any of it. But Cheyenne didn’t mind someone else her own age, with no connection to her life beyond the fact that she worked at the closest gas station to the half-drow’s apartment, to talk to in two-minute bursts before not having to think about her again. At least until the next time she came in to stock up on food that would make her mom scowl.
She snatched the family-size Funyuns off the shelf and turned toward the beer cooler. It didn’t matter what kind she picked. She didn’t even look. I just need to cool off. Figure out what I’m gonna do next with this FRoE crap.
Katie bobbed her head behind the counter, one earbud stuck in her ear as she pulled the six-pack of beer and the onion-flavored junk food toward her to scan them. “You know Moon Hooch?”
“No.”
“They’re great. Wanna listen?”
“I’m good.” Cheyenne tried
