“You should call the police,” Cheyenne called over her shoulder, and the door shut behind her.
Somebody had already made that call after hearing gunshots and a grown man shrieking inside the gas station. Blaring sirens headed toward the corner. At the side of the building, Cheyenne stopped to grab her beer and Funyuns, and even in the gas station’s low light against the wall, it was obvious she wasn’t human-colored yet.
Blue and red lights flashed at the end of the street, and she strode toward her apartment building. No one’s gonna know what the hell just happened in there. That was ridiculous. Maybe I will leave fighting humans off the table for now.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cheyenne would have slept in a lot later if her phone hadn’t woken her up at 8:00 a.m. on the dot. Grunting, she slapped her hand on the bedside table, then on her phone. She grabbed it, eyeballed the incoming call, and accepted it.
“Mom.”
“Morning, Cheyenne. What kind of big questions?”
Rubbing her eyes, the half-drow turned onto her back and blinked at the ceiling. “Great. You got my text.”
“I have to admit it made me curious.” Bianca Summerlin paused on the other end of the line. “Should it have made me concerned, too?”
“I’ll leave that up to you, Mom. ‘Cause I don’t know.” She sat up and rubbed her face. Four hours of sleep again. Awesome.
“I’m listening.”
“You ever heard of the FRoE?”
Another pause was followed by one of Bianca’s sharp breaths that meant she was planning the most level-headed, clear-cut response. Today, it was simply, “I have.”
“How about an Inmate 4872?”
“Hmm. Would you mind telling me where this is coming from?”
Cheyenne rolled her shoulders, stretched a little, and stood. “I came across a few things last night, and you can imagine my surprise when I saw my mom’s name pop up.”
“I see. Well, I’m glad you came to me about it first.”
“That seemed like the best thing to do. So what can you tell me?”
Bianca sighed. While her voice carried a hint of relief, she spoke with her well-crafted, businesslike flair. “What you found is about your father.”
“My father.” Cheyenne paused in the doorway of her bedroom and stared at the dual monitors in her living room. The silence stretched.
“I’m willing to have this conversation whenever you want, Cheyenne. Absolutely. Just not over the phone.”
“Right.” The halfling closed her eyes and nodded. Someone’s always listening. “Okay. I’ve got a few things to take care of today—”
“Like school?” She made it sound like a hopeful request and something of a condemnation all at the same time.
“Sure. What are you doing tonight?”
“I have a meeting tonight I can’t reschedule. How about tomorrow? I’ll clear my calendar for the day.”
Cheyenne leaned against the doorframe and took a deep breath. “It won’t take all day.”
“True. Why don’t you come home when you’re finished with class tomorrow? We’ll have dinner and open a bottle of wine.”
“Wine. It’s that kinda conversation, huh?”
“For me, yes. I’ll pour you a glass too, and you can take it or leave it.”
With a wry laugh, Cheyenne nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Cheyenne.”
“For?”
This is where things always get sticky between us. Drow don’t mix well with Mom’s politics or her ambitions.
“Thank you for coming to me first. We both know you're dedicated and skilled enough to have found your answers somewhere else. I realize I’ve been sitting on this conversation for a long time, and I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to bring it up again.”
“Well, I found your name, Mom. Who else would I go to?”
“That’s my girl. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Despite everything, I love you.
Cheyenne ended the call and dropped her hand. I had to find incriminating evidence before she tells me all about it. Bianca Summerlin sure knows how to keep a secret.
Her gaze settled on the tall dresser against the far-right wall of her bedroom. She focused on the shiny copper box next to the picture of their German Shepherd, Maxine. The dog had been gone six years, yet that photo was one of the only personal things, beyond her tech and her clothes, Cheyenne had brought with her into the city from her mom’s family plot in the hills. That and the box.
Cheyenne crossed her room and stopped in front of the dresser. The copper box, cool in her hand, shimmered in the light poking through the blinds. “You only left her two things, didn’t you? Me and this box that doesn’t open.”
She turned the thing over a few times, perusing the etched symbols she’d studied for twenty-one years. She set the box back on top of her dresser and rubbed her eyes before shuffling out into the living room. She’d go to her mom’s house—Cheyenne’s childhood home—tomorrow night and have the conversation she’d wanted to have since the first time she’d asked Bianca why she didn’t have a dad.
“That still leaves me with a whole day to find answers on my own. You taught me that too, Mom. Never rely on just one source for the most accurate information.”
* * *
After inputting a few searches on the dark web and letting her torrents do the rest of the data-sifting and compiling for her, she grabbed the bag of Funyuns she’d opened last night. Food is food.
Now that Cheyenne knew she’d found something in that operations report with her mom’s name on it, she couldn’t just load her backpack and sit through two classes today. She had work to do.
Much like the one she’d sent Professor Dawley, she emailed her professors, informing them she wouldn’t be in class today, but based on the trajectory of their course for the semester, here was the work she’d already performed and provided now to show she was on track—or way ahead of it.
“This is such a waste of time.” She crammed another handful of Funyuns into her mouth. “I thought grad school was supposed to be harder, at
