“We said eleven!” That voice was pissed.
I guess fashionably late doesn’t fly with magical criminals.
“He’ll be here.” The second voice, nasal and thick with saliva, made Cheyenne think of a slobbery chihuahua. “Mardok’s the one who set this whole thing up. He’s got more riding on this than anybody.”
“Where is he?” The third voice thundered through the arena and echoed much longer than the others.
Cheyenne crouched against the wall and waited until the ringing in her ears faded. She stayed still.
“You want me to call him?” Chihuahua barked. “I’ll call him.”
“Don’t. If he’s making a statement, let him make it. I’ll talk to him about how we handle things.”
“Listen to him.” The whisper came from right behind Cheyenne on the other side of the wall, and her drow hearing picked it up as if the wall didn’t exist. “Thinks he’s already sitting on a throne with a crown on his head. I ain’t going down on one knee for any asshole, especially on this side.”
Someone beside the whisperer grunted. “Shut it, Rezen. We do what he wants and wait for our day. It’ll come.”
“Better be soon.”
The tension was so thick in the arena, Cheyenne was surprised they hadn’t torn each other to shreds already. Which is why they’re all here at the same time. Get one massive deal over and done with so they don’t have to do it again soon.
“I’m thirsty,” the giant voice muttered. “Go.”
“Yep.” Someone with light footsteps strode across the arena and headed for the archway leading into the hall where Cheyenne was hiding.
She crouched lower behind the propped-open door and waited.
Yeah. Let’s get in a little one-on-one time.
The lanky magical skittered into the hall and passed right by her without noticing a thing. His bald head was an inflamed shade of red with deep black lines scored through it. Cheyenne wasn’t looking forward to seeing his face after a peek at his scalp, but she stood from her crouch and stalked behind him.
Redhead turned the corner into the other hall surrounding the arena and opened a door on the left. He switched on the light and stepped inside, oblivious to the drow halfling following him. She heard the sound of a fridge being jerked open and glass bottles clinking against each other, accompanied by the guy’s low muttering about always getting sent to fetch the drinks.
Cheyenne slipped through the door and pressed it almost all the way closed behind her, leaving it open a crack so she could hear whatever else was happening in the arena. So far, it was just a bunch of impatient whining.
“Got time for a little chat?”
The red-skinned magical with his head stuck in the fridge jumped and banged his head on the top, almost knocking himself unconscious. He grunted, drew his head out and up, and rubbed it with a scowl. His eyes widened at the drow standing in the break room with him, and he stumbled back against the open fridge door. The bottles rattled. “Fellfire and—”
“Good one. Now, take a seat.” Cheyenne nodded at the round table on the other side of the break room and the six chairs around it.
Redhead’s nose wrinkled, and his beady black eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?”
“You can sit for a talk, or I can make you do both.” Cheyenne spread her arms, opened both hands, and let off a few intimidating bursts of purple and black sparks. “Your choice.”
“We don’t have no drow on the list. How the hell’d you—”
Cheyenne lashed her hand toward him. The jingling of her wrist chains was covered by the sharp hiss and crack of the black tendrils shooting from her palm. Two lashed around the man’s neck, cutting off his sentence and his breath, and the drow yanked him toward her. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor as her fist connected with the side of his face.
The black tendrils disappeared as he dropped, but Cheyenne jerked him back up by the shirt collar before he had the chance to hit the floor. “I’m sure you’ll make better choices after this.”
She dragged him toward the table, kicked out a chair, and tossed him into it. The guy’s blazing-red bald head wobbled on his shoulders, and although it was hard to tell with his all-black eyes, Cheyenne was confident they were rolling around in his head.
“Hey!” She slapped one hand on the table and snapped her fingers in the guy’s face with the other. “Come on. We’re just getting started.”
The guy puffed out a thick breath and tried to lift his head to look at her. A crooked grin split his face. His lips had veiny black lines running across them. “You got no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me.” Cheyenne buried her fist in his shirt collar again, jerked him toward her, and summoned more sparks that, for his sake, would hopefully be just a warning. “I’m looking for a piece of orc shit named Durg. Ring any bells?”
The guy laughed. She shook him, and he choked when her fist hit his throat.
Maybe bring it down a notch, Cheyenne.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not playing around, asshole. Help yourself out and give me something.”
“You came to a—” The guy coughed and sucked a bunch of spit back from the sides of his mouth. “A meeting like this, outnumbered over your head, looking for one nobody orc?”
Half-choked laughter spilled from his open mouth. The guy’s black tongue flicked around in there, and Cheyenne turned up the notch on the sparks. They glistened in his all-black eyes, and he stopped laughing. “After I deal with you, I’ll be breaking up that little party. You have one more chance before I knock you out for the next month. Wanna try again?”
“You haven’t done this before, have you?” This time, the guy ran his
