A huge orc with a tuft of greenish-black hair sprouting from his otherwise bald head chuckled as he approached the guy in front of the vending machine. “Hammond, I thought you’d learned your lesson with this piece of crap.”
The human thumped the machine and stepped back. “The one place I can pay for an O’Henry bar and still not get it.”
The orc paused in his path to give the side of the vending machine a loving pat. For an orc. It rocked the vending machine to the side with a jingle of falling coins, and the O’Henry bar Hammond wanted so badly dropped from the row into the slot at the bottom.
“I knew we kept you around for a reason, Ma’abru.”
With another low, rumbling chuckle, the orc kept walking. “Still trying to figure out why you’re here.”
Cheyenne caught up to Rhynehart and followed him around the fireplace beneath the huge TV toward what looked a lot like the lobby at VCU Medical Center. People behind intake desks glanced up and nodded at Rhynehart, although no one acknowledged Cheyenne.
Her guide turned into a corridor on the other side of the lobby, then pushed open some double doors and waited for Cheyenne to catch up. It was a huge room with a padded black floor and black walls, most of which were lined with some kind of bumpy foam with the appearance of the bottom of an egg carton. There were dark windows every few yards, although the halfling couldn’t see anything on the other side. Aside from exercise machines and some contraption wrapped in cords and wires, the immense space was empty.
“Looks like my high school gym.”
The man shot her a sidelong glance, then raised his eyebrows. “Doubt it.” He stepped across the padded floor, stopped in the middle of the room, and turned around with his arms outspread. “Let’s start with the basics, huh?”
“Of what, exactly?”
“Think of this as your first physical evaluation. We’ll do some stress tests to gauge how much you can control versus what you stumble upon at the right time. You know, the difference between intentional magic use and not blowing yourself up through sheer luck.”
The drow halfling swallowed and folded her arms. “That’s what he meant by tests?”
“Sure. Let’s see it.”
“Right. You want a drow halfling as a performing circus monkey.” She shot him a tight-lipped smile and blinked. “No.”
“Look, I have my orders.” Rhynehart dropped his arms and gestured at the empty black mat between them. “To test what you can do so we can get a better read of the situation. Crashing my operation the other night, tossing around a bunch of our targets, and saving my men from being splattered all over the event center floor in the process is one thing—if you meant to do any of it. Intentional fighting and spellcasting is something different, right? If you prefer the old-fashioned stress tests, I’m happy to get the cattle prod.”
Cheyenne snorted. “That’s a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Your choice.”
“All right. I have one question.” She stepped toward the center of the padded floor, and Rhynehart dipped his head. “The mustache walking around and calling himself Sir. What’s his real name?”
“Sir.”
“Seriously?”
Rhynehart moved one foot forward and clasped his hands behind his back. “As far as we’re concerned, yeah.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Get used to it.” The man cleared his throat. “Are you gonna start, or should I?”
Cheyenne spread her arms, her chains jingling on her wrists. “I have no idea what you want me to do.”
“First, change your form.”
“Okay, for clarification purposes, are you talking about my physical appearance? You know, human to drow and back?”
Rhynehart glanced at one of the dark windows in the room and held up his index finger, then returned his attention to the halfling.
“Or are you talking about fighting stance and martial arts form?” Cheyenne cocked her head and pointed at the floor. “Because this place could almost be a souped-up dojo. I’m already over the part where everybody answers my questions with vague one-liners, so—”
A green light burst from the black padded wall on her left. Cheyenne saw it from the corner of her eye a fraction of a second before a piercing sting pricked her in the back of the neck.
“Hey!” She slapped a hand over her neck and felt something wet and sticky, but nothing came away on her fingers. “You can’t shoot people with random—”
A second tiny beaded dart shot from behind her with a muted pop and struck her below the first. Heat burst to life at the base of Cheyenne’s spine, and her drow form emerged like a bundle of matches lit all at once.
She snarled at Rhynehart and clenched her fists. “Happy now?”
“That’s round one.” The man glanced at a different window on the black wall, and this time raised two fingers before clasping his hands behind his back.
“Some stress test.” The half-drow glanced around the room, waiting for the next pseudo-attack from an opponent she couldn’t see. “I already know how to change my form.”
Now that she was on high alert and her keen hearing was heightened by the drow magic shooting through her, she heard the mechanism of the tiny hydraulic tube inside the wall behind her and to her right. A short, hissing burst got her attention, followed by a click and a louder pop before the next dart launched at her.
She stepped to the side and focused on the direction of the sound. There it was—the tiny green light coming at her as slowly as if someone had lobbed a paper airplane her way. It was the size of a pebble, pulsing with a green hue as it cut a path to its target. Cheyenne grasped the round projectile between her thumb and forefinger. The second she touched it, the rest of the world around her moved at normal speed.
“What is this?” The halfling extended the tiny green ball between her fingers
