They weren’t looking for this face, of course. The prison staff only knew him as Inmate 4872, six-foot-seven with slate-gray, purple-tinged skin and long white hair. The guards knew him as L’zar Verdys, a drow.
It came as no surprise when, as he stepped through the open chain-link gates outside Chateau D’rahl, the guards stationed there had no idea who he was or what to do with him.
“Sir, you’re gonna have to move along. This is a high-security facility, and it’s not open to civilians.”
L’zar spread his arms and raised them a few inches above his head, then sauntered forward.
“Sir, stop where you are. Go back! Did you hear me?”
The man in jeans and a sweater looked up at the security cameras lining the front of the magical prison. The guards’ radios crackled, and a muffled voice came through: “Yeah, we’ve got a guy out here, trying to walk onto the premises.” Crackle. “I have no idea what he wants. I’m not gonna invite him in and ask him for his whole life’s— What the hell?”
L’zar let go of his illusion spell, and the glamour faded. Their looks of disbelief, then terror, then rage pleased him. He grinned at the cameras.
Just a little something to remember me by. They’ll find this when it’s time.
“On your knees!”
The three guards trained their weapons on L’zar, two of them loaded with bullets, the third with fell darts. L’zar could smell the alchemical agent on the darts.
“I said, on your knees! Hands behind your head.”
L’zar did as he was told, smiling in amusement as the guards headed toward him, weapons at the ready. The closest one—his nametag read Thomas—holstered his firearm to remove a pair of magic-binding handcuffs from his belt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man hissed as he folded L’zar’s arms behind the drow’s back with no resistance whatsoever.
“Aw. Did you miss me?” L’zar sucked in a sharp breath when the dampening cuffs clamped around his wrists.
“You’re in deep now, convict. Stand up.” Thomas jerked the drow to his feet and jostled him toward the prison’s front gates, flanked by the two other guards with weapons at the ready.
L’zar glanced at the elevated surveillance booth outside the prison entrance and grinned at the watch guard. He caught the last piece of the radio conversation before the doors buzzed and Thomas pushed him inside.
“O’Brien, you’re not gonna believe what I’m looking at right now. It’s Verdys. No, sir, I’m not shitting you. Yeah, that’s right. He just showed up out of nowhere, and Christ, he turned himself in.”
Chapter Three
September 4th, 2021
“Are you kidding me?” Cheyenne lowered her beer bottle to the table, and while she didn’t mean to slam it down, she sort of did.
“Nope.” Ember leaned back in her chair, smirking, and spun her gin and tonic on the table. “I think you can help. No, I know you can help.”
“Help with what? Em, I didn’t understand a word out of your mouth right now. Even if I did, I’m the last person you should be talking to about this.” She swallowed, wanting to chug the rest of her third beer and knowing it would just make her order another one sooner than she wanted.
“You’re the only person I can talk to. Listen. These guys have been pressing in on us for a couple months now, but they just took it to a whole different level. One of them showed up at my friend Trevor’s work, Cheyenne. His work. Right there in front of everyone.” Ember stopped twirling her glass and leaned closer over the table, lowering her voice. “Trevor didn’t do anything wrong, but this stupid orc threatened him with a body bag. And magic.”
Cheyenne blinked and hoped she looked clueless. Is she serious? “Orcs, huh?”
“Yeah. Big ones.”
“And you think I’m gonna sit here and play along with whatever fantasy world you’re living in?” Cheyenne was acutely aware of her grip tightening around the beer, her black-painted fingernails against the glass, and she might have felt the bottle give just a little beneath the pressure—at least a tiny crack.
Keep it together, Cheyenne. This is not the right place.
Ember squinted at her and shook her head. “What do you mean, ‘fantasy world’?”
“You just…” Cheyenne glanced around Gnarly’s Pub on East Clay Street and lowered her voice. “You’re talking about orcs and magic, Em. I’m not stupid. If you’re trying to shock me into believing this crap, you’re wasting your time. It sounds like your friend Trevor’s dealing with some kinda gang issue, and I’m not gonna touch that, no way.”
“Seriously?” With a snort, Ember took a long drink and set the glass down. “I know there’s a lot of hush-hush going around, especially with the Borders ‘unofficially’ officially open now. But I’m not buying it for a second you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, I get it. This is about money.” Cheyenne jerked her hand away from her beer and folded her arms. The thin chains dangling from her wrists clinked against each other, cold against her sides through the lightweight fabric of her black tank top. “I thought we were adults, Ember. If you need to borrow some cash, it’s okay.”
“Money? You think this is about—” Ember threw her head back and laughed much louder than the conversation warranted. “I don’t want—or need—your money. I need what you are. And so do my friends. People like us have to stick together, and I haven’t seen you with any other magicals since…well, since I met you. I can’t be your only friend.”
People like us?
Cheyenne took a breath, stifling the rage boiling up inside her. That would only make things worse, and it would prove her friend’s point better than anything Ember could say. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Cheyenne.” Ember thumped her fists on the table. “Drinking at dive bars and living in a
