“Well, lemme lay it out for you,” Persh’al continued, swaying back and then dangerously forward until he loomed over the rabbit-eared magical. “There’s tradition, and then there’s a useless show of weakness. It’s pathetic. If we wanted mercy, we’d be somewhere else, wouldn’t we? Mercy didn’t build this mighty empire. Mercy didn’t open up this club. I mean, look at this place. It’s fantastic!”
Another orc bouncer with a silver charm dangling from one bleached-white tusk rounded the other side of the bar. He walked with his hands behind his back, not ready to step in yet.
But Persh’al sure as hell got his attention. Guess we’re improvising now.
“Of course, you already know that, don’t you?” Persh’al laughed and jabbed a finger at the magical woman, who looked like a startled rabbit. Her indecision and the pressure of being noticed but not exactly watched made her freeze.
“You…you…” Persh’al wagged his finger at her and squinted with one eye. “What are you, anyway?”
“I-I’m…” The short magical lifted her chin and tried to collect her dignity. “I’m finished with this conversation.”
Before she could walk off in a huff, the bouncer had made it to the wide circle everyone else had given Persh’al and his unintended victim. The orc dipped his head. “How are we this evening?”
“Thirsty.” The rabbit-eared woman squeaked and bustled toward the bar.
“Aw, come on!” Persh’al turned and reached after her. His gaze paused briefly on Cheyenne with their packs, and his wink could also have been a drunken eye roll. “We were having such a good time. Don’t go and ruin it now. I can’t help it if I haven’t seen a…a…” He pouted and turned back toward the bouncer, his face contorted in disappointment. “I don’t even know what she is.”
“I see.” The orc reached into his pocket. “I might have a little something to cheer you up, lugahw’o. Make you forget about all the things you don’t know.”
Cheyenne paused in front of a recessed niche in the wall and caught a glimpse of huge, clawed gray hands covered in a patch of wiry red fur wrap tighter around a glass. She ignored the urge to peer around the corner to see what kind of magical sat in the hidden cubby in the wall and watched Persh’al’s over-the-top acting. I’ll give him credit for that, at least. Might be the only way to get our hands on one of those vials.
“I’ve been abandoned,” Persh’al whined, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Spurned, man. You hear me?” He clapped a hand on the bouncer’s shoulder and leaned toward the other magical’s ear. The orc bore it with surprising dignity and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s gonna help this mood.”
“Trust me. This will.” The orc pulled another small metal vial from his pocket and turned to block the transaction from everyone else’s view. No one was looking, anyway. “And it’s on the house, lugahw’o. Make you right as the old fighting pits.”
Persh’al’s shoulders sagged, and he let out another nostalgic whine. “The fighting pits.”
“I miss ‘em too. Here.”
Cheyenne took one step toward the scene playing out, then leaped back again when the magical sitting in the alcove beside her stirred. The table bumped, and a huge shadow emerged from the recessed wall, blocking all the flashing lights and flickering candles from Cheyenne’s view.
Whatever the hulking magical was, it took two slow, thudding steps toward Persh’al and the bouncer and loomed over them. Two massive, hooked wings tipped with thin lines of red fur stirred against the magical’s back, and Cheyenne nearly dropped Persh’al’s pack.
“I’ve been looking for you.” A low, female voice cut in above the pounding music coming from everywhere.
Persh’al looked into the face Cheyenne couldn’t see and broke out in a wide grin. “Hey!”
“You need a little boost too?” the bouncer asked, craning his neck to look up at the newcomer to the conversation.
“No, hidna. But thank you. I’ve got to take this naughty little troll out to District 3 to help him pay some of his debts. You know how strict Melsaria is with making payments on time, don’t you?”
The orc chuckled and stuffed the vial back into his pocket. “You better go with the golra, brother. I’ve seen the Matron’s bad side. And no doubt she can help you perk right back up again.”
Persh’al groaned and held his hand out toward the orc. “I don’t want to go to District 3 moping like a carandyll before Brightforge Day.”
“You won’t.” The hulking magical nudged him toward the front of the club. “I brought you something myself.”
“Oh, lovely.” Persh’al clapped his hands, then leaned around the giant creature in front of him and waved at Cheyenne. “Come on. You have to come with us! My friends are your friends.”
He shot her another flashing grin, but the beast with wings nudged him forward again with her clawed hand.
The bouncer stepped toward Cheyenne and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re friends with that sniveling troll?”
She lifted her gaze and let it linger on the charm dangling from the loop around his tusk. I’ve channeled Mom before. Feels like a good time. When she looked at the orc’s yellow eyes flashing with amusement, she raised an eyebrow and gave him a tight smile. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who my friends are. And I’ll thank you not to ask me that type of prying question again.”
In an instant, the orc’s smile disappeared. He blinked and dipped his head before stepping around her to take up some other post around the club.
Cheyenne headed toward the club’s entrance. Lucky for me this is drow city. And apparently, drow rule the world.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Cheyenne’s new activator showed her exactly where to knock on the solid metal wall beneath the arched doorway inside the club. The metal in front of her disappeared, and she hurried down the short tunnel. I’m screwed if he doesn’t stall that thing before I lose
