Dragons Luck

by Robert Asprin

  From the way Vera smiled, Griffen knew that was absolutely the wrong thing for Lowell to say. She was a person who always thought she could do better.

  “Excuse me!” she called out.

  Her voice was loud enough to cut through the conversation and bar music. More than that, though, her own personal cloud changed. The air seemed to thicken, choking and hot. Hotter and harsher than the aura that had surrounded the group. In fact, the others around Vera seemed to back away from her slightly, wrapping themselves in their overall damp aura as a form of protection. It wasn’t the air as much as the atmosphere, the . . . vibes. Griffen began to wonder if they were some form of psychic.

  To make the tension more acute, there was a . . . hole in the sensations above Vera herself. It was as if she were an oasis, a spot of light in the darkness. That more than her voice dragged the attention of most of the bar back to her. There were a few men, whom Griffen knew had been having hard times, who stared at her like men in a desert who had just stumbled upon a glass of water.

  When she was sure she had the bar’s attention she smiled, and the air thickened more. The sensation was unbearable to Griffen, and he had to wonder why no one else seemed to notice that something was wrong. Only Mai held an expression that indicated she was aware of being manipulated and not liking it one bit.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now, please, if anyone could point me to Griffen McCandles, I would be very thankful. We merely have business to discuss with him.”

  A man spoke, one of those who had looked at Vera most intently. He and Griffen had only met in passing, but Griffen had heard that he had recently lost his wife. She had been a crack addict, and after her third time in rehab, he had lost her. Under the weight of whatever Vera was doing, his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “Did you say Griffen McCandles?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did indeed,” Vera purred.

  Griffen braced himself for the end of the charade.

  “Sure I know Griffen McCandles,” the man said, and took a long pull on his beer. “Man owes me two hundred dollars. I heard he had skipped town.”

  Vera deflated, slumping, the smile falling from her face. With the change, the aura through the room changed, crashing back into a damp depression like that the group had when they first walked in. Only more intense. Griffen almost spoke out to stop the wave that passed over his bar.

  “Vera,” Lowell snapped. “Enough, this won’t do us any good. We will simply meet with McCandles elsewhere.”

  He reached out and took her elbow again. On contact, the overpowering feeling in the bar faded, receding back to the cloud hovering just over the small group. Not a few people gave unconscious shudders of relief, or knocked back drinks just a bit faster than they usually did.

  Lowell pulled out his wallet and put a fifty on the bar. The bartender spared him another glance. He had kept an eye on the situation but hadn’t seemed to get captivated by Vera as some had.

  “If Mr. McCandles should”—Lowell glanced at the man who had answered Vera—“return to town, please do tell him we came looking.”

  “Sure thing, but you’ll be leaving now,” the bartender said.

  Lowell nodded and hustled Vera out the door; the others followed, pale shadows.

  “Fucking vampires,” Mai whispered so low only Griffen heard her.

  Griffen jerked his eyes to hers, and she nodded. Suddenly a lot clicked into place for him. At least about the group. He had been told there were vampires who fed off depression and emotions and could influence and create those emotions. He never thought it would be anything like that, though.

  “ ’Scuse me, lover,” Mai said. “Sandbox break. Always feel the need to splash a little water over my face after something like that.”

  Griffen nodded, and she stood and walked over to the ladies’ room. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mai that frazzled. She even stumbled and had to catch herself on one of the video poker machines. The player reached out to steady her, but she waved him off and went into the bathroom.

  Vampires. They weren’t supposed to be at the conclave, and now he understood why. Griffen had seen some odd things lately, but nothing that had felt so . . . wrong. What sort of defense was there for most people against something they didn’t even realize was happening?

  For that matter he still didn’t quite understand how the bar had reacted.

  “Didn’t expect you to seem so surprised, McCandles. Not after being in the Quarter a few months,” Maestro said.

  “What do you mean?” Griffen said.

  “Hell, a group of outsiders come in looking for someone that they can’t even spot in a crowd? You think they are going to get an answer? The circle forms with the horns out, I know you’ve been told that,” Maestro said.

  “Yeah, but I hadn’t seen it like this. I mean, that guy doesn’t know me from Adam,” Griffen said.

  “He’s seen you, here and often enough. He ain’t ever seen them before. That’s all it takes down here,” Maestro said, then with a bit of a smile; “Of course, wouldn’t hurt to buy him a drink in thanks.”

  Twenty-eight

  Mose was tired.

  He was tired more often lately. He hardly ever went out anymore. Even then, it was usually just for a stroll or a brief chat with old friends. He had fewer old friends around, and those he did have . . . Well, he had been in the area too long. They had gotten older; he had started old and stayed that way forever. Or so it seemed to them.

  And that age? Mostly only showed on the face and hands. His body was still strong enough that he sure didn’t worry about his safety when he did go out. Sometimes he even left his gate ajar. Not often, he wasn’t often that stupid. Just if he got into a mood. In case someone should try something. A bit of exercise and entertainment. Oh yes, his body was fit, just tired.

  There was no doubt about it, he thought wryly, his ass was dragon.

  He did keep active though, in his way. It was just that as time went on, he had learned to conserve his energy. These days he had taken up drawing again. He didn’t think he had much talent, but a dragon’s eye and a few centuries of off-and-on practice can do wonders.

  He was sitting outside, enjoying the late-afternoon sun, a tall glass of lemonade beside him and a small drawing notebook in his hand. He felt like one of those old men he used to laugh at when he was younger. Except old men in his day didn’t draw,. They worked, hard. They played chess. Sometimes they whittled.

  He heard the gate open and looked up to see Griffen coming in. The boy was one of the most powerful young dragons he had ever met. Stronger and more varied now as an amateur than Mose had been during his heyday.

  Yet he walked toward him hesitantly, almost sheepishly. His whole body language was unsure. Mose had Jerome’s reports that outside, when dealing with others, Griffen was more confident. With his friends he was comfortable. When he had to, he stood as a leader, as a dragon among men. It was only with Mose, and from reports perhaps with Flynn, that he became more meek, nearly subservient.

  All the more reason for Mose to back away.

  “I started to use my key, but it was unlatched,” Griffen said.

  “I like to let the sounds of the street drift in now and again,” Mose said blandly.

  “Mind if I pull up a chair?”

  “Not a’tall.”

  Griffen dragged over the other outdoor chair Mose had for company. Mose would have offered him some lemonade, but it would have meant sending him in for a glass. Too much like sending him off like a servant for the conversation Mose suspected they were about to have.

  The two sat in silence for some time. It was a comfortable enough silence, the sounds of the city a soft susurrus around them. Mose felt Griffen’s eagerness but wouldn’t rush him. He never rushed.

  “Mose . . . you know why I’m here.”

  “Yes, I reckon I do, but you are going to have to spell it out.”

  “I know, but I’m going to have to do it the long way.” Mose nodde
d and eased back a little more comfortably. He smiled slightly. That was the way he would have done it.

  “When I came down here, I had my doubts. Beyond my doubts about myself, I didn’t know what good I could do you. Or why anyone would want to pass over something they’d worked a lifetime for to someone they had never met. The idea that my heritage makes me somewhat more powerful than you doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. You were plenty powerful enough for this group; so is Jerome.”

  “Jerome isn’t as strong as I am, Griffen. He knows it. Besides, you can take this group further than I could. It is good people, with good potential. They should be more than just New Orleans grifters.”

  “Still, others could have led them.”

  “You’re right, I have known dragons who fit the bill, ones I had more direct experience with.”

  “So why me?”

  “Hmm . . . mind if I go the long way myself?” Mose asked.

  “I made sure I didn’t have anything else planned tonight,” Griffen said.

  “Shouldn’t take that long, but us old men, we like to tell stories now and again.”

  Mose took a sip of his lemonade as he organized his thoughts.

  “Not too long ago, before you were born, there was an election year, and the local authorities really decided to clamp down on the ‘unsavory’ types around here. They went around busting every grifter, bum, con, whore, and lowlife they could find. This was when I was still an employee of this fine organization, not its boss. Before I classed the place up some. And I got picked up doing three-card monte.”

  Mose checked Griffen’s reaction; he seemed perfectly content to listen, even though he clearly didn’t see where this was going.

  “People got crammed into cages built for a third of what got shoved in, and it was days before anyone even thought to start draggin’ people up to get judged. Now, me, I didn’t mind. A few others who worked in our ring got nabbed, too, so I wasn’t alone. Others weren’t so lucky.”

  “You met Jerome, didn’t you?”

  “You’re quick, now shut up. No going and ruining a fella’s story by cutting in.”

  Griffen smiled and nodded.

  “You kinda ruined the punch line, but yep, there was this snot-nosed little urchin, skinny as a snake, and all alone. But that didn’t faze him. Watched that lad go from person to person, looking them over, and moving on. He would chat with a few for a moment, move on again. Never approached anyone likely to rough him up just ’cause he was in arm’s reach. By the end of the first day he had four guys, myself included, lookin’ out for him with nothing expected back. Just ’cause we were the sort to look out for thems that needed it. When they let us out, he looked over the judge, and said, ‘He’s all right,’ and I knew to trust it.”

  Mose shook his head and chuckled.

  “He’s lost some of his openness with it, learned to keep a button on his lip, not tell everything he sees. But I tell you, Griffen, he may not be as powerful as me, but I never did meet a better judge of character.”

  “And he was up in Ann Arbor feeling me out for more than a year,” Griffen said.

  “Hell, no, he had you sussed out after the first night. He spent a year getting you ready in case we had the opportunity to pull you down here. Trust is hard to build.”

  “But, Mose, that doesn’t tell me why you are backing out now. I still need your advice, but when I thought you were just pushing me away I wasn’t worried. Now Jerome tells me you are pulling yourself more and more out of the loop, and Valerie confirmed it. So what gives?”

  “Griffen, you don’t need my advice. In fact, I probably set you back every time I give it. Oh, I help you in the short term, but you have got to stand on your own feet sooner rather than later.”

  “So by holding back you are what, forcing me to grow?”

  “Something like that, or I would if you weren’t running off to find a replacement for me. You need to be figuring things out yourself, not letting other dragons run you.”

  “Flynn helped when you wouldn’t.”

  “I choose my own replacements. I chose you!”

  Mose stopped and calmed himself. Yelling at him was counterproductive. Even though Griffen got on the defensive about Flynn, it was a good thing. Defensive was better than meek.

  “Griffen, you are destined to be a great force in this world. A force of nature practically. If you get it in your head that you need some mentor figure, it will be years before you learn otherwise.”

  Griffen got up and paced. Mose watched him, saw that he wasn’t satisfied with these answers. He didn’t want to go the last step, but he owed it to Griffen. Still, to get through to him fully, Mose would have to be blunt.

  “Griffen, I’m dying,” Mose said.

  Griffen stopped and stared.

  “We dragons age funny, but something you’ll hear from all the old-timers is that you feel when your clock is running down. Maybe it’s just in our head, maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. But on my clock the ticks are getting slower, and there is no way to wind it back up again.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve been feeling it for a while now.”

  “I . . . I don’t know enough to ask if you are sure. You wouldn’t say it if you weren’t sure.”

  Mose considered his next comment for the longest time yet, rolling it around in his head, tasting it on his tongue.

  “Griffen, I know you think well of me, but you have to remember, low blood or not, I am a dragon,” Mose said.

  “And?”

  “And dragons can be some of the most selfish bastards you ever did run into when it suits us. You ask why am I backing off. Would you really want to spend your last few years chained to a job, an office? Even as nice an office as this?”

  Mose waved to his courtyard, to his house. He picked up his glass and lifted it to the sky.

  “So, I think you don’t need me, and I haven’t figured out what I need. So you must forgive an old, selfish dragon and let me try to find the peace I may. Knowing that what I have poured my life into is in good hands.”

  Griffen started to say something, and Mose cut him off.

  “And, I’d appreciate it if you told Jerome something else, or nothing. He and the others here, they will make a big fuss. I don’t want a big fuss. I’m telling you ’cause you need, and deserve, to know. And ’cause I’ve grown to love you in a real short time, son. But when I do slip away, one way or the other, I want to go quiet. I say, live big, and leave them remembering your living, not your dying.”

  “That’s a lot to bear, Mose.”

  “You’ve got the shoulders to do it, lad. Jerome saw it, and I’ve seen it. Stop doubting yourself.”

  “Well . . . all I can promise is that I’ll try.”

  Griffen started to leave, but stopped as Mose stood up. He walked over to Griffen, and wrapped his arms around him tight. Griffen stood stiffly for a moment, then hugged the older dragon back.

  “You’ll do more than try,” Mose said, and smacked Griffen on the back.

  Griffen nodded and left, locking the gate behind him. Mose smiled and went back into his house. Inside, he picked up his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t touched in years.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Danielle,” Mose said.

  “Papa!”

  “I just wanted to say, it looks like pretty soon I’ll be coming for a visit. Time to see my grandchildren and all.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Will you be staying long?”

  Mose looked out into the sky.

  “Might be I will,” he said, “just might be.”

  Twenty-nine

  Sometimes, Griffen felt his life had just gotten too . . . complex.

  The day had started normal enough, for the French Quarter anyway. The sun was bright. The tourists were out keeping the lifeblood of the area pumping and green. A quick stop by the Royal Mail had shown a surprise package in, a backordered series of books he had forgotten buyin
g. So far, the day had been nothing but pleasant. He found his spirits high, his troubles somehow distant.

  Such a state of mind is not meant to last.

  Valerie had gotten him hooked on splurging on beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde when his mood was high. At their prices it couldn’t really be thought of as a splurge. Yet something about the atmosphere and sugary confections always made Griffen feel slightly decadent. More so, he imagined, than any of the five-star restaurants in the Quarter would. Though to be honest, he had yet to be truly tempted by the outrageous prices when the area was filled with inexpensive two- and three-star places that would knock anyone’s taste buds for a loop.

  After a lazy time of people-watching, Griffen went to walk off the meal. He decided to avoid tourist-heavy streets like Royal and Bourbon, preferring today to enjoy the buildings more than the scenery. He paused by a window of a tiny antique shop on Chartres, looking over a variety of old pocket watches and knickknacks. The sorts of things that were fun to peer at but he would never find reason to purchase.

  He was aware of eyes watching him, and suddenly the mood of the day shattered.

  At first he thought it was the shopkeeper inside, checking to see if he was a gawker or a viable customer. The feeling came from behind, though, eyes heavy on the back of his neck. Griffen had never asked if this were part of being a dragon. Most people claimed to be able to feel someone watching them. Dragon powers or no, he trusted his instinct.

  Griffen felt his meal, just moments ago a pleasant warming, now a heavy wetness in his stomach. His pulse was elevated so suddenly and quickly that he knew it was something more than the average pickpocket or hustler. He did his best to suppress his nervousness, trying to be cautious. He glanced at the window in front of him instead of through it, trying to catch anyone’s reflection. Nothing. Next he glanced out of the corner of his eyes. Nothing. Finally, he turned around fully.

  Nothing.

  Now his worry started to grow to fear. Usually by now the feeling of being watched should have faded. If anything, it had intensified since he had turned. Nervous but resolved not to show it, he rested his hand on his pocket, taking a loose grip on the folding knife nestled inside. Usually nothing more than something to open boxes or peel fruit with, its cool weight gave him some minor comfort.