Dragons Luck

by Robert Asprin

  Griffen tried to focus on the feeling, trying to give more attention to his instincts. He extended his sense out, reaching for a greater feel of his environment. Suddenly, a wave of curiosity crashed over him. Curiosity, mixed with daring. It was such a shock to his system that he actually took a step back and rested one hand on the wall. That wave of emotion had not been his own.

  Now Griffen truly did not know what to do. The intensity of his misgivings was soaring, and his own fear rose with it. Never before had he felt someone else’s emotion, and this had been so intense that, for a moment, he didn’t know what feelings inside were actually his. He—yes, he was almost sure those were his emotions—mostly wanted to retreat. To run away and get another person’s opinion on just what might be going on.

  That option was taken away as the source of the attention on him appeared. A great, shaggy beast of a dog stepped out from behind a parked car. The gray of the car almost exactly matched the dog’s fur, complete with random brown streaks that could have been dirt, rust, or natural coloration. The animal was just shy of being the size of a Great Dane, and had easily watched Griffen through the windows of its cover.

  Griffen was suddenly caught by a conflict of his instincts and his logic. Logically, he started to relax. The odd sensations, from being watched to the burst of feelings, could all be an extension of his animal control. He really didn’t understand what he did, or could do, yet.

  His instincts, though, those screamed to stay on guard. He puzzled over this, brow furrowing as his pulse continued to race. Something was wrong. Why was the dog approaching him? Where had it come from? Stray cats were common in the Quarter, stray dogs rare, especially one that big.

  “Good boy, you just stay there, boy,” Griffen said coaxingly, while reaching out to make the command more than words.

  He had learned through Jerome and Mose that dogs were one of the easiest things to control. They wanted to please. Just a little push . . .

  The dog ignored him. Continued to walk until he was right next to Griffen. Tentatively, Griffen reached out with his hand, though not the one on the knife, while pushing harder with his will.

  “Now listen here, there’s a good dog . . .”

  He stopped, hand still a good six inches from the dog. It had lifted its head, and their eyes locked. There was a spark of intelligence that no dog should hold in its eyes. The unexpected shock froze Griffen for a moment.

  A moment was all it took. An unpleasant warmth slid down Griffen’s leg. The dog, most definitely male, had decided to treat him as it might a lamppost.

  “You!” Griffen started, but the dog had already lowered its leg and bolted.

  After another stunned second, Griffen shouted again and took off after the dog. The head start and four legs quickly outdistanced Griffen, and the dog turned down Wilkinson, a side street that only stretched a block and was rarely busy. Griffen kept chasing, enraged. His sock squished.

  What Griffen found when he turned the corner was a scene from a horror movie. Not one of the modern hack-and-slash travesties, a classic. At some point, the canine monster must have stepped in a puddle. Along the sidewalk were paw prints. First distorted from running. Then just distorted. Then they were human.

  Griffen froze, rage freezing to ice. There was no one on the street, and the prints only went for a few more feet. Griffen didn’t even think about continuing his pursuit. It could too easily be a trap. He backed up, carefully, returned to Chartres. His mind was full of new ideas.

  The main one was simple though frighteningly close to overwhelming. He was going to have to get used real quick to there being more than dragons and ghosts in New Orleans.

  Another thought took longer to fully form. In fact it only hit him halfway to the apartment complex, where he planned to change, and maybe burn, his pants. The footprints hadn’t been of a bare human foot. They were prints of shoes. That alone sent his mind tumbling into confusion. It went against everything that should be logical.

  More to the point, though, the dog had most definitely been male. The shoe prints had most definitely been those of high heels.

  Cross-dressing shape-shifters—only in the French Quarter.

  Thirty

  Despite an increasingly hectic life, Griffen had made it a point to get out a bit early and stop in during Val’s work shift at least once or twice a week. If she was actually busy, he would wave and pass on by. More often than not, though, she had, at most, two customers who couldn’t bother giving her the time of day. Then he would step in, chat, catch up on gossip. It was a way of staying connected with his sister, and that was very important to him.

  Today was a normal shift, which was to say, pretty much empty. Val sat at the end of the bar, reading a novel. Occasionally she would glance up at the one customer—a boring-looking man sipping at a coffee and reading the local paper. When she saw Griffen, her face lit up, and she waved him on in, obviously glad for the relief.

  “Hey, Big Brother. Long time, no see!”

  Griffen sat in a chair a few feet down from the customer and rolled his eyes at his little sister.

  “You saw me last night,” Griffen said.

  “That was this morning, and you had Mai on your arm and more than a few whiskeys in you, so I don’t think you qualified as seeing much of anything.”

  “Oh, come now, you were just getting in yourself and complaining about needing to crash before work,” he said.

  Val put a drink out for him.

  “And again back to Mai on your arm. Damn, am I glad that place has thick walls and ceilings,” she said.

  “We didn’t do anything . . . well, not anything too athletic,” Griffen said.

  “Ugh! Please spare me the sordid details of your nocturnal habits. I’m going to start leaving the stereo on when I go to bed. Loud!”

  “Better than your spending four nights a week sleeping somewhere else. Who is it this week?” Griffen said.

  “I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about. That will be four fifty for your cocktail, sir.”

  Griffen grinned at himself; as soon as she slipped into bartender mode, he knew he had won this round. Of course, the first time he forgot to tip, she had changed the locks on his apartment door. He made sure to put an extra couple of dollars on the bar.

  “So how is life as a French Quarter bartender?” Griffen asked.

  “Oh, the usual. I picked up a German tourist who keeps calling me Brunhild and trying to pinch my ass. And I hear that Mitch down in that little dive on Conti got fired . . . again. Pretty boring on the gossip fare.”

  “Well, here’s one for your pot, then. There is supposed to be a convention of Bible thumpers in next week,” Griffen said.

  “Good God, no, isn’t that the same weekend we are getting in a bunch of porno types from California?”

  “In theory, no, they are just low-budget filmmakers, but that’s the rumor. Expect some real clashes,” Griffen said.

  “Pardon me,” she said.

  Val walked over to one of the wooden beams running from floor to ceiling in the bar. She quietly put her hands on both sides of it, and knocked her head firmly several times. Dust fell from the ceiling.

  “I take it you finally managed to get a night shift?” Griffen said, sipping his drink and trying very hard not to laugh.

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Kind of what I had figured.”

  Valerie glared and picked up his empty glass.

  “Jack and Coke, right?” she said, a glint in her eye.

  Griffen put the money on the bar for his next drink before she even poured, and left it up to her. She slumped her shoulders slightly and poured him his usual Irish.

  “So, how about with you. What life-threatening madness encroaches on your life this hour?” Val said.

  “Well, most recently . . .”

  “Excuse me, sir, could you pass the sugar?” the sole customer at the bar asked.

  “Sure.”

  Griffen absentmindedly pas
sed the sugar to the man. Then did a double take. Between being asked and passing the sugar, the man had changed into someone else.

  George smiled blandly at him.

  “Thank you. And perhaps the cream?” George said.

  “You!”

  Val was coming around the bar as she said it. In her hand was the blackjack kept for emergency use only by the bartenders. Griffen was on his feet, moving to intercept, and knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  George’s stool was empty.

  “Teleporter,” he said from behind the bar, “remember? I thought you dragons were supposed to be quick.”

  Val swiveled toward him, but now Griffen was firmly in the way. Unless she wanted to climb over him, George was reasonably safe. At least, from her.

  “What are you doing here?” Griffen said.

  “You know, I rather like it on this side of the bar. There is a sense of power. I can see why you would be drawn to it, Ms. McCandles,” George said.

  “Please come over here so I can wring your damn neck,” Val said.

  Griffen waved her off.

  “Again, ‘George,’ what are you . . . ?”

  “Oh, relax, the both of you. I’m on vacation. I always loved this city during Halloween. Just think of this as a courtesy, so you know I’m not here to cause you trouble.”

  “And we are supposed to believe you why?” Valerie said.

  “Hmm, does this help?”

  George vanished and materialized back on his bar stool. He nonchalantly folded up his newspaper and crossed his hands over his lap. Then he looked Valerie square in the eye and lifted his chin.

  “Feel free to hit me if it will make you feel better. I think we’ve already proved that it won’t do much in the way of permanent damage.”

  Valerie thought for a moment, then lowered the blackjack to her side. She walked back around to the other side of the bar. Which left Griffen standing there feeling silly. He sat back down in his seat.

  “Well, if we are playing things this way, can I buy you something other than coffee?” Griffen asked.

  Valerie banged something noisily behind the bar. Griffen flinched.

  “No, thank you, alcohol doesn’t affect me the same way it affects you. Caffeine actually works better,” George said.

  “You are both getting on my nerves. If you’ve nothing else to say other than ‘Hi, I’m not here to try and kill you,’ then I think you can leave,” Val said.

  George nodded slightly and began to stand up. Only to reach into his pocket. Valerie set her hand on the bar, the blackjack still clenched in her fist.

  Slowly, carefully, he pulled out a small plain card with nothing but a phone number on it.

  “Actually, I also came specifically here to apologize to you. I was hunting Griffen when you got yourself involved. Still, if I had been a gentleman, I would have backed off and waited till you were otherwise occupied,” George said.

  “Nice to know you would have waited till I was distracted, then tried to kill my brother,” Valerie said.

  Griffen really felt he should get involved. Do something to derail this train wreck. Self-preservation, however, said otherwise. He kept his mouth shut. Forget George; all he would do would be to try to kill him. His sister would destroy him.

  “Hmm, interesting perspective,” George said. “In any case, I would make amends.”

  “How?” Val asked.

  “By asking you on a date,” he said.

  “What!?” Griffen blurted before thinking about it.

  Val swung the blackjack menacingly at both of them.

  “Did you set this up for some dumb reason, Big Brother?” she asked.

  “Why would I?!” Griffen said.

  “Calm down both of you. This was my own idea, and a wild one at that,” George said.

  “Which brings up the question, why on God’s green earth would I go on a date with you? Much less as some apology to me?” Val asked.

  “Why, because there is this lovely masked ball that I’m sure you are dying to attend.”

  “What masked ball?” she asked.

  “Why, the traditional one at the end of the conclave. Where I’m sure you’ll want to keep an eye on your brother surrounded by people in costume who might have a grudge,” George said.

  There was a long moment of silence. Valerie stepped toward George and snatched the card from the table. He was just starting to smile when the blackjack swung up and sent him flying backward.

  Griffen very carefully kept his eyes on the blackjack as Val turned to him.

  “What?” she said. “He said I could and didn’t say there was a time limit.”

  “Actually, I pretty much saw that one coming. Feel better?” Griffen said.

  “Much,” Val said.

  George picked himself up off the floor and brushed himself off. His jaw showed no real sign of just having been crushed by a sap. Still, he made no move to approach the bar again.

  “Well then, you have my number. I suppose it’s time to find a less hostile drinking establishment,” he said.

  With that, he shifted, leaving Griffen and Valerie looking at a very large, shaggy dog. The dog opened its mouth, tongue lolling, bowed its head to the two, and bolted out of the bar.

  “So,” Valerie said, turning her full attention to Griffen,

  “what masked ball?”

  Griffen’s attention was still on the door. His mind focused on the dog that had been George. A very familiar dog.

  “Honestly, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Besides, I’m still trying to figure out what George was doing in heels,” he said, absently.

  Val looked at her brother.

  “What?!”

  “It would be so easy!” Lizzy said to herself.

  She stood on a third-story balcony, watching the Quarter. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. She was watching the French Quarter as it could be.

  From here she could see it all. She could see the security gate that led to the complex that the McCandleses shared. She could look down the street. See the road where Valerie would turn to go to work. The road she could come back down if she went to the A&P. The path Griffen would stagger back down when he got worried about following the same roads and took the alternate path he always took.

  Then she could see Valerie on the road. Not that she was there. It was an “already happened” Valerie. Valerie as Lizzy had watched her jogging early this very morning. Lizzy watched as she ran through people, who of course couldn’t see her. Didn’t feel as Valerie ghosted through them in Lizzy’s sight. Valerie wasn’t there; she was only in Lizzy’s eyes, because she was in Lizzy’s memory.

  Then Valerie shifted slightly, her jogging outfit actually changing from gray to blue as Lizzy pictured a Valerie that could be. All of a sudden a figure lurched out of nowhere. Big, massive, vaguely hound-shaped. It bit into Val’s thigh and Lizzy could hear the bone crack. She could taste the blood as suddenly she was not just on the balcony, but down in the image. She was the beast, and she heard Valerie scream as Lizzy’s large, jagged teeth next sank into her throat.

  Or perhaps . . .

  Next Lizzy saw Valerie as she was when she came home from the grocery. Not carrying many bags, not needing much. A few sodas, maybe something she could heat up for the night. Or something odd. A jar of pickles, a bunch of bananas, caramel popcorn. Things Valerie wanted because already her body was craving things for the baby.

  Wait till it grew a little more, Lizzy thought. Some of the things a dragon mommy craved could get really interesting.

  A shot rang out, and Lizzy felt the butt of the rifle strike her shoulder. The first blow took Valerie in the head, and there was no blood. Skin too thick. But it distracted her, held her. The next blow took her in the belly, then another, then another. Six shots into the stomach, and no more Auntie Lizzy.

  Lizzy gasped and threw the phantom rifle from her. That last thought, it had been sad. So sad. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn’t remember the la
st time she’d cried because she had been sad.

  Maybe instead . . .

  Now Lizzy saw Griffen. She had watched him many times in the last few days. Mostly she watched him when he was with her, Valerie, the one Lizzy hated. He seemed so weak, so young. She hadn’t really seen anything in him that she hated. Not like her brothers at all. She didn’t really want to hurt him . . . but she could.

  She saw him now, as if he were walking home after a night’s few drinks. Staggering just a bit, which was impressive for a dragon. It must have been a long night.

  Lizzy steps out of the shadows into the light of the small bookstore. It always left a light on the street at night. She wears a dress so tight she might as well just have shifted her skin to a different color. She breathes deep and steps toward him, swaying.

  He blinks, but reaches for her. How could he not? She smiles, and kisses him. Now her tongue is in his mouth, and the skin in the mouth, it’s not so tough. It would be nothing to just . . . push . . . into something soft and weak.

  Mai grabs her from behind. Lizzy has heard of Mai, seen her a few times since she has been stalking Valerie. But never tangled with her. Now she feels a grip strong as marble and looks into eyes as cold as a spider’s.

  Lizzy gasped again and threw herself away from the balcony, against the brick wall of the building. Her heart was racing. Even in her own head, Mai had been something Lizzy didn’t want to face.

  Lizzy looked out on the street and had to blink twice, hard. There she was, Valerie, and not just in Lizzy’s head. Real, solid, walking as if she owned the world. She walked into her apartment complex, the gates shutting securely behind her. Not enough to keep Lizzy out, but she felt as if they were taunting her.

  Lizzy snarled.

  “Why?” she said. “Why can’t I just beat her? Why do I care? Someone tell Lizzy!”

  She whirled to the girl cowering in the corner of the balcony. Out of sight from the world. She had been there when Lizzy had fallen from the roof onto the convenient balcony. Lizzy had swatted her down, then turned her attention to the street.