Dragons Luck

by Robert Asprin

  There were essentially two rings of chairs. An inner ring held only five chairs, one of which was empty. Sitting in the other four were the group of shifters who had stood in the center of the room earlier.

  Then, a foot or so away, was a much looser and wider ring of chairs. Here sat the other shifters, again talking among themselves, but at the same time keeping an eye on those in the center. It was as if they didn’t want to miss anything said but didn’t feel comfortable interfering.

  As Griffen approached, most eyes turned his way. Particularly those of the inner circle. No one said anything or so much as gestured. But the vacant chair was plain enough. Without asking, Griffen walked over and took a seat in it.

  There was an excited murmuring behind and around him from the outer ring. Those four he was now sitting with merely nodded to him. A small gesture of welcome, or of acceptance.

  One man nodded a bit more deeply than the others. He was a fragile-looking man, with short black hair that Griffen noticed seemed very soft. He was dressed elegantly, though a bit too flashy. By Quarter standards they were gay men’s fashions.

  “Mr. McCandles, I am Jay. It has been decided that I will do most of the speaking for the shape-shifters you see here,” he said.

  “A pleasure,” Griffen replied.

  He noticed that the group he had seen lurking in the corner was not present. He asked the obvious question.

  “What about the other group I saw?” he said.

  The four shared a glance. Griffen was getting a bit tired of that.

  “I do not speak for them. How much do you know about shape-shifters?” Jay asked.

  “Not much at all. To my knowledge I’ve only met one other.”

  “You have met others. But you speak of the chimera you battled.”

  “Yes, but what do you mean by ‘others’?”

  Griffen didn’t wonder how he knew about his fight with George. Though he couldn’t be sure whether he was getting more used to supernatural sources of information or to the French Quarter rumor mill.

  “You and your sister have the power, to some extent at least. You see, that is one of the difficulties faced by choosing who and how many speak for us in such a gathering as this.”

  As Jay spoke, Griffen noticed that his accent and speech were very refined, cultured. His movements and gestures were short, seemingly abrupt, but he also seemed to have an uncommon grace. Except for an occasional odd tilt of the head, he was what Griffen thought of as a well-bred gentleman.

  “We shifters share nothing in common except our ability. Even more than the animal-control types, those you see here have different ranges, origins, even blood. But we are lumped together because our primary attribute is to change form. Even though by that definition alone, you would be one of us.”

  Griffen started to fear this was going the same place his initial conversations with Slim had gone. And began to reassure Jay that he wasn’t interested in controlling a group of supernaturals.

  “I have no intention of—” he started.

  “No, that was not meant to insult your pride or to insinuate that you wanted leverage over us. I was merely explaining how unfair things were. We have sitting behind you a werewolf, a woman who can become a wolf. But she has no other form, just the one wolf. Next to her is a man who can only change his hands, but he can change them into practically anything. What do they have in common?”

  Griffen fought the urge to look behind him at the people pointed out. Somehow he thought it would be rude to stare at those sitting in the outer ring of chairs.

  “Not much,” Griffen admitted.

  “Exactly. And the personalities and motives change from person to person as well. Some shifters spend ninety percent of their time in animal form, and the human world is only a passing nuisance to them. This causes all sorts of difficulties. Even ignoring putting them in the same room as those whose sole talent is the bending of animals to their will.”

  Ah, so that was why he had been picking up some tension from Slim toward the shape-shifters and back again.

  “So, unless it is some personal matter, we only discuss at the conclave what affects all shifters, regardless of type. That is why we are here,” Jay said.

  That made a certain type of sense to Griffen. A personal gripe or issue could be brought up by anyone. But having a set spokesmen at the outset for dealing with the larger matters, the ones that affected everyone, would prevent confusion.

  “So, why you?” Griffen asked.

  “Ah, natural ranking. We four are the most powerful shifters attending. And though I am not the most powerful”—Jay paused to nod to a wild-looking man whose eyes were constantly flicking from face to face—“it is agreed I speak best and fairly. In my day job I am a judge, so I also have knowledge of human laws.”

  “Good to know, but what makes one shifter more powerful than another?”

  “Variety. How many forms? What are his limitations? Does he have to maintain mass? Side benefits and powers like being able to shift objects, such as one’s clothes. I believe your chimera not only had multiple unrelated forms, but also had other tricks, including protection from fire. He might even be more than he claims. This really sets him fairly high compared to the young lady who howls at full moons and may fear silver bullets.”

  “Does that really . . . ?”

  “I do not know. I have never tried shooting her,” Jay said.

  Griffen shook off the thought and instead focused on something that was nagging him.

  “Okay, but how can you speak for them if you don’t speak with them? Standing and sitting segregated seems awful cliquey to me.”

  Jay blinked, obviously taken aback. Several of the others stirred, and the wild-looking man chuckled, before saying, in a voice like gravel, “We don’t do it to them, they do it to themselves.”

  “Quite,” Jay said. “We have had no fights for dominance or any of that nonsense. Any of them could have taken the empty chair, but they hold themselves back in mixed admiration and fear. Even if they could have brought up the courage to step forward, most of them would ask ‘May I join you?’ and would have taken a ‘No’ without hesitation. The fact that you sat without asking marks you as one of the elite, even though they are setting the standards of the elite.”

  Griffen looked back now, at the faces of all those listening to the conversation. They were right, each one held that nervous admiration of a . . . well, of a fan. These four were the equivalent of shifter rock stars, at least as far as the conclave was concerned.

  “Okay, so what about that other group I saw?” Griffen said.

  “Actually, they were locals. You’ll probably have some trouble with them. They call themselves ‘loup garou,’ the French, or, I am told, Cajun word for werewolf. They are quite powerful as far as variety. They have complete control, not just man to wolf but all stages in between, including a monstrous form to make a Hollywood effects man slit his wrists for being a dismal failure. Very pack-oriented, but independent, too. They only showed up to make it clear that what any of us says does not apply to them. Arrogant thugs,” Jay said.

  Much as when he had first met the changelings, Griffen felt overwhelmed. Too many new concepts too quickly. He was going to need some time to think of some better questions, but at least now he had a small grip on who, and what, he was dealing with.

  “One last question, if you don’t mind me asking. What ‘variety’ are you?” Griffen said.

  “That in some circles is a very rude question, Moderator,” Jay said, smiling coldly.

  “I did say ‘if you don’t mind.’ ”

  “True, and I don’t. There is no name for me. I do birds.”

  “What birds?”

  “Any birds, size, shape, color, even sex. It makes no difference. I am limited to that, but within my bailiwick have no limitations. If it has feathers, I can manage it with a bit of work.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look much like any bird I have seen,” Griffe
n said.

  Jay smiled and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled the short strands up enough that Griffen could see they weren’t strands at all. They were very soft, downy black feathers. So fine he would never have been able to tell.

  “You just haven’t seen one that has evolved enough.”

  Thirty-three

  One of Griffen’s oddities since leaving college life behind in Michigan and beginning a dragon’s life down in New Orleans was that he simply did not own an alarm clock. It was a trivial thing, something he rarely noticed and never commented upon. His sleep schedule was open, and if he ever needed to set an alarm, there was always his cell phone.

  In fact, the cell phone was often his wake-up call, whether he set it or not. The loud buzz of an incoming call was the first thing he heard on any given morning. It never failed to annoy him.

  This morning was no exception. The phone yanked Griffen out of a deep sleep, the kind of truly black nothing-ness that comes before the real dreams start. He jerked upright with a gasp, lunging for the phone. The bedside table still showed faint gouges from similar surprise wakings, but Griffen was learning to control his reflexes.

  He popped open the lid of his phone and saw just why he felt so startled and groggy all at once. He had gotten a generous four hours of sleep.

  “Mr. McCandles, we gots some big problems down here.”

  “Slim...”

  Griffen recognized the voice through the haze of sleep and shook his head, trying to clear it more. Not quite tracking, he said the first thing that came into his head.

  “Isn’t it time you started calling me Griffen?”

  “Well . . . let’s just wait till after this here meet is done with. Might feel different ’bout that by then. We got problems,” Slim said.

  Griffen was already up and getting dressed.

  “It’s nine in the morning, Slim,” Griffen said, voice slightly muffled as he pulled on his shirt.

  “Sorry ’bout that, but not every attendee is quite as nocturnal as you. Be glad it ain’t a normal convention, or you’d have to get here every day by now.”

  “Right. I’ll try to remember to be more thankful that these aren’t ‘normal’ conventioneers.”

  Despite his sarcasm, a wry smile pulled at his lips. As troublesome as it might be, at least his life wasn’t boring. He hurried out the door, cell phone still pressed to his ear.

  “Fill me in while I’m on my way,” Griffen said, heading out the security gate and onto the street.

  “Sure thing, but not the Sonesta. The problem is in the garous’ hotel room.”

  Griffen quickly changed his course, taking a right at the first street he came to.

  “The Best Western? Up on Rampart right?”

  “Right, which may or may not be a helpfulness. Anyways, I’m headin’ up there myself, so you might beat me. Just head on up to the room. They is waitin’,” said Slim.

  “Okay, but you still haven’t told me just what is going on.” Rampart was only a few blocks away, but a few blocks on hurried feet without proper sleep or anything resembling breakfast seemed to drag on forever. Griffen kept his strides long and fast, but didn’t run. He had learned the hard way that running through the Quarter was great fodder for the local rumor mills.

  The last time he had just been trying to pick up a snack at the A&P during a commercial break. By nightfall he had gotten a full barrage of everything from jokes about his taking up jogging to whispers that he had been running from someone. He didn’t even want to think about what would spring up if he ran and looked worried at the same time.

  Slim clicked his tongue. “I don’t quite have all the details. Got a panic call from one of the lesser wolves. They all sharin’ a couple of adjoining rooms there and he heard a snarl and sounds of a fight in the john.”

  “Is that all?” Griffen asked.

  “Well . . . he opened the door and said their leader had been attacked. By some ‘thing’ he said,” Slim added.

  “Umm? ‘Thing’?”

  “Yeah, here’s where it gets garbled. Couldn’t put together ’nough words for me to have a clue what he found in there.”

  Griffen started to slow his pace to a normal walking speed.

  “Slim, that doesn’t exactly sound like an emergency. By the time we get there, whatever fight happened will be well over.”

  “Yep, you right ’bout that. Fact it was over when the kid opened the door. He just too far out of his depth not to yelp for help,” Slim said.

  Griffen again noticed a bit of the disdain in Slim’s tone that he and the other animal-control people had for the shape-shifters. He didn’t have the time and patience just then to question it again.

  “So why are we running over there?” Griffen said.

  He didn’t say, tempting though it was, why the hell did you wake me?

  “ ’Cause, the critter is still there.”

  Griffen stumbled over the uneven sidewalk and almost fell. He stared at his phone for a moment.

  “Right . . .” Griffen said, petty objections instantly fading. “Be there in five minutes.”

  He closed his phone and took off at a faster pace. He would deal with the rumor mill later.

  The Best Western was not by any means a high-end hotel by New Orleans standards. However, it was fairly cheap, clean, and could officially boast being inside the Quarter, even though it was on the very edge. Needless to say, Griffen didn’t have any problems just walking in and heading up to the third floor. In fact, he hadn’t even seen anyone behind the counter.

  Slim had beaten him after all, and stood in the hall outside the room with one of the younger shape-shifters Griffen had seen at the conclave. He had never heard the young man speak. Like most of the lesser members attending, he deferred to his particular leader.

  Slim was talking to him.

  “Now, you stay out here like I tol’ you. No one, and I mean no one, comes in till me or Moderator McCandles says so.”

  The young man simply nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked tough, on guard, enough that Griffen had little worry that anyone would try to push past him. Still, Griffen could see the relief in his eyes. It was obvious he didn’t want to go back into the room, and Slim had come up with a good way to save face from outside.

  Slim winked at Griffen and walked over to him. His expression made it clear that he caught the kid’s relief, too.

  “You ready to face the unknown, Moderator?” Slim said nodding to the door.

  “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Griffen observed.

  “Good. ’Cause I can’ts wait to see what gots the pup all riled like.”

  Slim grinned and opened the door. Griffen had no problem with letting him go in first. The bathroom door was open, but from the entranceway Griffen couldn’t see inside. He did hear the young wolf whimper slightly as he passed.

  Griffen carefully closed the hall door before moving forward.

  Before he took another step, a wave of stench rolled over him with almost physical force. It made him think of stagnant water and a men’s urinal that hadn’t been cleaned in years. He didn’t know for sure, but assuming garou had more acute senses of smell than most people, he understood more why one wouldn’t want to come back in the room after getting out.

  Then he could see into the bathroom, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring.

  Slim, standing next to him and staring just as openly, said it best.

  “Sheee-iiit.”

  The figure in the bathroom was big, a good seven feet if it stood up straight, but it was hunched over, its posture ape-like. It seemed to be made completely of plant matter. A swirling mass of bark and vines and moss mimicked skin. Grasslike hair spread in a lawn halfway down its back. Each piece of vegetation seeming to writhe of its own accord. It was constantly in motion even while hulking there. Algae spread over its chest bubbled slightly as it breathed.

  Griffen couldn’t help noticing it had mushrooms growing between it
s toes.

  “What is it?” Griffen asked

  “I don’ have a single clue. Somethin’ local, I think. Heard ’bout somethin’ similar. A spirit of the swamps,” Slim said.

  “Somehow I don’t think spirit fits. Anything that smells that bad has to be mostly corporeal,” Griffen said, trying to fight off shock with humor.

  Slim half started to smile. Then the street entertainer saw the body crumpled next to the toilet. It was the garou leader, his clothes ripped and a large green splotch marring the top of his head. He wasn’t moving.

  Slim rushed forward.

  The creature straightened, head brushing the ceiling and leaving a green smear. It swelled up menacingly.

  Griffen put a hand on Slim’s shoulder and stopped him. “Ease down, Slim,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on the imposing figure.

  “Are you nuts? Look how bad that monster beat him. The man might be dead,” Slim said.

  “Funny you caring, Slim, but look again. The clothes are ripped only at the seams. I think our friend here is only responsible for the clout to the head. I take it an unconscious shifter reverts back to their natural form?” Griffen said.

  “Some yes, some no. The garou and werewolves are said to,” Slim said grudgingly.

  “I think he saw . . . this, and panicked. Started to shift, not thinking about what it might do to his outfit, and the creature reacted, just as it was about to react to your rush.”

  Griffen finally released Slim’s shoulder. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the apparition in front of him. It had no eyes, but there were two dark blue flowers on what was passing for its head. Griffen got the distinct impression that they were watching him, appraising him.

  Slim’s glance at Griffen was awfully appraising, too. “Damn, I heard dragons was fast thinkers,” Slim said.

  Griffen would have responded, but the creature settled down and went back to its more relaxed slump. A deep gurgling built from somewhere inside. After a moment, Griffen realized that in a harsh, bubbling way it was beginning to speak.