Dragons Luck

by Robert Asprin

  “I apologize,” he said.

  She nodded and looked back at her cards. Tail turned his attention back to Griffen.

  “I’m used to being the biggest fish in the pond. Ain’t no shifter never who outdid me. Then you come and do nothing and get fawned over. So in that way, maybe I was jealous. I guess a part of me was hopin’ to draw you into a fight.”

  Griffen was surprised once again. Tail was being honest, open, and—for him—eloquent. If this kept up, Griffen might have to reevaluate his whole situation. On the basis of a card game.

  “I can understand that. But, Tail, I haven’t seen you do anything either, and I never challenged the respect you were shown.”

  “Well, damn. You’re right. Guess you are better then me, without doin’ a damn thing.”

  This time Griffen didn’t need a moment’s hesitation. “Not better,” Griffen said. “Just different.”

  The delayed hand was finally played. Then another. It would have become nothing more than another card game. Though one where some peace was made. Would have been.

  If Tammy hadn’t walked into the lobby.

  She flounced in, scanning the room, about an hour after Griffen had sat down. He actually heard her before he saw her. She let out a tiny, girlish squeal when she saw him, and when he turned to look, she was already rushing his way.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Grif—”

  She stopped a few feet from the table, eyes fixing on Tail. He and the rest were watching her. Hard not to considering her enthusiastic entrance. Griffen caught a bit of tightness around Tail’s eyes, a bit of anger that was being suppressed. But suppressed well.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” Tail said gruffly. “Still don’t like that you cheated, but it’s been pointed out to me that I’ve been being an ass. So let’s forget the whole thing and start over?”

  “Come join the game, Tammy,” Griffen offered, nodding to a chair that could be pulled over.

  The others exchanged glances. Griffen realized the hesitation. They were still major players, and Tammy a follower. Still, a truce of sorts had been made, and no one seemed willing to break it by excluding her.

  She made it unnecessary.

  “Oh . . . poker. No, thanks, but would it be all right to watch?”

  This time Griffen glanced about, checking reactions. He didn’t want to upset things either, now that they were settling down. Everyone seemed to have no problem with that, having relaxed and refocused on their cards.

  “Sure thing, Tammy. Glad to have you,” he said.

  And turned to her to smile.

  Which, from the sudden light in her eyes, was a mistake. She gave off another half squeal, and as Griffen turned back to the table, he felt her stand directly behind him. At first it wasn’t distracting. Till she leaned over to look at his cards closer. Brushing his shoulder with her breast might have been an accident. Whispering into his ear was not.

  “Wow, you are really . . . good,” she said, in a tone that despite his best intentions made his temperature spike a bit.

  “Thanks.”

  Griffen was an experienced player, thought of himself as very good. He wasn’t one to let distractions change his expression, or mess up his game. He had played in harder, and hotter, situations before.

  She bit his earlobe, and he almost dropped his cards. “Uh, Tammy, a little space please?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She leaned back, and laid her hands on his shoulders. He was too polite to suggest she move farther. Or perhaps take a chair.

  Griffen watched his other players, and they watched him. For the most part they seemed . . . amused. Kane was practically leering. Margie had a smirk on her face. Lowell was looking a little too closely at his cards, in that way one did when he wanted to be obvious about not looking somewhere else. Even Tail had a glint in his eye that meant he was either enjoying Tammy’s show or Griffen’s discomfort.

  Tink looked nervous. As if he would get blamed for the other changeling’s behavior. Tammy started to idly run a finger through Griffen’s hair.

  So, Griffen thought to himself, this is what a gangster with a moll on his arm must feel like.

  “So, Griffen,” Tammy said as the game went on, “I really like New Orleans. I was even thinking about moving here. Say . . . do you know where I might find a place to stay? Or, maybe have some place I could . . . sleep. For a while.”

  No, if gangsters felt like this, they would shoot all the molls. Tammy was as subtle as a brick.

  “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea, Tammy,” Griffen said.

  Her hands tightened against him.

  “What isn’t a good idea?” she said.

  The card game had all but stopped. This was far better entertainment.

  “Uh . . . would you excuse us? Tammy, can I talk to you, privately?”

  “You can talk to me now! What isn’t a good idea? Moving, or being close to you? Don’t you like me?!”

  He wished he had moved her away from the table earlier, but it was such a sudden shift that it caught Griffen flat-footed. He had forgotten how damn mercurial the changelings could be. And that last question was almost shrieked, and there just wasn’t any good answer to it.

  Griffen, in the tradition of brave, i.e. stupid, men throughout history, tried to answer anyway.

  “It’s not that, Tammy, but I already basically have two girlfriends as it is, and—”

  It was not the time to think on whether or not Fox Lisa or Mai would mind the changeling girl for a night. Besides, with Tammy, he doubted it would ever be just “one night.”

  “Two! Two?! Well, then what’s one more?”

  “Tammy, relax, let me explain.”

  “Explain . . . I thought you wanted . . . I thought we had . . . YOU BASTARD!”

  Tammy slapped him, and it hurt. It actually hurt as if he had been hit with a baseball bat. He looked down and saw that her hand was the color of wood. Though there was a slight crack in it, and tears streaming down her face.

  “Ow!” she said, whirled, and ran away.

  Griffen instinctively started to rise and follow.

  “Stop.”

  Griffen looked over at Tink, who was shaking his head.

  “I’ve seen her like this before. If you follow her, it will mean you love her, and you will never be rid of her.”

  “I didn’t mean to . . .” Griffen said.

  “I know. Nothing you did, or said, would have happened with a sane, normal girl. But our Tammy—she’s something special, even for a changeling,” Tink said.

  He shook his head and stood.

  “Cash me out, will you? I can follow her at a distance, and if she catches me . . . Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Trust me, Griffen, you don’t want to follow, I learned that one the hard way,” Tink said.

  Tink collected what was left of his stake and strolled out into the night. Griffen watched him go, knowing Tink was right but his instincts telling him what a brute and fool he had been.

  “Relax, McCandles. That truly was not your fault. That one is unbalanced,” Lowell said.

  “No one could have done better at that point. You made the right choices,” Margie said.

  “Yeah, we spread it round. You in da clear. She just crazy.” Kane nodded vigorously.

  Somehow that didn’t comfort Griffen. He could only imagine what the rumor mill would make of this one.

  And he certainly wasn’t in the mood to play cards anymore.

  Forty

  Flynn knew there was someone in his room.

  He had been out for an evening stroll, reviewing in his own head where things stood. Griffen seemed sufficiently distraught, the pressure of the conclave blending nicely with the pressures he had been heaping on. All that was needed was one last plan, one last push. Something from within the conclave itself perhaps. Flynn already had a seed of an idea, and the walk had been just the thing he needed for it to blossom.

  Then, a few feet from his doo
r, he knew someone was inside, waiting for him. Flynn wasn’t sure which of his senses had provided the information, nor did he care. The first thing a dragon learned, a proper dragon, was to trust the gestalt of data that showed more of the world than any single sense. It was a trick that the young McCandles seemed to have grasped only barely, but then Flynn knew he wasn’t a proper dragon. Not yet.

  Flynn paused for only a moment before opening the door. The matter was rather straightforward. If whoever lay in wait was in his class, they already knew he was in the hall. If they weren’t, there was no threat, and he might as well find out who’d had the stupidity to break into his room.

  Of course, he hadn’t considered the possibility of someone in a class all their own. He regretted opening the door as soon as he saw Lizzy, sprawled on her stomach on his bed, flipping channels on his TV.

  “A hundred channels, and the funniest thing on is the news,” Lizzy said, not bothering to look up at him.

  “Perhaps you should go to a movie?” Flynn suggested.

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!”

  Lizzy bounced off the bed and was reaching for a tattered leather coat that had been draped on a nearby chair. Her hand stopped a few inches from it, and she turned back to Flynn.

  “Say, that was almost clever. You are almost as good at glamour as little Nathaniel.”

  Well, it had been worth a try, Flynn thought. Out loud he simply said, “Better, more subtle. But you are . . . difficult.”

  “You’d be amazed how often I am told so. Hey, do you get pay-per-view in this joint?”

  With that she was back on the bed, remote in hand. Flynn sighed inwardly and pulled out another chair, sitting with his back to one corner of the room. He watched her aimlessly flip through movie listings, feet kicking in the air like a child. The problem with dealing with Lizzy was he was never sure how much was insanity and how much an act. Mostly the first as far as he could tell. He had a much better time sparring with a professional like Mai.

  With his expressions carefully schooled, he bided his time, trying to figure out what Lizzy wanted. He was still getting over the shock of finding her here of all places. Had his attention really been so focused on McCandles that a powder keg like her could go unnoticed? Or had she just arrived?

  “Long see no time, or is it the other way around?” Lizzy said.

  “Look, Lizzy, I told you before. I won’t help you start an ‘acting’ career without permission from your mother. I am not stepping sideways on her for you.”

  “And anyone else who told me no like that would be dead before they finished.”

  “Which you tried last time, so skip it,” Flynn said.

  Flynn didn’t mention that they had both been lucky to walk away from that. He wasn’t used to such a . . . physical confrontation. Most dragons considered themselves more elegant than that.

  “Mumsy still thinks that the limelight would be too much for her delicate daughter. She says it’s just better all around if Lizzy stays home,” Lizzy said.

  “Safer anyway,” said Flynn.

  “Exactly. Besides she wants to get her hooks in you herself. She says you go to all the best parties.”

  “Ahem . . . so then what can I help you with?”

  Lizzy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him for the first time. Flynn found himself fascinated by the broken eyes and the confusing mix of emotions that played across her face. Anger, fear, doubt. And random sparks of happiness that gave her a smile so cold Flynn found his heartbeat increasing slightly.

  “I came to kill Valerie McCandles.”

  “I won’t even help you get out of your mother’s house. You think I’d help you kill someone?”

  “Who says I need your help to kill anyone? Lizzy could kill the pope if she wanted to. Not a bad idea that, not bad, but I certainly don’t need some pampered agent to help me with a kill! Not me, not Lizzy.”

  “Then what . . .”

  “Because it’s all gone wrong!” Lizzy screamed.

  Flynn was on his feet a second after Lizzy, but she already had him by the shoulders. Her fingers were hard and sharp, as if the bones themselves were hidden blades. Shorter than him by a good head and a half, she still lifted him a foot off the ground.

  “Don’t you see? I took the shot, and now I don’t know if I can take another! I never expected this, not this. I just wanted her out of the family, didn’t want Nathaniel happy. Not him. And now if Mother finds out about her and me and it and I just don’t know what she’ll do.”

  Flynn reached out, touch gentle but firm, and put his fingertips on the pulse of Lizzy’s neck and against one wrist. For a moment Lizzy rubbed her head down against his hand like a cat, shattered eyes fading to softer, gentler colors.

  With the connection made, Flynn flooded her with glamour.

  “Put. Me. Down.”

  Lizzy screamed, and it couldn’t have been as loud as it seemed in that moment. No one came beating down the door. No one came to rescue her.

  Flynn caught a brief glimpse of himself through her eyes, glamour wrapped around him and making him seem glorious and terrible. A pillar of shining light, of burning fire, perfect pristine water. Images mixed and cascading, and each beating down on her senses, coupled with merciless reflections of her pitiful, mad little self. His self-image and her worst fears, all feeding off each other and building.

  Flynn smiled cruelly; it had been years since he’d had an opportunity to be so blunt. To really cut loose. As much as he prided himself on his smooth touch, it was occasionally satisfying to smash down like a sledgehammer. It was as if he were showing her a glimpse into the Devil’s own mirror, with him playing the part of both mirror and monster.

  Lizzy fell to her knees, and the connection broke. Flynn needed almost intimate contact to maintain that level of power, and it always seemed to have a price. He purposefully didn’t look down at Lizzy as she trembled and sobbed on the hotel carpet. A dragon’s glamour was often a two-way street, and he didn’t want to know what would be reflected back at him.

  “Now try again,” Flynn said. “You attacked Valerie McCandles, and she is still alive. Is the sister really that tough?”

  Lizzy shook her head, but didn’t look up at Flynn again. Tears stained the carpet.

  “Yes . . . no . . . she’s tough, but stupid. I could have taken her.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know if I should. Don’t know if I want to. It all changed, in an eyeblink it changed.”

  “How did it change, Lizzy?”

  Now Lizzy looked up, and from her cold glare Flynn knew the last traces of his glamour on her had faded. Pity, too, it was the kind of trick that was only easy once, before the mind had built up defenses for it. Still . . . this was only Lizzy.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she spat.

  Flynn shrugged.

  “Yes, I would. I am honestly curious. But at least tell me why you came to me.”

  “Not sure I know anymore, after that. Ah, yes, wanted advice I did. Can’t go to family, family mustn’t know, not till I’m done here and back home. Can’t go to locals, locals are the McCandleses, and their pets. But knew you were in town. Saw you, tracked you.”

  Lizzy threw back her head and laughed, and Flynn felt mixed irritation and admiration. Irritation that she had known his whereabouts, and he hadn’t even gotten a call from his network of contacts about hers. Admiration that, well, he had never seen someone pick themselves up so fast after a blow like that. That laugh, as it flitted through the scales like an insane hummingbird, was also filled with her strength coming back to her.

  Sure enough, she got to her feet and planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him and showing no sign that anything had just occurred. Idly, he wondered if she remembered.

  “And what are you doing here? I ask to me. Want the McCandles boy, and completely ignored the sister. Misogynistic bastard. No wonder Mummy dearest runs circles around you old-school male dragons.<
br />
  “Pot, kettle, black, my dear. You don’t want to kill Valerie anymore; that is fine. But you can still make her suffer. Turn your attentions to her brother.”

  “Pot, kettle, polka dot!” Lizzy said triumphantly.

  “I have no idea how to reply to that,” Flynn said.

  “Good. I have no interest in the boy-child, or your prophecy, and don’t think I don’t know about that. Lizzy will do what Lizzy wants to do.”

  “But you don’t know what you want to do.”

  “I’ll figure it out and hang about a bit in the meantime. Maybe I’ll find a use for you after all.”

  Lizzy stepped to him, reaching a hand out, and even though he saw the claws, he didn’t allow himself to react. Any reaction would just provoke her. She drew her hand across his cheek, down his neck, fingers sliding past the collar of his shirt to his chest.

  Claws leaving a set of deep lines over his heart.

  “Don’t think for a second I don’t owe you for that glamour, Earl,” Lizzy purred and tightened her grip.

  Flynn felt the scrape of claw on bone, and still he didn’t move. She pouted some and stepped back, and the wound closed nearly instantly under Flynn’s concentration. He had always been better at healing than at glamour, but damn did that girl have some wicked claws.

  She wiped her fingers delicately on his bedspread and stalked out the door.

  Flynn let his guard down, slumping into a chair as adrenaline he didn’t know he had been pumping left his system. Unsteadily, he poured himself a tumbler of bourbon and sipped at it gently.

  Despite the danger, and irritation, Lizzy had actually been right. Up till now, he had been a fool to focus solely on Griffen. Griffen’s strength seemed to be largely those around him, and Flynn had thought that he could strip that best by influencing the boy directly. When it would be so much easier to target one of them.

  But not his sister. She was not an easy target, not if she sent Lizzy running. That was something he would have to look into. Someone at the conclave perhaps?

  Pieces were starting to fall together, but his train of thought wasn’t quite as true as usual. He kept getting distracted by details.