“Uh.” Griffen hesitated. He hated to inform George that another dragon was on the way, but he had no doubt that was at the heart of her disappearance. “I hope it’s an abduction. Val’s pregnant. She’s gotten chummy with, er, the father’s mother.”
“Melinda Wurmley.” George nodded. He cocked his head at Griffen’s surprise. “She’s about as subtle as a nuclear explosion. She hasn’t been shy about spreading the news that she’s going to be a grandmother. We keep tabs on as many of you as we can. I wondered why Nathaniel went to Africa. Mumsy sent him out of town.”
“To protect him from me?”
“From Valerie, I would assume,” George said. “You’re formidable, but Val will one day be terrifying. She might be a target, but not at present. A baby opens the field further, though. A pure-blood baby, or nearly so. A tempting prize for many parties.” He eyed Griffen speculatively. “Yes, you’re right to be concerned, but she and her offspring aren’t in any danger from us. We only work by contract.”
“What if you had a contract?” Griffen asked, drawing pictures in the powdered sugar on the table.
“On your sister?” George’s eyes widened.
“To find her,” Griffen corrected him. “To get her back here safe and sound, with her child. You have resources I don’t. At the moment, I have absolutely no idea how to track her. But that’s what you do. You find dragons.”
“And kill them,” George reminded him.
“Not always. I’m still here. And I want Val back alive.”
“What if she doesn’t want to come?”
“I’d want to hear that from her directly. I would have to believe that she wasn’t under any compulsion, magical or otherwise.”
“Fair enough,” George said. “Can you afford our rates?”
Griffen was frank. “I doubt it. I’d have to owe you. If you let me work out a payment plan, I will keep up with it.”
“Well,” George said, “we know where you live.”
Griffen gulped. The George smiled.
“A little hunter humor there. No offense. I have to check with the office, but I see no reason not to take the contract. There’s only one condition.”
“What?”
The George leaned across the table, his assumed bulk menacing. “We have the right to defend ourselves if threatened. Collateral damage is possible. You are not responsible for it, but if we need to take measures, we will.”
“Wait a minute, you’d kill . . . ?” Griffen had a mental picture of Melinda, Lizzy, and her brothers lying in pools of blood. In spite of his difficult history with them, he was horrified.
George held up his hand. “I told you, we don’t freelance. But you do not get to warn our quarry. The idea is to go in and out, achieving the objective as swiftly and as accurately as possible. Nothing more, nothing less. If you feel you have to warn someone, I am your first telephone call. I’ll take care of eventualities and changes in plan. Not you. This is life and death, Griffen. I expect to hear from you at once if Valerie returns on her own.”
“It’s a deal,” Griffen said. He hesitated.
“Good enough. We will bill you.” The George tilted his head. “Something else on your mind?”
“I’ve had . . . some intelligence from a source I can’t tell you that another dragon is in danger,” Griffen said. “Penny Dunbar.”
“Are you asking me if a contract has been taken out on her?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t expect me to reveal confidential dealings that have nothing to do with you.”
“They do!” Griffen said. The hunter raised one eyebrow. “I’m . . . obligated to help make sure nothing happens to her. I don’t want to become ‘collateral damage’ if you’re out to get her.”
The George fixed his greenish brown orbs on him. They looked less human than ever. “I can’t tell you if she is a target.”
“But . . .”
“But it’s none of my business if she’s not a target,” the George finished. He took a big, square beignet from the top of the pile and bit into it. He chewed slowly and deliberately, swallowing the first bite before taking another.
“Are you saying that’s the case?” Griffen asked.
“In truth, I say nothing,” the hunter said. He ate three beignets in a row, washed down with plenty of coffee, while Griffen puzzled that out.
“I think . . . maybe . . . that I have nothing to worry about,” Griffen began, tentatively.
The George’s poker face was almost as good as his. “That is your conclusion.”
Griffen wondered just what cards he was holding. “I am going to act as if it is, but I take nothing for granted.”
“Prudence is a wise course.”
Griffen made a face at George’s linguistic circumlocutions. He thought hard before asking the next question. “Have you ever heard of Reginaud St. Cyr Duvallier?”
That made the George’s eyebrows go up. “Yes, indeed. We try not to deal with him.”
Griffen almost whistled.
“That’s a relief!”
“He doesn’t need us.” The George considered him carefully. “He is a resourceful man and a dangerous one. I don’t need to warn you to look out where he’s involved.”
“No,” Griffen said. “I’ve met him.”
“Are you his target?”
“I’m not, but I know someone who might be.”
“That acquaintance may be more short-lived than you think, then.” The George cleaned his hands carefully with a paper napkin. “We’re done for the time being. You won’t hear from me again unless there is a development.” He rose and dusted off his brown corduroy pants.
“Why do I feel as if I’ve just made a deal with the devil?” Griffen asked wryly.
The big man winked at him.
“You’re in the right city for it. But I feel the same way, Griffen McCandles. This was unusual. But you are an unusual dragon.”
The George stepped out of the brightly lit pergola onto the dark pavement. Griffen blinked. In between one step and another, the shape-shifter seemed to vanish.
“My!” said the voice of Dorothy Gale in his memory. “People come and go so quickly around here!”
Seventeen
The tiny Asian woman leaped over the head of the bulky, pasty-faced male enforcer and clung to the peeling brick wall with her claws. Her long, straight, black hair had been pulled out of its neat chignon into frantic strands. Mai hated Melinda for making her ruin her manicure and her hairdo. The other enforcer, a taller, leaner male with a shock of brilliant orange hair, leaped to grab her ankle. She scrambled up a few feet and kicked at his face. He dodged, but she caught him in the cheek. He hissed.
Only yards away, outside the mouth of the alley, thousands of New Yorkers weaved their way down the sidewalk, heading toward the subway to go home, that five o’clock look on their faces. The businesspeople, male and female, wore suits. The fashionistas wore designer labels. Those who wanted to be thought “in the know” wore black. Mai hoped one of them would stumble her way, perhaps to indulge in a little freelance mugging, and alarm her would-be assailants long enough for her to escape over the rooftops.
“What an unexpected gift,” Melinda said, watching the battle from the entryway. She was a short, dumpy woman with nondescript brown permanent-waved hair, obviously dyed. Mai suspected it had long ago gone to gray. Melinda was too vain to let her age show. Those pointed Jimmy Choo heels she had on were far too young for her. If there was any justice, though Mai had long ago given up believing in justice, she hoped they hurt like hell. “Giving me a chance to kill you in decent privacy.”
“If we were in Chinatown, you’d be the one up here,” Mai growled.
“I am never foolish enough to go there,” Melinda said, examining her nails. She buffed a red-painted forefinger on the sleeve of her coat.
“Not without a sufficient escort. Something you should have kept in mind, dear. But it won’t trouble you for long.”
That’s what you think, Mai thought, edging sideways toward a fire escape. Redhead clambered up the wall after her like a spider. Below them, Blocky sidled between the Dumpsters, keeping his eyes on them. Mai searched for an advantage. She had no fear of losing her grip. New York buildings were easier to scale than climbing walls in the gym. Their ancient brickwork, pipes, conduits, and rainspouts were such good handholds, she wondered that there weren’t more burglaries. She admitted she had an advantage with her dragon strength and natural claws. A pity it was still daylight. In the dark, she could effect a full transformation and flit away on spread wings.
Bundles of black coaxial cables snaked up the side of the building she was climbing. Redhead was close behind. Hiding the cables from view with her body, Mai slit them with her talon. He should get enough of an electric shock to distract him.
Instead, she heard a bellow through a window.
“Goddammit, the cable just went out!”
“Call the super,” a female voice shouted back. “This is the fifth time this month!”
Mai glanced over her shoulder. Her pursuer grinned at her. All right, so electronics weren’t her long suit.
“Hurry up and finish her, Dean,” Melinda said. “I have a dinner date.”
“Take your time, Dean,” Mai said, in a mocking tone. “She could stand to miss a couple of meals.”
Mai was more worried than she sounded. The truth was, she couldn’t afford to be caught. None of her people, the Eastern dragons, knew she was in town. They all thought she was still in New Orleans, where she was assigned. Her honored head of the family was already angry with Mai for failing to bring Griffen McCandles under their control. She had already had over a year to do it. The task wasn’t as easy as she had first thought it would be, and it was growing more difficult all the time. Griffen was learning wisdom in that place, something he had shown little sign of gaining back in college. In spite of herself, Mai was impressed with his progress. She was fond of him, but clan loyalty was stronger than her individual wishes. Not to mention that if she wanted to continue to live on the very generous allowance she received, she would have to do what she was told. If she did not succeed soon, she would be superseded by another dragon, or team of dragons.
She had run into another snag that prevented her from taking more drastic action. Griffen’s sister, Val, had become dear to her. She had never dreamed such a thing was possible. In all her long years, and Griffen would never learn the true total from her lips, she had yet to make a real friend. Val had reached out to her, offered her trust, and saved her life even at the risk of her own.
In all her long years, no one else had ever done that for Mai, not without expectations in return. Val had done it because that was what friends do. Mai was suspicious of such openness. In her experience, vulnerability equated with death. But she liked it. She had come to care for Val, and she felt innately protective of her.
When Val had disappeared Mardi Gras evening, only one person could have been responsible: Melinda. Mai sought for witnesses who could tell her where the elder dragon had gone. It had taken bribery, threats, cajoling, and some honest detective work, but she trailed Melinda and her minions to the Big Apple.
To her dismay, Mai had not yet found a trace of Val. She wasn’t staying in the extremely expensive suite in the Trump Towers with Melinda and Melinda’s insane daughter, Lizzy. Val was not resident in any of the other suites nor in any other hostelry close by. A very nice young man in the New York public records office had checked for her, and Melinda owned no private homes in the five boroughs, at least under that name. Mai was reduced to tailing the other dragon through the city like a gumshoe.
Evidently, electronics was not her only short suit.
“You followed us like an elephant trampling through Bubble Wrap for the last week,” Melinda taunted her, as she dodged and swung through the alley like it was a filthy jungle gym. “You couldn’t have been more obvious if you had brought Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with you. I cannot imagine what makes you dog my footsteps like that. If you want to know where I’m going, just ask me. I would be delighted to tell you personally, to your face, to go jump in a volcano.”
Mai bounded off the top of a Dumpster and grabbed for a rung of the fire-escape ladder. With a loud screech, it slid downward, taking her with it. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight out with fear. She let go of the rusty metal and dropped to the alley floor. More swiftly than she would have believed, Blocky closed the distance between them. He grabbed her around the body, trapping her arms at her side. She kicked for his crotch. He shifted her so both her legs were beside his hip, leaving her feet flailing at air. He grinned in her face. Mai hissed. Headbutting him would hurt. Instead, she bit him hard on the nose. He bellowed and squeezed his eyes shut.
Dragon skin, at least that belonging to those of nearly pure blood, was known to be impenetrable to anything on Earth. That is, with one exception: dragon teeth. Otherwise, a baby dragon’s fangs would remain helplessly beneath the surface of its gums. It takes time for teeth to erupt, but they can and do work their way through the tough epidermis. Mai couldn’t bite his nose off, but she was pleased to see that she had drawn blood.
He lost focus, and his grip slackened. Mai didn’t wait for a second chance. She slithered downward, out of his arms. Redhead saw her move and went for her. Mai tumbled in a backward somersault on the sticky pavement, coming up on her feet. She sprang. She kicked off against an empty Dumpster. Before the metal receptacle finished ringing, Mai had her arms around Melinda’s neck. She towed the elder dragon backward into the confined space between two Dumpsters. The enforcer dashed toward them.
“Back off!” Mai ordered Redhead. He windmilled to a stop.
“Don’t be silly!” Melinda gasped. “Kill her before she kills me!”
“I’m not in the mood for this, Melinda,” Mai said in her ear. “Today is your lucky day.”
“What? What do you want?”
“A life for a life.”
“Whose?”
“Yours for Valerie McCandles. Where is she?”
“Why is she any concern of yours?”
“She’s my friend.”
“Really.” Melinda turned her head in Mai’s grip to look her in the eye. “You? You have friends?”
Mai swallowed. It was a weakness. She was not accustomed to admitting to any. She had made an error. She kept her face as impassive as possible. A fellow Eastern dragon would have seen through her façade, but no ordinary dragon would have seen any emotional response whatsoever. She made her tone austere.
“We have our reasons for wanting to know her location. They may be similar to yours.”
Melinda was under no such restraint on her feelings. Steam came out of her nostrils and ears. “You won’t get her, Mai.”
“So you do have her! Every dragon in the world knows you’re expecting a grandchild. Of course you want to make sure it comes into your hands when it is born. But we doubt Val’s safety. I need to see her.”
“The Eastern dragons have no business with my grandchild!” Melinda said. “Strangle me if you can. I’ll never tell you where they are.”
Mai thought about it for a moment. She could snap the elder dragon’s neck. She had killed before.
“So be it,” she said. She tightened her grip.
Horrified, Blocky and Redhead hovered a few feet away, looking for an angle to attack, but she was too well protected in her niche. With a tremendous shove, she pushed Melinda forward. The elder dragon stumbled on her narrow shoes. The two enforcers rushed to keep their employer from hitting the ground. In that split second, Mai grabbed the handle of one Dumpster, pulled herself up, and scrambled up the nearest drainpipe. In seconds, she was on the roof.
Befo
re she started running, she heard Melinda’s taunting voice below.
“You’re getting soft, Mai! I might actually believe you have learned to care! Watch yourself! It’ll get you killed!”
Eighteen
Griffen sat between Penny and Fox Lisa in the rear of the black Lincoln Town Car. He dreaded the long drive to Acadia Parish. The vehicle was a replacement for the one that had been totaled by the garbage truck in front of the Irish pub. Horsie sat in the front passenger seat beside the driver, a man of approximately Horsie’s age but in far better shape. Winston Parmalee was Penny’s head of security. A thirty-year veteran of the Marines, he had a sapphire-hard glare and an iron gray crew cut you could have landed a jet on. He had made it clear on several occasions that he didn’t approve of Penny’s amateur guardians. Even allowing Griffen to sit in on the briefing for her visit to the bayou was a major concession. He didn’t reject Fox Lisa since she was a devoted campaign worker, but he hated having Griffen, known to host illegal poker games, anywhere near his candidate. Behind the limo, an unofficial caravan of press vehicles pulled away from the curb.
“Be happy to drop you off anywhere,” Winston offered, as he swung out of the parking lot of Penny’s campaign headquarters on a drizzly Tuesday morning.
“Sure,” Griffen said. He would have been glad of any excuse to get out of going, though his conscience would have slammed him. Winston could undoubtedly handle any physical attacks, but what if something supernatural jumped out of the woodwork?
“Oh, now, let’s all just get along,” Penny said. She leaned forward and patted Winston on the shoulder.
“The public is likely to draw the wrong conclusions if Mr. McCandles is present,” Winston said.
“I think they will draw the right conclusions, won’t they?” Penny said. Her tone was so bright it was almost brittle. “That he is a concerned citizen who has given up some of his very valuable time to support me. Isn’t that right, Griffen?”
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