"I'm Griffen. Or Grifter, if you want."
The big man's eyebrows went up. "Like in The Sting?"
Griffen shrugged noncommittally. "I played a lot of poker in high school and college. Now I run a business."
"Well, you are a natural with fire," Bert said. "I am third-generation Nautilus. I'm proud as can be that they saw fit to ask me to be king this year. And it don't hurt that I own six car dealerships. The money helps."
"But the ritual," Griffen pressed. He wanted to get back onto the subject. Etienne had avoided telling him anything at all. These were his counterparts. They had to know more than he did. "What do you think happened in there?"
"Some kind of special effects," Cos said, his eyes placid but wary. "I didn't know exactly what to expect. I mean, it's been sixty years and more since that box was opened in public. At least, that's what your man Doug there said."
"We were instructed what to do," Bert said. "The instruction went only so far, you know, where to stand, how to hold the scepter. I know I never seen anything like it before. Never felt anything like it. I expect there was some kind of device in there, some kind of setup in the room, but it seemed more real than that."
"I wasn't told anything except to show up," Griffen said, resentfully. Etienne had blithely given him the time and place but nothing more. He was going to have words with the werewolf hybrid. Small wonder Etienne had disappeared as soon as the ritual broke up. Griffen wanted to confront him. He could have warned him that they were going to be performing some kind of heavy magic in public, before an unprepared and largely nonmagical public. By the time the crowds had cleared, Etienne was gone. With his gift of foreknowledge, he might have had some inkling that Griffen was pissed off.
"Maybe they thought you already knew what was up," Cos suggested. "Are you descended from a member of the original krewe? Lord knows that when we started up Antaeus again, we had to go through all the archives for our history. Amazing how little people write down when they're sure something is going to carry on in living memory. I'm making sure that every single event this year is documented, recorded, and made into a computer file as well so that we don't have to go through it all again next time."
"No. I'm from Michigan. I came to New Orleans last summer. I just graduated from college."
"You did?" Bert asked, surprised. He studied Griffen's face. "You must be some special if they asked you so soon."
"You can see why," Holly said. "He's got a gift for magic. They must have sensed that."
"I reject your supposition that what went on in there is magic," Cos said.
"What else could it be?"
"But what's all of it for?" Griffen interrupted the budding argument. "Why are you involved in this ritual?"
Holly regarded him seriously. "Well, do you believe in the concept of a sacred trust? Can you entertain the concept without going all ironical on us?"
"In theory," Griffen said honestly.
"Well, this is more than theory, isn't it?" Cos said. "It turned out to be the God's honest truth. I was told what I could expect, but I myself did not know what kind of a holy miracle it was until just a few minutes ago, and it has changed me forever. I wish I could tell my whole congregation. It was mind-blowing."
"For me, too," Griffen said, sincerely. "No argument there."
Bert nodded. "What we went through in there is the reenactment of a sacred trust passed down from king to king. It used to be that the king of a country wielded all four elemental scepters to protect his realm, but here we only have our kind of kings, who rule at Mardi Gras."
"The four elements are invoked, with spirit to bind them together, in the name of the Trinity," Cos added. "This is a sacred rite."
"I'm not really a churchgoer," Griffen said. "Would that prevent me from participating?"
"But you're not against goodness, are you?" asked Bert.
"No, just not sure what I believe. I don't impinge on other people, but organized religion is not my thing."
"Are you an atheist?" Cos demanded, his brows down.
Griffen shook his head. "I can't say exactly that I believe in a higher being; but I can't deny that what I thought of as the supernatural is in my everyday life now, since I came to New Orleans."
"I'm not surprised," Holly said, with a grin. "No matter what you believe, things happen in this city that are hard to explain anywhere else. You don't have to be a believer. We all come from different traditions, Griffen. I'm a wiccan myself. I couldn't make it to . . . Well, we'll talk later about that." Griffen understood. He had known a few wiccans in Michigan and wanted to hear more about the local practitioners. "Antaeus is a Baptist. Only Nautilus is a good Catholic."
"I'll pray for you all," Bert said, sincerely. The others groaned. "Sorry, but you are probably all lost to heaven," he said. "I hope for your souls' sakes that you find your way before God calls you home."
"I'll be in the Summerland," Holly said. "He can call me there."
"Are you blaspheming?"
"Can you call it that if it isn't your belief system?" she asked. "Look, Griffen, it doesn't matter what we call ourselves, or how we practice, or what we believe or don't. What matters is that what you did and will do protects New Orleans. It is a special place. Some major ley lines come through here. The energy centers running along the Mississippi alone could power some serious spells . . ." Bert groaned. She rounded on him. "All right, but why does a priest cense the church with incense and chanting?"
"To drive out malign energies. The devil!"
"That is what we do, too! We all call the devil by the name that has meaning to us. Darkness, chaos, evil, greed, anger. Sin is a matter of discussion, but that which hurts other living beings is just plain wrong. Can we agree on that?"
"To place it to do God's work--" Bert said.
"Or Goddess's," Holly put in, earning an annoyed scowl from him.
". . . Is a holy thing."
"I can get behind that," Griffen said. "But don't ask me to put a label on it. It wouldn't be sincere."
"All right," Cos said. "I don't want to get ugly about it."
"I have some other questions, if you don't mind," Griffen asked. "About the ritual specifically. Why, if it's important to bind the energy to protect the city, don't we do it right here and now?"
"We don't have the energy yet," Holly said. "We have to raise it to bind it. Our ritual today will start drawing out the power that is in the city, so, on the day of our parade, we can gather it up and imbue the city with the protection it needs for the next century. Really, it should have been done every decade."
"Like a booster shot?" Griffen asked, grinning. Holly grinned back.
"I don't know what the fuss is," Cos complained. "You know, we all got along okay without doing this for years."
Holly rejected his assertion. "This is a vital focus for the state and the country, even the continent. Most people ignore New Orleans except at Mardi Gras, but what happens here affects people and places for thousands of miles around it. So, we will use the energy that people give while they are here for the Carnival, and from the four elements themselves."
"It all comes from God," Bert insisted.
"I am in no position to dispute that with you," Holly said. "The higher powers are a matter of faith, as you say."
Griffen sensed they were skirting delicate subjects again. "It worried me that all that power has been cut loose without control. It seemed totally wild. Isn't that dangerous?"
"Of course it is," Cos said seriously. "We could be killed trying to lay the power on parade day. We're all prepared for that. Aren't you?"
Griffen was taken aback. "No! I . . . I didn't really know until now what it meant to be the king."
"Well, in most krewes it's purely ceremonial--or financial. You can understand why this particular ritual hasn't been tried in a long time. When our krewes started marching again, the text was in the archives, but no one wanted to try it until all four of us were back. Now we are. And we are standing
up to protect our home."
Bert cleared his throat. "I read in the Book of the Sea--that's our records--that once these scepters are unleashed, they have to be deployed in exactly the right way as soon as possible or problems start to ensue. We can't just play with them. The power has to be kept in balance. Otherwise, there are far-reaching consequences. Yes, that could be death, but if we're careful, it won't be."
Griffen felt his heart sink. He wasn't sure whether he was prepared to die for his newfound city. Etienne hadn't been open with him about the risks. He needed to make Etienne tell him what else he had foreseen. The others watched him curiously. He swallowed his ire.
"If you don't mind my asking, the ritual calls for the kings of krewes to govern the elements. You're female."
"Well, I am glad you noticed that," Holly said, her voice deeply ironical.
"I'm not objecting! But the language doesn't say 'or queens.' "
"Which is funny, when you consider that when Aeolus was founded back then, it could be led by a man or a woman, and our krewe has always been part of this ritual. But female kings go back past the common era, Griffen. Haven't you ever heard of Hapshetsut? Or Cleopatra? Technically, I am not a king at all. My title is Sprite of the Krewe of Aeolus. My counterpart, Ethan, is the Cyclone. You see? Nongender-specific titles. The other two, like yours, are more traditional. We actually all started out as one krewe, but it split into four after the first few years so we could cover more ground and bless more of New Orleans. We all used to march through the French Quarter; but when the law was changed, frankly, it was an advantage. The routes we chose are more specific to the compass direction our element is ruled by. Have you seen them?" She fished a magazine out of her large handbag and flipped to the pages at the back. "There we are, all listed on facing pages."
Griffen examined the routes. "I see! Except for St. Charles Avenue, we all start and end in different areas. But isn't that just where your dens are?"
"Why do you think we chose those dens?" Cos asked, tapping the side of his nose like Santa. Griffen pretended to smack himself in the forehead.
"We can't march through the Quarter any longer, but the throws will be blessed--by celebrants of our choice," Holly added, as Cos started to protest, "and that will help to spread the blessing all across the city. Just keep your head together and concentrate on what you're doing. The diary kept by the last Sprite to wield the scepter said it was best to relax and enjoy yourself."
"We can't have fun out there!" Bert said. "It's too serious a matter!"
But they saw the twinkle in his eyes. Griffen relaxed. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad. He was fascinated by the rituals. He really liked his fellow kings, and he truly felt as if he had just joined a secret society. Then a thought struck him. Was this something Harrison needed to know? What could he tell him? And would it be more than the man could take, with the murder of a supernatural already on his hands?
Cos rose and put out a hand to each of them, Holly first. "Got to go back to work. See you all at the parties, my friends. After the parades, you are all invited to come and enjoy some downright serious partying with my krewe. We'd love to have you."
"Thanks!" Griffen said. "Let's talk about all kicking in to sponsor an after-party."
"Good man," Cos said, grinning at him.
"I got to go, too," Bert said. "See you all."
"Do you need to run off?" Holly asked Griffen, as the two other men went out the door together. "I'd love to talk to you for a while."
"No problem," Griffen said. "My job doesn't really start for hours yet." He signed to the cocktail waitress for a refill of their glasses.
"My high priestess went to your conclave," Holly said, a little hesitantly. "So I know who you are. I mean, what."
"A dragon," Griffen said. "Some people know. Most don't. But I didn't hide it from the attendees."
"No, they were pretty proud to have you there," Holly said. "It was a big deal. You feel different than most people. I have talent, and so do Cos and Bert, though they may not be aware of it. In fact, there are a lot of people in our four krewes who are touched in one way or another, but you don't feel like any of us."
"I am beginning to understand that," Griffen said.
"I could feel the difference between our folks and everyone in your krewe. You're all dragons in Fafnir, aren't you?"
"I can only tell you that I am," Griffen said. "I don't have the right to discuss anyone else."
"But I can feel . . . never mind." She grinned. "You're absolutely right. We have the same tradition in my group. That is so cool. I wonder if you'd like to get together after all this is over and talk about things? Sometime in March?"
"I'd love to," Griffen said. "The conclave was my first exposure to most of you, too."
"Well," Holly said, with a little smile that brought up the dimples in her cheeks, "there's a lot of us out there. You'd be surprised."
"Not anymore, I wouldn't," Griffen said. He held up his glass, and she touched hers to it.
"Cheers, brother king," she said. "We're going to make this a memorable Mardi Gras."
"To the safety of New Orleans," Griffen said.
Twenty-six
The river had had many names since human beings came to live on its banks. It had a consciousness, but it had never given itself a name. Why limit itself with syllables, when its definition was the riverbanks, the earth beneath it, and the sky? When the rains were heavy, it grew. When the air was dry, it shrank, but it moved to its own rhythm.
It had been there millennia, long before the tribes of humans came to stay, long before the first blues musician beat out the long, slow, sad pace of his song inspired by the majestic flow. The Mississippi, as humans called it now, was the life's blood of New Orleans. It was vital to the city. None of its unique history, its music, or its people would be in that place without it.
Usually, the river made little note of the time it spent passing through this place. All water throughout the world was one great pool, like the blood dispersed through the vessels in a living body. But today, it picked up a rhythm of ancient power. It had felt this beat before. It stirred the waters a little, unsettled them. It called for them to wake up and be aware. And act.
The sun's rays beat down upon the river's dancing surface. The heat, coming from both above and deep below, felt the imbalance. Steam rose in tiny curlicues from the surface. The winds, too, felt it, zigzagging against the predicted weather patterns. The muddy bottom of the river rumbled, sending bubbles of gas to the surface. Within one of them, a creature that had been asleep for decades stirred and woke up. It kicked itself free of the diaphanous cocoon and shot away into the flow.
"We'll be dockin' in a moment," the master of ceremonies aboard the Delta Queen riverboat announced into the public address system over the mellow strains of the Dixieland jazz band at the stern. "We all certainly hope you enjoyed your lunch cruise with us. Tell all your friends! And come on back! We'd love to see you all again."
The diners seated at the white-covered iron tables didn't notice the hulking figure homing in on the riverboat. It was attracted to the sound of the engine driving the paddlewheel, thrumming like a heartbeat. The creature zipped around under the surface, listening.
Mama? it wondered.
But the boat didn't reply. The river creature, hoping to get an answer, nudged hard. The boat rocked gently. The creature levered itself up and smacked down hard on the surface of the water.
A wave of dirty green water washed up and over the lower deck of the paddleboat. Diners and musicians stood up hastily as the wave swished over their shoes.
"What in hell was that?" demanded an accountant from Illinois.
"River monster," said the trombone player, an elderly black man whose white hair was clipped very short under his straw boater. "Dey turn up once and again."
The tourist shook his head and sat down to empty the water out of his shoes.
"Somebody," he said to his wife, "has had a few too many
Sazeracs."
"You saw it, too?" the saxophone player asked his comrade.
"Sure did," the trombone player said, turning the page in his sheet music. "Oh, yeah. Reminds me of dem days before de war."
The boat still didn't answer the creature. It slithered away, listening hard for the right voice.
Twenty-seven
" Hey, babe, can a guy get some service around here?"
Val jerked her head up from the book she was reading. The man who had spoken was only two seats away from where she stood behind the bar. She glanced at the clock. It was five thirty. The bar had been empty since she had started her shift an hour before. She hadn't expected to see anyone but a local for a half hour yet. She smiled at him.
"I'm so sorry. What would you like?"
"The house special." He looked her up and down, evidently liking what he saw. He flirted his eyes at her. He had very long eyelashes over dark blue eyes. In fact, he was good-looking enough to be a movie star. The shoulders under the blue pin-striped white shirt were broad and the midriff appealingly slim. "Can I get that to go?"
"Bloody Mary or Hurricane?"
"Hurricane sounds like more fun."
"One Hurricane, coming up," Val said, reaching for a plastic go-cup. She poured four ounces of rum into a shaker, added passion-fruit syrup and a stream of lemon juice, then poured it over ice.
"Is that what you call yourself, lovely lady? Hurricane?"
Val smiled at him and felt for the blackjack under the bar. "Sorry, but I'm not on the menu."
"Too bad," he said. "I'm Dale, by the way."
"Val." She put the drink on a paper napkin in front of him. "Three-fifty, please."
He put a five-dollar bill down and slid it toward her. "Sorry to come on so strong, but wow! I never expected to see anyone like you serving drinks in a, well, dump. You ought to be modeling high fashion."
Val had no illusions about being a member of the ranks of underweight waifs who pouted on magazine pages. "They'd never want me. You look like you probably modeled, yourself," she said.
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