Dragons Wild

by Robert Asprin

  The quality and variety was astounding as always. In just a few blocks they had sampled an Irish trio that kept trying to one-up each other; a blues singer who had to have weighed three times the couple put together; and a solo female singer with a deep raspy voice. And those were only the ones they had stopped in to listen to for an extended period. The last was the most fun, at least as far as conversation was concerned.

  “She has to be a guy,” Valerie said.

  “I hate to disagree, but she isn’t.”

  Nathaniel shook his head, and was silently glad they had grabbed one of the back booths. Valerie’s voice tended to carry, even when they weren’t trying to talk over music. The subject of their discussion was blissfully unaware of it all. She was in her own world, and happily butchering a show tune beyond recognition.

  “Don’t defend him; I didn’t say it was a bad drag job,” Valerie said.

  “That is because it isn’t a drag job. Just because she has a somewhat rough voice…”

  “That voice could grind glass into powder.”

  “Lots of women have deep voices.”

  “And more men.”

  “I am amazed you haven’t gotten us thrown out of somewhere by our ears by now.”

  “I haven’t been trying to. Would you like me to?”

  Valerie gave a sly smile over her drink, and Nathaniel returned it, with only a momentary roll of his eyes. The song ended and the singer took a long drag on her cigarette, and then started up on the next. Valerie winced and thought about leaving, she actually liked this song. Still, the conversation wasn’t done.

  “It isn’t the voice so much,” she said. “It’s the jaw you could open walnuts with and the calves of a none too fit horse.”

  “You’re just defensive because she’s taller than you.”

  “Oh, now you are in for it, buster.”

  “Promises promises. In this town it is ridiculous to wonder, we will just wander down to the clubs where you are guaranteed to be right.”

  “Tempting, but no. Let’s wander back to see if the Irish guys have started brawling yet.”

  “Oh, no, you are not going back to flirt with the band again. Bad enough you got them dueling onstage.”

  “Little ol’ me?”

  “Little?”

  Valerie reached under the table and pinched his ribs. Nathaniel returned the favor, and then was out of his seat and moving toward the door before she could retaliate. She followed, sweet murder in her eye, and they hit the streets again.

  Valerie bounced through the Quarter with the curiosity of a kitten and the energy of a puppy. It was all Nathaniel could do to keep up, but his smile never faded. If anything, as she became happier and more enthralled with the evening, he seemed to relax and go with the flow more and more.

  Finally she decided it was time for a rest, and they paused in one of the quieter bars. The band, most likely a cover group from their general appearance and instruments, were taking a brief break. The couple found seats at the end of the bar and ordered drinks. Valerie leaned past Nathaniel to snag a bowl of bar peanuts, and he was enjoying the view too much to comment.

  “Hey, Val!”

  The voice came from behind her, and startled she froze for a minute, still outstretched. She tried to regain some dignity, pulling the bowl back and smoothing her hands down her sides before turning around. Coming toward her from the direction of the stage was Kid Blue.

  “Valerie McCandles! You finally got around to coming to hear me play,” he said.

  “Well, of course I did,” Valerie covered. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “Why, Valerie, you didn’t tell me a friend of yours worked in this club,” Nathaniel said smiling.

  Valerie tossed him a warning glare, and if anything his smile widened.

  “I wasn’t sure he was playing tonight, but thought we should check,” she said.

  Kid Blue looked from one to the other, and his face clouded a bit with disappointment and confusion. He shrugged it off.

  “Hey, let me get you two some drinks.”

  “No need,” Nathaniel said. “I’ve already picked up this round.”

  “Then the next is on me, hear that?”

  The bartender nodded to Kid Blue and put out empty cups to mark the next round bought. Nathaniel nodded and stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Nathaniel by the way, and yourself?”

  “Kid Blue.”

  The two shook hands, and held the contact looking over each other.

  “I think your band’s about ready for you.”

  Nathaniel nodded to the stage, where the other musicians were indeed gathering. Kid Blue looked hesitant, casting a glance toward Valerie. However, he quickly shrugged again, and when Nathaniel finally released his hand turned back to the stage. Nathaniel leaned in to Valerie.

  “Musicians, hmm?” he said.

  “Oh, shush, I helped him move a couch.” Valerie turned back to her drink.

  “How much did it move?”

  “Oh!”

  Valerie punched him in the shoulder, and it wasn’t very playful. He rubbed it and looked from her to the stage and back. By now the group was warming into their first number.

  “Let’s leave,” he said.

  “I can’t, not now that he thinks I came here just to listen. In a little while maybe.”

  “I don’t want to stay.” Nathaniel leaned in to her, his voice a little more forceful than she had heard it before.

  “Well…neither do I really…anymore. But it would be insulting, and maybe hurtful. We’ll just finish the drinks first.”

  “This round, not the next.”

  They looked each other in the eye for a long moment. Valerie shook her head, breaking the contact first. Then she shook it harder, almost as if clearing it.

  “No, that really would be an insult. But only these two rounds.”

  “Fine.”

  Nathaniel sighed and leaned back, seemingly more put out than Valerie understood. He kept glancing at her a little oddly, but the booze and music helped ease them back into a cheerful mood. By the time they left, they were arm in arm.

  Kid Blue watched them go, not even getting a wave from Valerie in parting. He shrugged, and started a blues riff for the next song.

  Forty-three

  Griffen opened his eyes, and instantly regretted it.

  Despite thick drapes over his windows, light had pierced through. Not soft afternoon or early evening light either. The direct, harsh light of noon. Which meant he had only had about six hours of sleep, if that. What was worse, he knew he was fully awake, even if regretting it. He didn’t have a clue what to do with himself, but trying to force sleep was worse than useless. It wouldn’t have been such a conundrum if this hadn’t turned out to be one of the rare mornings he awoke alone.

  So he forced himself up, and a hot shower took care of the last dregs of sleep. Surveying the fridge was nearly as hopeless as trying to sleep. Besides, his stomach wasn’t quite recovered enough from the night before to want food. What he really could use was the hair of the dog. Even if he didn’t usually drink so early, one glass sipped slowly would do a world of good. That decided, he headed out the door.

  And back in the door.

  “Shades, shades would be good.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes and went rummaging. Moving faster than he should have, he banged his shin on the edge of the coffee table…hard. Gripping the injured limb with his hands, he swore savagely. All he needed on top of his headache was…

  He froze, looking at his hands. The scales were back. Remembering what Jerome had said, he forced himself to calm down and breathe slowly. The scales faded from sight.

  He would have to be careful of that and work at controlling his temper. All he needed was to involuntarily shape-shift in a public place.

  Moving now with careful deliberation, he located a pair of sunglasses and put them on.

  Once he was better equipped against the noonday sun, he left his apartment again.
On his way out, he stopped by Valerie’s door and knocked. He knew she led more active a day life than he did. He thought it might be nice to share a little company. Besides, she could help him find just what there is to do in the Quarter before five p.m. Unfortunately there was no answer, and he was left to hit the streets alone.

  From Griffen’s perspective, the French Quarter by day was a whole new world. By the time he normally got out and about, galleries and shops were closing, restaurants had already switched to dinner menus, and happy hour specials were nonexistent. Always before, when he had been out and about in the day, it had been with a specific purpose in mind. The shopping trip to improve his wardrobe, for example. Now he was just wandering, adrift and curious.

  Bourbon Street showed some of the most dramatic changes. Oh, there were still tourists wandering in search of beads and booze. They were fewer, though, and seemed just a bit out of place. As if everyone else had gotten the menu of when the party started, and they missed the note.

  What surprised him were the trucks. Bourbon was foot traffic only at night, so it was during the day that deliveries got made. Trucks delivering beer and soda, food and supplies, or just UPS delivering the occasional package were parked up and down the street. Strong men with pushcarts loaded with kegs and boxes moved in a steady stream, preparing the businesses for the night to come.

  After a few glances into various bars and hot spots, Griffen decided against visiting the Irish pub. He didn’t really want to see it empty. Or worse, occupied with that certain kind of drunk who really had no place to go. Those desperate, lonely souls were depressing drinking company at best, and though they were around at night, they seemed to disappear into the throng. In the light of day they seemed more apparent. Though he didn’t really expect them in the Irish pub, he decided against taking the chance.

  He wandered toward a little bar half a block off Bourbon. At night, it was a homey kind of place, full of service-industry workers, locals, and low-key tourists with more sense than most. He was curious, as close as it was to Bourbon, just what it would be like during the day. Especially since they didn’t serve food, so wouldn’t be attracting much of the lunchtime crowd.

  It was empty. The music from the jukebox was turned down low, the twin TVs were muted, and not a soul sat at the bar. The daytime bartender sat engrossed in a novel. She carefully turned the page, put in a marker, and set it down before looking up. When she finally saw Griffen, her face split into an impish grin. He was so surprised he hadn’t yet managed a second step into the bar.

  “So, what will it be, Big Brother?”

  “Valerie?!”

  “No, I’m her evil twin, hidden from you for all these years. You’re letting all my air-conditioning out. Come in and shut the door.”

  Valerie stood and started to pour Griffen’s usual. He closed the door, and dazedly took a seat at the bar. As she put the drink in front of him she looked him over critically, smile fading slightly.

  “Wow, I didn’t expect you to be near this shell-shocked. I’m going to be charitable and attribute it to a hangover,” she said.

  “Well…that is part of it. Just surprised; why didn’t you tell me you got a job?”

  Just what she needed, Griffen thought. A regular schedule. All the easier for an assassin to find her.

  “Mmm, maybe because I just got it yesterday, and you didn’t get in till seven this morning. I thought sleep just might be a good thing before I joined the workforce.”

  “Congratulations, Sis. I didn’t even know you were looking for work.”

  “I noticed. That will be four-fifty for the drink by the way. And you better tip. I know where you live.”

  Griffen couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled out his wallet. He watched as she made change, and had to admit to himself that she could probably make a killing at the job. Personality, wit, and tight jeans would pretty much guarantee her popularity, with local and tourist alike. Still, something bothered him slightly about the whole thing. She pretended not to watch him as he laid a few bills out of his change for tip.

  He also quelled his fears, helped with a few sips of his Irish. The George seemed good enough to find her regular schedule or no. Not a comforting thought, though a little amusing. His personal stalker and possible murderer was professional enough he didn’t have to worry more. Griffen felt like toasting the irony.

  “So, how’s the job so far?”

  “Are you kidding? Daytime shift may be the most boring thing I’ve every experienced. I’ve sat through English lit classes more thrilling.”

  “How long till they get you on nighttime then?”

  “Well, I’m swing shift relief now. So I’ll play bar back till I learn the ropes. Figure a couple of weeks to a month.”

  “Don’t you need some type of licensing or paperwork in this town for a bartender’s job?”

  “Well, uh…let’s just say you aren’t the only one who can enjoy this dragon game sometimes. The paperwork has been ‘taken care of’ for me.”

  Brother and sister shared a laugh and Griffen sipped his drink. The alcohol really did help him shrug off the lingering effects from the night before. As he rolled it around on his tongue, he looked over Valerie again, more speculatively. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “What?” she said.

  “No, I think the question was why.”

  “Why what?” Her tone was just a bit hard-edged, just a touch dangerous.

  “Why this, why the job? It seems just a bit…odd.”

  “Yeah, well, so does most of our lives for the past several weeks.”

  Valerie started pacing behind the bar, fidgeting with the bar rag and searching for words. She stopped and looked over Griffen, just as he had her. She shrugged her shoulders and leaned against the bar, seemingly at ease. The tension in her shoulders and back was obvious, though.

  “Mainly, I was bored.”

  “More bored than this?” Griffen waved at the empty bar.

  “Well, a different kind of bored I guess. I mean really, Griffen. I dropped out of school; I hopped down to New Orleans. There is only so much lounging around a girl can do.”

  “Well, how about going back to school? Transferring credits into LSU or Tulane?”

  “Oh, please. I had given up on my degree a while ago; it didn’t interest me in the least anymore. I just didn’t know what else to do with myself, so was going through the motions. Then you needed help, and I had something to do with myself.

  “Ah…I left you in the lurch didn’t I?”

  “And Big Brother snags the gold ring.”

  Griffen nodded and started to frown. He hadn’t really considered that. That Valerie had come to New Orleans because of him and then he had gotten distracted. Hadn’t even known she was looking for work, how out of touch could he be? Valerie watched his expression, reached over, and clouted him on the ear hard enough he almost fell out of his chair.

  “Stop that!”

  “The hell, Valerie!” He grabbed the side of his head protectively and rubbed it.

  “You needed that. No sulking gloom for you.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t ‘but’ me, Big Brother. Even if mine did get me this job.”

  “Sis!”

  “Oh, you are so easy to tease. Look, you left me in the lurch, yes, but I left myself in it more. I was back to not doing anything with myself. That’s what this job is about. It works or it doesn’t, that doesn’t really matter. There are other jobs. In the meantime, I’ve got something going, and no reason to mope anymore.”

  “Okay, I can understand that. It’s just…you can do more than bartend.”

  “Of course I can, stupid. I am Valerie, hear me roar. But what’s wrong with bartending? Just because I can do more doesn’t mean I should. I’m bored, not a work fanatic.”

  “Oh, no, it’s true, the Quarter does corrupt absolutely.”

  “Just figuring that out are you? Besides, other than tour guides, bartenders get the best dates. Of cours
e, I could try tour guide next!”

  Griffen shared the laugh with his sister.

  “I just wish there was something I could do to help,” he said.

  “There is, if you don’t mind sharing,” Valerie said, still smiling.

  “What’s that?”

  “You could let me know what’s going on that you’re not telling me about.” Valerie was no longer smiling.

  The request caught Griffen off guard.

  “What…I don’t…” he stammered.

  “Let me make it easy for you,” Valerie said.

  She moved to her purse, fished in it for a few moments, then returned to where he was sitting.

  “I’m betting it has something to do with this.”

  She laid a tarot card on the bar in front of him. It was a match for the two in Griffen’s wallet except it was a bit faded and distorted…as if it had been wet and then dried out.

  “Where did you get that?” Griffen said.

  “Remember when we were walking down Bourbon and you got hit by a go-cup?” Valerie said. “Well, I found this in the go-cup when I picked it up.”

  “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “Look at who’s talking,” she challenged. “I remember what you said about getting one of these up in Detroit, but you’ve been ducking the question every time I asked about it. Then someone trashes your car and you are jumping more and more at shadows. I kept waiting for you to fill me in, but I’ve given up. So talk to me, Big Brother. What’s going on?”

  Pushed into a corner, Griffen filled her in on the situation with the George, trying to keep it as casual and unimportant as possible. For example, he left out that he was in his car when it was ruined.

  “I see,” she said when he had finished. “So why couldn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  “Well, Mose and Jerome…it’s just that female dragons have a bad reputation for overreacting,” Griffen said weakly. “We were afraid that if you knew, you’d try to take an active hand and maybe get hurt.”