Dragons Luck gm-2

by Robert Asprin

  It would have been, at best, a mildly annoying distraction… except the group seemed to be headed directly toward the table where Slim and Griffen were sitting.

  “What on earth…?” Griffen murmured, but didn’t get a chance to finish.

  The crowd lurched to a halt in front of their table, forming up into a rough half circle. On closer examination, there were only about a half dozen of them, but their youthful energy and eager faces made it seem that there were a lot more of them.

  Suddenly nervous and self-conscious, the group began to fidget, glancing back and forth between Griffen and their chaperone.

  “Mr. McCandles?” that individual said, stepping forward.

  Griffen stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

  He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he suddenly felt like a featured stop on a guided tour. To say the least, he wasn’t wild about the sensation.

  “We just wanted to take this chance to meet you before the conclave started and to express our thanks for letting us attend.”

  “And you are…?” Griffen said, deliberately not rising or offering a hand for a handshake.

  “Oh! We’re the fey… or the changelings, if you prefer,” the leader said, hastily. “This is our first time to attend one of these things.”

  Strangely enough, Griffen had already figured that one out himself.

  “Actually,” he said with a small smile, “I was fishing for a name.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” The leader was momentarily flustered. “My name is Tink.”

  He started to extend a hand, then withdrew it and bowed stiffly.

  “Tink?” Griffen said, raising an eyebrow.

  The leader flushed slightly.

  “Well, my given name was Archibald, but everyone knows me as ‘Tink.’ ”

  “All right… Tink,” Griffen said carefully. “While your thanks are appreciated, I’m afraid they’re misplaced. Even though I’ve agreed to moderate the conclave, I’ve had no say as to who is or is not invited. In fact, of all the groups I’ve been told are attending, I probably know the least about yours.”

  “Are you really a dragon?”

  This came from a coltish, small-breasted young lady in short shorts and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt.

  Griffen stared at her with his best poker deadpan until she dropped her eyes and took a step back.

  “You’ll have to forgive us,” Tink said, interceding. “We’re all excited about the conclave, and, frankly, most of us have never seen, much less met, a dragon. I hope you aren’t offended.”

  “No offense taken,” Griffen lied. “And, for the record, yes, I am a dragon. Now if I might ask a question, how did you find me?”

  “Oh, that’s one of the things we’re good at. Finding things and people,” chimed in a boy with features so smooth he might have been mistaken for a girl. “That and hiding.”

  “I see,” Griffen said. “Any other powers I should know about… if you don’t mind my asking?”

  The group exchanged glances.

  “The thing is,” Tink said, “there are various powers we have. Not everyone has the same powers, though. If you’d like, we could give you a demonstration.”

  Griffen suppressed the image that flashed though his mind.

  “That really won’t be necessary,” he said hastily.

  He reached for his drink, more to give himself something to do with his hands with so many people staring at him, then stopped. His usual light amber glass of Irish whiskey was now clear. Tentatively, he raised it to his nose and sniffed.

  “It’s gin,” declared a girl with short black hair and a nose ring. “That’s one of my powers.”

  “Impressive,” Griffen said carefully. “Unfortunately, I only drink Irish whiskey. Would you mind changing it back?”

  The girl suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “Um… I can’t do that,” she said. “I can only change liquids one way. I don’t know how to do reversals.”

  “I see,” Griffen said, successfully suppressing a smile.

  “Let us buy you a fresh drink,” Tink said, frantically signaling the bartender, who had been watching the proceedings with vast amusement.

  The assemblage waited in silence while the bartender brought Griffen’s new drink over and was paid by Tink, who waved off any change.

  “Well, we’ll run along now and quit bothering you,” he said, gathering up his charges with his eyes. “I can see you’re busy. We just wanted to say hello and thanks. Maybe if we get a chance, I can fill you in a little on the fey… if you’re interested, that is.”

  The pack moved off, already chattering back and forth among themselves before they reached the door.

  “So what kind of security do you figure you’ll need for them?” Slim asked with a grin.

  “I’ll admit they aren’t what I expected,” Griffen replied. “I didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it. I just wonder if they’ll have any problems getting those kids into any of the bars or clubs.”

  “They’ve probably doctored their IDs,” Slim said, “but don’t let their looks fool you. It’s the fey blood in them. I’ll bet there wasn’t one in that group who’s under fifty.”

  Twenty-four

  Long after the Irish pub had closed for the night, Mai found herself walking by the shuttered doors. Toulouse, two blocks off Bourbon, was absolutely deserted at this hour. Still, she expected company.

  He came around the corner a block away and started to head toward her. She knew he could have appeared at any time; he could have surprised her. Instead, he wanted her to see him coming. It seemed he wanted her to feel safe. Which was unnecessary—if she cared about feeling safe, she wouldn’t have caught his attention.

  He limped ever so slightly, one leg just a bit shorter than the other. His face was unremarkable, his body perhaps a bit under average in size and build. His clothes were cheap, just a bit dirty, and of muted colors. As he stepped up to her, she couldn’t help but smirk. His eyes narrowed as he caught her expression.

  “You think you are clever, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, George,” Mai said.

  George straightened and before Mai’s eyes he became a different person. Taller, stronger, more handsome. His face had just a touch of Spanish overtones. Even his hair was more styled now.

  “Is this the real you?” Mai asked.

  “Does it matter?” George said.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “How did you find me out?”

  “What, that you were stalking Griffen as a videocrack addict? You are good, one of the best shape-shifters I’ve ever seen. But not the best. You don’t smell like most playing those machines. Your eyes track things a little too closely. And even though they are a different color now—yes, I noticed—they have the same kind of predator glint.”

  George reached into his pocket and pulled out a long Knight of Swords tarot card. Mai had slipped it to him just after the vampires had made their appearance at the pub. She knew that it would be enough to bring him to her.

  “And how many of these did you slip others you suspected were me before you hit pay dirt?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?” she answered with his own words.

  “Yes, too many of these floating around might jeopardize me, as innocuous as they are.”

  Mai seethed a bit inside. Yet if that was what it took to get the ball rolling, she could admit a failure. This once.

  “Fine. Only one. A homeless man. He stared at me blankly, then yelled at me for not giving him money. Still, I thought it might be you not wanting to admit I had caught you,” Mai said.

  “And what put you on guard for me?”

  “Now, do you really expect me to tell all my tricks?” Mai said.

  “What do you want, dragon?!”

  George spat the last word like a curse, and Mai cocked her head slightly. She pursed her lips, tasting her words before she let them out.

  “In the old legends, Saint Ge
orge the dragon slayer was fighting a European menace. What do you have against a dragon of the East?”

  “A dragon is a dragon. Where it comes from doesn’t matter to me.”

  “How narrow-minded of you,” Mai said.

  “And how like a dragon for you to say so. Grabbing the arrogant high horse and trying to control the conversation, and everything else. If it quacks like a duck… I ask you again, who or what tipped you off to my presence? You wouldn’t have found me if you hadn’t been looking.”

  Mai smiled and began to walk toward Bourbon Street. George followed a pace behind. In this form he walked with a bit of a jaunty gait. Looking just a little like a cock rooster, as if he were looking for action.

  “Funny, those vampires showing up tonight,” Mai said.

  “Not as funny as you pretending to stumble so your little friend would not catch you slipping me the card,” George said.

  Mai ignored his grin, and his gibe.

  “Who tipped them off as to where to find their ‘moderator, ’ do you think?” she asked.

  “I figure it had to have been fairly anonymous. Other than a quick tip over the phone, they should have been given at least a description of him, if not a picture,” he said.

  “Very astute of you, but it doesn’t answer my question,” Mai said.

  “And you did not answer mine…”

  George trailed off as he saw her smile widen. I can’t believe I’m having to drop him this many tips, she thought. This is the terror of little dragons everywhere? She had to remember his skills leaned toward hunting and toying, not intrigue.

  “Flynn hates vampires,” he said.

  “Sort of puts him above suspicion, doesn’t it? Besides, who else is in town who might have done something to make me watchful for your presence?”

  “Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have left that card.”

  George stopped and folded his arms over his chest. Mai leaned against one of the Quarter’s faux gas lamps. She kept her expression frozen, letting him come to his own conclusions.

  “He really gets up my nose, that one does. Typical dragon, using even someone he hates because he can,” George said.

  “Just because he has said he disliked vampires in the past, you think that means anything? Even if he was being honest, it would be much to his liking to put two enemies against each other,” Mai said.

  “Which is, of course, exactly what you are trying to do,” George spat back.

  Mai shrugged and waited.

  “Very well,” George said finally. “If Flynn wants to play with vampires, it shouldn’t be too hard to get him stumbling over his own toys. But I’m doing this because it will irritate the overgrown set of matched luggage.”

  Mai bowed her head without taking her eyes off his.

  “It never entered my mind that you might be doing it for me.”

  “Good. You won’t see me in the Irish pub again. Do not look for me elsewhere.”

  “Why? Rumor had it you never hunted someone you didn’t have a contract on.”

  “Unless I deem them a threat. Besides, so far I’m not truly hunting Flynn. But let us keep that between you and me.”

  “Of course. If you’ll answer me one question.”

  George paused again, considering.

  “Depends on the question,” he said.

  “I watched you in the pub, when you thought you were invisible. If a dragon is a dragon, why do your eyes seem to show you to be warming up to Griffen?”

  He hesitated a beat too long, and Mai knew his answer would be a lie.

  “All part of the disguise. I never assume no one is watching.”

  With that he turned and, in an eyeblink, a large dog was running off into the night. Mai watched him go, extending her senses to the utmost to make as sure as possible that he didn’t circle around to follow her. When she could no longer perceive him even distantly, she started back to her apartment.

  “Well, that’s him aimed properly, then,” she said to herself.

  About a block away she paused and clenched her fists as a wave of frustration passed through her.

  “And one day, I’ll figure out how the damned chimeras don’t ruin their clothes in a shift. All the bloody designer outfits I’ve shredded over the years… gah!”

  Mai stomped the minor frustration off, and by the time she reached her apartment she was once again basking in a job well-done.

  Twenty-five

  Griffen had picked up a tail.

  Thankfully, this time it wasn’t of the green, scaly variety. That had only happened a few times, and always unexpectedly. Being followed, however, that was becoming far too common for his liking. Since moving to New Orleans, he had been followed by everything from federal agents to a cockroach. Not that he was entirely sure there was a great gap between the two.

  This was different, though. Even when Homeland Security had been keeping an eye on him thanks to the interference of a dragon named Stoner, Griffen had been able to identify his watchers with only a bit of effort. This time, try as he might, he had yet to catch a glimpse of whoever, or whatever, was following him. He just knew they were there. It was as if he could feel eyes always on him.

  Whoever his tail was, they were disturbingly good.

  He had first noticed it early that afternoon. He had gone out a little early to check his public mailbox on Royal Street. There hadn’t been anything interesting, and when he came out, he first picked up the “watched” sensation. Looking around, he saw no people paying him attention nor any cockroaches or big shaggy dogs.

  Griffen was learning more and more to listen to his instincts and senses. Though he grew increasingly sure he was being watched, he didn’t really feel any sense of threat. To play it safe, instead of going home as he planned, he swung down to Decatur Street to check out the DVD releases at Tower Books.

  His new stalker followed, Griffen was sure of that, but again he couldn’t catch sight of them. He picked up a few DVDs he had been wanting anyway and thought about some of Padre’s advice concerning tails. One line particularly came to mind—change your routine. So where Griffen normally would have taken a right on Chartres and gone down to his place, he went left and popped into a two-story bookstore that he was fond of.

  Griffen thought maybe if anyone followed him in, he could catch them in the stacks. He waited and listened, but no one came in. Not once did the bell over the door chime. And still he felt someone was watching, as if someone were right behind him, breathing down his neck.

  A bit nervous now, he touched the beads around his neck, the ones given to him by Rose. He was beginning to wonder if she, or one of her ghostly friends, was the cause for all this. But he had never felt her as a presence before. Always when they interacted, she was just there, seeming solid and alive.

  Without really thinking about it, Griffen pulled a small book off the shelf and went to the counter. He hated leaving a place without buying something, and he wanted to maintain an illusion of a fairly normal round of shopping. Just in case his pursuer hadn’t yet realized that Griffen had noticed them.

  By now Griffen was more than a little edgy. He really didn’t like the constant attention and intrusions that he had been forced to accept since learning of dragons. Keeping his route different from his usual, he headed over to Royal. He picked up his pace, hoping to force his watcher to do the same. Then he abruptly ducked into Pirates Alley, a narrow walkway leading to Jackson Square.

  He stopped dead, hoping to catch whoever was behind him as they rounded the corner. His back almost against the wall, keeping himself shielded from Royal Street as much as possible, he waited, sure that he would at least get a glimpse of them.

  And waited. Senses stretched to the utmost. Ears and eyes fixed intently, trying to take in everything in front of him.

  …And waited some more.

  Griffen’s shoulders slumped. Nothing, nobody. Not even a bug or cat or anything. He started to scold himself in his thoughts, sure now that he had just ima
gined the whole affair.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything interesting?” a voice said, from a half foot behind him.

  Griffen whirled at the sound. Later, when his heart wasn’t pounding away in his throat, he was sure he would be embarrassed by just how high he’d jumped. He had been so utterly intent on the street in front of him that he hadn’t heard anyone approaching him.

  Of course, looking at him, he wasn’t entirely sure he would have heard anyway. It was one of the changelings. The young boy who even in daylight was androgynous enough to be mistaken for a girl. He blinked at Griffen with an oddly mixed expression, curiosity and disappointment.

  “You’ve been following me?” Griffen said.

  “All day! I figured a dragon would do something better than shop for movies and books. Don’t you do anything interesting?” the changeling said.

  “Well, the Quarter doesn’t really start to liven up till sun-down…” Griffen started, cutting off when he realized he was defending himself to a stalker. “You shouldn’t have snuck up on me, sc… startled me half to death.”

  “You really shouldn’t admit to being scared. Some of us, we are scared all the time, but we don’t admit it. That just gets you targeted.”

  Griffen looked at the young man, who seemed no more than fourteen. Slim had mentioned that the changelings were older than they looked, but that comment clinched it. Even in a lilting prepubescent voice, it betrayed experience and even wisdom a fourteen-year-old would never have.

  “Look… I don’t think I got your name when we first met.”

  “Because Tink didn’t do the formal introductions. We are fey stock, for cryin’ out loud, and everyone got so excited about meeting a dragon that we skipped the basics. It’s why I thought I’d come find you myself, see if you lived up to the fuss.”

  Griffen noticed he still hadn’t told him his name.

  “Missed the mark, did I?” Griffen said.

  “No, didn’t mean anything like that, Mr. McCandles,” he said hastily. “We are only here ’cause of you; a dragon makes us feel safe. Feel important. Besides, you picked up on me following you. Most wouldn’t.”