“How did you manage to trail me so well?” Griffen said.
“Oh, I can see a little farther than my eyes is all. You felt my gaze even though I was a good four blocks away all the time. Have to say, your tactics are pretty good. Even most of the shape-shifters would have been caught.”
Now the changeling sounded full of admiration. Griffen was beginning to realize that balanced emotions were not going to be this bunch’s hallmark.
“Though your taste in movies stinks. Picking up Stooges when they had Marx Brothers? Really.”
“I already have all the Marx Brothers. Stooges were lower on my list,” Griffen said.
“Well, that’s all right, then. But if anyone puts out Ritz Brothers on DVD, I’m going to have to start looking into some heavy-duty curses. Some things are better left dead.”
Griffen shook his head and decided this conversation needed a radical switch.
“Shouldn’t you be with Tink? Where is he?”
“Oh, umm… let me check.”
Before Griffen could answer the young-seeming man’s eyes went cloudy. Not unfocused, but actual clouds seemed to roll over them, a thin layer of fog appearing to hover just a centimeter over the eyes themselves. Condensation started to form on the ends of his lashes.
“Damn… he is heading toward your Irish pub that you didn’t meet us at last time. From his expression, he’s looking for me through you. I think I’m going to go hide now.”
“No, you don’t,” Griffen said firmly.
The changeling’s eyes snapped back into focus, the fog dissipating. He blinked, and small drops flew from his lashes, looking a bit like tears on his cheeks. It was so slight a physical sign that Griffen could doubt he had even seen it and knew anyone who wasn’t looking for something magical would just overlook it. It was something very outside his experience, both from before and after he had started to learn of dragons. He was beginning to be impressed by the changelings.
“Fine, if we hurry we can get there before him. Guess I could use a drink.”
With that, the changeling walked past him and turned toward Toulouse. Having made a decision, he moved without hesitation, practically bouncing along at a pace that Griffen had to hurry a bit to keep up with. Griffen shook his head again and hurried.
Sure enough, they beat Tink to the bar, though Griffen wasn’t sure how. Then again, he wasn’t sure how the fogged-over vision of the changeling with him really worked. The two sidled up to the mostly empty bar, and the bartender stared at them.
“Sorry, Griffen,” the bartender said. “Friend or yours or no, I got to card him.”
The changeling was already holding out an ID.
“Every friggin’ time,” he muttered.
The bartender looked over the card carefully, even running his nail over the seams and texture, then shrugged and went to pour their drinks. While he was a bit out of earshot, the changeling leaned over to Griffen.
“It’s not the ID that’s the problem, it’s replacing them every ten years or so. No one would buy the right birth date, and unlike some, I don’t have enough glamour to do up a fake on the spot.”
It was then that Tink came in, surrounded by the rest of the changelings. He stopped in the door, the rest gathering tightly around him like a flock of nervous geese, and his expression wasn’t happy. He moved forward again, glaring at Griffen’s companion.
“Hey, big man,” the changeling said as he approached. “You forgot to do intros last time.”
Tink stopped again, and his expression surprised Griffen. He looked startled, even embarrassed. It was very much the look of someone who had just had an obvious oversight pointed out to him. Griffen hadn’t expected it to be a big deal.
“That’s no call for going off and bothering our host.” Tink tried, but Griffen didn’t think his heart was in it.
“You didna’ say I couldna’,” the changeling said.
Griffen didn’t have enough experience with accents, but the one the boy suddenly adopted sounded an odd blend of Scottish and Irish. Again, it drew Tink up short and made Griffen wonder if there was more going on here. Was it a quote from somewhere perhaps?
“True enough,” Tink said. “Mr. McCandles. If I may introduce you to my companions as they are currently called. This is Nyx, Robin, Hobb, and Tammy.”
He pointed out each in turn. Nyx was the young woman with the piercings who had changed Griffen’s drink. Robin and Hobb had to be a couple from the way they seemed to always be holding hands. Tammy was the coltish, attractive young girl Griffen had noticed earlier. She shot a sour look at Tink and stepped toward Griffen, taking a bit of a breath to swell her modest chest.
“That’s Tamlin, Mr. Dragon,” she said.
“Tammy suits you so much better,” Nyx said.
Tammy, which Griffen had to admit was a better name for the young blonde, shot the other a dirty look and took a step back to rejoin the group.
“And that is ‘Griffen’ please,” Griffen said, still wincing over “Mr. Dragon.”
“And he skipped me over, punishment for bothering you, Mr. McCandles.”
That was from the changeling who had been following Griffen. Sure enough, Tink had skipped him over. Again, Griffen wasn’t sure why. As the changeling took a sip of his drink and held out a hand, he had a bit of a smirk.
“They call me Drake,” he said.
Griffen shook his hand.
“I notice you all say that is how you are called. May I ask why?” Griffen said.
Tink took a seat at the bar, leaving Griffen between him and Drake, with the rest all milling about on their feet. He signaled the bartender and ordered for himself. He had to wave twice to get the man’s attention. On an afternoon shift with the bar still nearly empty. Griffen had already noticed the bartender and the other few patrons weren’t paying any attention to them. By now, he just assumed it was the changelings’ influence.
Once Tink had his drink, he explained.
“It’s tradition and magic. Never give out your true name, or secret name. Most changelings pick or find or are given a name that they use in public. Many ritually discover a secret name as well, which they adopt as their ‘true name,’ ignoring whatever their human parents saddled them with. A lot of us grab our names from mythology, or popular media,” Tink said.
“So why can’t I be Tamlin?” Tammy put in.
“Because he was a man, and, by most reports, human. And Tammy just fits too damn well,” Tink said.
“You said ‘human parents’? From the little I’ve been told, you don’t think you come from humans?” Griffen asked.
“Not really. The current belief is that we are left behind by the fey for reasons known only to them. Mostly it’s believed we are half-human half-fey, products of seduction or worse. Since no one’s reported seeing a fey in ages, it’s kinda hard to confirm, but changelings keep popping up. Usually to parents with next to no magical background,” Tink said.
“Hence shunning the birth name and taking on new names?” Griffen said.
“Not quite,” Drake put in. “See, that fits in this day with the current trend of rebellious angsty teenagers. Most of us are from a generation that still respects parents. Parents who could never understand, or deal with, a magical child. Think of it as adopted children who found out the parents who raised them aren’t really theirs. All sorts of mixed reactions depending on the child. Still doesn’t change all the history and love that takes place in the sixteen or so years it takes a parent to change a baby into an adult.”
“And then there are a few, very few, who are found by other changelings and taught what they are from early on,” Tink said. “Myself included, which is why I feel responsibility to do the same for others and took on my current role.”
“The rest of us had to find our way, to find others like us.”
That was from Hobb. The young man squeezed the girl’s, Robin’s, hand and smiled affectionately. Griffen had to smile, too.
“Okay, so what a
bout actual full-blown fairies, then?” he said.
“What about full-blown dragons?” Tink said. Then he shrugged and went on. “Depends who you ask. Historians tend to put it all down to a few tribes in Ireland who disappeared when the Romans were smashing the crap out of the Celts. But the way they tell it, they were just primitive nature-worshipping humans who hid in the woods real well. Which is about as satisfying and truthful as saying all dragons are big ravening lizards hungry for virgin flesh.”
“So a kernel of truth hiding something a whole lot deeper?” Griffen said.
“That’s what we figure; otherwise, where did we come from? But a lot of that is faith. We don’t know. There never have been lines of changelings. No history passed down from father to son. And no big, winged sprite popping up and saying ‘Hey kids, where the hell have you been?’ It’s one of the reasons we get so clingy, with ourselves and each other.”
Tink looked up from his drink.
“Sorry, Mr. McCandles, we shouldn’t be bending your ear,” he said.
“No, no, I’m fascinated. I want to know as much as possible about every group attending,” Griffen assured him. “And remember, ‘Mr. McCandles’ isn’t necessary. Just Griffen.”
“Sure thing. Anyway, we should be going. See you at the opening ceremonies.”
Tink stood and gathered up the others. Drake was the last to follow, finishing his drink and stopping just briefly for a parting comment to Griffen.
“Interesting choice at the bookstore by the way,” Drake said.
As soon as the changelings had left, the bartender noticed that Griffen’s drink was empty. Of course it had been empty for some time, but Griffen made no comment as he got it refilled. He did reach down to his bags and pull out the book he had hastily purchased earlier. He laughed softly to himself.
“Figures,” he said.
A copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Twenty-six
Forget the one about the rabbi and a priest. If there wasn’t a joke that starts, “Two fairies walk into a bar,” there should have been.
That was the thought that went through Griffen’s head when the doors to the Irish pub swung open and two of the changelings came in. So he was failing to suppress a smile when they approached him, which was probably not the best of facial expressions. The younger of the two practically bounced up and down, a foolish grin spreading over her face. Again, he was reminded of a pack of puppies, and was glad that this time there were only the two.
The younger-appearing one, who was all smiles and giddy energy at being greeted with a smile, was called Robin. She was probably the most attractive of the bunch, though she looked young for her seeming age. Almost too young for Griffen’s tastes, but she did have a certain allure about her. Another bad joke popped into his head, something about making the puppy’s tail wag.
Sometimes Griffen just couldn’t help himself.
The other one had introduced himself as Hobb. He was one of the more sedate and inward-directed in the group. He still smiled broadly at Griffen, but where Robin threw her arms around Griffen and hugged him before he could react, Hobb seemed hesitant even to shake his hand. Nervous, like he was afraid of being burned.
Robin and Hobb very much had that couple feeling. Though from the way Robin was squeezing Griffen and pressing her slender curves against him, he had to assume it was an open couple. Especially since Hobb showed no sign of jealousy at all. Actually, except for the smiles, Griffen found himself having a hard time reading the changelings. As if their emotions and thoughts were different from his experience, subtly… alien.
“Pull up a couple of chairs,” Griffen said, prying Robin off him.
He half suspected she’d jump in his lap if a chair wasn’t available.
“It’s good to see you here again, Mr. McCandles,” Hobb said.
The young man pulled up a couple of spare chairs and held one out for Robin. She hopped into it and leaned back to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled, and the smile wasn’t puppyish at all, before taking his own seat. Definitely the couple vibe, Griffen thought again.
“How many times do I have to tell people? You can call me Griffen,” Griffen said.
“I knew a gryphon once,” Robin said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but he was just a chick. Wings had barely grown in at all,” she said.
Griffen stared at the fairly spacey young woman. It didn’t help that her voice was soft and childlike, too. It was a Marilyn Monroe-esque voice. For the life of him Griffen didn’t know how to respond to such a comment.
Hobb noticed and chuckled to himself. He put a hand on Robin’s shoulder.
“I told you, a baby gryphon is called a cub, not a chick,” he said.
“But they hatch from eggs!” she protested.
“Then how come no one has ever heard of a gryphon omelet?” Griffen asked.
Forget sanity. He could banter with the best of them. The two changelings grinned at him sunnily.
“ ’Cause a mama gryphon is a real menace, of course,” Hobb said.
“But you should open a restaurant and cook up some. Griffen’s omelets,” Robin said.
“Oh, please. I’m busy enough.” Griffen rolled his eyes, and the girl exploded into giggles.
A couple of drunk tourists sitting a few seats away looked up. One of them, a large man with too much belly, pulled himself out of his seat and began to stagger over their way. Griffen was tracking him carefully, and also noticed that the fat guy had caught Hobb’s attention. Robin seemed oblivious.
“Shure have a pretty laugsh there,” the drunk slurred.
Robin looked up and sighed, rolling her eyes.
“Not now!” she said sharply.
“Oh, come on, babycakesh. How ’bout a kish?”
“You really hit that one hard, that’s the hammiest line I’ve heard in a long time,” Hobb said.
Griffen half expected the drunk to turn to Hobb and try to start a fight. That seemed to be the usual pattern with such incidents. Instead, he seemed totally fixated on Robin.
“Oh, fine!” she said.
Griffen was curious now. He watched as the young changeling pressed two fingers to her lips, then pressed them to the drunk’s lips. He clumsily kissed her fingertips, and a hand started to reach out for her wrist. Only to stop in mid-motion as his eyes went glassy.
“Look at your friend,” Robin said.
He did, lips still pressed to her fingers. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, voice soft and sultry.
“Isn’t he haaandsome,” she said.
The man nodded, and pulled himself away from Robin. The three watched as he staggered over to his friend and sat back down. Griffen was about to ask what that was all about when he got his answer.
“What did you say to me!” the other drunk said.
“Come ’ere. You knowsh you wantsh it,” the drunk who had harassed Robin said.
The second drunk was on his feet and backing hastily toward the door. The whole bar was now watching as his friend pursued him, pursing his lips for a kiss. The doors slammed behind them, and the bartender started laughing. Even for the Quarter, that was a good one.
Robin turned back to Griffen, all smiles again.
“Sorry, Mr. Griffen. Talking to a real live dragon is sooo exciting. So I leak a little.”
Griffen held back his first response, and his second. He was trying to phrase his third when she reached out and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Magic, silly! I do attraction magic too well, and sometimes it backfires.”
She glanced over at the door, where the two had departed, and shrugged.
“It’ll wear off. Normally it takes more work, unless a spark is already there. Closet case,” she said.
Griffen shook his head.
“And you, Hobb? You were one of those who didn’t jump on the chance to show off when we first met.”
“Uh… my skills aren’t really of the public show-and-tell variety,”
he said, and seemed to draw inward.
“Hobbykins isn’t really a people person. We didn’t really come here looking for you, it’s just that Bourbon Street was too hustle and bustle for him,” Robin said.
“Bourbon Street is too hustle and bustle for me. Don’t worry about it,” Griffen said.
Hobb looked at him gratefully and straightened up again. Griffen decided it would be a good time to ask something that had been weighing on his mind.
“I’ve been wondering, what do you hope to get out of this conclave? I mean, I sort of understood what you as a group expect, but personally. What does it do for you?” Griffen asked.
“For me… I have reason to want to explore some of the human magic users. Especially the healers. This is a good place to make contacts,” Hobb said.
“And I just want to meet everyone I can! I hear those garou are just too studly for words.”
Griffen and Hobb exchanged a glance. Robin put an elbow into both of their ribs.
“Hey, you two. A fae has to be true to her nature! Men!!” she said.
Hobb laughed and swiveled her around for a kiss. Griffen smiled and discreetly turned back to his drink. After a few moments, the girl’s small hand reached out and smacked him on the back of the head.
“And that hurt!” she said, rubbing the elbow she had put into his side.
“One of the perks of being a dragon. Tough skin,” Griffen said.
He was beginning to warm to the changelings. At least to these two. Though they were a little too much in your face for his liking, they had more variety than most of the other groups he had encountered. He liked the bit of randomness.
He could do with the one being a bit less physical, though. Tough skin or not, she’d almost made him spill his drink.
“Okay, Griffen,” Hobb said, “I have been with this one long enough to know when she is getting too loopy for her own good. Time to tuck her in before she starts yet another bar brawl.”
“Oh, you are no fun! Just ’cause you claim to be a lover not a fighter—” Robin started.
“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Hobb interrupted.
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