Dragons Luck gm-2

by Robert Asprin

  “So, how about with you. What life-threatening madness encroaches on your life this hour?” Val said.

  “Well, most recently…”

  “Excuse me, sir, could you pass the sugar?” the sole customer at the bar asked.

  “Sure.”

  Griffen absentmindedly passed the sugar to the man. Then did a double take. Between being asked and passing the sugar, the man had changed into someone else.

  George smiled blandly at him.

  “Thank you. And perhaps the cream?” George said.

  “You!”

  Val was coming around the bar as she said it. In her hand was the blackjack kept for emergency use only by the bartenders. Griffen was on his feet, moving to intercept, and knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  George’s stool was empty.

  “Teleporter,” he said from behind the bar, “remember? I thought you dragons were supposed to be quick.”

  Val swiveled toward him, but now Griffen was firmly in the way. Unless she wanted to climb over him, George was reasonably safe. At least, from her.

  “What are you doing here?” Griffen said.

  “You know, I rather like it on this side of the bar. There is a sense of power. I can see why you would be drawn to it, Ms. McCandles,” George said.

  “Please come over here so I can wring your damn neck,” Val said.

  Griffen waved her off.

  “Again, ‘George,’ what are you…?”

  “Oh, relax, the both of you. I’m on vacation. I always loved this city during Halloween. Just think of this as a courtesy, so you know I’m not here to cause you trouble.”

  “And we are supposed to believe you why?” Valerie said.

  “Hmm, does this help?”

  George vanished and materialized back on his bar stool. He nonchalantly folded up his newspaper and crossed his hands over his lap. Then he looked Valerie square in the eye and lifted his chin.

  “Feel free to hit me if it will make you feel better. I think we’ve already proved that it won’t do much in the way of permanent damage.”

  Valerie thought for a moment, then lowered the blackjack to her side. She walked back around to the other side of the bar. Which left Griffen standing there feeling silly. He sat back down in his seat.

  “Well, if we are playing things this way, can I buy you something other than coffee?” Griffen asked.

  Valerie banged something noisily behind the bar. Griffen flinched.

  “No, thank you, alcohol doesn’t affect me the same way it affects you. Caffeine actually works better,” George said.

  “You are both getting on my nerves. If you’ve nothing else to say other than ‘Hi, I’m not here to try and kill you,’ then I think you can leave,” Val said.

  George nodded slightly and began to stand up. Only to reach into his pocket. Valerie set her hand on the bar, the blackjack still clenched in her fist.

  Slowly, carefully, he pulled out a small plain card with nothing but a phone number on it.

  “Actually, I also came specifically here to apologize to you. I was hunting Griffen when you got yourself involved. Still, if I had been a gentleman, I would have backed off and waited till you were otherwise occupied,” George said.

  “Nice to know you would have waited till I was distracted, then tried to kill my brother,” Valerie said.

  Griffen really felt he should get involved. Do something to derail this train wreck. Self-preservation, however, said otherwise. He kept his mouth shut. Forget George; all he would do would be to try to kill him. His sister would destroy him.

  “Hmm, interesting perspective,” George said. “In any case, I would make amends.”

  “How?” Val asked.

  “By asking you on a date,” he said.

  “What!?” Griffen blurted before thinking about it.

  Val swung the blackjack menacingly at both of them.

  “Did you set this up for some dumb reason, Big Brother?” she asked.

  “Why would I?!” Griffen said.

  “Calm down both of you. This was my own idea, and a wild one at that,” George said.

  “Which brings up the question, why on God’s green earth would I go on a date with you? Much less as some apology to me?” Val asked.

  “Why, because there is this lovely masked ball that I’m sure you are dying to attend.”

  “What masked ball?” she asked.

  “Why, the traditional one at the end of the conclave. Where I’m sure you’ll want to keep an eye on your brother surrounded by people in costume who might have a grudge,” George said.

  There was a long moment of silence. Valerie stepped toward George and snatched the card from the table. He was just starting to smile when the blackjack swung up and sent him flying backward.

  Griffen very carefully kept his eyes on the blackjack as Val turned to him.

  “What?” she said. “He said I could and didn’t say there was a time limit.”

  “Actually, I pretty much saw that one coming. Feel better?” Griffen said.

  “Much,” Val said.

  George picked himself up off the floor and brushed himself off. His jaw showed no real sign of just having been crushed by a sap. Still, he made no move to approach the bar again.

  “Well then, you have my number. I suppose it’s time to find a less hostile drinking establishment,” he said.

  With that, he shifted, leaving Griffen and Valerie looking at a very large, shaggy dog. The dog opened its mouth, tongue lolling, bowed its head to the two, and bolted out of the bar.

  “So,” Valerie said, turning her full attention to Griffen, “what masked ball?”

  Griffen’s attention was still on the door. His mind focused on the dog that had been George. A very familiar dog.

  “Honestly, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Besides, I’m still trying to figure out what George was doing in heels,” he said, absently.

  Val looked at her brother.

  “What?!”

  “It would be so easy!” Lizzy said to herself.

  She stood on a third-story balcony, watching the Quarter. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. She was watching the French Quarter as it could be.

  From here she could see it all. She could see the security gate that led to the complex that the McCandleses shared. She could look down the street. See the road where Valerie would turn to go to work. The road she could come back down if she went to the A&P. The path Griffen would stagger back down when he got worried about following the same roads and took the alternate path he always took.

  Then she could see Valerie on the road. Not that she was there. It was an “already happened” Valerie. Valerie as Lizzy had watched her jogging early this very morning. Lizzy watched as she ran through people, who of course couldn’t see her. Didn’t feel as Valerie ghosted through them in Lizzy’s sight. Valerie wasn’t there; she was only in Lizzy’s eyes, because she was in Lizzy’s memory.

  Then Valerie shifted slightly, her jogging outfit actually changing from gray to blue as Lizzy pictured a Valerie that could be. All of a sudden a figure lurched out of nowhere. Big, massive, vaguely hound-shaped. It bit into Val’s thigh and Lizzy could hear the bone crack. She could taste the blood as suddenly she was not just on the balcony, but down in the image. She was the beast, and she heard Valerie scream as Lizzy’s large, jagged teeth next sank into her throat.

  Or perhaps…

  Next Lizzy saw Valerie as she was when she came home from the grocery. Not carrying many bags, not needing much. A few sodas, maybe something she could heat up for the night. Or something odd. A jar of pickles, a bunch of bananas, caramel popcorn. Things Valerie wanted because already her body was craving things for the baby.

  Wait till it grew a little more, Lizzy thought. Some of the things a dragon mommy craved could get really interesting.

  A shot rang out, and Lizzy felt the butt of the rifle strike her shoulder. The first blow took Valerie in the head, and there was no blood. Skin too thick. But it
distracted her, held her. The next blow took her in the belly, then another, then another. Six shots into the stomach, and no more Auntie Lizzy.

  Lizzy gasped and threw the phantom rifle from her. That last thought, it had been sad. So sad. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried because she had been sad.

  Maybe instead…

  Now Lizzy saw Griffen. She had watched him many times in the last few days. Mostly she watched him when he was with her, Valerie, the one Lizzy hated. He seemed so weak, so young. She hadn’t really seen anything in him that she hated. Not like her brothers at all. She didn’t really want to hurt him… but she could.

  She saw him now, as if he were walking home after a night’s few drinks. Staggering just a bit, which was impressive for a dragon. It must have been a long night.

  Lizzy steps out of the shadows into the light of the small bookstore. It always left a light on the street at night. She wears a dress so tight she might as well just have shifted her skin to a different color. She breathes deep and steps toward him, swaying.

  He blinks, but reaches for her. How could he not? She smiles, and kisses him. Now her tongue is in his mouth, and the skin in the mouth, it’s not so tough. It would be nothing to just… push… into something soft and weak.

  Mai grabs her from behind. Lizzy has heard of Mai, seen her a few times since she has been stalking Valerie. But never tangled with her. Now she feels a grip strong as marble and looks into eyes as cold as a spider’s.

  Lizzy gasped again and threw herself away from the balcony, against the brick wall of the building. Her heart was racing. Even in her own head, Mai had been something Lizzy didn’t want to face.

  Lizzy looked out on the street and had to blink twice, hard. There she was, Valerie, and not just in Lizzy’s head. Real, solid, walking as if she owned the world. She walked into her apartment complex, the gates shutting securely behind her. Not enough to keep Lizzy out, but she felt as if they were taunting her.

  Lizzy snarled.

  “Why?” she said. “Why can’t I just beat her? Why do I care? Someone tell Lizzy!”

  She whirled to the girl cowering in the corner of the balcony. Out of sight from the world. She had been there when Lizzy had fallen from the roof onto the convenient balcony. Lizzy had swatted her down, then turned her attention to the street.

  She could smell the girl’s terror. She was so afraid of Lizzy that she hadn’t screamed once.

  “Well? Nothing to say? Lizzy is better than her! Prettier. Stronger. Maybe not smarter… but what are smarts these days?”

  She stalked toward the girl, her voice seemingly filling the world. Or was that just her own ears? No one had once looked up from the street at her. She couldn’t have been that loud. Or was she concealing again? Not that it mattered.

  “Maybe you think you are smart, you are pretty. You are, for a human. You have nice hair,” Lizzy said.

  The girl curled up a little tighter. Lizzy smiled cruelly, but she did like the straight black hair. Maybe she should go back to that color sometime?

  “Do you have family? Answer Lizzy, or I will be very upset.”

  The girl nodded mutely.

  “Brothers?”

  She nodded again.

  “And when one of them brought someone home, a girl.

  What did you feel? Fear? Anger? What?!”

  Lizzy did her best to make her expression soft. It didn’t take much. There was a yearning inside. A need to know, to understand.

  The girl looked her in her many-colored, fractured eyes. Lizzy noticed her eyes were kind of a soft watery brown. Like a deer’s.

  “I… I was… happy for them,” the girl said in a voice so soft Lizzy could barely hear.

  Lizzy’s blood went cold. Her smile faded, and her eyes narrowed. The girl burst into tears.

  For some reason that made her smile.

  “Oh, poor little girl. You must not be right in the head. No wonder Lizzy startles you so. Don’t worry. Lizzy will put you to bed. And when you wake up, remember this was all a dream.”

  She moved forward quickly, struck the girl just enough to knock her out. Lizzy picked her up and carried her inside the apartment.

  “I don’t know why I am talking to silly puppets like you,” Lizzy said to the girl in her arms. “I need someone who has a chance of understanding.”

  She peeled the girl out of her clothes. Looked at her for a moment, and decided that yes, she was pretty. Then tucked her snugly into her bed and pulled a nearby stuffed animal from the dresser and put it next to her head.

  Lizzy watched her sleeping for a moment. Reached out and stroked the lovely hair once. Thought about killing her and left to get a drink.

  There had to be someone in this town she could talk to.

  Thirty-one

  Of all the fears and worries Griffen had regarding the conclave, there was one he had not figured on at all. He had no experience at public speaking.

  The requirement surfaced suddenly when it was casually mentioned to him that, as moderator, he would be expected to give the welcoming speech at the opening of the conclave. He felt uneasy when this was first mentioned, and by the time the official beginning of the event grew closer, this had escalated into a full-blown panic.

  Back in college, he had signed up for one speech class, mostly because it presented an opportunity for him to get closer to a certain young lady who had caught his eye. As it turned out, she was already living with someone else, but by the time he had learned this, he had actually attended several classes and absorbed some of the rudiments of speaking to an audience.

  After trying to seek advice and pointers from some of his current colleagues and discovering that living as a gambler or hustler in New Orleans gave them even less experience with public speaking than he had, he found himself desperately trying to recall those few lessons he had treated so lightly in school.

  “Try to start with a joke. It establishes a rapport with the audience…”

  “Don’t fidget with your hands. If possible, work without note cards. Note cards encourage you to fidget…”

  “Don’t touch the podium. If you’re nervous, you’ll latch on to it with a death grip and never let go…”

  All these and more were echoing in his mind as he surveyed the crowd of conclave attendees assembling for the opening. The watchwords did little to ease his nervousness, so he did what he always did in times of stress. He studied the people.

  It had been decided that the opening would be conducted as a social gathering or cocktail party rather than with auditorium seating. Theoretically, this would encourage the attendees to mingle rather than bunch up in groups. It wasn’t working.

  Instead of sitting in small groups, they were standing in small groups, speaking only with those they arrived with and ignoring or glancing covertly at the other similar groups. An uncomfortable number were simply standing silently and watching Griffen.

  The changelings were actually sitting on the floor in a group near the front, whispering quietly among themselves while smiling eagerly at Griffen. There was a notable open space between them and any of the other attendees.

  Estella was standing against the wall farthest from the door with a half dozen people Griffen assumed were from her voodoo temple. When she met his eyes, she gave a faint smile and a small nod of recognition and encouragement.

  Slim was standing with two other people off to the left of the podium. They seemed to be saying very little, spending most of their energies watching the other attendees. Griffen remembered that the street entertainer had mentioned when they first met that his circle of associates was neither very large nor particularly organized.

  The ones that Griffen knew the least about and had next to no time to meet or speak with were the shape-shifters. They seemed to be divided into two groups, or was it three? One small group lurked in the corner of the room and seemed to watch everyone at once. Another small bunch of four or five stood in the exact ce
nter of the room, eyes intent on Griffen. The final collection was a loose semicircle surrounding the center bunch, keeping at least two feet separate from them. They talked with each other, occasionally glancing at the center group or leaning toward it as if to listen to anything going on. They struck Griffen as nervous for some reason.

  He also realized, even broken up as they seemed to be, the shifters were easily the largest group. Lump them all together, and they seemed to take up a good quarter of the bodies present.

  Griffen was suddenly aware that no one had entered the room for several minutes and that an increasing percentage of the crowd was watching him expectantly. Postponing the inevitable was no longer an option, so, steeling himself, he stepped up to the podium.

  “Good evening,” he said, managing not to wince at the magnified sound of his voice from the public-address system. “I’d like to welcome you all to the conclave. My name is Griffen McCandles, and I’ve been asked to serve as moderator for the event. This is the first time I’ve done this, so if anyone objects or feels they can do it better, I will be happy to surrender the position to them.”

  He smiled at the crowd. They stared back at him. So much for opening with a joke.

  “As this is a comparatively small gathering, we have dispensed with the notion of name tags or badges. It is hoped that by the end of the conclave, you will all know each other at least on sight. The lack of badges will also help keep you from being targeted as out-of-towners if you choose to explore the Quarter when not actively involved in the conclave.”

  This actually drew a small ripple of laughter, even though Griffen had not intended the comment as a joke.

  “As far as exploring the Quarter goes, we have arranged for discounts at both the Voodoo Museum and the Haunted History Tour if any of you are interested. Just mention to the money taker that you are with the conclave, and they’ll charge you the lower price. If, however, you choose to strike out on your own, there are a few cautionary notes I’d like to pass along.”