Dragons Wild gm-1

by Robert Asprin

  Metal screamed and buckled. The strongest part of the Sunbeam Tiger was its massive engine. Compared to the truck behind, the back of the car was as sturdy as tissue paper. Griffen felt the seat smash into his back as the car folded. He was pinned, trapped. He cursed himself for not being faster. One more blow and…

  Another blow never came.

  Griffen saw the truck drive away, but blurrily. He couldn’t focus on the license, or the details, and realized he had blood in one eye. A scalp wound, he didn’t know when or how it had split. Nothing is perfect it seemed, not even dragon skin.

  The visor hung crookedly. The blow of the truck would have dumped the card. Nice to see the George planned things out. Griffen forced the door open, metal shrieking again. It took all his strength to pry himself free from the car.

  People gathered, a hand landed on his shoulder. He almost struck out, but realized at the last moment it was a police officer. He couldn’t quite make out the cops questions, his eyes were all for the Goblin. A crumpled, broken mess of metal in black and racing green.

  Griffen knew he should be afraid. But looking at his prized possession shattered and bent, his car, his friend, he trembled. Not with fear. With fury.

  Forty-one

  Griffen soared.

  Everyone had dreams of flying, or of falling. Of hurtling through the air, currents buffeting over skin. How much control one had often depended on the type of person.

  This wasn’t like that. Griffen wasn’t at the mercy of the winds, wasn’t free flowing through the air. He could feel the power of muscles straining with each powerful beat of his wings. Muscles that he knew, on some level, he didn’t have in the waking world, but here they felt right. He didn’t question them, just exulted in the pounding of his blood through them, the effortless strength that kept him aloft.

  He cut through the currents of the air as a shark did through water. Utterly confident, fulfilled, free. He was as much a part of the world as the clouds that passed under him. Sunshine beat down, and felt odd against his skin. As if it weren’t skin at all, but something rougher that soaked in the light and sent small waves of pleasure through his body.

  He twisted in the air, tucking arms and legs beneath him, folding wings around him, unquestioning suddenly being a six-limbed being. Dreams have logic of their own. He dived under the clouds, saw a city before him. Lines of energy coursed, etching their own pattern above the web-work of streets and buildings. The city called to him, pulled at him. He gave into the pull and sank lower in the air.

  As he circled over the city, making lazy patterns through the air, he saw a part he recognized. A small patch of lower buildings, older; a square of green in front of a great cathedral; river on one side. It was like the cities garden, if one had planned out a garden in brick and iron. Several lines of energy ran through it, met, throbbed.

  Griffen looked upon the French Quarter and saw something beautiful. Something his. Warring emotions mixed in the young dragon’s beating heart. A need to explore, to protect, to build. He looked down from the skies and saw his territory, his home.

  He landed in Jackson Square, and for the first time something about the dream disturbed him. He was alone, completely. No people stirred in the Square, no sounds of cars or carriages filled the air. It felt lonely, wrong. In so many ways, the Quarter was the people inside it.

  Griffen lifted his head high. Now that he had been unsettled, he slowly became more conscious of himself. His head was higher off the ground than it should have been. He could see farther; he could smell the river beyond Decatur Street. In the odd silence of the empty Quarter, he could hear the lapping of the water. Something about the scent and smell drew him.

  Without consciously moving, he found himself at the waters edge. He stood on the set of wooden stairs that led from the Moonwalk to the shore. He found himself drawn more and more to the water, fascinated by the swirling currents and small waves. The river smelled of mud and of age and of power. An ever-changing steam, that had lived and ran and thrived long before there was ever a city.

  Griffen peered closer.

  He fell into a trancelike state. No longer could he feel the body he inhabited. No longer did he smell water or city. It was as if the swirling reflection of himself in the water became the entire dream, his entire world. It swelled in his sight. Obscure, detailless, just a green blob in the muddy waters.

  Then it cleared, and a scaly monster stared back at him.

  Griffen awoke with a start, lurching up in bed. Then smashing back down as his head cracked into the ceiling above. Stars burst into his already blurring vision, and the bed collapsed under him.

  He lay, absolutely stunned. His head throbbed, whether from the dream, the surge of adrenaline, or the impact, he couldn’t be sure. His vision swam and he had to close his eyes tightly, waiting for things to settle before daring to open them again. It took several hard blinks for his sight to focus.

  The clock showed five thirty. He reached up, clumsily and groggily, trying to turn the lamp on and only managing to drop it off the dresser, earning his head another impact. He finally got it turned on, lying on its side on the floor, and by then Valerie was pounding on his front door.

  “Hold on!” Griffen called and pulled himself to his feet.

  “You alive in there?” Valerie yelled back, not managing to hide her worry.

  “Think so. Hang on.”

  Griffen stepped out of the wreckage of his bed, still more than a little shaky. He leaned on the wall and surveyed what was left of what had been a lovely piece of cherrywood furniture. Griffen had always thought a bed should be more than a few bars of metal to stick a box spring and mattress on. Sadly, he looked at several planks that had been broken right in two.

  Then he looked upward, and the last remnants of sleep slipped away.

  “Griffen! I will break this door down!” said Valerie.

  Hastily, Griffen grabbed a bathrobe and wrapped it around himself as he went to let his sister in. She looked him over from head to toe, even turning him by the shoulder as she surveyed for any obvious damage. Seeing no blood or bruises her expression quickly changed from worry to anger.

  “What did you do?” she said.

  “I was dreaming…I was flying. I saw my face, a dragon’s face, and it scared me awake.”

  “And that resulted in a crash that probably woke people up three streets away how?” his sister said, unrelenting.

  “I’ll show you.”

  He led her into the bedroom and she stared at the mess. Confused and concerned, she walked carefully around the remains of the bed, face tight with worry. When her eyes finally flicked upward, he watched with some satisfaction as she did a full double take, then stared.

  “Huh,” she said after a long moment, “so dragons have horns?”

  The ceiling was dented, a large dimple in the plaster about the size of a football. The apartment didn’t exactly have high ceilings, but even so, Griffen would normally have to stand on his bed to touch it. What was more worrying was a series of small punctures, as if several objects had punched right through. Bits of flaked plaster fell even as they watched.

  “You don’t think you really?” Valerie said, still looking upward.

  “I don’t know, what else could have happened?”

  “I don’t know…this is more than a little freaky, Big Brother.”

  “I would have said frightening, maybe terrifying, but freaky works. Thank god I was in bed alone.”

  Valerie shook her head, finally looking back at her brother. He seemed no worse for wear, though his eyes were just a little too wide. Considering how little he usually showed, that was enough for her. She put an arm around him and hugged him tight to her.

  “Poor wittle brother had a nightmare?” she teased, trying to lighten his mood.

  “Actually no, it was kinda fun. I still don’t understand why that last moment spooked me so.”

  “Well, I’ll say this, you need to work on your control. Imagine if y
ou were flirting with Fox Lisa in the bar and suddenly your emotions triggered another change. You might split your pants!”

  Griffen, startled, jerked his head toward his sister. Even his control couldn’t stop the smirk that spread to his lips. She thought for a second about what she had just said, and promptly cuffed her brother on the back of the head.

  “I meant with a tail!” she said.

  “Sure you did, Sis.”

  “You’re sick sometimes, and I’m going back to bed!”

  She stomped off, slamming his door behind her. Griffen hadn’t seen his sister blush in years. It was almost worth having to replace the bed.

  Forty-two

  For couples, especially young couples, there are few places in the world that can compare with New Orleans. Depending on where one looks, a fledgling romance could find the elegance of any Paris street, the exclusivity of the New York club, or even the hint of dingy danger found in the London Underground. And that was just in the Quarter. No matter what one’s tastes, it could be found in New Orleans. Besides, while looking, a pair was almost certain to find a few surprises.

  It was now many days, and dates, from when she had first introduced Nathaniel to her brother, and Valerie and Nathaniel were following their ears. Drifting from street to street, stopping by the doors of bars and clubs to scope out the music inside. There wasn’t a manager in town who didn’t try and pipe at least some of their music into the streets. It was a more guaranteed way of getting bodies in the door than any club barker.

  They had met at a jazz club on the corner of Bourbon and St. Peter. The prices on the drinks had surprised Valerie, even with the lack of a cover. Though the music was absolutely amazing, it was also competing with the hard rock cover band across the street. When Nathaniel noticed that her tapping foot was in time with the music outside the club, he left generous tips for the waitress and the band and eased her out the door.

  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.