Dragons Deal (39 page)

Lucinda, gorgeous in rich, Prussian blue satin sewn with rhinestones, stood up and gestured to the members of the court, who followed her out of the room.

"Now, I'll just turn you over to our master of ceremonies, Mr. Matthew Winger." Etienne stood aside as the slender man came forward to take the microphone.

"Evening, everybody!" he called.

Griffen took advantage of the bustle to excuse himself from the table.

In
the anteroom, the other ladies of the court and other women, each designated by the float captains to represent a float's theme, laughed as they helped one another to don flowing, open-fronted satin cloaks over their dresses and put on hats the size of those worn by Las Vegas showgirls. Most of those had a dragon in some position, some heroic, others comical, but all recognizable by Griffen as representing one of the giant floats in the den.

Beyond the place-card table, Val stood against the wall with Gris-gris on one side of her and Mai on the other. Her careful makeup was streaked on her cheeks from crying.

"Why is she here?" Val demanded. "I was ready to put up with seeing her once in a while when I had to."

"I don't know," Griffen said, upset for her sake. "She said Etienne approached her months ago, even before he talked to me. She said he saw her in a vision, standing on a parade float."

"Everything he does is for that damned parade!" Val snarled. He realized that she was over being shocked and was just angry. She looked around for something. Gris-gris whisked a handkerchief out of his impeccable suit pocket and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes. Mai took it from her and cleaned the mascara off her face. "I can't go back in there."

"You'll have to," Mai said. "You can't let her win."

The first of the maids got her headdress in order. It depicted a dragon lounging in an airline seat with a drink in its hand, watching a small television set on a bracket. Her escort, one of the dukes, took her arm and led her into the ballroom. The jazz band struck up a fanfare, which resolved into a peppy, cheerful melody. Griffen heard Matt's voice boom off the ceiling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Flying First Class!"

Roars of appreciative laughter greeted the maid.

Fox Lisa, dwarfed by the massive sculpture on her head of a short, stout red dragon holding a gigantic quill feather, hurried up to take Val's hands.

"What's the problem?" Fox Lisa demanded. "You shot out of there like you were on fire!"

"The mother of the man who knocked her up is here," Mai said.

Fox Lisa looked around, an impressive feat considering her headgear. "Where? I will kill her!"

Griffen held her back. "You can't do that. She is the queen of the parade."

The little redhead's face was set in grim lines. "It doesn't matter. She's going to wear a mask anyway. Now she will
have
to."

"My, my, she's fierce. I can see why you keep her around," Melinda said.

Fox Lisa spun on a dime and went for Melinda with her nails out. Melinda merely shoved backward on the towering hat. Fox Lisa staggered back. Griffen caught her. She pushed away from him, ready for another sally. Luckily, Lucinda arrived on the scene with a handful of hairpins and ribbons.

"Ms. Lisa, are you ready?" she asked, smiling at all of them. "Come on, dear, it's almost time for your entrance!"

She gestured to a tall, very slim dark man, the journalist Griffen had met. He bent to offer her his elbow. Fox Lisa gave a dubious look to Melinda, but allowed herself to be escorted away.

"You better not miss me," she called over her shoulder.

"I want to see," Val said, her voice thin but firm. She cut Melinda dead and sailed past her. Melinda raised her eyebrows but didn't protest. Gris-gris kept his arm around her. Mai and Griffen stayed close.

Matt held the microphone close to his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you all know that history is written by the winners in any confrontation. That'd be why we have to make sure we got scribes who are worthy of the feats of dragons, and who better to tell the story than one of our own? So, here is Arthur, Pen-Dragon!"

The contrast of a very tall man and a very short woman struck the eye amusingly enough, but the stout red dragon had been made with such a knowing, sly expression on his face that Griffen found it hard not to smile. Fox Lisa carried herself like a queen. She sailed gracefully along in her kimono-like cloak, dipping her shoulders but keeping her head straight. She got to the area below the podium.

"They say that the pen is mightier than the sword," Fox Lisa said, making it sound incredibly suggestive. "But I'll try either one on for size."

The audience roared with laughter. A few men at the front tables rose and whistled with their fingers in their mouths. Fox Lisa beamed. Mai adjusted the huge golden snapdragon headpiece and marched in in her turn.

The jaws of the flower moved, chomping closed with an audible sound effect that had the audience rolling on the floor.

"Yes, sir, you gotta watch where you put your fingers," Matt was saying. Mai pretended to snap her own teeth at him. He waggled his hand as if she had nipped him. She delivered her lines to applause and shouts.

Val watched, but she kept muttering to herself.

"Val, you have to calm down," Griffen whispered. "There's too much glassware here."

She gave him a pained look. "I'm trying," she whispered back. "I'm telling myself she's nothing to me. But why didn't we know?"

"I don't know, but I will find out," he promised.

Lucinda came over and tied a huge and ridiculous-looking hat on Val's head that looked like a turtle with a slab of granite on its back.

"Honey, you have got to go," Lucinda whispered to her. "It's all right. You look wonderful. Ben, sweetheart?"

One of the dukes, a big, broad-shouldered man silvering elegantly at the temples, glided to Val's side and put out an elbow to her. She slipped her hand onto his arm and allowed herself to be drawn out into the room. The applause that greeted her was as loud as thunder.

"The Nine Sons of the Dragon!" boomed Matt's voice over the public-address system. "The ancient Chinese knew that dragons were the wisest of all the legendary beasts. Looks like old Pappy Dragon got around, because a whole lot of these nine sons don't look a lot like the traditional one. But the wisest of all the children was the tortoise. He brought him some reading matter with him." That got another big laugh.

"Is she all right?" Melinda asked, coming up to his side.

Griffen let himself tower over her.

"You did this. You ruined this event for Val."

Melinda shook her head. "No. If anyone did, it was the captain of this krewe. I was tremendously impressed by his prescience. He told me things that no one else could possibly know. A genuine talent like that is precious. I went along with his request because it seemed like a good way to look after you and your sister."

"We don't need your help!"

"Yes, you do," Melinda said, patiently. "Don't be so stubborn! At this moment, I am the best friend you have in this world."

Louder applause than ever resounded through the ballroom. Matt, at the podium, bowed over his microphone and handed it back to Etienne.

Lucinda came to lay gentle hands on their shoulders. "That's it," she said. "The tableaux are over."

Griffen made a face. "I . . . hardly got to see them."

She smiled. "I know. Don't worry. Y'all had other things on your mind. It was videotaped. You can get a copy from Etienne in about a week. You two need to get in there now." She shooed them toward the ballroom as the orchestra sat down and struck up the beginning of a waltz.

"Come on," Melinda said.

"I am not going anywhere with you," Griffen said.

She lowered her voice. "You idiot, this is the first dance. You are the king, and you have to have the first dance with me, your queen."

She took his arm. Griffen felt a shock. Besides himself and Val, he had not sensed any dragon that powerful before. She seemed to have an electrical current running through her skin. He wondered if people felt that in him, too.

Melinda towed him toward the dance floor. She smiled graciously at everyone they passed. Griffen plastered a smile on his face that hurt to retain. Melinda stopped in the middle and stared at him.

"It's a waltz," Melinda said. She put up her hands. "Hold on to me, idiot!"

Griffen obediently reached out and put his left hand on her waist and took her left hand with his right.

"One, two, three, ONE, two, three . . ."

Normally he was nimble on his feet, made more so by the fencing classes he took with Maestro, but his tension made him clumsy. Melinda was scornful.

"Straighten yourself up," she commanded him. "Slower! You're skipping the beat. One two three, ONE two three. Get into it. That's better. You hardly look like the dragon of the prophecy when you're tripping all over yourself. And me."

"Do you believe in that legend?" Griffen asked.

"Whether I do is not as important as how many others do. Perhaps I believe that this child of my son and your sister is the one." Her light eyes glinted. "We won't know, perhaps not for years."

They glided together around the floor. The musicians changed key upward a third, and Etienne stepped onto the floor with Regina on his arm. He stopped before them and bowed.

"May I cut in?" he said.

"Of course," Griffen said, grateful to be rid of Melinda. He took Regina in his arms and danced away with her. His feet immediately regained their coordination.

As they swept away, he heard Melinda say, "I've never had an invitation based upon a dream before."

"Well, look at you, pretty lady. You look like a dream."

"So that is Mrs. Wurmley," Regina said. "You know her?"

"She's a, uh, distant relative," Griffen said.

It took an effort, but he kept his expression pleasant and his conversation noncommittal. Stifling his impatience, he finished the dance, bowed to the lady, and handed her off to another male dancer who approached. Ignoring a woman who gave him a hopeful glance, he marched over to confront Etienne, who had just turned Melinda over to Callum Fenway.

The krewe captain took another lady and spun her around the dance floor like a dust mop. Griffen had to resort to a brisk stride to catch up with him. The lady in Etienne's's arms looked disappointed when Griffen tapped him on the shoulder but didn't cut in.

"I need to talk with you."

"You coul' wait until the end of the dance, but I know you won't." Etienne sighed. He bowed to the woman and escorted her to an empty chair. "Pardon me, but dis is krewe business."

"I understand," the woman said, with a smile.

Griffen grabbed his arm and pulled him to the wall near the bus trays.

"You knew all along!" he snarled. "Why didn't you tell me? My sister was incredibly upset. Of all places to trap the two of them together!"

Etienne looked at him with disbelief. "Trap? Dis ain't no trap. She won't hurt her here. Fact, she won't hurt her at all. She be a great queen, Mr. Griffen. She got de blood, just like you and Miss Valerie. Not as strong, but stronger than de other ladies in town. She the best person to ask. I knew she would be here, so I asked her, and she said yes."

"She didn't say anything to me or Val," Griffen said.

"She knew how you felt," Etienne said. "Everybody do. I asked her to keep it to herself. She agreed."

"I can't tell you how pissed off I am," Griffen said.

"I know," Etienne said. "But what would you have done different if you knew?"

Griffen huffed and puffed with fury, but at last common sense overtook him. "There's nothing I could have done. Except walk away."

"And are you gonna do dat?" Etienne's pale brown eyes studied him. Griffen wanted to grab him by the throat, wanted to jam him through the wall and storm out. But the parade was coming. He wanted to be part of that magic. And he had bonded with his fellow ritual-makers. He couldn't let them down.

"No," Griffen gritted out at last.

"'Zactly. So, savin' you months of frettin' is bad how?" Etienne patted him on the shoulder. Griffen flinched back. The werewolf smiled. "Enjoy yourself. This is the chance of a lifetime. Enjoy bein' king, Mr. Griffen. It's all just temporary. And I say, what harm do it do to honor another powerful dragon with the queenship? It's all good for the krewe, and for N'awlins. I know you care about dat." He signed to a waiter, who homed in on them with a tray. He presented Griffen with a whisky. Griffen glared but he snatched the drink and downed it.

"You even knew to get that set up, too?"

For a moment, the werewolf-dragon hybrid's eyes looked weary and tired. "Mr. Griffen, I seen everyt'ing that matter. Everyt'ing gonna work out. Go ahead and hate me today, but you'll see."

At that moment, Griffen did hate him. He hated everything about the krewe, the party, the parade, the fussy decorations, the formal wear, the people--especially the people. With a whoosh, the tray next to him blazed up. Griffen let the orange flames dance for a moment, then extinguished it by clenching his fist.

"Watch it, McCandles!" Harrison's voice interrupted him from his funk. He glanced up. The bulky figure of the detective in his black-and-white suit made him look like a thirties G-man instead of the street cop he was. He danced by Griffen with long, slow steps. Harrison looked happier than he had ever seen him, but with an expression of sad longing. Griffen would not have hurried the dance, either. The dark lady in his arms had a divine figure, to which clung a swirling dress of purple, gold, and green in narrow stripes that made it look like a pinwheel. She lowered the lorgnette mask in her hand to smile at Griffen.

It was Rose.