Dragons Deal (47 page)

"
Y'all
know you look like Aquaman," Gris-gris told Bert again, as they turned onto St. Charles from Jackson Street. The king of Nautilus had a scaled, marine blue hip-length tunic and black tights with black boots laced up the front, and a crown made of spiral shells. Gris-gris didn't feel much better about his own costume, which looked like it came out of the
Gladiator
movie. At least it had leather pants, not a skirt.

"Yeah, I know. I told the seamstress that when she showed me the fabric, but she said it's sea blue, and what do I expect?" Bert gave him a wink. "So I just settled for thinking there's something for the comic-book fans, too." His throne looked like a big shell. Gris-gris sat beside him on a clump of fake red coral filled with neon-edged clown fish. Giant seahorses attached to the front of the float looked as if they were pulling it. Stick-manipulated giant puppets that looked like sea monsters danced around them as the nearest band played "Under the Sea."

The Nautilus krewe had welcomed Gris-gris as an asset. He felt disadvantaged, thrown into a social group he normally slunk around, resenting, but his Val had brought him into a new world. He'd live up to the situation for her. So far, if he was honest, it had been fun. If he was afraid he'd be made fun of, most of the people he hung around with were driving tractors that day.
He
was riding on the king's float. So how do you like that?

"Hope someone takes my picture for Val," he said.

Bert grinned at him. "That's some girl you have there."

Gris-gris felt a moment's tenderness for Val, something he wouldn't admit out loud even under torture. "Yeah. Never found anyone I cared about like that."

"How much? Would you die for her?"

"In a minute, but then I couldn't be with her, so that's a waste." He grinned back.

They were having a fine time. Gris-gris made sure Bert had whatever he needed for kinging. He kept him supplied with necklaces, bottle openers, inflatable beach balls, and other trinkets to throw to the yelling watchers. Gris-gris stowed a few of each to take home later for his nephews and cousins. There was plenty of beer on board. Nautilus was never dry, Bert commented drolly.

A dancing octopus draped its tentacles over the foot of the seashell. Gris-gris leaned back out of its way.

When it passed, a big man dressed as a merman was standing on the float. Gris-gris knew all the dancers who were supposed to be at the head of the parade. This was a stranger. Immediately, he leaped up and pushed the man in the chest.

The man staggered back and swung a fist. Gris-gris ducked. As fast as a greased snake, the man turned and reached for Bert's scepter. Bert walloped the man with it; that had to hurt. Gris-gris leaped on his back. He reached into the pocket of his costume for the rope he had brought with him. Griffen had warned him not to use a knife. If he couldn't drive him off, the best thing to do was tie him until the cops could get him. The man bucked like an unbalanced washing machine. Gris-gris held on. He couldn't get the rope around his arms. Instead, he went for the knife hanging in a sheath under his arm. This guy was not going to ruin the parade for Val's brother!

He plunged the knife into the man's back. The blade went through the costume, but skidded off the skin. The man bellowed, but he was unhurt. That was impossible! He must be wearing a bulletproof vest! Gris-gris was surprised, but he went after the man with everything he had. A couple of punches to the kidneys ought to bring him down. Like lightning, the tall man turned around. His hand seemed to change before Gris-gris's eyes from fingers to talons. He brandished them at Gris-gris. He must have believed that just seeing a hand turn into a claw would scare him, but Gris-gris grinned.

"That all you got, man?"

The man plunged one talon into Gris-gris's stomach. Gris-gris gasped, but hung on. He shoved his head upward into the other's chin, then forward into the windpipe. The man staggered, but he recovered fast. The talon came across and gashed Gris-gris through the cheek. He knocked Gris-gris's hands upward, breaking his hold. He grabbed him by the shoulder and hip, lifted him high, and brought him down on the seahorse at the front of the float. Gris-gris moaned. His back hurt him and he couldn't feel his legs. He lay on top of the cardboard boxes, staring at the sky.

"Gris-gris!" Bert shouted. "Tritons, come and help here! Hey, damm it, let that alone!"

The captain and lieutenants raced to help, but the big man snapped Bert's arm sharply up and down on the arm of his throne. Bert heard a crack and knew it was the bone. His hand opened nervelessly. He grabbed for the intruder, but he couldn't reach him. The merman snatched up the scepter and jumped straight for the head of the lead horse, which sent it bucking and whinnying. He vanished under the thrashing hooves. The lieutenants grabbed for him, but he evaded them and leaped over a barrier.

"How bad are you hurt?" the captain asked.

"Arm," Bert gritted. The pains shooting through his arm were almost as bad as the humiliation he felt. "Griffen, I lost it. And we have a casualty."

"Who?" Griffen's voice demanded.

"My defender. He's valiant as an old-time hero. He's worthy of better. Dammit, I hate to be the weakest link!"

"Not your fault. What about Gris-gris?"

Bert's float stopped as stretcher-bearers rushed in from the side. They settled Gris-gris onto a backboard and fastened a collar around his neck. A paramedic in a white tunic came up to see to Bert's arm. One of the lieutenants threw his horse's reins to another and stayed on board to toss necklaces to the crowd. "Medical staff taking him off now. I'm still blocks from Canal Street, Griffen. I didn't have a chance to weave his scepter's power in with the others. I am so sorry."

Gris-gris signed to Bert. His high-cheekboned face had a gray pallor. Bert's heart went out to him as he leaned over the stretcher. "Don't tell Val. Spoil . . ."

"I won't. You hear that, Griffen?"

"I did. You did all you could, Bert. We're dealing with pros." Griffen felt a pang of worry, for Gris-gris, but also for Val. "Melinda?"

"She won't hear it from me," Melinda's voice insisted. "Just hang on to yours."

Fafnir
was already two hours into its march. Except for worrying about Stoner and the missing scepter, Griffen had been enjoying himself immensely. He had gone through three boxes of throws already, including the special LED dragons. He waved his scepter at everyone. Kids jumped up and down on the curb, yelling for necklaces and doubloons. He threw them in generous handfuls. The cups were a big hit. Everyone who caught one laughed at the slogan and nudged their neighbors.

Griffen couldn't believe how the corps-style bands could keep playing for hours on end. He would have been exhausted. Etienne said some bands earned as much as two thousand dollars a parade. They were worth more. The flag twirlers were still as perky and energetic as they had been when they set out, even though it was late in the evening.

The band behind his dragon's-head float played "If Ever I Ceased to Love" over and over in between other popular favorites. The monotonous slow waltz was like a reminder that Stoner was out there somewhere. He could just about feel the other's presence, like a sinister shadow looming. The disaster aboard the Nautilus king float made him think again how vulnerable he was. Bert was riding now with his arm in a quickset cast. Griffen was concerned about him and Gris-gris, but Etienne and Melinda reminded him again and again that his duties lay in what he was doing at that moment.

He knew how to be a parade king. He had seen enough parades in the week before. He nodded and smiled and threw goodies to the eager crowds. He brandished his scepter, feeling the sensation of heat in the air. He was surprised how much more power there seemed to be than the first day they had wielded the scepters. It was wrong that Stoner had prevented Bert from settling Water's force before he stole the wand from him. Griffen was determined that wouldn't happen to him. Having to be on guard, he almost couldn't enjoy what would be the greatest honor he had ever had, or might ever have.

"Throw me something, mister!" a little voice cried out from the sidelines. Others joined in. Oh, yes! That was something he was supposed to do.

He reached for the hooks containing more neat hanks of beads, thousands of them, in every color, and pitched them toward the watchers on the side. The crowd surged forward like goldfish feeding in a pond, snatching at the glittering snakes that flew through the air. Griffen felt the magic spread out.
Remember,
Etienne had told him,
you have plenty. Be generous, Your Majesty.

He made sure to aim for the children sitting on the top of ladders. The kids caught the offerings with both hands against their chest, their faces full of glee. He plunged a fist into the bucket of doubloons at his side. Like a real king, he spread the largesse to his public. Roars of approval all but drowned out the music behind him.

"Any sign, Griffen?" asked Melinda's voice in his ear.

"Not yet," Griffen said. He peered ahead into the lamplit street. They were only half a block from Canal. If Stoner wanted to prevent a second scepter from doing its job, he didn't have long. But Griffen was well protected. He was surrounded on all sides by fellow dragons, in front of him, occasionally dropping back beside him, behind him . . .

Behind him.

He had forgotten Stoner's gift of stillness. Suddenly, he felt a cold metal ring touch his neck. He didn't have to look down to know it was a gun.

"Hand me the scepter, McCandles."

"You've been back there the whole time, haven't you?" Griffen said. He stared out at the approaching intersection, keeping a smile pinned to his face. The pinball of fire danced in his belly, itching for a fight. Griffen told it to quiet down.

"The question is immaterial. Give me the scepter."

"I can't," Griffen said. "If you know what it is, you know why I need to use it."

"It will create difficulties for my department," Stoner said. "That threatens all of national security."

"But it leaves this city vulnerable."

"You can't make yourself responsible for that."

"It's my home," Griffen said. They were a hundred yards from the intersection. He could feel the waves of power that were left by Holly and Cos. He needed to join to it immediately. He lifted his hand.

Stoner shot out his hand and grabbed for the scepter. Griffen held on to it with both hands. He realized with a moment's wry humor that the agent was dressed as St. George. He had been hiding behind the curtain concealing Griffen's backup supply of throws. Griffen fell onto his back, trying to break the other man's grip. Stoner brought his other hand around in a chop that made Griffen's wrists tingle, but he turned his shoulder into Stoner's chest. There wasn't time to waste. He had to finish the ritual early, even if it made it less effective.

"Fire, I call . . ." he began, trying to lift himself to a standing position. Stoner kneed him in the back. Griffen fell to his knees. They grappled with the scepter between them. Griffen felt it turn in his grip. The fire in his belly sang. A wave of heat blasted from the scepter toward the side of the street.

Children screamed as fire burst out of the windows of the hotel at their back. Emergency crews on the sidelines mustered to move them away from the blaze.

"You see what kind of danger you are putting your home into? This device must be locked away!" Stoner said.

Griffen couldn't leave the paradegoers in danger, but he couldn't pull away from Stoner. The agent plunged two fingers into the muscles of his upper arm. His hand went numb. He switched the scepter to his left hand.

"Melinda!" he choked out.

"We see it," she said in his ear. "Leave it to us. Valerie and I have this under control."

"Mr. Griffen, we're comin'!" Etienne's voice announced.

"Let go now, and I will see to it no charges are filed against you and your colleagues," Stoner offered.

Griffen was so mad that he could hardly see straight. Ruining the parade, putting thousands of people in danger, when there were other times Stoner could have demanded the scepters. Like at Holly's house. He was furious when he recalled the force that almost crushed them. The pinball jumped up and down, demanding satisfaction. Griffen was inclined to deliver it. He looked straight up into Stoner's face and brandished the golden rod.

Fire burst from the dragon's mouth and washed the two of them in a crackling blaze. The watchers let out a shout of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Stoner demanded.

"Get off my float now, or it goes up," Griffen said. He was aware of the flames. They licked at his costume and hair. He didn't feel his skin burning, but he'd deal with that later. "You can't stop me now."

The float continued to roll down St. Charles as they battled for possession of the scepter. Stoner held up a hand to protect his eyes. He stabbed for Griffen's Adam's apple with the other hand. The crowd cheered them, thinking it was all part of the act, St. George battling the dragon. Well, this time the dragon would win.

"This is an obscenity!" Stoner gritted. His sleeve caught fire. He batted it out. "You are in violation of a hundred different laws!"

"I want to see the official paperwork," Griffen said, fighting to get the words out in the parching heat.

"Don't be obtuse. You know this is off the books. The government needs the results, but not everything has official sanction."

"Then get lost," Griffen croaked. "Protecting this city from natural disasters is also in the government's best interests."

Griffen looked up through the smoke. His eyes watered. He blinked them clear. They were still a hundred feet from the intersection. It was a little premature, but it was his best chance. He staggered to his feet. Stoner swept a leg forward and kicked them out from under him. Griffen turned up the heat. The pinball danced with joy. Tongues of fire blazed up from the floor, hiding Stoner from view. Stoner bellowed in pain. Griffen huddled down with the scepter clutched to him, feeling the cape smoldering on his back. He tried to remember the words of the binding ritual.