Dragons Luck (2 page)

It
was getting to be late September in the French Quarter, which meant the weather was cooling off enough that it wasn’t necessary to run the air conditioner full-time. This was a break from both the muggy, sweat-inducing heat every time one set foot outdoors, and from the sky-high electric bills.

Griffen McCandles couldn’t sleep, so he eased out of bed to wander out into the living room, being careful not to wake the sleeping form burrowed into the pillows next to him.

Fox Lisa and he were occasional lovers with no rules or restrictions on each other. The problem was they were simply on different schedules that only occasionally overlapped. She had her day job waitressing at G. W. Finn’s, while his own duties overseeing the gambling operations, as well as his own personal preferences, made him a night owl.

She had called him about hooking up after work, and while he had willingly complied, now that she had dozed off, he was wide-awake.

There was no light on in the living room, which was unusual, as he normally kept at least one lamp on to help him navigate his way to the john without tripping over something or banging his knees. Still, it wasn’t unheard of. The French Quarter, with its power surges and antique wiring, tended to eat light bulbs like candy.

As he was groping his way toward a light switch, he suddenly became aware that there was someone sitting on his sofa in the dark. His heart nearly stopped as he realized he had been caught completely vulnerable.

“Do not be concerned, Griffen McCandles. You know who I am.”

Forcing his heart rate down to somewhere near normal, he switched on the light and turned to greet his visitor.

“Hello, Rose,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you, to say the least.”

The young black woman with the long, waist-length hair smiled at him in return.

“I apologize for visiting your home unannounced, but at some times it is more difficult than others to make contact, and I needed to speak with you.”

Rose was a ghost, a voodoo queen who had been dead for eight years. Shortly after he arrived in New Orleans, she had approached him on Jackson Square one night to ask his intentions toward the supernatural community in town. She had also given him a necklace of small black and red beads that he wore constantly, and had helped him out of some awkward, potentially dangerous situations.

“You know,” she continued, “you should really have some wards set on this place… on your sister’s, too. It was entirely too easy for me to enter. If you ask Jerome, he should be able to help you with that.”

“May I offer you something to drink?” Griffen said, then realized how silly the thought was.

“That won’t be necessary.” Rose smiled. “But thank you for the thought.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

“Strangely, that is exactly why I wanted to speak to you,” Rose said. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Name it,” Griffen said, then regretted his words.

He really didn’t know what he could offer a ghost in the way of help, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Then again, was it possible to say no?

Rose raised her eyebrows.

“You may wish to consider carefully before agreeing,” she said. “It is not something I would ask slightly, nor something you should agree to hastily.”

“Okay. What’s the favor?” Griffen said, grateful for the out.

“Every thirteen years there is a gathering of supernatural and spiritual beings,” Rose said. “A conclave, if you will. The location rotates through various host cities. There is one happening this year over the Halloween weekend, and New Orleans has been chosen to host it.”

“So what’s the favor?” Griffen frowned. “Do you want me to be a speaker or something? If so, I don’t really think I’m qualified. Mose would be a better choice. If you’d like me to, I could ask him.”

“I actually had a more active role in mind,” Rose said, carefully. “If you are agreeable, it is my wish that you serve as moderator for the conclave.”

“Moderator?” Griffen echoed. “I’m even less qualified for that than to be a speaker. I don’t know any of these people… or types.”

“That’s what makes you the perfect choice,” Rose said. “You have no affiliation or alliance with any of the groups attending. More important, you’re a dragon. Dragons don’t usually attend these events, so everyone will be a little scared of you. It will help keep everyone in line.”

“Keep them in line?” Griffen said with a frown. “What sort of beings are going to be attending this conclave?”

“Think of them as normal conventioneers in town for the weekend,” Rose said. “You certainly have enough experience dealing with that from your time in the Quarter.”

“So does everyone else who lives here,” Griffen countered. “What do you need me for?”

“How do normal conventioneers act?” the voodoo queen pressed.

“Well, usually they wander through the Quarter, drink too much, make passes at the locals and each other, and sometimes wander down the wrong streets at night and get mugged or into a fight,” Griffen recited. “The pattern doesn’t change that much whether they’re sailors or librarians.”

“Now imagine that same behavior at a supernatural conclave.” Rose smiled.

Griffen did, and didn’t like the image he got.

“I see your point,” he said. “But seriously, Rose, I wouldn’t know what to do or where to begin.”

“I can help you with that as the event approaches,” Rose said. “This conclave is important… potentially crucial for the future of everyone involved. The important thing is that you agree to help.”

“But…”

“You do agree, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…”

The bedroom door opened, and Fox Lisa emerged blinking into the light.

“What’s up, lover?” she said, yawning into a fist. “I thought I heard voices.”

“It’s just…” Griffen began, then realized that Rose had disappeared.

“Unexpected visitor?” Lisa said, peering around the room. “Hell, invite her in. You know I don’t mind.”

“I… I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Griffen said, wondering how much he should explain, if at all.

“Lighten up, lover,” Fox Lisa said with a bawdy wink. “I keep telling you you’ve got to get into the spirit of the thing.”

Griffen was totally unable to explain why he found that so hysterically funny.

“You
did what?!”

The outburst took Griffen aback. He was sitting in Mose’s, as he so often found himself when seeking Mose’s advice. It had occurred to Griffen previously that, outside of card games, he had rarely seen Mose out of the older man’s home. Whether Mose was simply more comfortable in his own surroundings, or he just didn’t like to get out in the Quarter, Griffen couldn’t be sure. Regardless, his usually stoic guide seemed unduly stressed.

“I agreed to Rose’s request. What else could I do considering the help she has given me?” Griffen said.

“Look, son, I know your sense of honor has swelled up a whole lot more than most of the people your age. But you’ve never struck me as this stupid,” Mose said.

Griffen looked at his mentor in confusion. He had never found Mose this unbalanced, not to mention harsh. A part of himself winced over his teacher’s roughness, the rest of him hit the other end of the scales. He wanted to retaliate.

“I don’t see how agreeing to an ally’s need is stupid, Mose,” he said.

Mose seemed to draw himself inward, centering.

“Sorry… sorry. Wrong phrasing, Griffen. You caught me by surprise is all. That doesn’t happen much when you reach my age.”

Griffen watched as Mose’s eyes momentarily fogged, as if he were looking at memories and times long since past. Griffen had grudgingly learned that a dragon’s outward appearance had little to do with his actual age. His friend Jerome had been the first to show that to him—a man he knew as another face around campus who had turned out to be much, much older than Griffen.

Still, Mose was such a timeless figure in so many ways, that this momentary display of emotions further set Griffen aback. The older dragon suddenly seemed… tired.

“I don’t get it, Mose,” Griffen said. “What is so startling about this all?”

“Well, to start off, I would never have expected Rose coming to you, or anybody for that matter, with such a request,” said Mose.

Griffen hadn’t thought about that yet. Rose was in many ways an enigma to him. He had no experience with voodoo queens or ghosts, and found the combination of the two a little disconcerting. He leaned forward, obviously curious about Mose’s take on things. The other man shook his head, expression and tone growing more calm and controlled by the moment as he centered himself.

“Well, it’s not an everyday request from just anybody. Don’t get me wrong, Rose was a fine woman while alive. And I’ve heard nothing but good things about her since she has crossed to the other side. Still, I don’t pretend to understand her motivations. In this, or in anything.”

“Well, make some guesses. What do your instincts tell you?” Griffen asked.

“The big one is that these kind of meetings tend to get real cliquey real quick. In years past, Rose would be representative if not head of the local voodoo community. Now she’s switched groups. She represents the spirits and ghosts and wandering souls, and maybe there will be some confusion about just whose interests she is most concerned with.”

“That’s not all, is it?”

For once Mose showed his emotions fully, half-rising out of his chair and his face flushing. This alone let Griffen know how much the matter was taxing him.

“Of course not! You don’t have any idea what goes on at this type of thing! You are far too young, far too new on the scene, to take on such a responsibility. Dragons don’t usually take part in these conclaves, and when it gets out that you’re not only attending, but helping to run it as well, you’re gonna have everybody and their kid brother watchin’ to see how you do. Anything goes wrong, you could end up holdin’ the bag. At the very least, it would be an embarrassment and a loss of face. At worst… I just don’t know.”

Griffen paused for a moment, keeping himself calm before responding. The comment about his youth, as well as his ignorance, got him more riled up then he would ever have expected.

“So, what do I have to expect?” Griffen said, keeping his voice controlled and outwardly calm.

He had half expected a full rundown right then. Mose had been his most valuable source of information since he had fallen into a world full of dragons and strangeness. What he didn’t expect was for Mose to look away, seemingly embarrassed. Again, the older man took a deep breath, calming himself before speaking and obviously hiding his embarrassment.

“To be honest, Griffen, I don’t know. Never in my long years did I attend such a conclave, much less moderate one. Dragons don’t ‘lower’ themselves to such meetings as a rule. In my case, it just never came up.”

“What do you mean? How could it not come up?” Griffen said.

“You seem so competent, sometimes I forget how new to all this you are. You were raised as human, which frankly isn’t the way most dragons do things. Anyway, you have the human fallacy of thinking all supernaturals are connected. It just isn’t so. Most dragons don’t even see the other things out there in the shadows, much less deal with them. Especially lower dragons… like myself.”

Now it was Griffen’s turn to look away in embarrassment. He had been told about his blood and Valerie’s being somehow more concentrated than most dragons’, but it so rarely came up. Even after all that had been forced upon him, some days he still didn’t believe he was a dragon. Some days he still wondered if he was simply insane.

“What can you tell me?” Griffen asked.

“Nothing,” Mose said, voice suddenly hard. “Griffen, you are a strong, confident man far beyond your years. You have made your decision. The timing being what it is, it behooves me to leave it to you. On this, you are on your own.”

“What do you mean?” Griffen said, confused and feeling the first hints of panic.

“I mean this is your baby now. I don’t know enough. Anything I could say might just mislead you. I won’t just be another obstacle for what will prove a very difficult task.”

With that, Mose stood. Griffen was still staring, confused and at a loss for words, as the older dragon walked past the younger. He briefly clasped Griffen on the shoulder, then headed out the door, leaving his own apartment, leaving Griffen alone.

Through all the confusion, Griffen’s main thoughts were centered on the simple question. What had he gotten himself into?

Griffen
strolled down Bourbon Street. His destination was the Irish pub up on Toulouse, but he never missed the chance to do a little people-watching. It was amazing what could be seen just glancing into the open doors and windows of the French Quarter bars as one walked along. By the time he had turned down Toulouse, he had already seen a small fight, several lovely eyefuls dancing on bar tops, and two of the silver cowboy street performers rolling something he doubted was tobacco. Ordinary sights by now, but always worth a glance.

The last thing he expected to see was two dragons, arguing.

It was a little hotel bar a block away from the Irish pub. Griffen had never been in there, as its upscale atmosphere and fairly yuppie clientele had never held any attraction for him. This time was different, as just a glance brought him to a stop.

It was the first time he had looked at strangers and known, on some level, that they were dragons. They sat at one of the small tables, talking with the exaggerated hand movements of a heated debate. He wasn’t even sure why he knew what he knew. Whether it was their posture, eyes, movement, he just didn’t know. But his instincts were sure.

Physically, the two couldn’t be more different. The first was a huge man, his suit not quite tailored enough to hide the roughness of his frame. Griffen had never actually seen anyone who truly didn’t have a neck. It was as if he were a barrel someone had stuck a bucket head onto.

The other was tall, slim, well built, and seemed polished compared to the rough man next to him. Somehow he seemed more real than the other. His tan was rich, as if he had never spent a day without seeing sunshine. His jaw was square with an easy smile, his hair wavy with just a hint of tousled wildness. The first man wasn’t smiling; he seemed to be just baring his teeth and forcing his words through them.

The two stopped whatever they had been discussing in hushed tones as the rough man’s eyes fell on Griffen, still standing out on the street. He hushed the other, who turned and didn’t hesitate to beckon Griffen in. There was no reason for Griffen to refuse the invitation, but still he approached warily. Despite the man’s warm smile, his eyes were a bit too keen. As if he was seeing every detail, analyzing each in turn.

“Mr. McCandles, welcome,” the polished man said, nodding, no question in his voice.

“This is him?” said the other man. He was either uncaring or unable to hide his surprise.

The other’s eyes flicked briefly, not actually rolling, but the slight change in expression spoke volumes. There was very little respect here. The rough man noticed and seemed to hunch in on himself, head receding a bit more into his shoulders, eyes narrowing. He reached out a hand and took Griffen’s, applying much more pressure than was needed for a handshake.

“Skinny, ain’tcha? You ever do something that doesn’t involve sitting on a bar stool?”

His voice was surprisingly soft, but hostile. He was obviously trying for a reaction, and Griffen didn’t care to give it to him that easily.

When the other man spoke, he had an earthy, mellow self-confidence. He offered his hand to Griffen instead of simply taking it as the other one had. They shook, and the grip was comfortable and unforced.

“Mr. McCandles,” he said, “or may I call you Griffen? This is Stewart Waters. And I’m Flynn.”

“Earl, actually,” Waters said, his smile making it clear he was aware the correction would irritate Flynn.

“Only if I have to sign checks; otherwise, Flynn suffices.”

“You a ball fan, McCandles? ’Course not, otherwise you’d be askin’ for my autograph already,” Waters said.

Griffen tried to remember where he had heard the name. A player? Semipro or pro? Second-string somewhere probably…

“Mostly I just follow college,” Griffen said, politeness waning quickly. “Once players start worrying about the paycheck, they start to get dull.”

“Dull! Why, you little twig…”

Griffen blinked once. “I’m sorry, I thought you were a dragon. Do you really think I need to show my muscles?”

Flynn’s smile widened at the corners, and his eyes seemed to catch the light as they gleamed. Griffen hadn’t seen admiration often in another dragon’s eyes. Apparently the speed of the response, as well as its phrasing, impressed Flynn. Waters simply stared blankly, trying to figure it out.

“You’ll have to excuse Waters. Low blood, but lower intelligence. It was just what we were discussing,” Flynn said.

“This parasite says I have to retire next year, when I haven’t even gotten started. Do I look like I can’t play anymore?” Waters asked.

“No, you look perfectly fit,” Griffen answered.

“And that is just the problem. You haven’t aged. You’ve got just enough blood in you that you could keep knocking heads into your sixties, and every sports commentator in the country will be screaming about steroids and drugs and by that time, probably, cloning. You can’t keep playing a game for twenty- and thirty-year-olds without gaining the wrong type of notoriety,” Flynn said.

“That’s what I got into this for. You promised me fame!” Waters said.

“I promised you a chance at fame, which you blew by being a hothead. And I told you the conditions were that after ten years, you retired and went and wrote cookbooks or something. Or, God forbid, coached.”

“You stupid vampire. You made a fortune off of me, and I got screwed.”

Flynn stiffened, perhaps because of the insult. His tone grew sharp.

“Compared to most clients, you gave me pennies. And I should ruin you for flying down to New Orleans with some cockamamie scheme of trading yourself to the Saints. Idiot.”

“At least I seek fame, instead of just money. Is it true you take IVs of melted gold to get you going in the morning?” Waters shot back, flushing angrily.

“Oh no, I just swim in it, а la Scrooge McDuck,” Flynn said.

Griffen laughed at Flynn’s easy volley, and Waters grew more sullen. Flynn winked at the young dragon, even though he didn’t look much older than midthirties himself. Griffen doubted his age matched his face.

“Pull up a chair, Griffen. No reason for you to stand there.”

Flynn pushed a chair toward Griffen. A drink was already waiting, and as Griffen reached into his wallet, Flynn waved him off, putting a few bills on the bar. The Quarter had broken Griffen of refusing free drinks, but still the gesture surprised him from an utter stranger.

Waters put a hand on the back of the chair, knuckles grazing Griffen’s back.

“No, don’t pull up a chair. I’m not done talking with my agent about extending my ball contract.”

“Not a chance, Waters,” Flynn said. “You don’t have anything to offer me.”

“You mean besides the money from the contract?” Griffen said.

The other two dragons exchanged a glance, for the first time having a meeting of minds. Waters burst into a chortling laugh that set Griffen’s teeth on edge. Flynn’s smile became a smirk, but he still shot a bit of a glare at the other.

“Stow it, Stew. He’s new.”

“New nothing—he’s a baby! This is the kid who scared Stoner? Big tough government dragon!”

“Thanks for the drink. Glad I could give you a few laughs in exchange,” Griffen said, starting to rise.

Waters rose, too.

“Where you going, baby?” he said.

Flynn glanced at the other two dragons.

“Sit down, Griffen, for a moment,” he said. “Waters is an ass, but I didn’t mean any harm. See, for the most part, the big dragons in this country know each other. Not quite a good old boys’ network, more everyone keeping track of everyone else. Now, Waters isn’t a big dragon, not even tops in his industry, but you qualify, or will. So it was a bit of a shock you didn’t know me,” Flynn explained.

“Meaning you are a big dragon?” said Griffen, not taking his chair again and not taking his eyes off Waters.

“I’d say yes if I weren’t so damn modest.”

Flynn winked, and Griffen found himself smiling again. But lost it quickly as Waters cracked his knuckles loudly, vying for attention.

“He’s agent for every major dragon in entertainment. Sports, movies, news, stage, even books,” Waters said.

“Though I’ll be damned if I see much money from the last. They do all come to me,” Flynn said.

“And give you ten percent?” Griffen said.

“Sometimes as much as forty on a few cases. It’s amazing what some people will sign,” Flynn said.

Griffen cocked his head, looking at Waters.

“And your beef with me seems to be?”

“No beef, just figured I’d get a little of that fame I been wanting. I smash your face in, maybe I can sign on with Stoner after I dump this scum sucker,” Waters said.

He took a step toward Griffen. Though he didn’t show scales, his skin seemed to darken, harden. It was as if his dark skin were turning to brick, or stone, but it still moved and rippled like flesh.

Griffen cocked his head the other way.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Griffen said.

A soft growling tugged at the attention of the three dragons.

Two dogs, medium-sized, glared up at Waters. A moment ago they had been asleep in the bar. Now their ears were back and teeth bared. The larger one’s shoulder blades began to tense.

“You think I can’t pound down a dog?” Waters sneered.

The smaller dog barked, a surprisingly loud bark. It drew the attention of the people in the bar and out on the street. One of whom began walking toward the entrance.

“Griffen,” Maestro said. “Was expecting you up the street for pool. Is there a problem?”

That last phrase was said with a bit of edge. His hands were in plain sight, but Griffen had heard a few stories in the past few months. Dogs Waters could handle. This, maybe not.

The bartender looked over.

“Maestro, how the hell have you been?” he asked, and quickly assessed the situation. “Right, what’s going on here? Maestro, you need a hand?”

“Just what I was asking my good friend Griffen here,” Maestro said.

Waters looked from the men to the dogs to Griffen. Flynn chuckled slightly. Griffen had noticed that he had watched him the entire time. There seemed to be another gleam of admiration in his eyes, but also something more… calculating.

“What did I say about the wrong kind of notoriety?” Flynn said.

“Fuck you, Flynn,” said Waters.

Everyone watched as the large man left the bar, stopping to glare at Maestro as he stepped to the side. Maestro only smiled slightly, and asked, “Did you use to play sports?”

That did it. He was gone, and Griffen really wanted to know how Maestro knew the perfect thing to say. Flynn laughed, loud. Griffen turned a speculative eye to the other dragon, and he shrugged.

“Some guys just aren’t worth fifteen percent. I’m half-tempted to try and get him a TV hosting gig on Antarctic Public Broadcasting. But I hate to waste a favor.”

“You really can pull that kind of strings?”

Maestro looked at the two of them and walked over to chat with the bartender. Griffen signaled over his head, buying the man a drink, then sat back down with Flynn.

“Inside my bailiwick. I don’t pay much attention outside of the entertainment business, of course, but that’s enough for one dragon.”

“So,” Griffen said, suddenly suspicious, “what are you doing in town?”

“Ha! Sharp question. I could, of course, have sent some paper-pusher to ride herd on the boy wonder. But I’m about to start preproduction on a major picture down here, so I’m checking out the location. Multitasking, you know?”

“Okay, and what is your interest in me?” Griffen asked.

“Who says I have an interest? I do very thorough research before I come to a new location. Research besides shooting locations and local talent agencies.”

“So you knew me because you looked into the local dragons?” Griffen said skeptically.

“Oh, hell, you are quick. I rarely come on location even when I’m the one trying to put things together from scratch. Don’t have to anymore. But New Orleans with Halloween coming up, a young dragon who’s making the most interesting ripples? Curiosity compelled, I came and poked my nose in.”

Distrust made Griffen pause and think those comments over carefully. He didn’t like being under the microscope, but Flynn’s honesty was refreshing. He just couldn’t seem to help liking the man.

“You seem more startled than expected. Look, I’m sorry about the idiot, but I can’t be responsible for every stupid thing he thinks up. Surely this can’t be the first time a dragon surprised you with a face-to-face?” Flynn asked.

“True, but that doesn’t help me feel at ease. The last was Stoner.”

“Ah, well, damn. Doesn’t that just take the wind out of my sails? Tell you what. Going to be around for another month at least now that I’m immersed in this damn deal. We’ll probably run into each other. If you need anything, though, here’s my card.”

He pulled out a small, embossed business card and slipped it over to Griffen and looked him over again closely. Griffen sensed that he wanted to say more, but Flynn just shook his head and stood up.

“No pressure now. There really is no need.” Flynn nodded to Griffen and headed out the door.

Outside, once beyond sight of the bar, Flynn smiled to himself. An honest smile, the kind that brings to mind cats and canaries.

“Just the right mix of truth and lies,” he said to himself, and strolled down toward Bourbon.