Dragons Luck Read online

  “So Melinda is taking an interest in him as well,” Flynn said, thoughtfully.

  “Only peripherally,” George said. “I think her main interest was in his sister. The point is, they stopped him cold. Not bad for a pair of effectively untrained dragons.”

  “I see.” Flynn nodded. “Anything else?”

  “More rumors than anything confirmed,” George said. “It was being bantered about in hushed tones that he’s somehow formed an alliance with the spirit of a deceased voodoo queen. That’s something I’ve never heard of another dragon doing. I’ve also heard that he’s somehow in touch with some of the Eastern dragons.”

  “The Eastern dragons,” Flynn said, suddenly attentive. “What sort of connection does he have there?”

  “Nothing definite,” George said. “He has a girlfriend who followed him down from college and supposedly is somehow tied in to the Easterns. It’s my guess that they’re curious and keeping an eye on him . . . rather like you are.”

  “All that in a few months,” Flynn said. “And you don’t see him as an immediate threat to me?”

  George hesitated.

  “Basically, I don’t see him as having any motivation to come after you,” he said, slowly. “Perhaps if you would share with me what your specific concern is, I could appraise the situation more accurately.”

  It was Flynn’s turn to be silent for several moments.

  “You claim to know dragons,” he said at last. “In your research, have you come across anything regarding a prophecy?”

  George blinked, then shrugged.

  “Just some old tale about there arising a near-full-blood dragon who would unite the various dragon factions into one powerful force. Is that the one you’re thinking of?”

  “Something like that.” Flynn waved. “I just find myself wondering if some of the appeal that young Griffen is experiencing is from other dragons wondering if he’s the one from the prophecy.”

  “I doubt it,” George said. “Almost every culture has some variation of a savior legend, someone who will either appear or return to put things right. While it’s reassuring, I don’t think there are any who take it seriously.”

  “You’re probably right,” Flynn said, rising and putting out his hand. “Well, I certainly appreciate your taking the time to humor my request for a personal debriefing. It’s been most informative.”

  George rose and shook the offered hand without thinking.

  “As you said, you paid for it,” he said. “Just because he isn’t an immediate threat, though, I still think you should take young Griffen seriously. He is formidable, and that is a word I don’t use often or lightly.”

  “Oh, I’m taking him seriously,” Flynn said with a smile. “So seriously, in fact, that I’m putting several things on hold to fly down to New Orleans to see to him myself.”

  George stared at him.

  “If you were going to do that, why did you bother hiring me?” he said.

  “Until I heard your report, I wasn’t sure he was worth my while,” Flynn said with an easy shrug. “Now I’m convinced that he needs to be checked out and tested further by me personally to see if he should be recruited or killed.”

  While George had a long-standing hatred of dragons, he realized that he was developing a specific dislike for this one in particular.

  One

  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 lightbulbs 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 c
ertainly 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.

  Two

  “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?

  Three

  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.