Dragons Deal Read online

  A couple of dogs, mismatched as to size, who more or less lived in the bar, came over to sniff his hand in hopes of pieces of sandwich or bar snacks. The small dog belonged to the bar owner, a big, burly man named Ed. The bigger dog, a rangy hound mix, used to run with a man named Slim, who had power over animals that he rarely used, or had to use. Animals, especially dogs, loved and trusted him. Griffen, too, had the power to control animals, but had been working hard not to use it unnecessarily, since Slim had taught him how easily it could be misused. Slim had been killed by a ruthless monster that had been trying to cause trouble for Griffen. Griffen still felt responsible for his death. He and the dogs missed Slim. The dogs would not lack for homes, since the denizens of the Quarter took care of their own, whether with two legs or four legs, but he gave them special attention when he saw them. As it was for Griffen, the bar had become their permanent hangout.

  Griffen held up one end of the bar on the "family side," nursing an Irish whisky with a little water on the side, listening to Maestro, the fencing master who taught students on the upper floor of the Yo Mama's Bar and Grill, debating with a pale, thin woman with blond hair, round blue eyes behind thick glasses, and a blunt nose about which was the more authentic American music, blues or jazz. Griffen liked both types of music and had an extensive collection of CDs. He, like the rest of the patrons hanging out on the family side of the bar, listened with interest, throwing in a comment here and there to help fuel the fire. They had heard Maestro, a slim man in his middle years with a deep bronze complexion, silvering black beard and mustache, wavy hair held back in a ponytail, and wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, arguing both sides of the debate on different occasions. Like Griffen, Maestro was from Ann Arbor, Michigan, but had settled down in the French Quarter as if he had been born there. He, too, had a little dragon blood but didn't know it. Maestro shouted over the jukebox and the crowd who were watching a hockey game broadcast live from Calgary.

  "There's no doubt that the blues tradition came from the Southern slaves," he bellowed, "but their songs were based on the ones they brought with them from Africa. Jazz arose from that, on this continent."

  "Blues is original American, too!" the blond woman argued. "Based on American rhythms, not songs direct from Africa."

  "They can trace melodies to their native countries," said Maestro. "Not all of them, but many."

  "What about the ones they can't trace?" the woman countered. "That proves my point!"

  For one who had been raised in Ann Arbor, Michigan, coming to live in New Orleans had been an adjustment. Griffen loved almost everything about the city except for the never-changing climate. By now, the trees in his former home would be bare, the sky would be iron gray, with heavy, bulging clouds that looked like they were going to come down on you like a waffle iron closing, and there'd be tons of snow to shovel. He actually missed it a little. Instead, it was sweltering in the bar. The miasma of cigarette smoke was mixed lazily with the smells of beer, sweat, plaster, and mildew by the ceiling fans, which did little to cool the place down. Music blared as a counterpoint to human voices and the unmistakable pock of pool balls being knocked around the tables. Griffen had seldom been so happy.

  He had spent the afternoon at the Presbytery, one of the majestic white buildings on Jackson Square, going through its permanent collection of Mardi Gras memorabilia. He had never dreamed that there was so much work involved in putting together a yearly spectacle. If you added up all the hours that it would take to build the floats, sew the costumes, organize the parties, create all the souvenirs and all the thousands of other details, it would come to more than there were in a year, no matter how many people were working on it. Still, it happened, and the parades ran on time, to the delight of the thousands who came to New Orleans to see them. Etienne was right: It was like magic.

  Films ran on a continuous loop throughout the museum displays, showing parades in progress. The floats, even in the daytime, were lit up with strings of Christmas lights, neon and strobes. The costumes, with all their glitter and sequins, were dazzling. The Presbytery's docents, most of them middle-aged women who had lived in New Orleans all their lives, on hearing that he had been asked to be a king, were thrilled for him. They told him stories of Mardi Gras celebrations going back into the middle of the nineteenth century, heavy on the glamour and intrigue. They handed him leaflets and gave him Web site information about other krewes and directions to the famous maker of the best floats in New Orleans. Their enthusiasm excited his, so by the time Griffen left, he was ready to call Etienne and agree to anything just so he could accept that honor few people ever got, step up onto that float, and ride through the streets. But, a hundred steps out the door, back in the New Orleans that he knew, hard reality took hold.

  The financial investment sounded like it would be substantial. He would have to sit down with Etienne and the rest of the committee to see what it would cost him to participate. The range for kingship seemed to run between ten thousand and a hundred thousand dollars. Even though his bank balance had been depleted severely over the last few months paying for the damage to the conclave hotel ballroom and some ill-considered bets on pool with another dragon named Flynn, he might be able to swing the lesser end of the scale. The greater end was beyond his means and out of the question, no matter how great an honor or how long Etienne had been dreaming about it. Still, he was intrigued with the idea of being part of Mardi Gras.

  "Where y'at?" a feminine voice asked, interrupting his thoughts. Griffen jumped. He had been miles away. He put away the mental strings of beads and gathered up the small redheaded woman for a kiss. Fox Lisa kissed him back with interest, then leaned over to bestow a solid smooch on Maestro's cheek. Griffen thought of her as a protegee of the older man, but he never asked. If the relationship went deeper than that, it was none of Griffen's business. He wasn't seeing her exclusively, either. Maestro pecked Lisa back without losing the flow of his argument with his visitor and held up his empty glass to the bartender.

  "You looked like you had something on your mind," Lisa said. A frame suspended rows of wineglasses upside down by their bases over their heads. Fox Lisa put an elbow against one of the wooden pillars that held it up. "Anything I can help with?"

  He glanced around. "I have some news, but Val isn't here yet. I want to tell her, too."

  "Sure," Fox Lisa said, making herself comfortable on the stool at his side. Griffen ordered her a drink. "Is it something bad?"

  "No, I think it might be great . . . but can I wait?"

  "Sure, no problem," Fox Lisa said. A native of New Orleans, she embodied the easygoing mood of the city. "Want to go to the clubs?" she asked. "I've been thinking all day about some live music." She gave him a wicked look from under long eyelashes. "Got me in a good enough mood to share."

  Griffen grinned. "Sounds great," he said.

  "What does?" Mai asked, at his elbow. Griffen watched cautiously to see how Fox Lisa would react to Mai. The two of them were Griffen's lovers, even joining him in the same bed at times, but both had let him know they liked their private time with him. He felt fortunate that they were on such good terms, but he did not like to push it. Even considering bloodlines, no man wanted to stand between two strong-willed women.

  Fox Lisa tossed her head. "We're gonna go out and listen to some music in a while. You can come, too, if you like." So her good mood extended to others that evening. Griffen relaxed. No matter how it ended, it should be enjoyable.

  "I am hanging out with Val this evening," Mai said, tilting her small head toward the tall blond girl. Val had not made it in past the doorway before she was greeted by friends who sat at a table near the door. Griffen glanced at his sister. She had been more tired than usual lately. He didn't like the shadows under her eyes. "I will ask what she wishes to do."

  "What do you want to drink?" Griffen asked. It was a Saturday night. His week's pay was still in his pocket from the day before, and he felt generous. The gambling operation was doing well. Five g
ames in various hotel rooms around the city were going on that evening, and so far Jerome had not called him with any problems. Val's drink was diet cola, as it had been since she found out she was pregnant. Mai asked for a Cointreau. She liked fine wines, but he knew she felt liqueurs were more reliable in bars. It wasn't really true in the Irish pub, where the bartenders were careful about corked or bad wines; but when Mai got an idea in her mind, he had never been able to persuade her to shake it.

  Val looked up and waved to Griffen. She squeezed the hands of the friends in farewell and made her way around the bar to them. Unusually, she barged in between him and Fox Lisa. The redheaded girl made a face but said nothing.

  "I've got something to tell you, Griffen," Val said, in a low voice. Mai sat poised on her bar stool. Fox Lisa's annoyance turned to concern.

  "Me, too," Griffen said. "But you first."

  Val glanced past Griffen to Mai. Mai nodded encouragement to her. She wished Fox Lisa hadn't been there. Val got along with her, but she didn't want anyone else involved in what might turn out to be nothing. Still, Lisa had been a friend to her, too, and she didn't want to upset the balance. Griffen was so oblivious to the byplay between his two lovers. They got along, but each was determined to be the last one standing on the ground. But they did like each other. It was a complicated relationship. Griffen was wise not to inquire into the specifics. He would not want to know them.

  Hers were just as complicated, but she didn't have a choice. And she needed help.

  "That . . . that woman!" Val sputtered out.

  "What woman?" Griffen asked.

  "Melinda," Mai said. "She is here. She wants to see Val."

  "Where is she?" Griffen demanded, looking around.

  "Not here, here," Val said, exasperated. "She is in New Orleans. I don't know where. But she knows about the baby. She wants to be involved with it."

  Griffen looked furious. He clenched his fist on the edge of the bar. "She doesn't get to make that choice. You do. What do you want?"

  Val had been scared to pieces at the Halloween ball, facing Lizzy. Though Melinda's daughter had been tiny, she had the strength of the completely insane. Their fight was as fearsome as a nightmare. Lizzy was strong and faster than a normal person--all right, dragon--but Val had won out in the end. On the phone, Melinda sounded as sane as the US Constitution and just as firm on her rights. But did she really have any? Val hardly knew what normal human family life was like, let alone dragon. Val and Griffen had been orphaned while still young. Their uncle Malcolm had stepped in to raise them, but he had been a distant guardian, leaving them in the care of nannies and housekeepers as he took care of his extensive business interests. As a result, they had developed little family feeling or loyalty for anyone but one another. To have a mother come in to fight for her child . . . Val frowned. She had probably better think about that a good deal herself. Would she kill or die for this unknown lump she was carrying?

  The answer surprised her: an unequivocal yes. It wasn't just biology. This child hadn't chosen to be conceived; she had been tricked, but it was helpless, and it was hers. One day it would be out in the world and able to make its own choices. Val had to give it that time to be born and live and learn. To her surprise, she felt deeply about nurturing it and loving it. She had never had a little brother or sister, but she looked forward to experiencing all the baby things, the sounds, the feel of silken infant skin, the tiny hands that reached out for her. She found herself smiling stupidly at the bar mirror and took a hasty drink of her soda. The bubbles went up her nose and made her sneeze. She could not wait to be able to go back to whisky and soda. The fizz did not take the edge off her feelings. Those experiences were hers, and not to be taken away by the mother of her unscrupulous seducer. She resolved to withstand Melinda and her demands. She was a dragon, too! She was powerful . . .if untrained. Lizzy had been the one who attacked her. Didn't she get any points for that?

  "Absolutely not," Val said. "I don't want anything to do with her."

  "Then she had better leave you alone," Griffen said. "I'm behind you."

  "And I," Mai promised.

  "Who's Melinda?" Fox Lisa asked.

  "The mother of the crazy girl who attacked Val on Halloween," Mai said.

  Fox Lisa's eyes flashed. "You can count on me, too, Val." She had a little dragon blood as well, though as yet Griffen hadn't found the appropriate time to explain it to her.

  "Thanks," Val said, her throat tightening. She didn't know what any of them could do, when Lizzy had had no trouble finding her. Melinda undoubtedly had resources her crazy daughter didn't. "All right, I'm ready to talk about something else," she said, turning to Griffen. "You said you had some news. Good news, I hope?"

  Griffen grinned sheepishly. "Well, I think so. But I'm not sure if it's something I'm going along with."

  "Enough with the prologue," Mai said, pushing his shoulder impatiently. "What is it?"

  "Well . . ." Griffen found that he was enjoying the suspense. He glanced at each one in turn. "You know Mardi Gras is coming up in March."

  "Ye-es," the three of them said in unison. Fox Lisa caught the others' eyes and giggled.

  "Well, a man named Etienne de la Fee asked me to be in his krewe's parade."

  "Big deal," Fox Lisa said. "Thousands of people ride on floats. It's fun, but it's their way of raising money. Cost you between two hundred and five hundred for a year's membership. Maybe more if it's a big krewe. You'll have to supply your own throws. Maybe another three hundred on up for those."

  "But that sounds like fun!" Val exclaimed. "You get to ride on a float! That'll be awesome. I'll have to tape it."

  "Oh, he'll have to wear a mask," Fox Lisa corrected her. "Riders are anonymous in most parades."

  "Well, what fun is that?" Mai asked, waving her hand. "I would not pay sums of money for the privilege of anonymously flinging cheap plastic toys to screaming hordes."

  "A lot," Fox Lisa said, her nose turning red in annoyance. "People enjoy being generous at Carnival."

  "Useless," Mai said. "If you want to give charity, pick something worthy. Junk means nothing. Don't waste your time, Griffen."

  "Are you dissing our festival?" Fox Lisa asked, dangerously. "Being a krewe member is fun, and it makes you feel good, no matter that no one knows who you are!"

  "No." Griffen felt that he had lost the momentum he had been building up, and he had to get between his two lovers before they raised the argument further. He raised his voice over theirs. "I'm not going to be a plain krewe member. Etienne asked me to be their king!"

  "The king? Really?" Val asked, her eyes bright. "Why you?"

  "He said everyone in the krewe had some dragon heritage," Griffen said, dropping his voice down. "They want me because of my bloodline."

  "That sounds much more reasonable," Mai said, nodding.

  "Wowee!" Fox Lisa exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. "That is fantastic news! What an honor! You have to do it! You can't turn it down."

  "How difficult is it to get to be royalty on a float?" Mai asked, speculatively.

  "Just about impossible," Fox Lisa said. "Unless you have been a member of the krewe for years and years, and it's come around to your turn, then maybe if everyone is willing to vote for you. Or you drew the lucky ticket in a random drawing. It varies a lot how krewes pick the king. The only outsiders who are ever asked to be king are usually celebrities." She beamed at Griffen. "That means you've been accepted as a local, Griffen. Congratulations!"

  "What's the congratulations about?" Maestro asked, coming up for air from his discussion.

  "Griffen's going to be a Mardi Gras king!" Fox Lisa exclaimed. "Oh, I am so happy for you!"

  "What krewe?" Maestro asked.

  "Fafnir," Griffen said.

  "That one's been defunct for years," Maestro said, with a lift of his eyebrow. "Did they say why they're reviving it instead of starting a new krewe?"

  Griffen shook his head. "I guess I can ask
all that at their meeting on Tuesday," he said. "I don't know much yet, only that it's going to cost me a bundle."

  "Do it anyhow," Maestro advised. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can't believe you're even hesitating."

  "Neither can I," said Val. "It's not like you."

  "It's a pretty expensive proposition," Griffen said.

  "So what is money for?" Mai asked. "If it is something you will enjoy, spend it. I would."

  Griffen looked at the eager faces around him. "Well, okay," he said, with a huge show of reluctance.

  "You phony!" Val said, laughing. Griffen grinned back.

  "That's better," Mai said, studying him critically. "If it does you good in the community, it sounds like a worthwhile opportunity."

  "Well, it's got responsibilities, too," Griffen said.

  "Purely ceremonial," Maestro said, sitting back with his drink in his hand. The second and subsequent drinks of the night were always Diet Coke. He raised the glass. "Cheers, King of Fafnir. Just one question: Who's your queen?"