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, à 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.
Four
Valerie sat in her apartment, staring into a mirror. It wasn’t something she did often. Vanity wasn’t one of her main drives. In fact, the only mirror in the place was in the tiny bathroom. She shifted uncomfortably, leaned on the edge of the sink, and stared into her own eyes.
A soft knock at her door was still loud enough to startle her out of her reverie. Val bent at the sink and splashed a little water in her face. Another quick glance in the mirror showed her face calm, if a little too serious. Nodding to herself, she went to the front door and opened it.
“May I come in?” Mai asked.
The smaller woman poked her head into Val’s apartment, looking around. Val shrugged a bit, unsure what she was looking for. Griffen had never mentioned Mai to Val while they were in college, but since meeting in New Orleans, she and Mai were fast becoming friends.
In fact, Mai had seemed to go out of her way to befriend Valerie, to open up with her more than she seemed to with Griffen. It had given Valerie something she didn’t really realize she was missing: a girlfriend, someone she could let her hair down with and trade dirty jokes and warm comfort. Val had come to appreciate Mai’s perspective and knowledge. Even with that, she had to admit she still didn’t really understand Mai.
“Sure thing,” Val said.
Val opened the door and waved Mai inside. After she closed the door, she noticed Mai still looking around. Well, if you don’t know, ask.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing, privacy mostly. I never knew Valkyries were such slobs.”
Mai grinned as she said it and waved a small hand at scattered clothing over Val’s couch and a small pile of take-out containers on the table. Val rolled her eyes. She knew that she was nowhere near as messy as some. Mai, though, seemed to keep herself, and her surroundings, bordering on immaculate. Sometimes Val just wanted to throttle her.
“Sorry, we can’t all have wrought-iron shafts shoved up our rears, Flower Drum. At least I can eat without the area being declared a disaster zone,” Val teased.
Though if truth be known, the two together was a disaster worse than the sum of its parts. Valerie and Mai attacking a full dinner could give waiters heart attacks the Quarter over.
“You just don’t know how to enjoy your food properly. Amazing, considering how big you are.”
Val grinned at the familiar banter, but there was a slight flash in her eye. One hand idly touched her stomach. Mai noticed it, and her expression softened and went a touch more serious.
“Relax, it’s not showing yet,” Mai said.
“Wh- What do you mean?”
“Oh, please, Valerie. You’ve been out of sorts, far too serious, and there are other signs.”
“Everyone has been out of sorts and serious lately. Silly, isn’t it? I mean, after all, no one’s tried to kill any of us in a few weeks. Things should be springtime and light.”
“Yes. Silly,” said Mai.
The two stared at each other. Val, tall and strong. Mai, small and delicate. Mai’s expression was absolutely unreadable, as blank and lovely as a doll’s. Val tried, but something leaked past. A touch of spark in her eyes, as if daring Mai, or the world, to react first.
“Is it Nathaniel’s?” Mai inquired, face still unreadable.
Val’s face broke in a mixture of surprise, sadness, and, above all, relief. She sank into a chair, holding her face in her hands. Not crying, but showing signs close to exhaustion. Mai approached slowly, almost cautiously, and wrapped her arms around Val, hugging her.
“Yes,” Val said, then more angrily, “Yes! That son of a bitch.”
“Literally, from the rumors I’ve heard from Melinda.”
Mai tried a gentle smile, but Val was still angry as she looked up. Weeks later, and she was still furious at the dragon, Nathaniel, who had come to New Orleans specifically for the purpose of trapping her. Using seduction and magic to affect her will and defenses.
“Was it the glamour? Normally I’m safe, careful. Did that bastard magic me into forgetting myself?” Val asked, and pulled herself away from Mai.
Letting her arms drop to her sides, Mai took a
step back. She thought for a few moments and gave a bare nod.
“Most likely. The glamour probably added to the excitement, the rush, and we know your judgment was affected.”
“Then he wanted this to happen.”
“No . . . well . . . maybe, but I doubt it. He wanted you, wanted to bed you. He pushed with his glamour for that. That is what you got caught up in. To think much past that might be his mother’s style, but as calculating and manipulative as he can be, he tends to focus on the short-term goal.”
Val stood and started to pace the room. She seemed so full of bound energy that it was surprising the small apartment could contain her. Mai took a seat, giving her more room and watching her.
“How did you know?” Val said.
“Besides the personality changes? Well, one big clue, it’s the French Quarter. You’ve stopped drinking,” Mai said.
“Then others have noticed.”
“Val, you have a bad habit of making statements of things that should be questions. No, I don’t think anyone else has noticed. One, most of them don’t know what to look for. Two, everyone has been wrapped up in their own business.”
“But not you?”
Mai shrugged and clasped her hands in her lap.
“For the most part, I’ve been feeling a little lost. As much as I enjoy the area, and the company, I haven’t really heard anything from back home lately. Not even a request for updates. My days are my own and really beginning to drag.”
“Must not be easy, being a spy,” Val said.
Val’s tone was sarcastic, but some of the teasing was creeping back in.
“I prefer to think of myself as a double agent, or at least a double entendre. I mean how much of a spy can I be when I told Griffen that’s why I’m here?” Mai said.
“One of the reasons you are here, and you didn’t really tell him much of that.”
“Hey, if I’m bored, maybe I should get a job like you! Need another relief bartender?”
“Nice change of subject, but with the fortune-cookie mystique, you could probably make more as a fortune-teller.”
Dragons Luck Page 3