“Because you have no idea what to expect. Believe me, you have no idea how rare mixed parties of this scale are. I’ve only been to two before, and those were much smaller. I think the only reason this fool conclave got started was to have an excuse for the ball at the end of it.”
Mai moved up to him, close enough to press against him but stopping just shy of that. She stood up on her tiptoes, half-draping her arms around his neck as she slid the mask onto his face. She leaned her face up, lips close to his, whispering as she tied the mask.
“A little death isn’t going to get in the way of that. In fact, if there is any place to go to forget such things, it is there. It’s not your dark apartment, all alone except for your brooding.”
Despite himself, the flirting was lifting Griffen’s spirits.
“You are just saying that because they won’t let you in without me,” he said.
“They are awfully nervous about party-crashing dragons. Besides it’s more fun to crash on the arm of the one man no one is going to argue with. Like going to a film premiere with the director.”
She closed the last half inch of distance and kissed him. The scales of the dress felt warm and almost alive under his hands. Her teeth pulled lightly at the bottom of his lip.
“Please?” she said, not quite letting him go.
“Welllll . . .” he said, drawing it out as much as he could.
It was amazing how quick one’s mood could change. With the right motivation.
“Besides, aren’t you dying to see if your little sister actually shows up with the dragon hunter?” Mai said. “Enemies dancing together in polite society, making small talk in a potentially hostile environment. Won’t it be fun to see them watch one another’s backs?”
“Somehow I knew you would know about that. And you’re right, damn it.”
Valerie had been worried about something; maybe George stepped on people’s feet literally as well as figuratively.
Mai grinned and slipped out of Griffen’s grip. For a moment, she looked like a child who had just gotten the present she wanted. She even took a little spin before taking one of Griffen’s hands in both of hers.
“Come on, then. If we leave now, we can be almost perfectly fashionably late,” Mai said.
Griffen let himself be drawn out the door, mostly because it was the first chance he had gotten to see the back of her dress. From the back of the collar down, laces crisscrossed over an exposed spine almost to her tailbone. Definitely not a traditional oriental element.
He half realized that he was beginning to look forward to the night.
The other half of him thought that getting his hopes up was probably very unwise.
Fifty-one
Griffen walked into the Conclave Masquerade, and was overwhelmed.
Before his eyes could register details, they were filled with a barrage of colors. As soon as he walked through the doors and into the massive ballroom, he could only stop and stare. Mai, attached at his elbow, picked up on his hesitation immediately. She shifted her posture, framing herself against the backlighting from the doors. A part of him realized what she was doing, that she was making it appear that the two were just pausing, making a more dramatic entrance. That part was thankful, the rest was just taking everything in.
First of all, it was hardly like walking into a ballroom at all. Oh, the features were there: grand chandeliers that looked expensive and impossible to clean, architecturally useless columns along the walls, a sea of marble that made up the dance floor. That was where the similarity stopped, though.
It was like stepping into a forest glade. An unnatural, moon-lit forest from someone’s dreams. Fog covered the ground, ankle thick, except for the dance floor. It didn’t move right, didn’t seem to follow the light breezes in the room. Instead, it rolled in shallow waves and thin tendrils that seemed to explore. Moving of their own volition. Every once in a while a small snake of fog would move across the dance floor, almost seeming to twist to avoid the dancers.
Tables rose like stones in the fog. Tablecloths of soft gray and green covered them, looking like moss and rocks. The tables were small, big enough only for three or four people, an obvious attempt to break up the cliques and groups that kept forming all throughout the conclave. The only exceptions were two long tables, one covered in dishes of food and a small wet bar, and the other against the far wall, set so that those sitting at it could see the whole room. Nameplates sat at each place, and Griffen bet that his name would be on one.
The walls had been decorated, changed, with twisting cords or material that might have been rope or might have been live vines. If vines came in pale purples and blues and the occasional scintillating gold. Trees seemed to grow out of the walls, trees of metal and crystal and glass that still somehow seemed alive. The light filtered through the various materials and sent hundreds of small reflections glittering over the walls and fog.
And the light itself came not just from the candles or the chandeliers. Balls of colored light, greens, blues, purples, seemed to dance in midair. These constantly moving orbs cast little in the way of true illumination but enhanced and changed the colors of everything around them. Griffen had no idea what made them, just as he could see no obvious source for the fog, but the combined effect was breathtaking . . . magical.
And all that before he started tracking the individual people.
Griffen was beginning to feel self-conscious, and decidedly underdressed. Some of the people in the crowd made Mai look almost drab. Costuming ranged from simple masks to elaborate, from modern horror to Victorian drag.
A woman Griffen hadn’t noticed before was dressed in a Carmen Miranda outfit, except that a straw stuck out of the pineapple hat. As he watched, she took off her hat, took a sip from the straw, and replaced it. She was chatting with a man in a cloak so large and black that Griffen couldn’t see his hands, much less his face. Nearby, three people dressed as trees talked, looking like the Forest of No Return at a cocktail party. Griffen idly wondered if Tammy would be using her shifting as a part of her costume, but doubted it after the ribbing she’d gotten.
Someone dressed up as a twelve-foot robot clomped through the fog toward the buffet table, and was followed by a woman dressed as a mechanic with a five-foot-long wrench. Three people dressed as Abe Lincoln, at least one of them female, sat together at one of the tables, engaged in a three-way thumb war. And, of course, a classic at any Halloween party, no matter how elaborate, one person standing near the wall, wearing a sheet with holes cut out for the eyes.
For the most part, he couldn’t tell who was who or, more important, what. Which meant that no one was bothering to group themselves together but mingled freely. Laughter mixed with music and talk. Griffen smiled and stepped forward, Mai falling into step with him perfectly. The doors shut behind him.
Perhaps it was the change in his attitude, or maybe the observational skills that were part of being a dragon. As he moved into the room proper, he began to see small details that, anywhere else, he might dismiss as fantastic costuming. Here he realized what he was seeing: the supernatural, letting its proverbial hair down.
A werewolf, more impressive than any he had seen on the silver screen, sat at one of the tables, its tail wagging in time with the music. A demon and angel danced together on the floor, and though their wings were fake, each was dancing about three inches above the fog. One of the first people Griffen actually recognized was one of the “lesser” shifters, who was dressed as a simple jester in red and yellow. Only his hands were on fire. No, his hands were fire, and he kept arcing it back and forth between them like a Slinky.
Griffen saw Tail, dressed in full samurai gear except for the face mask. His face was normal, but over a dozen foxtails hung behind him, constantly moving. He chatted with the woman from the shape-shifting demonstration, and from the way she smiled, the relationship was building quickly. She wore an elaborate butterfly mask, high heels, and butterflies. Dozens of them, providing her little more c
overage than most bikinis. They flapped gently, and every once in a while one would take off and fly to a different location on her body.
Griffen suspected the butterflies were her, just as the tails were, well, Tail’s. No one really seemed to be paying attention to any of this. It was just part of the atmosphere, accepted, normal. Griffen imagined for a moment what his life might have been like if he had known about dragons since he was a child. He could see just how much he would value a night like this.
He was finally realizing just why there was a traditional conclave at all.
Mai smiled at his side.
“Happy Halloween, lover,” Mai said.
“First time I’ve ever really appreciated the holiday,” Griffen said.
“Told you, Griffen. This was something not to miss,” she said.
“You were right, though I would never have known what I was missing.”
“Oh, you would have, eventually. You aren’t dumb, lover.
Just a little slow sometimes.”
Griffen would have objected to that more if she hadn’t chosen that moment to pinch him. She moved away before he could retaliate.
“I’m going for punch, and if it isn’t already spiked, it will be shortly. You, go, mingle.” She paused, glancing around. “Knowing you, I suggest you follow the bouncing ball.”
Griffen followed her glance. Sure enough, one of the lights was hovering a few feet away, bouncing up and down like an eager puppy. He looked back at Mai, only to see her retreating back, and watched that for a bit before turning back to the relatively less distracting magic ball.
As he approached, the orb slowed down its movement, hanging listless and still when he was right next to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of another starting to dance. Again, as he moved toward it, it slowed. Griffen shook his head, not quite believing it, but as the next ball started to dance, he gave up doubt and simply followed.
It wasn’t long before he saw the source. Four lights hovered around a group consisting of a zombie and three characters from Alice in Wonderland. The zombie, thankfully, looked like a costume, though a movie-quality one. Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare chatted animatedly with it. The lights hovered around Alice, and as Griffen approached, one floated off to join the others throughout the room, and another one slowly coalesced to take its place.
It was only when he was right next to the group that he realized who Alice was.
“Tink!?” Griffen said.
Tink turned, petticoats ruffling. His face was perfectly straight.
“What, you thought you’d have this many fairies in New Orleans without at least one ending up in drag?” Tink said.
His straight face lasted for another few seconds, before he burst out laughing. The others in the group broke out with him, and Griffen joined them. It felt good to laugh.
On closer inspection, Hobb was playing the March Hare and Robin made a very fetching Mad Hatter. Griffen almost did a double take with the zombie, though. It was Estella, right out of a Romero movie except for a small bag and voodoo doll hanging from her neck.
“You are supposed to dress as something you are not, yes? It was either this, or dress up as a witch,” Estella said.
Griffen hadn’t put her down for that much of a sense of humor.
She smiled, showing yellowed and blackened teeth, and waved her hand at the ballroom.
“I told you you didn’t have to worry. But are you all right? We almost sent someone for you when you were late,” she said.
“No need. Someone beat you to the punch,” Griffen said.
“No kidding. That was quite an entrance,” Tink said.
“She’d beat anyone to the punch. Did you see that dress!” Hobb said.
Robin elbowed him in the ribs, in a playful sort of way.
“What do you think of the party, Griffen?” Robin said.
Griffen took time for one last look around, gathering his thoughts.
“Amazing,” he said finally. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Estella beamed.
“I told you not to underestimate those other than dragons. Still, you have not shown much of a dragon’s attitude during this meeting, even counting various . . . incidents. You have been a fair moderator,” Estella said.
Griffen didn’t think so but wasn’t going to spoil the mood.
“The lights are your doing, Tink?” Griffen asked.
“Yes, we call them will-o’-the-wisps. Very handy little buggers, and not just for mood lighting,” Tink said.
“Sure beats pagers and cell phones,” Griffen agreed. “But what if someone . . . not with the conclave sees them? What if some average person blunders in?”
Estella laughed.
“Mr. McCandles, who do you think is serving the food and drinks?”
Startled, Griffen realized he had been seeing people in service industry black-and-whites all along but had been too distracted by the fantastic to notice. Now he looked around and saw a few waitstaff walking around with trays of drinks or food, and one behind the buffet table. They each wore a slim black mask around their eyes.
“Relax,” Estella said. “They, or anyone else who ‘blunders in,’ are unlikely to notice anything too unusual. Not only is this New Orleans, but the wiccan and I have worked up a little something together that will fog up their perceptions a bit. Anyone without something magic in their blood will remember nothing more than an elaborate party in the morning.”
“Most people who are drawn to this town seem to have some magic in their blood,” Tink said.
“Not enough, and so what? Even if they noticed or remembered more, what trouble could it cause?” Estella said.
“On the large scale . . . or the personal scale?” Griffen said.
His tone was a bit strangled, distracted, and the others looked where he was looking. At one of the waitresses, a tray of champagne in her hand, walking toward them. The black mask didn’t hide the fire in her eyes, or in her hair.
“Hello, Griffen,” Fox Lisa said.
Griffen knew, or at least had been told, that Fox Lisa had a little bit of dragon blood. He didn’t know what that meant but had assumed that little to no actual abilities came with such a small amount. He now suspected he was totally wrong.
At the tone of her voice, his four companions all realized they had other places to be and left the two alone. Robin even took Lisa’s tray for her, earning her a slight smile and freeing up Fox Lisa’s hands.
“So this is what you have been busy with lately,” Fox Lisa said, not asked.
Griffen realized at that moment how little he had seen of his occasional lover recently and how much of that had been his own fault. He hadn’t given much thought to it until he heard the dry ice that was her tone.
“It’s more complicated than it looks,” Griffen said.
“I’ll say.”
She glared, but not at him. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that one of Tink’s will-o’-the-wisps was hovering nearby. Under her scrutiny, the white light was tinged pink and, with an embarrassed-sounding pop, disappeared. Fox Lisa stared at where it had been, and for a moment Griffen thought it would be too much for her. She shrugged it off with a visible effort and turned her attention back to him.
“Moving on, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. That just got added to the list.”
“And what else is on the list?”
Griffen hadn’t seen Mai coming, but she was suddenly behind Fox Lisa, an arm sliding around her waist and long fingernails tapping against her hip. She had slipped back into full Dragon Lady mode.
Fox Lisa actually had to swallow before she spoke.
“Mai, why am I not surprised to find you here?” she said.
“Because you know I turn up at the most . . . interesting . . . places,” Mai purred.
Griffen was going to have to look into voice control. Fox Lisa actually shivered, and Griffen now knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.
; She rallied, though, and stepped away from Mai, turning so she could face them both. She stared at Mai’s dress, almost exactly as she had at the will-o’-the-wisp’s disappearance, and again her mind almost—but didn’t—froze up and snapped.
“Explanations, owed by both of you,” Fox Lisa said, then shivered again and moistened her lips. “But . . . later. I . . . I’m working.”
“Later, then,” Mai said.
She stepped up to Griffen, arm around his waist now but eyes on Fox Lisa. There was a moment of tension, and Lisa turned and walked off.
Then stopped a few feet away, changed directions, and walked directly toward a large werewolf in torn blue shorts. She grabbed his tail, and before he could react, yanked hard. He yelped, a very realistic and pained sound. Fox Lisa glared at him, and he ducked his head, ears lying flat. She nodded to herself and stomped off.
Most people around them watched her leave and ignored Kane cursing and rubbing his tail.
“That,” Mai said dropping her act and sounding full of admiration, “is one tough broad.”
“And the two of you have arranged a very tough spot for me later,” Griffen said.
“Yes, we did. And a fun spot if you play your cards right. That one is too smart to be kept in the dark anyway,” Mai said.
Mai grinned and slipped her arm from his waist to his elbow.
“Come on, you. For this stay in your execution, you owe me a dance!” she said.
Griffen had been dreading this long before Mai ever showed up at his door. He knew about as much about dancing as he did about public speaking. With less practice.
He couldn’t decide whether or not this particular dance floor made things better or worse. The dancing seemed to be as eclectic as the costuming. There was a couple waltzing. At least a dozen people going through an elaborate dance that would have fit in at a medieval court. Several people club dancing, including two more of the changelings, Nix and Drake. Apparently, the changelings had decided to dress in a theme: Drake was the Cheshire Cat, and Nix, with the help of a mask on the back of her head, was playing both Tweedledum and Tweedledee, depending on which way she was facing. And Griffen would have put her down for the Mock Turtle.
Dragons Luck Page 29