Dragons Luck

by Robert Asprin

  And Lizzy, laughing her mad laugh, took two steps to the nearest person, broke his arm, and threw him at Valerie just as she was getting her feet back.

  “Thanks for the idea, El Zero. You are all dead. You were all dead the day you decided to bother me!”

  Up till now, the group hadn’t panicked. Griffen hadn’t noticed that while his sister was in a fight for her life, but now it struck him all at once. Any other group of people would have been screaming at the fist sign of violence, running around like sheep. The conclave members had kept their heads till now, if only because the sight of two dragons battling head to head had most too shocked to move.

  Now everyone was in motion.

  Few panicked as most would, screaming or running about, though there were some.

  Several, like Kane and Tail, stepped toward the fray. But braced as they were, something in their posture told Griffen they intended to go down fighting but knew they were going down.

  The changelings exchanged a glance, and vanished.

  Among the screams and shouts, Griffen could hear chanting. The vodoun and other human practitioners casting . . . something. He didn’t know and didn’t care what.

  He was pushing through the people roughly, heedless of any damage he might do, intent on getting to Lizzy.

  Val scrambled to her feet, but he knew he would reach Lizzy first this time.

  But someone was already there, Lowell, and two other vampires. Whether they had just been close, or had come close to act, they leaned toward Lizzy, and Griffen could see them drinking her energy. A swirl of air, a press of heat, a taste of madness spread from her to them, and the strength of it had her down on one knee, shaking.

  “Vampires . . . Dragons hanging out with . . . vampires?!” Lizzy said.

  “Didn’t do your homework, did you? Ahhh . . . such despairing madness,” Lowell said, and for the first time he looked dangerous.

  His eyes were a dark, smoky red. No other physical changes showed, but his shadow seemed to boil, as alive and moving as the fog on the floor.

  Lizzy snarled and picked up a piece of debris from the fight, a table leg. She lunged forward and slammed it into Lowell’s chest. Lowell vanished.

  The vampires’ connection with her snapped almost audibly, but Val was there by now, and rammed into Lizzy. She hit her hard and fast, sending her back to her knees, then to the floor. She straddled Lizzy and struck down with all her weight behind her fist.

  And Lizzy moved as if her bones were liquid. Val’s fist cracked the marble floor, and Lizzy kicked her knees out from under her. There was a brief struggle, and their positions were reversed.

  Lizzy straddled Val from behind and took Val’s head in her hands.

  And Griffen yanked her off by her throat. His hand was a claw, his arm covered in thick scales. He could feel his tail thrashing behind him. Lizzy’s feet dangled high above the ground, kicking.

  It had worked on George, but George wasn’t a dragon. Lizzy pried Griffen’s fingers free with strength that should have been impossible. She held his wrist in her hands, put a foot to his chest, and kicked, sending him tripping over his sister and flying through the air herself.

  She landed gracefully several feet away and actually bowed.

  “Oh, this is fun! None of you can stop me, no one can ever stop me! Screw it all, this is too much fun to stop! First one to die loses!”

  Lizzy laughed, and for just a moment Griffen felt despair. It actually looked as if even he and Val couldn’t stop this lunatic dragon.

  Then again, it wasn’t just Val and him.

  “I can stop you.”

  Lizzy turned, and so did everyone else. There was no one there, just a vague disturbance of the air. Then Hobb stood there, dropping whatever glamour the fey used to hide. Robin appeared as well, several feet behind him, fear plain on her face.

  “You?! You?! How do you think you can stop Lizzy?”

  “With this,” Hobb said.

  He held up a small pocketknife.

  Griffen expected her to laugh, she should have laughed. Instead, she looked insulted. Claws grew again at the ends of her fingers, and Griffen knew with a certainty the changeling had just committed suicide.

  “With that, you would take a dragon with a letter opener? You are too stupid to live,” said Lizzy.

  “Well, you would know all about that,” Hobb said.

  He flicked open the blade, a plain, straight blade. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew the blade against his knuckles.

  Blood welled over his fingers, and he clenched his hand into a fist.

  Lizzy looked uncertain; she seemed fascinated by the dripping blood.

  “What’s that for?”

  “This.”

  Hobb stepped forward, his face resolute and grim, and slammed his fist as hard as he could into her mouth. She didn’t move, didn’t bother blocking, just let him hit her.

  It didn’t even move her head back, didn’t even split her lip. All the blood on her face was his. She ran a finger over her lips and sucked idly at the crimson smear.

  “Well, that was cute, now if you don’t mind I’d like to kill you and get on with my—”

  Lizzy took a dizzy step backward and almost fell over. “What did you—” she started to say, and almost fell again.

  “Ms. Valerie, I would hit her now. I don’t know how long it will last with a dragon.” Hobb called out, stepping away from the staggering Lizzy.

  Val didn’t question, she approached cautiously, just in case it was another act. She stopped as George called out to her.

  “Start big, work up from there.”

  He drew his sword, and it was obviously not a costume foil. He tossed it to her, and she plucked it from the air, staring at the still-dizzy dragon. Griffen wondered what good a sword was.

  “Kill . . . must . . . kill,” Lizzy sputtered.

  “Must I?” Val said.

  She shoved the blade through Lizzy’s right eye.

  Lizzy screamed and ripped the sword from Val’s hand, throwing it away. She struck out again, clumsily, and Val blocked it easily. Her next hit sent Lizzy to the ground, and this time Valerie didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop. At first it was still a fight, then just a beating, all of Val’s rage and frustration given a way to vent itself.

  The crowd had gone still when Hobb had acted and went silent now. No one knew what to say.

  Griffen saw a tear on his sister’s cheek, and even in the quiet only his acute hearing heard her whisper, “I suppose I must.”

  Griffen saw her dig her hands around Lizzy’s throat. The other dragon was barely conscious, and blood flowed from more than just the ruined eye. Val started to squeeze.

  “Val, stop, don’t do it!”

  Val didn’t stop, but tears still flowed over her face.

  “She won’t stop, Griffen. You have seen it. What other way?!”

  “We will find one. You don’t have to be . . . like her.”

  “I have to protect . . . everyone,” Val said.

  “Actually . . . that’s more my job description.”

  Griffen usually was tough to surprise, but the shocks he had received in the last few minutes had burned out his resistance. He stood with his mouth hanging. He knew that voice, and of all the people he did not expect tonight, this one was more surprising than Lizzy.

  He was dressed as a ghost, if you can call a sheet with holes in it a costume. Everyone was pretty much looking puzzled at him, no one but Griffen and maybe Mai or Val recognizing just the voice. Few even recognized him when he pulled the sheet off, though most stiffened when they saw the revolver in his hand.

  Detective Harrison looked happier than Griffen could remember seeing him ever before. A vice detective must always enjoy coming out from undercover.

  “Ms. Valerie, most of what I’ve seen tonight has been self-defense. You don’t want to make my life hell by having to drag a pretty lady like you in for murder, do you?” Harrison said.

  Val stared as op
enly as Griffen. Harrison idly waved with the revolver. Despite how little that must have meant to her just then, Griffen was relieved when his sister released Lizzy’s throat and stood up.

  Lizzy smiled, her sunny smile, ruined by several broken teeth.

  “Din’ wan kill you anyway . . .” she said hoarsely, blood bubbling from her lips. “Like . . . to be . . .’untie Lizzy.”

  With that, she smiled brighter, and her remaining eye rolled up into her head. She passed out, though she kept breathing, ragged and slow.

  Griffen filed what she’d said away for later.

  “Detective Harrison—” Griffen started.

  “Shove it, McCandles. You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

  Harrison looked around the room, and for a second his eyes seemed haunted. Even before the fight, he had to have seen many things that night, too many things.

  “Would this even hurt you?” Harrison asked, pointing his piece at Griffen.

  “Are we going to find out?” Griffen said.

  The two locked eyes, and for a long moment it looked as if the answer was yes. Griffen saw several people shifting behind Harrison. They had helped him with a dragon; they wouldn’t hesitate over a human cop.

  Harrison shook his head and put the piece in his holster.

  “No. I’ve got my murderer. You are off the hook on the Slim case.”

  “What makes you think she is the murderer?” Griffen said, confused.

  People started all around the room. Apparently, everyone had pretty much come to the same conclusion as Harrison. Lizzy was obviously insane, and violent, and a whole lot of other things that would make her suspect number one in any murder investigation.

  But Griffen hadn’t once thought to connect her to Slim, and now wasn’t sure why.

  He looked around the damage of the room. The broken furniture. The wounded guests. Lizzy’s own trashed and bloodied body. The loup garou she had dragged in.

  “What do you mean? Of course she’s a murderer!”

  “Probably . . .” Griffen said distractedly.

  He was still running on adrenaline, but now he wasn’t consumed with his fear and anger. He was thinking clearly, thinking fast. The loup garou . . .

  “A murderer probably. But what makes you think she’s your murderer?” Griffen asked.

  “Look, McCandles, if you are jerking me around again . . .” Griffen tuned out the detective for a moment. A body. The search parties. Lizzy.

  A wooden stake.

  “Tammy,” Griffen said quietly.

  “What?” Val asked, still standing over Lizzy, still on guard.

  “Tammy isn’t here . . . She was hunting with the garou. Why wouldn’t she be with them?”

  “Maybe Lizzy killed . . .” Val said.

  The doors to the ballroom burst open for the second time tonight. Déjà vu washed over most of those sensitive to such things. This time the shifters dragged in a woman, instead of the other way around. The lesser shifters, dragging an enraged Tammy.

  Fifty-four

  “If one more person pops out of nowhere, I’m testing whether this gun does any good or not,” Harrison growled.

  Griffen was too busy watching the young shifters drag a struggling Tammy into the ballroom. Someone toward the back of the crowd had the intelligence to shut the doors behind them, but Griffen was too focused to quite notice who. Tammy’s otherwise-pretty face was twisted ugly with fury, tears of frustration on her cheeks. She cursed with shocking skill as her captors pulled her toward Griffen.

  Her eyes locked onto Griffen’s, and she spat at him. It didn’t have the distance to score.

  “Tell your scum-sucking lackeys to let me go!” she shrieked.

  Griffen ignored her, not bothering even to argue the term “lackeys.” He turned back to Harrison, whose eyes were a little too wide, and jaw a little too clenched.

  “You were saying, Detective. Why do you think Lizzy here killed Slim?”

  “Are you kidding me, McCandles? I don’t know who this is or what is going on now, but I just watched ‘Lizzy’ there stake a guy!”

  Griffen’s heart sank and twisted, stomach turning. In the middle of action, he had been so concerned for his sister that he had tucked Lowell’s death into the back of his mind. Now it all hit him in a rush, Lizzy slamming a piece of table into his chest. Griffen turned to look for the body, bracing himself and holding as firmly as possible to his outwardly calm face.

  And lost it completely when he heard Lowell’s voice from the crowd.

  “But Slim was not a vampire,” Lowell said.

  Griffen, and most of the crowd, stared in shock at Lowell. He was lounging at one of the still-standing tables, sipping a drink, and with a good six inches of wood protruding from his chest. The other vampires sat with him, looking relaxed. There was a certain gleam in their eyes, a lazy smile on their faces that one gets after a very good meal or a good time in bed.

  Once he had the room’s attention, Lowell put down his drink and drew the impromptu stake out of his heart. He winced slightly, and laid it on the table. Oddly, no blood flowed from the wound, but the stake was covered in it.

  “You people and your analogies and superstitions,” he said, taking another sip from his drink. “Sure the shock of impact can break a deep feed, but shove a half a foot of anything into me anywhere, and you’ll get the same reaction. It would take a hell of a lot more than a bit of wood to do in a vampire, especially after a meal like that!”

  Griffen couldn’t help but smile, relief filling him. All this time he had heard that a vampire fed off emotion and energy, and hadn’t once bothered to think of what benefits they got in return. He looked back at Harrison, and the smile faded as quickly as it had formed.

  Harrison had his piece back in his hand, though pointing safely at the floor. His left eye had begun to tick.

  “Vampire?” Harrison asked softly.

  “Yes,” Griffen said, as plainly and as gently as possible. Like a man talking to someone standing on a window ledge and wearing very slippery shoes.

  “He is a . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what . . .”

  Harrison’s eyes clouded over for a moment. Griffen suspected he was thinking back to one of their early conversations. And, of course, Griffen had shifted at least once in the fight, maybe more. He was always a little hazy on just how much he shifted, and not once had he had a convenient mirror to tell him exactly what he looked like.

  Hopefully nothing like Lizzy.

  “Dragon.”

  Harrison shook his head hard, yanking himself back to the present. His eyes were back in focus. Cop eyes, cold, acute, guarded. The left one still twitched a bit around the edges, but he was picking up steam again.

  “Right, dragon. Got it,” Harrison said. “I can deal with that . . . later. What I can’t quite get my head around is that you are trying to tell me that, despite having a violent lunatic knocked out practically at my feet, I’m looking for another psycho running around my goddamned town, shoving stakes into people’s hearts!?”

  Griffen nodded, the adrenaline rush fading fully now. A wave of sadness filled him, followed by an almost crushing press of exhaustion. Griffen turned toward Tammy, who had gone still in the shifters’ grips.

  “One who didn’t leave a murder weapon. Or throw it in the river, because it wasn’t a weapon exactly. She did it by hand . . . or at least limb,” Griffen said.

  “And it took the big bad dragon this long to figure it out,” Tammy said.

  The arrogance and smugness in her voice was just as ugly as her fury. Griffen took a step forward, and took a tight hold on himself. It wasn’t his way to hit a woman, much less one someone else was holding. But the temptation was there.

  “Why, Tammy? What did Slim ever do to you?” Griffen said.

  “Nothing, nothing at all. It wasn’t about him. It was about you! Making you hurt because you hurt
me, and making you look like the shit you are in front of these idiots who worship you because you are a dragon.”

  Tink stepped out of the crowd and up to Tammy. The changeling spokesman had been gentle, coolheaded, serene throughout the entire conclave. One of the biggest helps, in many small ways, to Griffen in his role of moderator.

  When he struck the back of his hand across Tammy’s jaw, it was a cold, calculated gesture. The sound of it reverberated through the ballroom, and when he spoke, his anger was as cold and harsh as a blizzard.

  “You little hypocrite! If he wasn’t a dragon, you wouldn’t have given him a second glance. You killed a man who had given you no cause, out of spite?” Tink said.

  “Tail or the other shifters would have been too hard, they might have healed. Slim was . . . vulnerable. Human. And one of the scale bag’s biggest supporters,” Tammy said.

  She shrugged as best she could with two other men holding her arms.

  “It sounded like a good idea at the time,” she added. She looked at Harrison, then at Griffen. “The human police will never prove anything. And Griffen won’t do anything, not to me. Will you?”

  She pursed her lips and took a half step, hips cocked and small breasts pressed against her shirt. Her voice dropped several registers, still sounding girlish but also husky and wanton. The whole act disgusted Griffen.

  “I would never have imagined you so cruel, so manipulative, Tammy. Your bubbly, enthusiastic self is one hell of an act,” Griffen said.

  “Oh, but it’s not an act; neither is this. I’m fey, I change with the winds.”

  Tink nodded and sighed.

  “That is an aspect of all changelings, but Tammy more than most. I expected the winds to blow her despair away, not to push her into . . . this,” Tink said.

  Which made a disturbing sense to Griffen. He had seen the mutability of the changeling moods, and it was only one step past that to personality. And the shifts would be all the more dangerous than, say, the mood swings of someone like Lizzy. Where Lizzy was obviously broken, the changelings were just responding to what was natural to them. Making them subtle, deadly.