Dragons Deal

by Robert Asprin

  "That's amazing," Fox Lisa said. "Cool party trick."

  "Do you have it, too?" Griffen asked Val.

  Val tried to focus on the remains of Jerome's lunch. She wrinkled her forehead and her face turned red. "No," she said. "If I'm going to get this one, it'll be later. That's okay. I would be afraid of burning the place down anytime someone lit a cigarette. You ought to be concerned about setting yourself on fire in your sleep, Griffen."

  "True," Mai said. "You will have to watch your temper as well."

  Griffen looked at her, bemused. It was almost exactly what Etienne had said to him in the den. That meant that he was the one who had made the float catch fire. That suggested to him that it wasn't a natural progression of his powers. It might have something to do with having handled the Scepter of Fire. He'd have to call Holly Goldberg, and ask her if she was having any similar effects from touching her scepter. In the meantime, he needed to be on his guard against excesses of emotion. It was good to be the king, but it left him with a new and very dangerous responsibility.

  Great, he thought. Now I'm a walking torch. What next?

  Thirty

  "Shuffle up and deal," said the dealer, taking her own advice. Her name was Kitty. She fanned the cards out between her slender hands, riffled the two piles together, and combined them with a wrenching sound. The players kept their hands on either side of their stacks of chips.

  Rebecca sat at the end of the table, watching the dealer's hands. A second dealer, Wallace, sat in a chair against the wall, keeping an eye on the game. He would step in later, the players were told, to spell the young woman. It was not explained but understood that his job was also to keep an eye out for misbehavior among the players. Rebecca found it annoying. It was far easier to cause mischief when the dealer was tired or looking the other way.

  She shifted a fraction in her seat. Because of the previous incident, she had been denied access to any further games in Griffen McCandles's operation. Therefore, Winston instructed her to disguise herself and infiltrate again. If that avatar was thrown out as well, she could shift to another appearance and another. It was, he told her, a chance to explore other states of being. She didn't like wearing a strange face; but if her mentor told her that was what was expected of her, she did it. And what was New Orleans for if not to explore one's sexuality?

  To remove all suspicion from the minds of these puny humans that she had played with them before, she had transformed herself into a man. Not just a man, but a tall, thin, fair man with large blue eyes and broad shoulders. Working in a mirror, she based the facial features on a movie star whom she admired, one with a high degree of dragon blood and therefore worthy of her adulation. As a result, she had full lips, a strong chin, high cheekbones, a straight nose and brows. The movie star's eyes and hair were very dark, but she wanted to be a blonde. It was a striking combination. All eyes had turned to her when she entered the room. She had done a good job.

  She checked the two cards held facedown. Ace and nine of diamonds. Workable. With professional scrutiny, she examined the way her opponents held themselves. The older man to her left, Mel, who smelled much too strongly of aftershave, was a poor player with many tells. He should not be there. Ira, next to him, was much better, with sharp eyes accustomed to keeping secrets. He was likely to be a corporate lawyer. Beside him, opposite Rebecca, was Nicky, another male almost as handsome as she was. His thick brown hair was just a little too long, and he kept his lips pursed slightly in a sardonic grin. The last player, Penny, was a woman in her forties. She was plain. She kept sneaking glances at Rebecca and the other good-looking player. Her tells were in her fingers. She must have a good hand; she kept checking the cards to see that they were still there. Rebecca would have no trouble with these players. She deliberately lost the first hand.

  "So," said the long-haired man across the table, "where are you from?"

  "San Jose," she said. She glanced at her hand. A king and a jack.

  "Never been there. What is it like?"

  "A town," Rebecca said tersely.

  "My, aren't you precise!" She glanced up at Nicky's sarcastic tone. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  "I am here to play cards," she said. But she couldn't resist a glance at him. He was very good-looking, and he was clearly interested in her. He winked. Rebecca felt her cheeks redden.

  "Ah," he said. "Thought so."

  Rebecca concentrated hard on her cards. In a few hands more she would learn enough about her fellow players so she could choose the victim to accuse and ruin the game. She bid. Mel and Ira raised. Penny folded. Another round of bidding left Rebecca and Nicky as the only contenders. The turn revealed another nine. She put in a cautious raise. He matched her.

  "So," he said, "what do you like in a man?"

  "His liver," Rebecca shot back. "Grilled."

  The others laughed. The long-haired man seemed a trifle rebuffed.

  "You have got a sharp tongue, haven't you?"

  "What do you care, as long as you think you can beat me at this table?" Rebecca said.

  "Well, I was thinking of later on," Nicky said. "I hope the rest of you don't mind."

  "Oh, I don't," said Penny, though she looked a little disappointed. "You only live once."

  "Seriously," Nicky said, leaning over the table toward Rebecca. "I have to tell you, bro, that my gaydar broke out all over the place the moment you walked in."

  "What did you say?" Rebecca stammered. The others broke out laughing. She remembered at that moment that she was supposed to be a man. She deepened her voice. "What kind of remark is that?"

  Nicky shook his head. "Don't try to tell me you've got a girlfriend back home. You don't do women, do you?"

  "No!" Rebecca shouted. "Not that it is any of your business."

  "Well, how'd you like to have a boyfriend right here in New Orleans? On a temporary basis, of course. If I go home to Randy with a souvenir like you, he's likely to beat my head in."

  "And you think I'm not?"

  Nicky looked even more intrigued. "So you like it rough? Hmmm." He lowered his eyelashes at her. "So, do I have to tell you my safe word?"

  Rebecca threw in her cards without thinking. Nicky grinned. She realized that he was teasing her, almost certainly in hopes of throwing off her game. Furious, she collected her wits. She would show this ape-descendant how easy it was to trifle with her!

  One might almost have heard the fanfare of the "Waltz of the Toreadors" as Kitty dealt them the next hand. Rebecca claimed her two kings and buckled down to serious work.

  Within eight hands, she had cleaned out Mel and Penny. Two more rounds took down Ira, who threw her a mock salute.

  "I surrender," he said. "Just pleased that I was beaten by a better man."

  Man! Rebecca thought, with some satisfaction. At last she was passing!

  One more hour, sitting as still as a statue behind her growing stacks of chips so as to give nothing away, she threw bets back and forth with Nicky. At one forty in the morning, both dealers flagging, she turned over the last hand to show the king and ace of spades, to match the king and aces of hearts and clubs on the table. Nicky threw up his arms.

  "Wow! Well, would you like to get a drink to celebrate?" he asked.

  Rebecca pushed her chips to Wallace. "Cash me out," she snapped.

  Her feeling of superior smugness lasted all the way back to Jordan Ma's suite, where he was expounding to the others about the game he had just played. He gestured Rebecca to a chair. She could hardly sit still, so eager was she to tell her story.

  "The sad looks on their faces," Jordan said. "That man Jerome did not want to offend the manufacturing millionaire from Ohio, but he did not like yet another accusation of a fraudulent game. We have all our stake back, and the house loses its percentage and, if I am not wrong, at least two of the high-betting players they entertain."

  "Cool," Peter said, blowing ring after ring of smoke toward the ceiling. "How about you, Rebecca? Break a few hearts tonight?"
/>
  Rebecca smiled. She opened her purse and dumped the piles of cash onto the coffee table. "I did not leave them a single dollar."

  Winston Long looked at her blankly. She knew that meant disapproval. "You were supposed to lose."

  With a shock, she remembered. Her jaw dropped.

  "I am sorry," she said.

  Peter hit himself in the forehead with the flat of his hand. "You only had to remember one thing! You are so stupid!"

  Rebecca glared at him. "I do not answer to you!"

  "But you do answer to me," Winston said, putting a fingertip down on the tabletop. "Why did you not follow instructions?"

  Rebecca hated to answer in front of the others. Peter grinned at her. "I lost my temper. But I beat all of them! They did not leave happy!"

  Winston and Jordan exchanged glances.

  "You are young, child," Winston said. "Are you too young for this mission?"

  "No, elder one! I promise!"

  "You must calm down. It will serve you well in future. Do you need a mantra or a mnemonic to remember your instructions?"

  "No, sir." Rebecca was shamed. She felt her whole body grow hot. She pulled her consciousness in on itself so as not to give Peter the satisfaction of knowing how much she had disgraced herself.

  Jordan Ma lit a cigarette with a breath of flame. "It is not all bad that we have taken all the money. That will annoy the players as well. They will go where they have a chance of winning."

  "It is not a bad strategy--once in a while," Peter said.

  "I agree," Winston said. "Follow orders next time."

  Rebecca was stung, but she understood her error. Still, it had been delightful to see the stricken expressions on the other players' faces. Winning was much better than losing.

  "I shall obey, elder one."

  "Good. Come with me next time, child," Winston said. "I will show you how it is done."

  Thirty-one

  Griffen turned over a page, drawn in by the flowing prose. He admired the superb writing, feeling as if he had discovered a marvelous secret. He had heard of Montaigne's essays in college but had never read any of them. At two dollars, the little leatherette volume was a bargain. Griffen tucked it into his elbow along with a Louis L'Amour Western, and went on browsing.

  Used bookstores were one of the great treasures among many in the French Quarter, as they were in any other city. Except for Ann Arbor, he had never found such eclectic choices anywhere but New Orleans. The two-story bookstore was Griffen's favorite. It seemed to be the repository for books discarded by superbly literate people with incredibly eclectic tastes. There were always copies of some of Shakespeare's plays, alongside white-spined romance novels by the hundred, cookbooks galore, popular novels, science fiction, travel books, and local history. Hidden among them were antique atlases, medical textbooks, poetry, Restoration drama, and so many wonderful one-off oddities that Griffen could hardly resist visiting every few days to see what had come in. He loved the smell of old bookstores. The combination of dust, a little mold, paper, glue, leather, and the wood polish that the owner used on the glass-fronted cases that held the genuine rarities up near the cash register gave Griffen a feeling of contentment. He never left without making a purchase, even if it cost him only a quarter. The bookstore was one of the great bargains in entertainment in the city. The regulars at his local were big readers, too. He often ran into his drinking buddies in there.

  He had an hour or two before a poker game. Jerome had let a few selected high rollers visiting town know that Mr. McCandles himself might sit in. He had a full table booked out in four phone calls. Griffen promised himself that he would be moderate in winning, but he really needed some extra cash.

  A dragon walked into the bookstore. Griffen could tell without even looking around by the feeling of power. Thanks to his time hanging out with the krewe, he was learning how to distinguish his kinsmen from the other supernaturals in town. It was a terrific opportunity. Except for Mose, Jerome, Val, Mai, and himself, he had known few others with dragon blood. Now he knew dozens.

  Not that it helped him distinguish who was who. He felt tension in the air as lines of force were drawn. He was familiar with the sensation; wards had been used by wiccans and voudons at the conclave to prevent the hotel staff wandering into the middle of an activity that Griffen and the organizers would find hard to explain. So it was not serendipity that brought a fellow dragon in. Nor was this an inconsequential dragon. In fact, the feeling he got was that the new arrival was someone formidable.

  Griffen considered leaving through the rear door of the shop. The owner wouldn't have minded. He didn't question why one of his customers didn't want to meet someone coming in. He knew all about jealous girlfriends and overdue rent. Griffen braced himself. If there was going to be a confrontation, it was better to have it in there than out on the street. Fewer people would see it, but more important, fewer could get hurt if it turned into a fight. It could be Stoner. Griffen's consciousness hadn't been raised the last time he met the representative from Homeland Security; now that he could detect dragons from others, Stoner might feel differently to him. He braced himself. But this person was not alone. Griffen could feel five other strong presences, three in the street, and two more that had just entered the bookstore. Stoner would not bring such an entourage. It had to be ...

  "You've been avoiding me," a deep voice suddenly said at his back.

  Griffen whirled. And had to drop his eyes.

  Instead of the well-built former serviceman with the buzz-cut hair and cold eyes, he faced a short, zaftig woman in a two-piece suit dress, closely controlled, wavy, chestnut brown hair going gray at the temples, and cold eyes.

  "Melinda, I presume?" he said, with all the aplomb he could muster.

  "Griffen," she said, looking him up and down. "Well, well. You are just as handsome as Lizzy described you. Very boy-next-door."

  Griffen could have made a flip comment, but her eyes brooked no nonsense. He knew instinctively that whatever trouble that Lizzy and her siblings had caused him, they would never misbehave in front of their mother. "Formidable" was the perfect adjective to describe her. She could probably command a battalion with that glare.

  "To what do I owe the honor?"

  Melinda was terse. "Your sister is avoiding me. I have telephoned her several times to arrange a meeting. Every time she hears my voice, she hangs up on me. I have tried other methods to make a connection. She has declined each of those. Therefore, I have sought to speak with you. You, too, have declined to meet me."

  "I am busy," Griffen said, just as tersely. "I have a business to run, among other things."

  "Neither of you can avoid me forever. I have been here in New Orleans for more than two months, waiting for one of you to take the time out for a simple face-to-face conversation. Valerie clearly would prefer that I deal with you. So, I am dealing. I don't want to harm you. I want to establish friendly connections with your family. We are linked now. And it is important to form a bond of cooperation."

  "You might understand that we have no good reason to trust your family," Griffen said. Melinda's eyes flashed as if they were made of crystal. "Your son seduced my sister, and you whisked him out of town so he didn't have to answer for that. Your daughter--you know what she did."

  "And your sister took revenge on Lizzy. She is still recovering. I have spent months taking care of her. She is upset that Valerie would attack her like that."

  "It wasn't revenge. She was only protecting herself."

  "I told you and Valerie I wouldn't disagree with you on that. Lizzy is difficult to control. Nathaniel . . . has his interests. I deplore his approach, but I understand the urge. He behaved dishonorably, but your immediate reaction to him would have been out of proportion."

  "I don't think so," Griffen said. "My sister feels that she was raped. Anything I did to him in her defense would have been disproportionately small in comparison. To have used glamour on her to rob her of free will is no better than
putting rohypnol in her drink."

  "That is a very strong accusation."

  "You've heard it before," Griffen said, offhandedly. "Your last try to arrange a meeting, as you call it, was another attempt to seduce her."

  "And she thrashed my messenger," Melinda said, with a dismissive wave. "Dale doesn't possess the talent for glamour. He would have gone no further than she wanted him to, but it doesn't matter. She sent him away. I thought it better to make my approach directly to you."

  "Fine. Tell me what you are here for."

  "I want contact. I am tired of waiting. You do not have any right to keep me from my grandchild. I want to see Valerie. I will see Valerie."

  "I will fight you to the death to protect my sister and her baby," Griffen said. "You know what they say about dragon fighting dragon. I don't give a damn about that. I will use everything in my power to keep you from bothering her."

  "Bothering her?" the deep voice rose. The few human customers looked up nervously. No one wanted to get in the middle of an argument between strangers. They had no idea what was really going on.

  "You're scaring the straights," Griffen said, with amusement he did not feel.

  Melinda visibly put herself under control. "You both are reading more into my intentions than is there. I just want to meet with her. I've been waiting very patiently, caring for my daughter. I don't have all the time in the world. Lizzy will be fully recovered soon."

  Griffen felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Scales broke out on the backs of his hands. Hastily, he forced both reactions to subside, but she had seen his alarm.

  "No, she won't be coming back," Melinda said, with a glint in her pale eyes. She could tell exactly what Griffen was thinking. "I will make certain of it. But my business here is not concluded. I have a right to speak with Valerie. That child will be of my blood as well as your line's. You don't know how important it is to protect it. And the potential it carries is immense. I don't want it to grow up deprived of both sides of its family. The support of one's clan is vital. Dragon families are more vital than any human's. Malcolm McCandles has a lot to answer for, raising you as if you were pedigreed dogs, with a kennel master instead of foster parents. He knew there were other families in the dragon community who would have given you a home after you lost your parents, who would have taught you what you needed to know."