Griffen looked up through the smoke. His eyes watered. He blinked them clear. They were still a hundred feet from the intersection. It was a little premature, but it was his best chance. He staggered to his feet. Stoner swept a leg forward and kicked them out from under him. Griffen turned up the heat. The pinball danced with joy. Tongues of fire blazed up from the floor, hiding Stoner from view. Stoner bellowed in pain. Griffen huddled down with the scepter clutched to him, feeling the cape smoldering on his back. He tried to remember the words of the binding ritual.
Suddenly, clouds of white hit him from five different points. Griffen gasped as the fire extinguishers played up and down his body. He just saw Etienne grinning at him over a black plastic cone. He was hauled off the float by dozens of hands. He coughed. More hands pounded him on the back. When his eyes cleared, he found himself on the street in a ring of New Orleans police officers. Stoner, too, was surrounded, but he looked less happy about it. Harrison shoved his face into Griffen's field of view.
"Get back up there, McCandles!" Harrison ordered him. "You've got a parade to finish!"
"You can't let him go, Detective!" Stoner said.
"You tellin' me what to do in my own city again?" Harrison exclaimed, rounding on the government agent. "Get up there!"
Griffen didn't hesitate. He stood up and pointed his scepter to the burning building. A fire truck was parked out front, but its little streams of water would be a feeble aid for a centuries-old wooden structure. Tongues of red began to lick out from under the eaves. The roof would catch any moment.
"Fire, go out!" he bellowed.
The fire went out. It seemed to suck away suddenly into another dimension, so swiftly did it vanish. In delighted amazement, Griffen put out the fire on the float just as quickly. He hoped this new talent lasted beyond his involvement with the scepter. It was really useful. The watchers cheered wildly. They were loving the Fafnir parade and all its unexpected special effects.
Griffen could have cheered, too, as they hauled Stoner away. He could hear Harrison haranguing him all the way to the police van.
He settled into his throne. Ten yards more to go. He felt the lines of Antaeus and Aeolus intersecting over his head. It wasn't the triple knot he was hoping for, but maybe next year. Now was the time for him to call the energy raised by the first ritual and bind it with the others. The city would be protected from wildfires and explosions, better than Homeland Security could. The government could not be everywhere, but this could.
"Fire!" Griffen called. He put his entire will into the command. "Come home to me!"
From all over the city, wild flames flew toward him, out of windows, chimneys, and out of thin air. Dragonfire, fox fire, sparks from gas flames, embers like the ends of burning cigarettes, all sailed toward him. He called to it, not willing to take no for an answer.
The fire gathered around him like translucent curtains of red and orange. He was already burned from the fire on the float, but though hot, this formed a nimbus around him. The crowd was delighted. They roared their pleasure at what they thought were realistic special effects. A photographer with a huge camera jumped out to take a picture. He threw Griffen a triumphant thumbs-up. Griffen vowed to hunt the man down later and get a copy. But nothing was more important at that moment than doing the job he had been assigned. He held the scepter high like a beacon.
"I am king of Fafnir, lord of fire. You'll do what I say."
The sensation of heat closed in on him, protesting, as if to say, "Aw, Dad!"
And Griffen responded. "I mean it! Calm down! I bind you and order you to lay a shield over the city. And the environs." Whatever that meant, but it was in the ritual. Holly had said it, and so had Matt. In his mind's eye, he saw a sort of old-fashioned, hand-drawn map, all that fire calming down to a warm glow. The pinball inside him faded away to a pinpoint.
Griffen suddenly felt the weight of the solid gold scepter in his hand. He lowered it. He was exhausted. The job was done.
A little voice interrupted the haze in his brain.
"Throw me something, mister!"
A little black girl sitting on the top of a ladder waved to him, a large man bracing her back. Griffen smiled. He reached into the front of the float, which had been miraculously spared from the conflagration, and pulled out the remaining boxes of throws. He flung a flashing green LED dragon's-head necklace to her. It landed right in her little hands. She shrieked with joy. Griffen kept on flinging.
The day had been so strange, what with spells and power and mystic binding, it didn't seem to have been real. There was something missing, Griffen knew. The whole experience wouldn't be complete until . . .
The bands behind him struck up a loud brass fanfare. Yes, there it was: "Second Line." People on the sidelines began to tap their feet in time with the music.
Griffen was suddenly and thoroughly content with his lot. This was his city. He was king of Mardi Gras, and the world was wonderful. He waved and gestured with his scepter, loving the day and the event, being in the here and now. He understood Zen for the first time.
He rode the rest of the route in his scorched costume, on his burnt-out chicken-wire shell of a float, throwing doubloons and cups to the eager faces and hands of the crowd. He had nothing left that he had to worry about. Not until the parade ended, anyhow.
Fifty-one
" I was amazed those horses didn't panic at the fire!" Melinda shouted over the jazz band's cheerful music as they climbed off the floats when they reached their terminus point on Tchoupitoulas. Buses were waiting to take the riders to the after-party.
"Dey my hosses, Mrs. Melinda," Etienne said. "Raised 'em all myself. Dey not afraid of no dragon, nor dragonfire. Dey owned by dragon."
"I can't believe how fast that hotel fire went out," Mai said.
"It was the scepter," Griffen said. He was glad that Matt had marched in so soon and locked it up again in the case. He was beginning to miss the pinball, which vanished as soon as the scepter was gone. "I'm glad no one was hurt in it."
"No, and Melinda got everyone organized to soothe the kids," Val said. The marchers from Ladybug, Ladybug were right between our float and hers. She organized them and us maids to soothe the kids, and sent out a volunteer with a whole bucket of doubloons, compliments of the queen. Distracted them right out of the fear." She sent a shy smile to the older woman. "We're going shopping for the baby."
"Maybe later," Griffen said. He took out his cell phone. "I'm getting us a taxi. We need to go to the hospital first."
"Are you that badly hurt?" Fox Lisa asked, pulling aside the torn fabric to look at his skin. "You look okay."
"It's not me," Griffen said.
Val seemed to read his mind. "Gris-gris? He is hurt? Damn you, Griffen, why didn't you tell me!"
"He didn't want us to," Griffen said.
"And you listened to him? I'll go by myself!"
"I will take you," Mai offered.
"No, dear," Melinda said, taking her arm and pushing in between Val and the others. "I'll go with you. The rest of you go to the party. You deserve to have some downtime. Go on."
"Call me when you find out how he is," Griffen said. Val nodded. She was still upset with him. He didn't blame her.
Griffen saw them into the taxi. Everyone else was slapping one another on the back and swapping stories. The rest of the beer and throws were loaded onto the bus with them.
The party, thrown by Antaeus, with donations from the other three krewes, was being held in a huge auditorium. A lot of paradegoers who had bought tickets were there to share the fun and dance to the music. Three videographers had a huge flat-screen TV showing raw footage of the parades that they had just shot, complete with audio. It was so loud that Griffen had to put one finger in his ear to get a report from the hospital.
"Val says that Gris-gris will be okay," he reported to his friends and fellow kings. They were all laden with necklaces and other trinkets from one another's boxes. "He's going to keep the scar on his face
. 'It's currency in the Quarter,' he said. Now she's going shopping."
Bert laughed. His temporary cast was covered with signatures from all four krewes. "I owe Gris-gris a lot for fighting that hard," he said. "He did more than I could to try and stop that man. He was like a supervillain!"
"At least we got the city protected against three elements," Cos said. "We'll try again next year."
"It won't be my problem then," Griffen said, cheerfully toasting his fellow kings.
"But you did it when it matter most," Etienne said. "Dat's why it had to be you, Mr. Griffen."
"You did a great job," Holly said. "Let me know if you ever want a third girlfriend."
Griffen found his throat had dried out. "Uh."
She laughed at him. "Just joking. You're sadly outnumbered as it is." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm looking forward to continuing our fellowship."
"That was a damned dangerous thing, that ritual," Cos said.
Etienne nodded. "Coul' been worse. Rest of you was okay, but half the time in my dream, Mr. Griffen didn' get up again after the fire."
Griffen looked at him aghast. "You mean I could have died?"
The hybrid waggled a hand. "It was possible. But it didn' happen. No, sir."
Griffen sat back in his chair, speechless.
"Well, that explains a lot."
"What?"
He gestured with his drink toward the lieutenants. "Why no one in this group attacked me. I've been warned so many times that dragons either fight their way up the food chain or sign on to someone who has more power than they do."
"You was the sacrificial king. It wouldn't have worked without you. You did good, Mr. Griffen. All of N'awlins would appreciate it if they knew."
Griffen gave him a sour look. "Thanks a bunch."
Etienne smiled. "Well, okay, but would you have said yes if I tol' you everyt'ing I seen?"
"No!"
"Then you see why I didn't. Had to be done, and y'all did great." He grinned. "Didn't you have a good time?"
"Yes, I did," Griffen admitted. He felt a warm feeling over the whole experience. Literally. But a pebble of resentment had taken the place of the pinball of fire in his belly. "I have been used by people for their own purposes since before I got here. I'm tired of being the symbol for the union of dragons. I hated being thrown into situations for which I was not ready. It's no consolation to realize I could rise to the occasion. I have just been too nice to say no, I'm not ready, I'm busy, I'm tired, I'm not interested."
"But all the opportunities might pass you by," Jerome said.
"Let them," Griffen said. "I need to learn who and what I am. I know that I am not really everybody's patsy. I just have to stop acting like it."
Fox Lisa patted his arm. "You've been true to yourself, in the pacts you have made, the promises you have kept."
"Yes, that is me. But what do I want to do, once I learn who I am?"
She smiled up at him. "It will be interesting to find out."
"Oh, you will, Mr. Griffen," Etienne said. "I seen dat, too."
"When?"
Etienne shook his head. "Ain't good for ya to know dat," he said. "I'll tell you one day if you gotta know somet'ing."
Mai smiled at them, but her thoughts were troubled. Griffen was learning to think for himself. She would have to throw him off-balance again, or she would never be able to put him under her control.
Harrison came into the room. He made his way toward them.
"Have a drink, Detective!" Cos bellowed, hoisting one of Fafnir's plastic cups. "The flagon with the dragon has the brew that is true."
"Maybe later, Cos," Harrison said. He turned to Griffen. "Thought you might like to know I just had an instructive talk with our friend. He tried to tell me I didn't know who I was up against. He didn't have a warrant or probable cause for confiscation, or anything he can take to a grand jury. But I do, having him and his minions jump on floats during a Mardi Gras parade. I think the country's just sore enough about the Patriot Act to love a story about Homeland Security sneaking in and usurping the authority of the legal police force of the sovereign city of New Orleans during a unique heritage festival like Mardi Gras. I told him to get out of my city and don't come back." Harrison gave him a mean smile. "He said he won't. Homeland Security won't bother to set foot in this city ever again."
"Good," Griffen said. "Good riddance." He toasted the police detective. "Come on back and have that drink when you're off duty."
"I will," Harrison said. He looked pleased to have solved his murder and tossed the intrusive agent out of town. "I earned it. That and many more."
The party went on for hours. Griffen danced with dozens of ladies. The event was catered by one of the best houses in the city. He stuffed himself on crawfish etoufee and bananas Foster, washed down by the best Irish whisky. One excellent band succeeded another. It was a great party, capping an incredibly eventful day.
"And it's not even Fat Tuesday yet," Fox Lisa said.
"As far as I'm concerned, I'm just an observer from now on," Griffen told her.
He felt a soft kiss on his cheek. He turned. Rose stood there beside him.
"Thank you," she said. "I know it was hard. You did well. The city is almost completely protected."
"Thanks," he said.
"I owe you a favor," she said. "Ask me if you need me." She smiled at Griffen and slipped away into the crowd.
"Was that who I think it was?" Fox Lisa asked, wide-eyed. Griffen nodded. "Wow. This might be the best day ever."
Griffen's cell phone rang. He almost didn't hear it over the rendition of Fats Domino's "Walking to New Orleans."
He reached for it. "Hello?"
"Griffen?"
He stiffened a little. A voice he had not exactly thought to hear for a while, or really wanted to.
"Hello, Uncle Malcolm," he said. "Happy Mardi Gras."
"Yes, thank you," his uncle said, dismissively. "Griffen, we really need to talk. Where is your sister?"
"She went shopping," Griffen said. "With Melinda."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how it must sound to his uncle. But he had not been through the last three months in New Orleans. And it was after two in the morning. They should have been back already. In fact, they had left after nine. No baby-clothes stores were open that late, even during Mardi Gras. Uncle Malcolm's voice blared in his ear.
"Melinda? Are you out of your mind? Griffen, stay where you are. I am getting on the next plane down." The phone went dead.
Griffen stared at it, then he pushed the autodial for Val's cell phone. It rang four times, then a perky female voice with a drawl answered.
"I am sorry, but the subscriber you are calling has left the area. Please try again later. Six-three-two." He tried again and again and got the same recording.
Griffen felt the blood drain from his body. Mai had warned him not to trust Melinda, and he had. She had kept her word to him, as far as that word went. But she was the last person he knew Val had been with, and now he couldn't reach her.
Where were they?
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Dragons deal gm-3 Page 36