“So, ready to tell me what was wrong?”
“You saying something was wrong for you?” she all but growled, surprised at her own tone.
“Meant before,” Gris-gris said. “When you came to my door.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
She took her chin out of his hand firmly and rested her cheek on his chest. She didn’t feel like looking into his eyes anymore.
“Come on, Val. You never been like this before. All the times we’ve been together, you’ve been together. This is the first time I’ve seen you so… needful. Not just hungry. You needed to feel good, and you needed to get and keep control.”
“Are you complaining?” Val said.
“You know I’m not.”
“Then, hush. Just like a guy to ruin things with the wrong kind of pillow talk.”
She really didn’t want to go there. Especially since he was right. As soon as they were in his apartment, she had taken control and kept it. Not just control of the situation, but control of herself. She had almost hurt him with her strength when they first began.
What he’d missed was how much good it had done her. Controlling herself while abandoning herself, it had been a difficult balance, but it had given her what she needed. She felt herself again. Despite never having used quite these means to “center” herself before.
Gris-gris smiled.
“Well, damn, never heard that one before,” he said.
His hands slid to her hips, and, with gentle pressure, he rolled her over. She felt the line of his body press against her back, and craned her neck to look back at him. A gentle but firm bite on the back of her neck stopped her, and his arms wrapped around her, hands beginning to wander.
“Nnn… what do you think you are doing?” Valerie said, shifting against him.
“Shut’n up, ma’am,” he said. “But if you can’t talk with me, you might want to figure out who you can.”
Valerie started to answer, and it turned to a gasp. Gris-gris chuckled a satisfied, masculine chuckle. Then it was quite some time later before either was in a mood for thinking again.
Still, he had raised an interesting thought.
Twenty-two
More and more Valerie had been living off her own money. Ever since she started her bartending, she had paid for her own food and drinks and clothing and entertainment. She was actually damn proud of that. Before New Orleans, her lifestyle had been mostly supported by her uncle, just as Griffen’s had been.
Now the only thing she wasn’t paying for was the rent, which she could have managed if she switched from part-time to full-time. Of course it was nice not to have to worry about it, and she might end up working more anyway just to fill the time. Still, it was a good feeling to be self-sufficient.
It also meant she often lost track of just how much money Mose’s gambling operation had to be bringing in. Walking up to his home again, a private residence tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the Quarter streets, Val found herself wondering if Griffen had bothered to check into the figures of his new “business” partners.
Especially since Mose owned his place, the place they were staying, and who knows how many others. Not to mention seeming to employ Jerome full-time, and the shills, dealers, and others in the gambling ring to whom these were essentially part-time jobs. For an operation on the gray side of legal, or worse, it was amazing how profitable it all had to be.
Val pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t why she was here. In fact, she had been very careful to mostly stay out of the gambling side of Griffen’s new life. To her, Mose was a source of information on what it was to be a dragon. That was more than complicated enough for her tastes.
She had Gris-gris to thank for the idea. Mose was someone she could talk to. Not about everything, maybe. She didn’t trust anyone fully. Even her brother couldn’t be trusted sometimes. Like when it came to his not making a fool of himself. But when it came to dragon business, Mose was the top contact on a very short list. She had only waited for the last of the marks on her face to fade before approaching him.
She used the key she had been provided to open the street-level gate and started to Mose’s front entrance. Inside, she could hear the murmur of voices. The closer she got, the more she recognized Mose’s calm, quiet voice. The second voice was Jerome’s, and he was anything but calm.
“Damn it, Mose! I deserve some answers. I’ve earned that much,” Jerome said.
“That you have, son; that you have. But you don’t need them.”
“The hell I don’t. Oh, maybe I can do my job without ’em, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need them.”
“Jerome, I’m not ready to…”
Mose drifted off and Val, who was still several feet from the door, could hear him sigh.
“You might as well come in, Valerie. It’s not locked,” Mose said.
She realized sheepishly that if she could hear him sigh, he could hear her walk. Though how he knew just who it was she couldn’t be sure. She walked the rest of the way to his door and let herself in.
“I’m sorry, Mose, I didn’t mean to—” she started.
“Didn’t think you meant to eavesdrop, Valerie. Way we were talking, it would have been hard not to overhear. Though I’d take it as a courtesy if you’d give a shout at the front gate if you aren’t expected,” Mose said.
“Fair enough.”
Valerie took one of the vacant chairs, which left Mose, Jerome, and her all looking at each other. Mose seemed a bit tired to her, but it was Jerome who really caught her eye. His face was drawn, darkened rings under his eyes, and his posture was wire tight. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she was looking at a man right on the edge of his resources.
She gave serious thought to excusing herself, not really wanting to intrude. Still, anything that would affect these two would affect her and her brother. She couldn’t just up and leave without knowing what it was. Not to mention the things she wanted to talk over.
“So, is this about Griffen?” Val asked bluntly.
It was Jerome who answered her.
“Yes… no… damn it, I don’t really know. That was what I was trying to figure out,” he said.
“Jerome has some questions about my stepping back from the management of our affairs,” Mose said.
“I thought you had already talked to Griffen about that,” Valerie said.
Jerome focused more on her. His eyes filled with questions. Valerie latched on to the most obvious one and shrugged.
“There isn’t much we don’t share when we talk, Jerome. It’s part of being brother and sister,” she said.
She tried very hard not to think of what a hypocrite that made her. Hiding not only her scuffle with Lizzy, but, more important, her pregnancy.
“My sisters and me don’t talk like that. Still, no big deal. Yeah, we did talk, and he’s gotten better at switching his interests between the games and this conclave of his. I got no gripe with him,” Jerome said.
Valerie hadn’t even known that Jerome had siblings. She hadn’t asked much about his family. Or Mose’s for that matter. She did ponder for a minute on just how little she knew about people she had to trust.
“So what’s the problem?” she asked.
“I got no gripe with him, except he’s put off talking to Mose for too long.” Jerome turned his attention back to Mose. “I need to know, Mose, why you are backing off now of all times. I thought when we brought Griffen down here, you’d still be doing the job till he’s really learned the ropes. Five, ten years at least.”
“Are you saying my brother can’t handle the job?” Val said.
The other two jumped a little at her tone. Well, Jerome jumped, and he was already a little twitchy today. As far as Mose, the wrinkles around his eyes tightened a bit, and that was enough of a cue for Val. She had learned a while ago how male dragons seemed to react to a good dose of ire from a female.
“No, he isn’t sayi
ng that,” Mose said. “In fact, we have both been surprised by just how quick Griffen has picked things up. But Jerome, he thinks like a dragon, and dragons think in long spans. Griffen hasn’t been at the job long enough to have experienced all of the surprises that can pop up.”
“Like a meeting of supernatural crazies hitting town just when the balance of power is being shifted from an older dragon to a younger,” Jerome said.
“Jerome!” Mose said sharply. “I make my decisions for my own reasons, and I don’t have to explain them. I’ve earned that much. The only person I might owe an explanation to is Griffen, when he asks for it. It will be up to him, as your new boss, to decide if he should share.”
“But—” Jerome said.
“You’re tired, you shouldn’t have come here after a long, hard night. Come on back later when we can talk about it calmly,” Mose said.
Jerome slumped in his chair, holding his head in his hands. For a long moment, Valerie was afraid he would break down, but she wasn’t sure in what fashion. He seemed to shudder, and when he looked up, he seemed much calmer. Much more like the Jerome she was used to.
He got up and left without another word. Mose tracked his every movement, and Valerie thought she saw a glisten in his eye. He blinked, and it was gone, but he let his posture slip as he eased back in his chair.
“Damn, I hates bein’ so hard on the boy.”
“Then why were you?” Valerie asked.
“Because he is stubborn as a mule sometimes, Ms. Valerie. And as the joke goes, you got to be kind, you got to be gentle, but first… you have got to get their attention,” Mose said.
Mose reached out for a decanter and glass set on a side table, but his hands were shaking. It was the first time those hands had looked old to Valerie. Old, callused, hard worked. Without a thought, she rose and went over to the table to pour him a drink. Mose took it.
“Thank you kindly. Now, our little melodrama aside, what can I do for you today?” Mose said.
Valerie sighed and poured herself a drink as well. She went back and folded herself into the chair, pulling her legs up under her. Well, it was now or never.
“Mose, do dragons get… feelings?” Val started.
“Like what sort?” he said, and she caught the bit of wariness to his tone.
“Doom, danger, impending peril. The sort of gut reactions that most people pass off.”
“Ah… sometimes. Like you said, most people just pass off such hunches; part of being a dragon is not ignoring one’s instincts. Sometimes, of course, it’s just collywobbles…”
Again, she noticed his hesitation.
“And other times?” Val said.
“You said it was gut reactions. Tell me, was it really your gut?” Mose said.
Val blinked at him.
“No, my heart.”
Mose nodded to himself, as if she had confirmed what he had been thinking.
“Time to talk the stuff of legends again. It is said that, very rarely, a dragon learns to see beyond what is. Well, not see, feel. The old phrase was ‘a heart free from time’ though the translation may have suffered as years have passed,” Mose said.
“Are you saying I’m sensing the future?”
“Not really, it’s more picking up on pain that is to come. Pain of the heart, of grief, not of the body. Don’t think you are going to get some ‘spidey-sense’ or any such nonsense,” Mose said.
“My grief, or others’?”
“Good question. I haven’t the foggiest. And I don’t really know if any of this is true, or applies to you. Still might just be collywobbles.”
Val thought, not so much of what he was saying but of what she wanted to say next. Somehow, it just didn’t feel safe, or smart, to bring up the subject of Lizzy.
Not directly anyway.
“I want to learn how to fight,” Val said.
Now it was Mose’s turn to blink at her.
“What do you mean? I had assumed with all your working out you would have had a decent fill of martial arts.”
“That’s not quite what I mean. I want to know how to fight… as a dragon.”
“No, you don’t,” Mose said.
Val reined in her temper and merely gave him a questioning look.
“Look… I mean it. Dragons fighting dragons, if that’s what you mean, just isn’t done. It takes so much effort, or special skills, to seriously hurt each other. Too much collateral damage. Those old legends said two dragons at war would crumble mountains, and I am not sure that was a metaphor.”
“And what if I don’t have a choice, and find myself without the skill I need?” Val said, and her voice caught ever so slightly.
Mose slumped back in his chair again and narrowed his eyes.
“Are you talking theoretically?” he said.
“I…”
He held up a finger.
“No games.”
“No… probably not,” Val said.
Mose turned his gaze from her and stared out his window. His eyes were much too far away for him to simply be looking at the courtyard outside.
“I have to think on that one, Valerie. I’m… not a fighter, haven’t been since I was a kid. Let me think on if I can in good conscience help you find what you are looking for. Much less whether I can give it to you, or find someone who can,” Mose said.
Valerie started to speak, then thought better of it. She followed Jerome’s course and left without another word.
She could still see Mose staring out his window as she approached the gate to the street. He didn’t seem to be seeing her.
Twenty-three
The Mystic Den was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the Quarter. Many of the people who lived and worked in the Quarter did not even know of its existence.
It was the lobby bar for the Royal Sonesta Hotel, one of the largest and most expensive hotels in the Quarter. Even though the hotel itself fronted on Bourbon Street, there was no street entrance to the Mystic Den, so it was overlooked by those who prowled and barhopped their way along that famous tourist attraction. You could only get into it by going through the hotel lobby or via a corridor at the back of the Desire Oyster Bar.
The bar itself was quiet and furnished with deep, comfortable chairs and sofas, a far cry from Griffen’s normal haunt at the Irish pub. That was one of the reasons he had chosen this location for his meeting with Slim. It was getting to a point where too many people knew to look for him at the Irish pub.
In honor of the occasion, Slim had forsaken his trademark white suit and striped top hat for a pair of loose-fitting slacks and a sports shirt. Without his street entertainer’s costume, he blended right in with the sparse afternoon crowd in the den.
“I dunno, Griffen,” he was saying. “Seems to me like you’re makin’ too big a thing out of the whole security problem.”
Courtesy of their meetings over the last several weeks regarding the conclave, Slim had reached a level of comfort where he now addressed Griffen by his first name rather than as “Mr. McCandles.” Unfortunately, this also meant he was comfortable criticizing Griffen’s plans.
“I always thought extra security was a good thing,” Griffen said. “The only way you know you don’t have enough security is when things start going wrong. I’d rather not see that happen.”
“Maybe,” Slim said. “But too much obvious security can send a bad message, too. Looks like you’re expecting trouble. Even worse, it looks like you don’t trust the attendees.”
Griffen grimaced.
“I am expecting trouble, and I don’t trust the attendees.”
“Of course,” Slim said. “But you can’t let it show. Man, you’re a dragon. You’re supposed to be confident and in control. You don’t want to look like you’re tryin’ to bully people around.”
“I thought I had that covered,” Griffen said. “That’s why I was suggesting we go to outside help. If I use any of my own crew, it’d look like I’m having the dragons team up on the rest of the concla
ve.”
“Outside help?” Slim said. “TeeBo and Patches and their thugs?”
“I know,” Griffen said with a sigh. “I’d really just as soon not owe a favor to them or any other drug dealer. I don’t see many other options, though.”
“I wouldn’t even think of that as an option,” Slim grunted. “Their solution to anything is to shoot it. I really don’t think that’s what you want.”
“Okay. You’re right,” Griffen said, spreading his hands in surrender. “I didn’t like the thought either. That’s why I haven’t contacted them. It’s just that the conclave is less than a week away, and I still don’t have a clear fix on what I’ll have to deal with.”
“I’m not sure of that myself,” Slim said. “But I wouldn’t count too much on that week.”
“Excuse me?” Griffen said.
“You don’t work as much with regular tourists and conventioneers as I do,” the street entertainer explained. “A lot of folks, if they’re planning on attending a convention or even a football game down here, like to come in a few days early to see the sights and party down. Wouldn’t surprise me none if some of the conclave attendees popped up in town ahead of time.”
Griffen covered his eyes with one hand as if his head was throbbing.
“This just gets better,” he said. “How am I supposed to try to keep people out of trouble if I don’t even know who they are? Or should I say, what they are?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t think you should feel any kind of responsibility for anyone who wanders into town early,” Slim said in a strange voice. “And I don’t think you’ll have that much trouble spotting folks with the conclave even if they aren’t wearing suits or name badges.”
Griffen glanced at him sharply, but the street entertainer simply nodded toward the bar’s lobby entrance.
Following Slim’s gaze, Griffen saw a mixed gaggle of what looked like teenagers boiling through the door, followed by one young man who looked to be in his late twenties. It had every appearance of a high-school outing complete with a harried chaperone.
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