Dragons Luck gm-2

by Robert Asprin

  “Mose… you know why I’m here.”

  “Yes, I reckon I do, but you are going to have to spell it out.”

  “I know, but I’m going to have to do it the long way.” Mose nodded and eased back a little more comfortably. He smiled slightly. That was the way he would have done it.

  “When I came down here, I had my doubts. Beyond my doubts about myself, I didn’t know what good I could do you. Or why anyone would want to pass over something they’d worked a lifetime for to someone they had never met. The idea that my heritage makes me somewhat more powerful than you doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. You were plenty powerful enough for this group; so is Jerome.”

  “Jerome isn’t as strong as I am, Griffen. He knows it. Besides, you can take this group further than I could. It is good people, with good potential. They should be more than just New Orleans grifters.”

  “Still, others could have led them.”

  “You’re right, I have known dragons who fit the bill, ones I had more direct experience with.”

  “So why me?”

  “Hmm… mind if I go the long way myself?” Mose asked.

  “I made sure I didn’t have anything else planned tonight,” Griffen said.

  “Shouldn’t take that long, but us old men, we like to tell stories now and again.”

  Mose took a sip of his lemonade as he organized his thoughts.

  “Not too long ago, before you were born, there was an election year, and the local authorities really decided to clamp down on the ‘unsavory’ types around here. They went around busting every grifter, bum, con, whore, and lowlife they could find. This was when I was still an employee of this fine organization, not its boss. Before I classed the place up some. And I got picked up doing three-card monte.”

  Mose checked Griffen’s reaction; he seemed perfectly content to listen, even though he clearly didn’t see where this was going.

  “People got crammed into cages built for a third of what got shoved in, and it was days before anyone even thought to start draggin’ people up to get judged. Now, me, I didn’t mind. A few others who worked in our ring got nabbed, too, so I wasn’t alone. Others weren’t so lucky.”

  “You met Jerome, didn’t you?”

  “You’re quick, now shut up. No going and ruining a fella’s story by cutting in.”

  Griffen smiled and nodded.

  “You kinda ruined the punch line, but yep, there was this snot-nosed little urchin, skinny as a snake, and all alone. But that didn’t faze him. Watched that lad go from person to person, looking them over, and moving on. He would chat with a few for a moment, move on again. Never approached anyone likely to rough him up just ’cause he was in arm’s reach. By the end of the first day he had four guys, myself included, lookin’ out for him with nothing expected back. Just ’cause we were the sort to look out for thems that needed it. When they let us out, he looked over the judge, and said, ‘He’s all right,’ and I knew to trust it.”

  Mose shook his head and chuckled.

  “He’s lost some of his openness with it, learned to keep a button on his lip, not tell everything he sees. But I tell you, Griffen, he may not be as powerful as me, but I never did meet a better judge of character.”

  “And he was up in Ann Arbor feeling me out for more than a year,” Griffen said.

  “Hell, no, he had you sussed out after the first night. He spent a year getting you ready in case we had the opportunity to pull you down here. Trust is hard to build.”

  “But, Mose, that doesn’t tell me why you are backing out now. I still need your advice, but when I thought you were just pushing me away I wasn’t worried. Now Jerome tells me you are pulling yourself more and more out of the loop, and Valerie confirmed it. So what gives?”

  “Griffen, you don’t need my advice. In fact, I probably set you back every time I give it. Oh, I help you in the short term, but you have got to stand on your own feet sooner rather than later.”

  “So by holding back you are what, forcing me to grow?”

  “Something like that, or I would if you weren’t running off to find a replacement for me. You need to be figuring things out yourself, not letting other dragons run you.”

  “Flynn helped when you wouldn’t.”

  “I choose my own replacements. I chose you!”

  Mose stopped and calmed himself. Yelling at him was counterproductive. Even though Griffen got on the defensive about Flynn, it was a good thing. Defensive was better than meek.

  “Griffen, you are destined to be a great force in this world. A force of nature practically. If you get it in your head that you need some mentor figure, it will be years before you learn otherwise.”

  Griffen got up and paced. Mose watched him, saw that he wasn’t satisfied with these answers. He didn’t want to go the last step, but he owed it to Griffen. Still, to get through to him fully, Mose would have to be blunt.

  “Griffen, I’m dying,” Mose said.

  Griffen stopped and stared.

  “We dragons age funny, but something you’ll hear from all the old-timers is that you feel when your clock is running down. Maybe it’s just in our head, maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. But on my clock the ticks are getting slower, and there is no way to wind it back up again.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve been feeling it for a while now.”

  “I… I don’t know enough to ask if you are sure. You wouldn’t say it if you weren’t sure.”

  Mose considered his next comment for the longest time yet, rolling it around in his head, tasting it on his tongue.

  “Griffen, I know you think well of me, but you have to remember, low blood or not, I am a dragon,” Mose said.

  “And?”

  “And dragons can be some of the most selfish bastards you ever did run into when it suits us. You ask why am I backing off. Would you really want to spend your last few years chained to a job, an office? Even as nice an office as this?”

  Mose waved to his courtyard, to his house. He picked up his glass and lifted it to the sky.

  “So, I think you don’t need me, and I haven’t figured out what I need. So you must forgive an old, selfish dragon and let me try to find the peace I may. Knowing that what I have poured my life into is in good hands.”

  Griffen started to say something, and Mose cut him off.

  “And, I’d appreciate it if you told Jerome something else, or nothing. He and the others here, they will make a big fuss. I don’t want a big fuss. I’m telling you ’cause you need, and deserve, to know. And ’cause I’ve grown to love you in a real short time, son. But when I do slip away, one way or the other, I want to go quiet. I say, live big, and leave them remembering your living, not your dying.”

  “That’s a lot to bear, Mose.”

  “You’ve got the shoulders to do it, lad. Jerome saw it, and I’ve seen it. Stop doubting yourself.”

  “Well… all I can promise is that I’ll try.”

  Griffen started to leave, but stopped as Mose stood up. He walked over to Griffen, and wrapped his arms around him tight. Griffen stood stiffly for a moment, then hugged the older dragon back.

  “You’ll do more than try,” Mose said, and smacked Griffen on the back.

  Griffen nodded and left, locking the gate behind him. Mose smiled and went back into his house. Inside, he picked up his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t touched in years.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Danielle,” Mose said.

  “Papa!”

  “I just wanted to say, it looks like pretty soon I’ll be coming for a visit. Time to see my grandchildren and all.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Will you be staying long?”

  Mose looked out into the sky.

  “Might be I will,” he said, “just might be.”

  Twenty-nine

  Sometimes, Griffen felt his life had just gotten too… complex.

  The day had started normal enough, for the French Qu
arter anyway. The sun was bright. The tourists were out keeping the lifeblood of the area pumping and green. A quick stop by the Royal Mail had shown a surprise package in, a backordered series of books he had forgotten buying. So far, the day had been nothing but pleasant. He found his spirits high, his troubles somehow distant.

  Such a state of mind is not meant to last.

  Valerie had gotten him hooked on splurging on beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde when his mood was high. At their prices it couldn’t really be thought of as a splurge. Yet something about the atmosphere and sugary confections always made Griffen feel slightly decadent. More so, he imagined, than any of the five-star restaurants in the Quarter would. Though to be honest, he had yet to be truly tempted by the outrageous prices when the area was filled with inexpensive two- and three-star places that would knock anyone’s taste buds for a loop.

  After a lazy time of people-watching, Griffen went to walk off the meal. He decided to avoid tourist-heavy streets like Royal and Bourbon, preferring today to enjoy the buildings more than the scenery. He paused by a window of a tiny antique shop on Chartres, looking over a variety of old pocket watches and knickknacks. The sorts of things that were fun to peer at but he would never find reason to purchase.

  He was aware of eyes watching him, and suddenly the mood of the day shattered.

  At first he thought it was the shopkeeper inside, checking to see if he was a gawker or a viable customer. The feeling came from behind, though, eyes heavy on the back of his neck. Griffen had never asked if this were part of being a dragon. Most people claimed to be able to feel someone watching them. Dragon powers or no, he trusted his instinct.

  Griffen felt his meal, just moments ago a pleasant warming, now a heavy wetness in his stomach. His pulse was elevated so suddenly and quickly that he knew it was something more than the average pickpocket or hustler. He did his best to suppress his nervousness, trying to be cautious. He glanced at the window in front of him instead of through it, trying to catch anyone’s reflection. Nothing. Next he glanced out of the corner of his eyes. Nothing. Finally, he turned around fully.

  Nothing.

  Now his worry started to grow to fear. Usually by now the feeling of being watched should have faded. If anything, it had intensified since he had turned. Nervous but resolved not to show it, he rested his hand on his pocket, taking a loose grip on the folding knife nestled inside. Usually nothing more than something to open boxes or peel fruit with, its cool weight gave him some minor comfort.

  Griffen tried to focus on the feeling, trying to give more attention to his instincts. He extended his sense out, reaching for a greater feel of his environment. Suddenly, a wave of curiosity crashed over him. Curiosity, mixed with daring. It was such a shock to his system that he actually took a step back and rested one hand on the wall. That wave of emotion had not been his own.

  Now Griffen truly did not know what to do. The intensity of his misgivings was soaring, and his own fear rose with it. Never before had he felt someone else’s emotion, and this had been so intense that, for a moment, he didn’t know what feelings inside were actually his. He—yes, he was almost sure those were his emotions—mostly wanted to retreat. To run away and get another person’s opinion on just what might be going on.

  That option was taken away as the source of the attention on him appeared. A great, shaggy beast of a dog stepped out from behind a parked car. The gray of the car almost exactly matched the dog’s fur, complete with random brown streaks that could have been dirt, rust, or natural coloration. The animal was just shy of being the size of a Great Dane, and had easily watched Griffen through the windows of its cover.

  Griffen was suddenly caught by a conflict of his instincts and his logic. Logically, he started to relax. The odd sensations, from being watched to the burst of feelings, could all be an extension of his animal control. He really didn’t understand what he did, or could do, yet.

  His instincts, though, those screamed to stay on guard. He puzzled over this, brow furrowing as his pulse continued to race. Something was wrong. Why was the dog approaching him? Where had it come from? Stray cats were common in the Quarter, stray dogs rare, especially one that big.

  “Good boy, you just stay there, boy,” Griffen said coaxingly, while reaching out to make the command more than words.

  He had learned through Jerome and Mose that dogs were one of the easiest things to control. They wanted to please. Just a little push…

  The dog ignored him. Continued to walk until he was right next to Griffen. Tentatively, Griffen reached out with his hand, though not the one on the knife, while pushing harder with his will.

  “Now listen here, there’s a good dog…”

  He stopped, hand still a good six inches from the dog. It had lifted its head, and their eyes locked. There was a spark of intelligence that no dog should hold in its eyes. The unexpected shock froze Griffen for a moment.

  A moment was all it took. An unpleasant warmth slid down Griffen’s leg. The dog, most definitely male, had decided to treat him as it might a lamppost.

  “You!” Griffen started, but the dog had already lowered its leg and bolted.

  After another stunned second, Griffen shouted again and took off after the dog. The head start and four legs quickly outdistanced Griffen, and the dog turned down Wilkinson, a side street that only stretched a block and was rarely busy. Griffen kept chasing, enraged. His sock squished.

  What Griffen found when he turned the corner was a scene from a horror movie. Not one of the modern hack-and-slash travesties, a classic. At some point, the canine monster must have stepped in a puddle. Along the sidewalk were paw prints. First distorted from running. Then just distorted. Then they were human.

  Griffen froze, rage freezing to ice. There was no one on the street, and the prints only went for a few more feet. Griffen didn’t even think about continuing his pursuit. It could too easily be a trap. He backed up, carefully, returned to Chartres. His mind was full of new ideas.

  The main one was simple though frighteningly close to overwhelming. He was going to have to get used real quick to there being more than dragons and ghosts in New Orleans.

  Another thought took longer to fully form. In fact it only hit him halfway to the apartment complex, where he planned to change, and maybe burn, his pants. The footprints hadn’t been of a bare human foot. They were prints of shoes. That alone sent his mind tumbling into confusion. It went against everything that should be logical.

  More to the point, though, the dog had most definitely been male. The shoe prints had most definitely been those of high heels.

  Cross-dressing shape-shifters—only in the French Quarter.

  Thirty

  Despite an increasingly hectic life, Griffen had made it a point to get out a bit early and stop in during Val’s work shift at least once or twice a week. If she was actually busy, he would wave and pass on by. More often than not, though, she had, at most, two customers who couldn’t bother giving her the time of day. Then he would step in, chat, catch up on gossip. It was a way of staying connected with his sister, and that was very important to him.

  Today was a normal shift, which was to say, pretty much empty. Val sat at the end of the bar, reading a novel. Occasionally she would glance up at the one customer—a boring-looking man sipping at a coffee and reading the local paper. When she saw Griffen, her face lit up, and she waved him on in, obviously glad for the relief.

  “Hey, Big Brother. Long time, no see!”

  Griffen sat in a chair a few feet down from the customer and rolled his eyes at his little sister.

  “You saw me last night,” Griffen said.

  “That was this morning, and you had Mai on your arm and more than a few whiskeys in you, so I don’t think you qualified as seeing much of anything.”

  “Oh, come now, you were just getting in yourself and complaining about needing to crash before work,” he said.

  Val put a drink out for him.

  “And again back
to Mai on your arm. Damn, am I glad that place has thick walls and ceilings,” she said.

  “We didn’t do anything… well, not anything too athletic,” Griffen said.

  “Ugh! Please spare me the sordid details of your nocturnal habits. I’m going to start leaving the stereo on when I go to bed. Loud!”

  “Better than your spending four nights a week sleeping somewhere else. Who is it this week?” Griffen said.

  “I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about. That will be four fifty for your cocktail, sir.”

  Griffen grinned at himself; as soon as she slipped into bartender mode, he knew he had won this round. Of course, the first time he forgot to tip, she had changed the locks on his apartment door. He made sure to put an extra couple of dollars on the bar.

  “So how is life as a French Quarter bartender?” Griffen asked.

  “Oh, the usual. I picked up a German tourist who keeps calling me Brunhild and trying to pinch my ass. And I hear that Mitch down in that little dive on Conti got fired… again. Pretty boring on the gossip fare.”

  “Well, here’s one for your pot, then. There is supposed to be a convention of Bible thumpers in next week,” Griffen said.

  “Good God, no, isn’t that the same weekend we are getting in a bunch of porno types from California?”

  “In theory, no, they are just low-budget filmmakers, but that’s the rumor. Expect some real clashes,” Griffen said.

  “Pardon me,” she said.

  Val walked over to one of the wooden beams running from floor to ceiling in the bar. She quietly put her hands on both sides of it, and knocked her head firmly several times. Dust fell from the ceiling.

  “I take it you finally managed to get a night shift?” Griffen said, sipping his drink and trying very hard not to laugh.

  “Next Saturday.”

  “Kind of what I had figured.”

  Valerie glared and picked up his empty glass.

  “Jack and Coke, right?” she said, a glint in her eye.

  Griffen put the money on the bar for his next drink before she even poured, and left it up to her. She slumped her shoulders slightly and poured him his usual Irish.