Dragons Luck

And Griffen… So different now, so new. She found herself drawn to his new confidence, his new power. Attracted to the man he had become and the potential he had yet to tap. At the same time, she missed the boy. The naive young dragon who hadn’t a clue about the world. No ambition, no cares. Easy.

For little stretches of time, she could wrap herself up in him. In enjoying the Quarter as he saw it. Helping and guiding him as he learned what it was to be a dragon. Pulling subtle strings, showing him choice bits and pieces of a much larger world. That was even more fun than what they shared in bed. Though Fox Lisa had proved a surprising and interesting diversion.

She had no intention of rushing Griffen’s progress. He already seemed to be growing so fast; any faster, and it might upset everything. He was drawing enough attention as it was. Besides, despite her current boredom, Mai was nothing if not patient.

He was just so wrapped up in this conclave of his. That was her one regret so far. She would have steered him away from this whole mess if she could have. Not only did it keep him distracted and growing more distant, but she had no way to predict or try to control the influences he would encounter once it got under way.

Like so many dragons, she barely bothered with other supernatural creatures. They weren’t in her class, within her sphere of influence. Oh, she had dabbled when she was younger. Her family often tended to disregard her, so she made it a habit to track others who were disregarded. She even remembered the boyfriend she brought home one day who claimed to be a tengu. Her parents really gave her hell for that one. Though she had never been quite clear if they were more upset that he wasn’t a dragon or that he was Japanese.

What would Griffen meet? Who would he be drawn to? What would be drawn to him? How could she make it all work for her?

She left the phone and window behind. It was about time she got off her ass and got back to work.

A short walk took her from her place to Griffen’s. He had given her a key to his security gate a while ago. A move that Val had seemed to disapprove of at the time. Not to mention Jerome. Mai was afraid she might have to do something about that weakblood soon.

Of course, Griffen didn’t know she had taken the liberty of making up a key for his apartment. Nor did she really feel any need to tell him. No sense bothering him with little details.

From the look of things, both he and Val were out. Mai knew that Val was scheduled to work that day, but Griffen’s habits were more unreliable. Just to be safe, she knocked at his door. When no answer came, she slipped inside. She always moved with natural grace, but when she wanted to move silently, cats would die from sheer jealousy.

She had only a little hope of finding what she was looking for. She had no idea how long it would be till Griffen returned, and didn’t want him to know that she had rifled his apartment. Still, a quick look though his drawers and desk should be safe enough. She started to move toward his bedroom.

And stopped when she saw exactly what she was looking for, haphazardly dropped on his couch. Right next to his TV remote and a DVD case for some movie she had never heard of. She rolled her eyes and picked up the little notebook Griffen had been carrying around for a few days. If she wanted to know what Griffen was encountering in this damn conclave, she would find out the easy way. His own private notes.

She sat on the arm of his couch, careful not to disturb anything, and flipped through the notebook. Her lips pursed, and her foot twitched idly, as if her toes tapped to some unheard music. She was a bit disappointed by how little Griffen seemed to know. She couldn’t help but feel he was setting himself up for a big fall.

Then she flipped the page, and her eyes widened in surprise. She ran a finger over the words at the top, a great bold heading underlined several times. She tapped a manicured nail against the heading.

Fly

She sca

“Fly

Very carefully she put the notebook back exactly as she had found it. Despite the apparent lack of care it had been set down with, Mai took no chances. She left as silently as she had entered, locking the door behind her. Her lips began to slip into a smile, one that slowly spread as she walked back to her apartment. Her eyes lit up with a spark of anticipation that they hadn’t held in months.

Once back in her apartment, she picked up her phone. This time there was no hesitation, no thoughtful stare. She dialed a special number, one Griffen would never be told about. Just as he would never see this side of her. Not if she had anything to say about it.

There was no greeting when the phone picked up on the other end. Just silence, empty and waiting. Mai smiled just a bit more.

“I need a full check on a Western dragon. Fly

“One hour,” a flat, monotone voice answered. The phone went dead.

Mai put it back in its receiver and sat. She didn’t spare a glance for the window behind her. She could wait, she was very good at waiting. And suddenly, she was no longer bored.

Fifteen

The Quarter is always transient. People come for weeks, for years, for an hour while passing through. It rarely matters, because the outside world hardly seems to exist when one is in the Quarter. Time is at a standstill. So much so that some come for a weekend, never leave, and hardly remember that they were supposed to.

For those coming to New Orleans, there are a host of different types of accommodations. Hotels, motels, full resorts. Even apartments that are sublet. Some locals flee the city during big events, whether it is a football bowl or Mardi Gras. And when a room with a balcony can bring in a thousand dollars a night on Bourbon Street, more than one local property owner has used the tourist dollar to fund their own vacation to far-off locations.

Even when no specific event is going on, one can always find a room. A quick Internet search, a check of the classifieds, and it is little trouble finding a nice apartment for the night. In some ways it is far more convenient than trying to find a hotel room. As time goes by, hotels ask more questions, keep better records, and grow more suspicious about checking an ID than an average Joe who just wants cash up front. Subletting an apartment for the weekend was often easier than finding a place to live for a year.

The assassin sat alone in such an apartment.

He was a big man, well muscled and tough-looking. A bald head first made him seem menacing, but, if anyone had thought to take a second glance, it made him seem neat. His clothes, black and loose, were immaculate. His hands were covered in skintight black-leather gloves. Nearly as thin as surgical gloves, but much less conspicuous. His eyebrows had a light sheen, and it would have taken a keen eye indeed to realize they had been lightly coated with Vaseline.

No matter how advanced investigation techniques became, you had to find a sample for DNA to be recognized. Hair follicles were easier to find than skin cells. And there were ways of dealing with skin cells.

The assassin glanced out of the apartment window. It was early yet, barely six, and he could just barely make out the sign of the target’s favorite pub. An Irish joint from the sign, but he had no plans to approach closer than he was now. The contract had come with surprisingly good information on the target’s activities, but it had also come with a time limit. Two days was almost no time for a true professional hit, and if the money hadn’t been as extraordinary as the intel, he would never have taken the job.