Dragons Luck

“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.

It would have been, at best, a mildly a

“What on earth…?” Griffen murmured, but didn’t get a chance to finish.

The crowd lurched to a halt in front of their table, forming up into a rough half circle. On closer examination, there were only about a half dozen of them, but their youthful energy and eager faces made it seem that there were a lot more of them.

Suddenly nervous and self-conscious, the group began to fidget, glancing back and forth between Griffen and their chaperone.

“Mr. McCandles?” that individual said, stepping forward.

Griffen stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he suddenly felt like a featured stop on a guided tour. To say the least, he wasn’t wild about the sensation.

“We just wanted to take this chance to meet you before the conclave started and to express our thanks for letting us attend.”

“And you are…?” Griffen said, deliberately not rising or offering a hand for a handshake.

“Oh! We’re the fey… or the changelings, if you prefer,” the leader said, hastily. “This is our first time to attend one of these things.”

Strangely enough, Griffen had already figured that one out himself.

“Actually,” he said with a small smile, “I was fishing for a name.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” The leader was momentarily flustered. “My name is Tink.”

He started to extend a hand, then withdrew it and bowed stiffly.

“Tink?” Griffen said, raising an eyebrow.

The leader flushed slightly.

“Well, my given name was Archibald, but everyone knows me as ‘Tink.’ ”

“All right… Tink,” Griffen said carefully. “While your thanks are appreciated, I’m afraid they’re misplaced. Even though I’ve agreed to moderate the conclave, I’ve had no say as to who is or is not invited. In fact, of all the groups I’ve been told are attending, I probably know the least about yours.”

“Are you really a dragon?”

This came from a coltish, small-breasted young lady in short shorts and a Lord of the Rings T-shirt.

Griffen stared at her with his best poker deadpan until she dropped her eyes and took a step back.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” Tink said, interceding. “We’re all excited about the conclave, and, frankly, most of us have never seen, much less met, a dragon. I hope you aren’t offended.”

“No offense taken,” Griffen lied. “And, for the record, yes, I am a dragon. Now if I might ask a question, how did you find me?”

“Oh, that’s one of the things we’re good at. Finding things and people,” chimed in a boy with features so smooth he might have been mistaken for a girl. “That and hiding.”

“I see,” Griffen said. “Any other powers I should know about… if you don’t mind my asking?”

The group exchanged glances.

“The thing is,” Tink said, “there are various powers we have. Not everyone has the same powers, though. If you’d like, we could give you a demonstration.”

Griffen suppressed the image that flashed though his mind.

“That really won’t be necessary,” he said hastily.

He reached for his drink, more to give himself something to do with his hands with so many people staring at him, then stopped. His usual light amber glass of Irish whiskey was now clear. Tentatively, he raised it to his nose and sniffed.

“It’s gin,” declared a girl with short black hair and a nose ring. “That’s one of my powers.”

“Impressive,” Griffen said carefully. “Unfortunately, I only drink Irish whiskey. Would you mind changing it back?”

The girl suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Um… I can’t do that,” she said. “I can only change liquids one way. I don’t know how to do reversals.”

“I see,” Griffen said, successfully suppressing a smile.

“Let us buy you a fresh drink,” Tink said, frantically signaling the bartender, who had been watching the proceedings with vast amusement.

The assemblage waited in silence while the bartender brought Griffen’s new drink over and was paid by Tink, who waved off any change.

“Well, we’ll run along now and quit bothering you,” he said, gathering up his charges with his eyes. “I can see you’re busy. We just wanted to say hello and thanks. Maybe if we get a chance, I can fill you in a little on the fey… if you’re interested, that is.”

The pack moved off, already chattering back and forth among themselves before they reached the door.

“So what kind of security do you figure you’ll need for them?” Slim asked with a grin.

“I’ll admit they aren’t what I expected,” Griffen replied. “I didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it. I just wonder if they’ll have any problems getting those kids into any of the bars or clubs.”

“They’ve probably doctored their IDs,” Slim said, “but don’t let their looks fool you. It’s the fey blood in them. I’ll bet there wasn’t one in that group who’s under fifty.”

Twenty-four

Long after the Irish pub had closed for the night, Mai found herself walking by the shuttered doors. Toulouse, two blocks off Bourbon, was absolutely deserted at this hour. Still, she expected company.

He came around the corner a block away and started to head toward her. She knew he could have appeared at any time; he could have surprised her. Instead, he wanted her to see him coming. It seemed he wanted her to feel safe. Which was u

He limped ever so slightly, one leg just a bit shorter than the other. His face was unremarkable, his body perhaps a bit under average in size and build. His clothes were cheap, just a bit dirty, and of muted colors. As he stepped up to her, she couldn’t help but smirk. His eyes narrowed as he caught her expression.

“You think you are clever, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, George,” Mai said.

George straightened and before Mai’s eyes he became a different person. Taller, stronger, more handsome. His face had just a touch of Spanish overtones. Even his hair was more styled now.

“Is this the real you?” Mai asked.

“Does it matter?” George said.

“No, I suppose not.”

“How did you find me out?”

“What, that you were stalking Griffen as a videocrack addict? You are good, one of the best shape-shifters I’ve ever seen. But not the best. You don’t smell like most playing those machines. Your eyes track things a little too closely. And even though they are a different color now—yes, I noticed—they have the same kind of predator glint.”

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a long Knight of Swords tarot card. Mai had slipped it to him just after the vampires had made their appearance at the pub. She knew that it would be enough to bring him to her.

“And how many of these did you slip others you suspected were me before you hit pay dirt?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” she answered with his own words.

“Yes, too many of these floating around might jeopardize me, as i

Mai seethed a bit inside. Yet if that was what it took to get the ball rolling, she could admit a failure. This once.