Dragons Luck

Someone dressed up as a twelve-foot robot clomped through the fog toward the buffet table, and was followed by a woman dressed as a mechanic with a five-foot-long wrench. Three people dressed as Abe Lincoln, at least one of them female, sat together at one of the tables, engaged in a three-way thumb war. And, of course, a classic at any Halloween party, no matter how elaborate, one person standing near the wall, wearing a sheet with holes cut out for the eyes.

For the most part, he couldn’t tell who was who or, more important, what. Which meant that no one was bothering to group themselves together but mingled freely. Laughter mixed with music and talk. Griffen smiled and stepped forward, Mai falling into step with him perfectly. The doors shut behind him.

Perhaps it was the change in his attitude, or maybe the observational skills that were part of being a dragon. As he moved into the room proper, he began to see small details that, anywhere else, he might dismiss as fantastic costuming. Here he realized what he was seeing: the supernatural, letting its proverbial hair down.

A werewolf, more impressive than any he had seen on the silver screen, sat at one of the tables, its tail wagging in time with the music. A demon and angel danced together on the floor, and though their wings were fake, each was dancing about three inches above the fog. One of the first people Griffen actually recognized was one of the “lesser” shifters, who was dressed as a simple jester in red and yellow. Only his hands were on fire. No, his hands were fire, and he kept arcing it back and forth between them like a Slinky.

Griffen saw Tail, dressed in full samurai gear except for the face mask. His face was normal, but over a dozen foxtails hung behind him, constantly moving. He chatted with the woman from the shape-shifting demonstration, and from the way she smiled, the relationship was building quickly. She wore an elaborate butterfly mask, high heels, and butterflies. Dozens of them, providing her little more coverage than most bikinis. They flapped gently, and every once in a while one would take off and fly to a different location on her body.

Griffen suspected the butterflies were her, just as the tails were, well, Tail’s. No one really seemed to be paying attention to any of this. It was just part of the atmosphere, accepted, normal. Griffen imagined for a moment what his life might have been like if he had known about dragons since he was a child. He could see just how much he would value a night like this.

He was finally realizing just why there was a traditional conclave at all.

Mai smiled at his side.

“Happy Halloween, lover,” Mai said.

“First time I’ve ever really appreciated the holiday,” Griffen said.

“Told you, Griffen. This was something not to miss,” she said.

“You were right, though I would never have known what I was missing.”

“Oh, you would have, eventually. You aren’t dumb, lover.

Just a little slow sometimes.”

Griffen would have objected to that more if she hadn’t chosen that moment to pinch him. She moved away before he could retaliate.

“I’m going for punch, and if it isn’t already spiked, it will be shortly. You, go, mingle.” She paused, glancing around. “Knowing you, I suggest you follow the bouncing ball.”

Griffen followed her glance. Sure enough, one of the lights was hovering a few feet away, bouncing up and down like an eager puppy. He looked back at Mai, only to see her retreating back, and watched that for a bit before turning back to the relatively less distracting magic ball.

As he approached, the orb slowed down its movement, hanging listless and still when he was right next to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of another starting to dance. Again, as he moved toward it, it slowed. Griffen shook his head, not quite believing it, but as the next ball started to dance, he gave up doubt and simply followed.

It wasn’t long before he saw the source. Four lights hovered around a group consisting of a zombie and three characters from Alice in Wonderland. The zombie, thankfully, looked like a costume, though a movie-quality one. Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the March Hare chatted animatedly with it. The lights hovered around Alice, and as Griffen approached, one floated off to join the others throughout the room, and another one slowly coalesced to take its place.

It was only when he was right next to the group that he realized who Alice was.

“Tink!?” Griffen said.

Tink turned, petticoats ruffling. His face was perfectly straight.

“What, you thought you’d have this many fairies in New Orleans without at least one ending up in drag?” Tink said.

His straight face lasted for another few seconds, before he burst out laughing. The others in the group broke out with him, and Griffen joined them. It felt good to laugh.

On closer inspection, Hobb was playing the March Hare and Robin made a very fetching Mad Hatter. Griffen almost did a double take with the zombie, though. It was Estella, right out of a Romero movie except for a small bag and voodoo doll hanging from her neck.

“You are supposed to dress as something you are not, yes? It was either this, or dress up as a witch,” Estella said.

Griffen hadn’t put her down for that much of a sense of humor.

She smiled, showing yellowed and blackened teeth, and waved her hand at the ballroom.

“I told you you didn’t have to worry. But are you all right? We almost sent someone for you when you were late,” she said.

“No need. Someone beat you to the punch,” Griffen said.

“No kidding. That was quite an entrance,” Tink said.

“She’d beat anyone to the punch. Did you see that dress!” Hobb said.

Robin elbowed him in the ribs, in a playful sort of way.

“What do you think of the party, Griffen?” Robin said.

Griffen took time for one last look around, gathering his thoughts.

“Amazing,” he said finally. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Estella beamed.

“I told you not to underestimate those other than dragons. Still, you have not shown much of a dragon’s attitude during this meeting, even counting various… incidents. You have been a fair moderator,” Estella said.

Griffen didn’t think so but wasn’t going to spoil the mood.

“The lights are your doing, Tink?” Griffen asked.

“Yes, we call them will-o’-the-wisps. Very handy little buggers, and not just for mood lighting,” Tink said.

“Sure beats pagers and cell phones,” Griffen agreed. “But what if someone… not with the conclave sees them? What if some average person blunders in?”

Estella laughed.

“Mr. McCandles, who do you think is serving the food and drinks?”

Startled, Griffen realized he had been seeing people in service industry black-and-whites all along but had been too distracted by the fantastic to notice. Now he looked around and saw a few waitstaff walking around with trays of drinks or food, and one behind the buffet table. They each wore a slim black mask around their eyes.

“Relax,” Estella said. “They, or anyone else who ‘blunders in,’ are unlikely to notice anything too unusual. Not only is this New Orleans, but the wiccan and I have worked up a little something together that will fog up their perceptions a bit. Anyone without something magic in their blood will remember nothing more than an elaborate party in the morning.”

“Most people who are drawn to this town seem to have some magic in their blood,” Tink said.

“Not enough, and so what? Even if they noticed or remembered more, what trouble could it cause?” Estella said.

“On the large scale… or the personal scale?” Griffen said.

His tone was a bit strangled, distracted, and the others looked where he was looking. At one of the waitresses, a tray of champagne in her hand, walking toward them. The black mask didn’t hide the fire in her eyes, or in her hair.