Robert Asprin - Dragons deal

"Straighten yourself up," she commanded him. "Slower! You're skipping the beat. One two three, ONE two three. Get into it. That's better. You hardly look like the dragon of the prophecy when you're tripping all over yourself. And me."

"Do you believe in that legend?" Griffen asked.

"Whether I do is not as important as how many others do. Perhaps I believe that this child of my son and your sister is the one." Her light eyes glinted. "We won't know, perhaps not for years."

They glided together around the floor. The musicians changed key upward a third, and Etienne stepped onto the floor with Regina on his arm. He stopped before them and bowed.

"May I cut in?" he said.

"Of course," Griffen said, grateful to be rid of Melinda. He took Regina in his arms and danced away with her. His feet immediately regained their coordination.

As they swept away, he heard Melinda say, "I've never had an invitation based upon a dream before."

"Well, look at you, pretty lady. You look like a dream."

"So that is Mrs. Wurmley," Regina said. "You know her?"

"She's a, uh, distant relative," Griffen said.

It took an effort, but he kept his expression pleasant and his conversation noncommittal. Stifling his impatience, he finished the dance, bowed to the lady, and handed her off to another male dancer who approached. Ignoring a woman who gave him a hopeful glance, he marched over to confront Etienne, who had just turned Melinda over to Callum Fenway.

The krewe captain took another lady and spun her around the dance floor like a dust mop. Griffen had to resort to a brisk stride to catch up with him. The lady in Etienne's's arms looked disappointed when Griffen tapped him on the shoulder but didn't cut in.

"I need to talk with you."

"You coul' wait until the end of the dance, but I know you won't." Etienne sighed. He bowed to the woman and escorted her to an empty chair. "Pardon me, but dis is krewe business."

"I understand," the woman said, with a smile.

Griffen grabbed his arm and pulled him to the wall near the bus trays.

"You knew all along!" he snarled. "Why didn't you tell me? My sister was incredibly upset. Of all places to trap the two of them together!"

Etienne looked at him with disbelief. "Trap? Dis ain't no trap. She won't hurt her here. Fact, she won't hurt her at all. She be a great queen, Mr. Griffen. She got de blood, just like you and Miss Valerie. Not as strong, but stronger than de other ladies in town. She the best person to ask. I knew she would be here, so I asked her, and she said yes."

"She didn't say anything to me or Val," Griffen said.

"She knew how you felt," Etienne said. "Everybody do. I asked her to keep it to herself. She agreed."

"I can't tell you how pissed off I am," Griffen said.

"I know," Etienne said. "But what would you have done different if you knew?"

Griffen huffed and puffed with fury, but at last common sense overtook him. "There's nothing I could have done. Except walk away."

"And are you gonna do dat?" Etienne's pale brown eyes studied him. Griffen wanted to grab him by the throat, wanted to jam him through the wall and storm out. But the parade was coming. He wanted to be part of that magic. And he had bonded with his fellow ritual-makers. He couldn't let them down.

"No," Griffen gritted out at last.

"'Zactly. So, savin' you months of frettin' is bad how?" Etienne patted him on the shoulder. Griffen flinched back. The werewolf smiled. "Enjoy yourself. This is the chance of a lifetime. Enjoy bein' king, Mr. Griffen. It's all just temporary. And I say, what harm do it do to honor another powerful dragon with the queenship? It's all good for the krewe, and for N'awlins. I know you care about dat." He signed to a waiter, who homed in on them with a tray. He presented Griffen with a whisky. Griffen glared but he snatched the drink and downed it.

"You even knew to get that set up, too?"

For a moment, the werewolf-dragon hybrid's eyes looked weary and tired. "Mr. Griffen, I seen everyt'ing that matter. Everyt'ing gonna work out. Go ahead and hate me today, but you'll see."

At that moment, Griffen did hate him. He hated everything about the krewe, the party, the parade, the fussy decorations, the formal wear, the people--especially the people. With a whoosh, the tray next to him blazed up. Griffen let the orange flames dance for a moment, then extinguished it by clenching his fist.

"Watch it, McCandles!" Harrison's voice interrupted him from his funk. He glanced up. The bulky figure of the detective in his black-and-white suit made him look like a thirties G-man instead of the street cop he was. He danced by Griffen with long, slow steps. Harrison looked happier than he had ever seen him, but with an expression of sad longing. Griffen would not have hurried the dance, either. The dark lady in his arms had a divine figure, to which clung a swirling dress of purple, gold, and green in narrow stripes that made it look like a pinwheel. She lowered the lorgnette mask in her hand to smile at Griffen.

It was Rose.

"I received your invitation," she said. "Thank you. I am glad to have this chance to be with David at such a distinguished gathering."

"Yeah," Harrison said, holding her firmly to his chest with his outspread hand in the middle of her back. "Thanks, Griffen."

"You're welcome, anytime," Griffen said, sincerely. His own throat felt thick. He watched them move away, feeling like a matchmaker. He would never have thought of them as a couple, but they were. Griffen desperately wanted to know the history of that relationship, but he doubted he would ever get it from either of them. All he did know for certain was that Harrison had been devastated when she died. It was none of his business, but he would have liked to know just the same.

Since Griffen never knew when he would see the voodoo priestess's ghost, he had left the cream-colored envelope addressed to her on the park bench on the Moonwalk where they sometimes talked. She had obviously found it. He was glad. It was the least he could do for Harrison.

He managed to enjoy the rest of the ball after all.

Griffenfrowned at the map and its multiple overlays that Cos Wrayburn had prepared and spread out on Holly's kitchen table. He followed the four colored lines along St. Charles, around Lee Circle, to Canal Street, where three of the lines diverged.

"Only Aeolus keeps going," Holly pointed out. She poured coffee for all of them from a copper-colored pot. Her kitchen suited her, furnished in sunny colors and sturdy furniture and appliances. "That's east, Air's cardinal direction. We're going in along Rampart as far as St. Ann."

"I know we turn right on Canal and go south to Tchoupitoulas," Griffen said. "Mitch has been drilling us. We step off forty-five minutes apart, from five fifteen on."

"So," Cos said, pointing a thick forefinger at the map, "all the routes intersect at the corner of Canal and Rampart."

"So we release the energy then?" Bert asked.

"No. That's when we bind it," Cos said. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"You think I do a lot of this on the used-car lot?" Bert asked. "Build living sculptures of water out of my hoses?"

"Get you a lot of customers," Griffen joked.

"I can use them to wash the vehicles on my lot, maybe." The king of Nautilus laughed.

Griffen didn't laugh. He had the Scepter of Fire in his hands. Holly had shielded the little white-painted house and overgrown garden with wards as soon as the three others had come inside, and let them take the heavy gold wands out of the metal-bound chest. Griffen felt the warmth grow in his solar plexus like the return of a happy memory.

"It'd be good if we all knew our capabilities on parade day," Holly reminded them. This was their third practice session. Every time Griffen touched the long-handled object, he found it hard to let it go. The sensation that went through his body was like the twanging of harp strings or guitar strings. The vibration went on and on.