Dragons Luck

She rallied, though, and stepped away from Mai, turning so she could face them both. She stared at Mai’s dress, almost exactly as she had at the will-o’-the-wisp’s disappearance, and again her mind almost—but didn’t—froze up and snapped.

“Explanations, owed by both of you,” Fox Lisa said, then shivered again and moistened her lips. “But . . . later. I . . . I’m working.”

“Later, then,” Mai said.

She stepped up to Griffen, arm around his waist now but eyes on Fox Lisa. There was a moment of tension, and Lisa turned and walked off.

Then stopped a few feet away, changed directions, and walked directly toward a large werewolf in torn blue shorts. She grabbed his tail, and before he could react, yanked hard. He yelped, a very realistic and pained sound. Fox Lisa glared at him, and he ducked his head, ears lying flat. She nodded to herself and stomped off.

Most people around them watched her leave and ignored Kane cursing and rubbing his tail.

“That,” Mai said dropping her act and sounding full of admiration, “is one tough broad.”

“And the two of you have arranged a very tough spot for me later,” Griffen said.

“Yes, we did. And a fun spot if you play your cards right. That one is too smart to be kept in the dark anyway,” Mai said.

Mai grinned and slipped her arm from his waist to his elbow.

“Come on, you. For this stay in your execution, you owe me a dance!” she said.

Griffen had been dreading this long before Mai ever showed up at his door. He knew about as much about dancing as he did about public speaking. With less practice.

He couldn’t decide whether or not this particular dance floor made things better or worse. The dancing seemed to be as eclectic as the costuming. There was a couple waltzing. At least a dozen people going through an elaborate dance that would have fit in at a medieval court. Several people club dancing, including two more of the changelings, Nix and Drake. Apparently, the changelings had decided to dress in a theme: Drake was the Cheshire Cat, and Nix, with the help of a mask on the back of her head, was playing both Tweedledum and Tweedledee, depending on which way she was facing. And Griffen would have put her down for the Mock Turtle.

There was even someone dressed as a knight in full armor, doing what Griffen could only interpret as a very clanky version of the Charleston. And it all seemed to blend together. As surreal as it all was, it all blended together, the music acting as a melting pot. Partners would switch back and forth, those bothering with partners, and seamlessly step into a new style. Griffen didn’t have a clue what to try himself.

Mai made the decision for him, by pressing so tightly against him he was sure she didn’t have anything under the dress but herself. She started to sway to the music, leading with her body language more than anything else, and he followed. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he felt the soft touch of her lips against the side of his neck.

He began to let himself relax, flowing into the music, the atmosphere, the peculiar magic. Nothing in his life had really prepared him for an evening like this. Especially not the conclave; he would never have imagined the different groups blending together like this. For one night, just for Halloween, it seemed as if the supernatural attendees had found some happiness.

He hadn’t had many rewards for this fairly thankless job but was beginning to think this evening might make up for it.

Then the doors burst open violently, shattering the music, and his illusions.

Everybody stopped and stared, and Griffen recognized the pull of powerful glamour. Dragon-style glamour, not whatever the changelings used. It pulled every eye in the room toward the figure of a small woman, dragging the bodies of three unconscious garou by their ankles. She held all three in one hand and, without so much as a grunt of effort, heaved them through the air to land with a thud on the dance floor.

Griffen noticed three things simultaneously. One, that every one of the garou was bruised, bloodied, and probably broken. Two, they were the ones Kane had set out to hunt for Slim’s killer.

Three, the small woman had the maddest eyes he had ever seen. Both angry mad and crazy mad. They were like looking into the windows of a building and realizing only after you’ve seen inside that it was an asylum.

A split second after those observations, he heard a stifled gasp. He saw a brief glimpse of Val, and wondered how he had missed her till now. More important, he wanted to know why she was glaring at the small woman with more anger then he had seen from his sister in a long time.

“All right!” Lizzy screamed, voice cracking through different scales. “Who is the poor dead son of a whore who sent these puppy dogs after me!?”

Things clicked into place. He half turned toward Val, without taking his eyes off the newcomer for a moment.

“Who is that?” Griffen asked.