Dragons Luck

Mai smiled and began to walk toward Bourbon Street. George followed a pace behind. In this form he walked with a bit of a jaunty gait. Looking just a little like a cock rooster, as if he were looking for action.

“Funny, those vampires showing up tonight,” Mai said.

“Not as funny as you pretending to stumble so your little friend would not catch you slipping me the card,” George said.

Mai ignored his grin, and his gibe.

“Who tipped them off as to where to find their ‘moderator, ’ do you think?” she asked.

“I figure it had to have been fairly anonymous. Other than a quick tip over the phone, they should have been given at least a description of him, if not a picture,” he said.

“Very astute of you, but it doesn’t answer my question,” Mai said.

“And you did not answer mine . . .”

George trailed off as he saw her smile widen. I can’t believe I’m having to drop him this many tips, she thought. This is the terror of little dragons everywhere? She had to remember his skills leaned toward hunting and toying, not intrigue.

“Flynn hates vampires,” he said.

“Sort of puts him above suspicion, doesn’t it? Besides, who else is in town who might have done something to make me watchful for your presence?”

“Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have left that card.”

George stopped and folded his arms over his chest. Mai leaned against one of the Quarter’s faux gas lamps. She kept her expression frozen, letting him come to his own conclusions.

“He really gets up my nose, that one does. Typical dragon, using even someone he hates because he can,” George said.

“Just because he has said he disliked vampires in the past, you think that means anything? Even if he was being honest, it would be much to his liking to put two enemies against each other,” Mai said.

“Which is, of course, exactly what you are trying to do,” George spat back.

Mai shrugged and waited.

“Very well,” George said finally. “If Flynn wants to play with vampires, it shouldn’t be too hard to get him stumbling over his own toys. But I’m doing this because it will irritate the overgrown set of matched luggage.”

Mai bowed her head without taking her eyes off his.

“It never entered my mind that you might be doing it for me.”

“Good. You won’t see me in the Irish pub again. Do not look for me elsewhere.”

“Why? Rumor had it you never hunted someone you didn’t have a contract on.”

“Unless I deem them a threat. Besides, so far I’m not truly hunting Flynn. But let us keep that between you and me.”

“Of course. If you’ll answer me one question.”

George paused again, considering.

“Depends on the question,” he said.

“I watched you in the pub, when you thought you were invisible. If a dragon is a dragon, why do your eyes seem to show you to be warming up to Griffen?”

He hesitated a beat too long, and Mai knew his answer would be a lie.

“All part of the disguise. I never assume no one is watching.”

With that he turned and, in an eyeblink, a large dog was running off into the night. Mai watched him go, extending her senses to the utmost to make as sure as possible that he didn’t circle around to follow her. When she could no longer perceive him even distantly, she started back to her apartment.

“Well, that’s him aimed properly, then,” she said to herself.

About a block away she paused and clenched her fists as a wave of frustration passed through her.

“And one day, I’ll figure out how the damned chimeras don’t ruin their clothes in a shift. All the bloody designer outfits I’ve shredded over the years . . . gah!”

Mai stomped the minor frustration off, and by the time she reached her apartment she was once again basking in a job well-done.

Twenty-five

Griffen had picked up a tail.

Thankfully, this time it wasn’t of the green, scaly variety. That had only happened a few times, and always unexpectedly. Being followed, however, that was becoming far too common for his liking. Since moving to New Orleans, he had been followed by everything from federal agents to a cockroach. Not that he was entirely sure there was a great gap between the two.

This was different, though. Even when Homeland Security had been keeping an eye on him thanks to the interference of a dragon named Stoner, Griffen had been able to identify his watchers with only a bit of effort. This time, try as he might, he had yet to catch a glimpse of whoever, or whatever, was following him. He just knew they were there. It was as if he could feel eyes always on him.

Whoever his tail was, they were disturbingly good.

He had first noticed it early that afternoon. He had gone out a little early to check his public mailbox on Royal Street. There hadn’t been anything interesting, and when he came out, he first picked up the “watched” sensation. Looking around, he saw no people paying him attention nor any cockroaches or big shaggy dogs.