Dragons Luck

He reached out and took her elbow again. On contact, the overpowering feeling in the bar faded, receding back to the cloud hovering just over the small group. Not a few people gave unconscious shudders of relief, or knocked back drinks just a bit faster than they usually did.

Lowell pulled out his wallet and put a fifty on the bar. The bartender spared him another glance. He had kept an eye on the situation but hadn’t seemed to get captivated by Vera as some had.

“If Mr. McCandles should”—Lowell glanced at the man who had answered Vera—“return to town, please do tell him we came looking.”

“Sure thing, but you’ll be leaving now,” the bartender said.

Lowell nodded and hustled Vera out the door; the others followed, pale shadows.

“Fucking vampires,” Mai whispered so low only Griffen heard her.

Griffen jerked his eyes to hers, and she nodded. Suddenly a lot clicked into place for him. At least about the group. He had been told there were vampires who fed off depression and emotions and could influence and create those emotions. He never thought it would be anything like that, though.

“ ’Scuse me, lover,” Mai said. “Sandbox break. Always feel the need to splash a little water over my face after something like that.”

Griffen nodded, and she stood and walked over to the ladies’ room. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mai that frazzled. She even stumbled and had to catch herself on one of the video poker machines. The player reached out to steady her, but she waved him off and went into the bathroom.

Vampires. They weren’t supposed to be at the conclave, and now he understood why. Griffen had seen some odd things lately, but nothing that had felt so . . . wrong. What sort of defense was there for most people against something they didn’t even realize was happening?

For that matter he still didn’t quite understand how the bar had reacted.

“Didn’t expect you to seem so surprised, McCandles. Not after being in the Quarter a few months,” Maestro said.

“What do you mean?” Griffen said.

“Hell, a group of outsiders come in looking for someone that they can’t even spot in a crowd? You think they are going to get an answer? The circle forms with the horns out, I know you’ve been told that,” Maestro said.

“Yeah, but I hadn’t seen it like this. I mean, that guy doesn’t know me from Adam,” Griffen said.

“He’s seen you, here and often enough. He ain’t ever seen them before. That’s all it takes down here,” Maestro said, then with a bit of a smile; “Of course, wouldn’t hurt to buy him a drink in thanks.”

Twenty-eight

Mose was tired.

He was tired more often lately. He hardly ever went out anymore. Even then, it was usually just for a stroll or a brief chat with old friends. He had fewer old friends around, and those he did have . . . Well, he had been in the area too long. They had gotten older; he had started old and stayed that way forever. Or so it seemed to them.

And that age? Mostly only showed on the face and hands. His body was still strong enough that he sure didn’t worry about his safety when he did go out. Sometimes he even left his gate ajar. Not often, he wasn’t often that stupid. Just if he got into a mood. In case someone should try something. A bit of exercise and entertainment. Oh yes, his body was fit, just tired.

There was no doubt about it, he thought wryly, his ass was dragon.

He did keep active though, in his way. It was just that as time went on, he had learned to conserve his energy. These days he had taken up drawing again. He didn’t think he had much talent, but a dragon’s eye and a few centuries of off-and-on practice can do wonders.

He was sitting outside, enjoying the late-afternoon sun, a tall glass of lemonade beside him and a small drawing notebook in his hand. He felt like one of those old men he used to laugh at when he was younger. Except old men in his day didn’t draw,. They worked, hard. They played chess. Sometimes they whittled.

He heard the gate open and looked up to see Griffen coming in. The boy was one of the most powerful young dragons he had ever met. Stronger and more varied now as an amateur than Mose had been during his heyday.

Yet he walked toward him hesitantly, almost sheepishly. His whole body language was unsure. Mose had Jerome’s reports that outside, when dealing with others, Griffen was more confident. With his friends he was comfortable. When he had to, he stood as a leader, as a dragon among men. It was only with Mose, and from reports perhaps with Flynn, that he became more meek, nearly subservient.

All the more reason for Mose to back away.

“I started to use my key, but it was unlatched,” Griffen said.

“I like to let the sounds of the street drift in now and again,” Mose said blandly.

“Mind if I pull up a chair?”

“Not a’tall.”