Dragons Luck

“Even if they did, a knife is kind of up close and personal,” Griffen said. “You’d think they’d use a gun or something . . . except, maybe, for the noise.”

“That’s the real kicker,” Harrison said, leaning in close. “It wasn’t a knife.”

“It wasn’t?” Griffen said. “Then what was he stabbed with?”

“According to the coroner, something wooden,” the detective said. “Maybe I’m letting the whole Halloween thing get to me, but it’s like someone put a wooden stake into his heart.”

Griffen gaped at him.

“A wooden stake? But that doesn’t make any sense,” he managed. “Slim did an Uncle Sam mime routine. Nothing to do with vampires. If someone went wacko and decided to hunt vampires, you’d think they’d go after a goth or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harrison said. “What’s more, whoever did it took the weapon with them . . . or threw it in the river. The way I understand the stake in the heart thing is that you’re supposed to leave the stake in. If you take it out, the vampire comes back to life.”

Griffen shook his head.

“Beats the hell out of me,” he said. “I’m glad it’s your problem and not mine.”

“Actually, I was hoping you might give me a hand,” Harrison said with a wolfish smile. “You live here in the Quarter and know a lot of these weird groups. I’d appreciate it if you kept your ears open and let me know if you hear anything they aren’t telling the cops . . . which is almost anything.”

“I can do that.” Griffen shrugged. “But outside of the wooden-stake thing, you don’t have any leads at all?”

“Just one,” Harrison said. “I’ve heard there’s some kind of weird occult meeting in town and that Slim was somehow involved with it. Even heard he got into it with someone there. I’m going to try to run that down and see if there’s any connection.”

Griffen’s stomach tightened. He definitely hadn’t needed to hear that.

“I suppose it’s a place to start,” he said, just to say something.

“It makes as much sense as any other theory I’ve got,” the detective said, standing up and tossing some money on the table for his beer. “I’ll have to move fast, though. They’ll probably be leaving town at the end of the weekend.”

Griffen’s mind was racing as he waved good-bye. Harrison would be moving fast, so he would have to move faster. Somehow, he had to get to the bottom of this mess before the detective discovered his own involvement with the conclave and started asking some uncomfortable questions about why he had withheld that particular tidbit of information.

Forty-five

Griffen was heading up St. Peter toward Bourbon Street when he was hoo-rawed.

“Yo! Grifter! Wait up!”

Turning, he saw Jerome jogging toward him. He waited until his friend caught up with him and slowed to a stop.

“What’s up, Jer?” he said. “I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

“Just a second while I catch my breath,” Jerome said, breathing hard. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all night. You know your cell phone’s turned off? Anyway, man, you got problems.”

“You heard, huh?” Griffen said, rolling his eyes.

“About Slim? Sure did,” Jerome said. “Do you know it’s goin’ around that you’re the one who hit him? Either that, or that you ordered it done?”

Griffen heaved a sigh.

“Yeah. Val told me. It gets worse. I just talked to Harrison. He’s gotten wind of the conclave and is going to be checking it out.”

Briefly, he filled Jerome in on what Harrison had told him, including the fact that, so far, the detective did not know that Griffen was involved with the conclave.

“Shit,” Jerome said, shaking his head. “So now what are we gonna do?”

“ ‘We’?” Griffen said, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t see where any of this affects our gambling operation, Jer. I got myself into this mess. I figure I’ve got to find my own way back out.”

“Hold on there, Grifter,” Jerome said, drawing himself erect. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on this whole conclave thing, but you’re still the main dragon down here. What affects you affects all of us, starting with me. There’s no way I’m gonna stand around with my hands in my pockets while all this is goin’ down. So let’s put our heads together and try to figure this thing out.”

“Thanks, Jerome,” Griffen said. “I really appreciate that.”

“So, like I said before, what are we gonna do?”

“Well, I hadn’t been thinking in terms of we,” Griffen said. “I was going to head over to the conclave and let them know what’s going on . . . including the fact that Harrison’s going to be nosing around. I’m thinking of suggesting that they cancel the scheduled meetings tomorrow. There’s not that much slated, anyway. Mostly, people are going to be gearing up for the masquerade ball.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a hot idea,” Jerome said carefully. “If Harrison spots you there, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Well, I am sure it’s not a hot idea”—Griffen grimaced—

“but it can’t be helped. I’ve got to let them know what’s coming down the pike at them, and there’s no other way. At first I thought of sending them a note, but then I realized it’s not something I want to put down on paper.”