Dragons Deal (30 page)

"Ohhhhh," moaned Fox Lisa. "Not puns!"

"Why not?" Jerome asked, laughing. "How about
Goldbusters
? Who y'gonna call?"

"I thought of
The Wyvern of Oz
," Griffen said.

"
Two Gremlins of Verona
," Val threw out. "Wait, those aren't dragons."

"
Hatching Can Wait
," suggested Jerome.

The others laughed at each new suggestion. Griffen wrote them down as fast as he could. When they finished, he had over twenty that he thought were funny.

"These are going to be great. I'll choose about six or eight of these," he said.

"Who's doing it for you?"

"One of Steamboat's cousins is an artist," Griffen said, naming a fellow barfly in the Irish pub. "He'll draw them up for me and get them printed. Everyone's going to get a miniature poster as a favor, an eight-by-ten print at their place setting."

"That's really clever," Fox Lisa said. "It won't be too expensive, and it's unique. I thought you were going to give everyone a picture of you in your regalia."

Griffen struck a pose. "You think they'd like that better?"

"Oh, well, there's another one for your movie titles," Val said, laughing. "
The Dragon Who Would Be King
. You'll have to have your face on the poster."

"
Goldfinger
," Fox Lisa suggested. "That already sounds like a dragon name."

"No,
Goldwinger
!" Mai said.

Jerome leaned back and shook out a cigarette. "You know you don't have to try this hard, Grifter. They're already impressed to death with you."

"I want to get it right," Griffen said, feeling the need intensely. "Like Mai said, when will I get another chance?"

Jerome grinned at him. "You're on your way to becoming a pillar of the community. Good job, Grifter." He flicked his lighter. Instead of the inch-high flame, a gout of fire gushed upward. Jerome dropped it on his plate. It didn't go out. The flames seemed to consume what was left of his sandwich and fries as if they were made of tissue paper.

"Put it out," Mai ordered him.

"I didn't do that!" Jerome said.

"Not you. Griffen."

"Me?"

"You started it. I felt it. Put it out. Now! Concentrate."

Griffen stared at the flame, feeling silly. The waitress had hoisted a fire extinguisher from behind the counter and headed toward them.
Go out,
he thought.
Go out now!

The flames died away into a pool of congealed ketchup. Griffen regarded it with confusion.

Jerome headed off the waitress. "It's okay!" he called. "Sorry about that. I gotta give up smokin'. Maybe this was God's way of reminding me. Sorry!"

"What just happened?" Griffen asked.

Mai smiled. "It looks as if you have a new addition to your secondary powers," she said. "What were you thinking before that happened?"

"I just . . . I just want what I'm doing to work out right," Griffen said.

"You were feeling something deeply. Try it again. Start a fire, right there, but in a small way."

Griffen looked at the charred hamburger.
Burn,
he thought.
Just a little.

He almost jumped out of his skin when smoke started curling up from the blackened bun.

Just as swiftly, the smoke died away.

"Now, that is one useful talent," Jerome said. "You never have to carry a lighter again, Grifter."

"That's amazing," Fox Lisa said. "Cool party trick."

"Do you have it, too?" Griffen asked Val.

Val tried to focus on the remains of Jerome's lunch. She wrinkled her forehead and her face turned red. "No," she said. "If I'm going to get this one, it'll be later. That's okay. I would be afraid of burning the place down anytime someone lit a cigarette. You ought to be concerned about setting yourself on fire in your sleep, Griffen."

"True," Mai said. "You will have to watch your temper as well."

Griffen looked at her, bemused. It was almost exactly what Etienne had said to him in the den. That meant that he was the one who had made the float catch fire. That suggested to him that it wasn't a natural progression of his powers. It might have something to do with having handled the Scepter of Fire. He'd have to call Holly Goldberg, and ask her if she was having any similar effects from touching her scepter. In the meantime, he needed to be on his guard against excesses of emotion. It
was
good to be the king, but it left him with a new and very dangerous responsibility.

Great,
he thought.
Now I'm a walking torch. What next?

"
Shuffle
up and deal," said the dealer, taking her own advice. Her name was Kitty. She fanned the cards out between her slender hands, riffled the two piles together, and combined them with a wrenching sound. The players kept their hands on either side of their stacks of chips.

Rebecca sat at the end of the table, watching the dealer's hands. A second dealer, Wallace, sat in a chair against the wall, keeping an eye on the game. He would step in later, the players were told, to spell the young woman. It was not explained but understood that his job was also to keep an eye out for misbehavior among the players. Rebecca found it annoying. It was far easier to cause mischief when the dealer was tired or looking the other way.

She shifted a fraction in her seat. Because of the previous incident, she had been denied access to any further games in Griffen McCandles's operation. Therefore, Winston instructed her to disguise herself and infiltrate again. If that avatar was thrown out as well, she could shift to another appearance and another. It was, he told her, a chance to explore other states of being. She didn't like wearing a strange face; but if her mentor told her that was what was expected of her, she did it. And what was New Orleans for if not to explore one's sexuality?

To remove all suspicion from the minds of these puny humans that she had played with them before, she had transformed herself into a man. Not just a man, but a tall, thin, fair man with large blue eyes and broad shoulders. Working in a mirror, she based the facial features on a movie star whom she admired, one with a high degree of dragon blood and therefore worthy of her adulation. As a result, she had full lips, a strong chin, high cheekbones, a straight nose and brows. The movie star's eyes and hair were very dark, but she wanted to be a blonde. It was a striking combination. All eyes had turned to her when she entered the room. She had done a good job.

She checked the two cards held facedown. Ace and nine of diamonds. Workable. With professional scrutiny, she examined the way her opponents held themselves. The older man to her left, Mel, who smelled much too strongly of aftershave, was a poor player with many tells. He should not be there. Ira, next to him, was much better, with sharp eyes accustomed to keeping secrets. He was likely to be a corporate lawyer. Beside him, opposite Rebecca, was Nicky, another male almost as handsome as she was. His thick brown hair was just a little too long, and he kept his lips pursed slightly in a sardonic grin. The last player, Penny, was a woman in her forties. She was plain. She kept sneaking glances at Rebecca and the other good-looking player. Her tells were in her fingers. She must have a good hand; she kept checking the cards to see that they were still there. Rebecca would have no trouble with these players. She deliberately lost the first hand.

"So," said the long-haired man across the table, "where are you from?"

"San Jose," she said. She glanced at her hand. A king and a jack.

"Never been there. What is it like?"

"A town," Rebecca said tersely.

"My, aren't you precise!" She glanced up at Nicky's sarcastic tone. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I am here to play cards," she said. But she couldn't resist a glance at him. He was very good-looking, and he was clearly interested in her. He winked. Rebecca felt her cheeks redden.

"Ah," he said. "Thought so."

Rebecca concentrated hard on her cards. In a few hands more she would learn enough about her fellow players so she could choose the victim to accuse and ruin the game. She bid. Mel and Ira raised. Penny folded. Another round of bidding left Rebecca and Nicky as the only contenders. The turn revealed another nine. She put in a cautious raise. He matched her.

"So," he said, "what do you like in a man?"

"His liver," Rebecca shot back. "Grilled."

The others laughed. The long-haired man seemed a trifle rebuffed.

"You have got a sharp tongue, haven't you?"

"What do you care, as long as you think you can beat me at this table?" Rebecca said.

"Well, I was thinking of later on," Nicky said. "I hope the rest of you don't mind."

"Oh, I don't," said Penny, though she looked a little disappointed. "You only live once."

"Seriously," Nicky said, leaning over the table toward Rebecca. "I have to tell you, bro, that my gaydar broke out all over the place the moment you walked in."

"What did you say?" Rebecca stammered. The others broke out laughing. She remembered at that moment that she was supposed to be a man. She deepened her voice. "What kind of remark is that?"

Nicky shook his head. "Don't try to tell me you've got a girlfriend back home. You don't do women, do you?"

"No!" Rebecca shouted. "Not that it is any of your business."

"Well, how'd you like to have a boyfriend right here in New Orleans? On a temporary basis, of course. If I go home to Randy with a souvenir like you, he's likely to beat my head in."

"And you think I'm not?"

Nicky looked even more intrigued. "So you like it rough? Hmmm." He lowered his eyelashes at her. "So, do I have to tell you my safe word?"

Rebecca threw in her cards without thinking. Nicky grinned. She realized that he was teasing her, almost certainly in hopes of throwing off her game. Furious, she collected her wits. She would show this ape-descendant how easy it was to trifle with her!

One might almost have heard the fanfare of the "Waltz of the Toreadors" as Kitty dealt them the next hand. Rebecca claimed her two kings and buckled down to serious work.

Within eight hands, she had cleaned out Mel and Penny. Two more rounds took down Ira, who threw her a mock salute.

"I surrender," he said. "Just pleased that I was beaten by a better man."

Man!
Rebecca thought, with some satisfaction. At last she was passing!

One more hour, sitting as still as a statue behind her growing stacks of chips so as to give nothing away, she threw bets back and forth with Nicky. At one forty in the morning, both dealers flagging, she turned over the last hand to show the king and ace of spades, to match the king and aces of hearts and clubs on the table. Nicky threw up his arms.

"Wow! Well, would you like to get a drink to celebrate?" he asked.

Rebecca pushed her chips to Wallace. "Cash me out," she snapped.

Her
feeling of superior smugness lasted all the way back to Jordan Ma's suite, where he was expounding to the others about the game he had just played. He gestured Rebecca to a chair. She could hardly sit still, so eager was she to tell her story.

"The sad looks on their faces," Jordan said. "That man Jerome did not want to offend the manufacturing millionaire from Ohio, but he did not like yet another accusation of a fraudulent game. We have all our stake back, and the house loses its percentage and, if I am not wrong, at least two of the high-betting players they entertain."

"Cool," Peter said, blowing ring after ring of smoke toward the ceiling. "How about you, Rebecca? Break a few hearts tonight?"

Rebecca smiled. She opened her purse and dumped the piles of cash onto the coffee table. "I did not leave them a single dollar."

Winston Long looked at her blankly. She knew that meant disapproval. "You were supposed to lose."

With a shock, she remembered. Her jaw dropped.

"I am sorry," she said.

Peter hit himself in the forehead with the flat of his hand. "You only had to remember one thing! You are so stupid!"

Rebecca glared at him. "I do not answer to you!"

"But you do answer to me," Winston said, putting a fingertip down on the tabletop. "Why did you not follow instructions?"

Rebecca hated to answer in front of the others. Peter grinned at her. "I lost my temper. But I beat all of them! They did not leave happy!"

Winston and Jordan exchanged glances.

"You are young, child," Winston said. "Are you too young for this mission?"

"No, elder one! I promise!"

"You must calm down. It will serve you well in future. Do you need a mantra or a mnemonic to remember your instructions?"

"No, sir." Rebecca was shamed. She felt her whole body grow hot. She pulled her consciousness in on itself so as not to give Peter the satisfaction of knowing how much she had disgraced herself.

Jordan Ma lit a cigarette with a breath of flame. "It is not all bad that we have taken all the money. That will annoy the players as well. They will go where they have a chance of winning."

"It is not a bad strategy--once in a while," Peter said.

"I agree," Winston said. "Follow orders next time."

Rebecca was stung, but she understood her error. Still, it had been delightful to see the stricken expressions on the other players' faces. Winning was much better than losing.

"I shall obey, elder one."

"Good. Come with me next time, child," Winston said. "I will show you how it is done."

Griffen
turned over a page, drawn in by the flowing prose. He admired the superb writing, feeling as if he had discovered a marvelous secret. He had heard of Montaigne's essays in college but had never read any of them. At two dollars, the little leatherette volume was a bargain. Griffen tucked it into his elbow along with a Louis L'Amour Western, and went on browsing.