Dragons Deal (20 page)

"Hey, hear you're gonna be in the Fafnir parade, Mr. McCandles," Tich said. "My brother, he have a license to drive a tractor. He's free on the twenty-fourth, if your krewe needs someone. I'll get you his phone number."

Griffen stared at him. How could he talk about something as inconsequential as a driving job when a human being was bleeding at their feet?

Patches nudged him. "Got to go. Have a nice night, Mr. McCandles."

Somehow, Griffen summoned up enough humanity to mutter a "Good night." The enforcers slipped away.

"Come on, Jimmy, we'll get you to the emergency room," he said. He reached for the young man's arm and tried to help him up. Jimmy roused a little and glanced up. His eyes widened until the irises were surrounded by bloodshot whites. He shook his hand free of Griffen's grip.

"No! No! Leave me alone!" he cried. He scrambled backward, pulled himself up against the grimy wall, and fled. Griffen watched him go, confused. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the remains of a dirty window on the blind wall, and realized he had partially transformed. The bottom of his face had pushed forward, and his teeth, partially sharpened, were showing between his lips. Tee-Bo's men hadn't turned a hair. Did they know he was a dragon, or hadn't they seen, or didn't they care? He knew he had become something of a legend in town. Were they that at home with the supernatural in New Orleans?

Griffen made sure to recombobulate himself and become human again before returning to the club. He caught Fox Lisa's anxious gaze when he entered the crowded room. She relaxed, with a worried smile.

"It's all right," he said. "Nothing to get upset about."

But he wasn't telling the truth. The singer returned, and the second set began. Griffen tried to let the music carry him away, but the evening was spoiled for him. All he could see was the fear on Jimmy's face.

The
tailor drew the end of the measuring tape up into Griffen's crotch and dragged the other end down toward his instep. Griffen jumped and tried to flick his hand away.

"Hold still!" the man ordered, steadying Griffen on the cloth-covered pedestal before the triple mirrors. He was a burly, middle-aged African-American with a dark, pockmarked complexion and close-cut gray hair. Griffen would never have guessed seeing him on the street that he was a tailor. He looked more like a gym teacher or a trucker. "This isn't personal. I'm not interested in you, all right? I've got a sexy wife and five kids. Hmm. You got long legs. That's good. I got plenty of trousers in your size."

"He needs three suits," Mai reminded him. "Four might be better." She was curled into a vintage, gray-upholstered chair in the corner of the showroom. The tailor nodded without looking up from his measurements.

Griffen glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked annoyed. Well, he felt annoyed. "I do have a suit."

"That thing? Bought off the rack in a drugstore?"

"A
department
store!" Griffen protested.

"In any case, it is not black tie, and you only have the one. It is unsuitable for this occasion. Stand still, and do not cause more trouble."

Griffen grumbled but obeyed orders. He had been in a formal-wear shop exactly twice in his life, once when his uncle dragged him there to get a suit for his parents' funeral, and early that summer for college graduation. He felt that he had aged hundreds of years since then. He found the racks of black suits oppressive.

"Isn't it weird that in nature, the male has the colorful plumage and the female usually is drab-colored?" he asked. "The cardinal's bright red, and the female is light brown."

"You want a bright red tux?" the tailor asked, raising his eyebrows with interest. "I got those. They're in the warehouse. I thought you wanted proper black tie."

"He does," Mai said.

"Besides, blue is more my color," Griffen said.

"Bright blue, peacock blue, royal blue, or powder blue?" the tailor asked.

"Powder blue would make me look like I was opening for Liberace," Griffen said. "What about royal blue? I'm the king, after all."

"Black," Mai said. "Don't listen to another thing he says."

"Gotcha, ma'am," the tailor said.

Etienne had been right: There were no tuxedos to be found in his size in New Orleans that late in the season. Nor were there any to be had in Metairie.

"You should have reserved them sooner," Mai had protested after five fruitless visits to other rental shops.

"I didn't know sooner," Griffen reminded her.

Baton Rouge was busy with shoppers on the last Saturday before Christmas. Griffen had had to park their rental car a couple of blocks away in a pay lot. He had not had a car of his own since the destruction of his beloved Goblin. Jerome insisted that he didn't really need one in New Orleans, but it had been a personal attack to demolish the vehicle, all the more so since he had been sitting in it at the time. He had always had a car since he could drive one. He loved the freedom of driving, the ability to escape wherever he was and just go somewhere. He loved the rumble of the engine and the feel of the road that vibrated up through the shocks and the springs into the driver's seat. A small part of him demanded that he satisfy that itch and buy another car as soon as he could afford one, but that was going to be a long time in the future. He had withdrawn the remainder of the membership fee for Fafnir, leaving a balance in his account that was only four figures. He knew he still needed five to get through until March. In the meantime, the bronze-colored sedan reminded him of his curtailed freedom. The occasional rental would help in the short term.

"That's it!" the tailor said. He rose, grunting, to his feet. Griffen climbed down from the pedestal and followed him to the racks. Using a metal pole with a two-fingered hook on the end, the tailor grabbed hangers from the top rack and swung them down into Griffen's arms. "Let's just try these on for size."

Griffen admired himself in the mirror, turning this way and that. He straightened the satin lapels of the tailored jacket. "I don't look half-bad."

"You've got a little style," the tailor said. "Let me chalk up these pants, and you're good to go."

Griffen handed over a deposit of 25 percent against two months' rental of three tuxes plus all of the small accoutrements that went with them, such as cummerbunds, collar stays, and studs. The tailor saw them to the door.

"Come back in five days. Everything will be ready by then."

"Now we will go and buy me a gown," Mai said, taking his arm firmly as the bell on the door jingled behind them.

Griffen halted. "Wait a minute, this was just supposed to be a trip to rent suits for me."

Mai pretended to pout, her small lower lip protruding.

"Fair is fair," she said.

Griffen knew when not to continue an argument he had already lost. "All right," he said. "Where do you want to look?"

She reeled off an address. "I'll wait until you get the car."

"But it's only three blocks from here," Griffen said. "I'll end up parking in the same lot again."

This time Mai did pout. "These shoes are not good for long walks," she said.

"Should I carry you?" Griffen asked, playfully, swooping down on her and hoisting her in his arms. "Or are you going to sprout wings and fly?"

"Ooh!" she said, her eyes sparking just as playfully. "That just cost you a higher tier of designer."

Mai
knew exactly what size she was and what styles looked good on her. But that didn't curtail the number of things she tried on. The clerks in the boutique carried dozens of dresses to the curtained-in dressing room. Griffen sat in the main room, on a dainty chair with an oval back covered in gold satin, listening to her comments as she tried on one gown after another, dismissing them in turn with terse remarks. Griffen shifted uneasily. He felt the chair might collapse under him at any moment. He didn't mind being fair in terms of spending time shopping for her as they had done for him, but being unable to see what was going on left him bored. All the magazines in the carved wooden racks were periodicals as thick as his wrist, but all about fashion, hairstyles, accessories, and other details about which he just did not care. The owner, a narrow-faced woman taller than Griffen, ignored him as if he were another chair. She sailed past him with a brilliant green gown on a hanger and vanished into the draped enclosure.

"What a lovely figure you have, sweetheart," she exclaimed. "My goodness, look at that! That is just perfect. Turn and let me see the back. Perfect!"

"Well, not quite perfect," Mai's voice said, thoughtfully, for the tenth or twelfth time. Griffen groaned to himself. "The shade is good, but perhaps it should be lower cut?"

"Why don't you let your boyfriend see it and find out what he thinks?"

"Why not?"

The curtain was thrown back. Griffen almost gasped. Mai came out wearing a bronze-colored satin dress. It revealed a good deal of her modest cleavage, which somehow had been enhanced, nipped in underneath her bosom along her slender waist, then fell in Grecian folds to the floor. When she walked, the skirts parted with a whisper. Her legs from the knees down were revealed at each step. She looked breathtaking.

"What do you think, Griffen?"

Griffen swallowed deeply. "Wow," he said. The ladies of the shop smiled indulgently at him. He goggled at her. She was beautiful, but he had never pictured her looking like a 1940s movie goddess.

Mai walked a few paces and turned to look in the mirror that filled the shop's wall. She tilted her head. "No, I think not. I think the red one was better." She reached around behind her and undid one fastening. The silk dress fell to the floor. The ladies rushed to gather it up.

"I'll get the red one," the owner said. She disappeared into the dressing room. Mai waited, posed like a mannequin in her underwear. Griffen realized she was wearing a strapless push-up bra and a lace thong. Though he found them stunning and intriguing, their import suddenly dawned on him.

"You planned to have me take you dress-shopping?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "Why else would I have come with you to look for suits?"

"Well, to keep me from renting a blue tux," Griffen said.

She waved a dismissive hand. "I knew you wouldn't end up with that. You are too vain to make yourself a spectacle."

"Maybe I'm not," he protested.

She laughed. "Your poker face is too good, but I know you are nervous. Don't be. You are a dozen times the dragon of any of those people." Griffen glanced at the store staff. The women must have thought the reference was just a personal term between them, but Griffen didn't want the word to spread any further than it had.

The owner came toward Mai with a shimmering bundle of red held out on her arms like a hank of knitting wool. Mai held her hands over her head, and the owner slid the dress onto them. It slithered into place with a seductive hiss. The owner pulled up a zipper under the right arm that promptly became invisible in the seam. The dress fit Mai almost as tautly as her skin. It hung from one shoulder strap, leaving the other bare. The top was gathered over the bosom, but the long ruby skirt was plain. It could have come out of Veronica Lake's wardrobe.

"What do you think of this one?" Mai asked.

"I like it," Griffen said. He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. The bare side invited him to kiss it, so he did.

"Hmm," she said, smiling at him in the mirror. "I think I like it, too." She reached down for the white tag hanging from the zipper pull, and turned it toward him. "Shouldn't you pay for this, Your Majesty? I am, after all, one of your maids in waiting."

Griffen gulped again. "I . . . can't," he admitted at last. "I'm going to be tight until after March."

Mai looked displeased, but she flicked a hand. "Never mind. I have plenty of money. Daddy still gives me an allowance, as long as I stay out of his hair."

"No," Griffen said. "I'll pay for it." He did some calculation in his head. "It just means I'll have to buy dresses for Val and Fox Lisa, too."

Mai raised an eyebrow. "Val might take your head off if you offer. She is getting very independent about making her own way in the world. Now, I don't mind if gentlemen buy me fine things."

"It's not just that," Griffen said. They both knew that Val was still upset about the bodyguards he had following her. But the guys, who were happy to help Ms. Valerie stay safe, were convinced, first of all, that they would not have to do more than clean up if there was a problem, maybe moving the bodies to a place where they could bleed to death in peace, and second, that he was right about other watchers being interested in her whereabouts. "I'll have to offer, anyhow. And Fox Lisa was excited to be in the court, but right now she's only working part-time." She wouldn't admit it, but it would be tough for her to make rent if she had to buy a dress on top of the other fees.

Mardi Gras was expensive. But Fox Lisa took the yearly festival in her stride. She was thrilled about everything, and insisted it was an honor to pay the three thousand dollars Fafnir demanded for her role as maid. They supplied her costumes, masks, all her throws, and her ball ticket. Griffen was relieved there was ONE expense he was not expected to cover. A dress for her was okay with him.

"Very well," Mai said. "I will pay for my own dress, but you will take me for a very expensive dinner. And you will pay for that."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Griffen
gestured to the waiter to pour more wine for Mai. He stayed with a single whisky, so he would be sober enough to drive home. If he lost another car, this time it would not be his fault. She lifted the glass to him behind the crystal candlesticks. He toasted her back.

"Thank you for joining me today," he said.

"A pleasure," she said, taking a sip. "How is the business? I have scarcely heard a word from you lately. Normally, you have many stories to tell. I think it is both amusing and ambitious the way you are bringing backroom poker to such high standards."