Dragons Luck

Thirty-two

As soon as the matter of the vampires was dealt with, Griffen gave the podium over to Slim. Theoretically, Slim was supposed to give a rundown on the events to come and a brief outline of what was to be discussed. In practice, almost as soon as Griffen had stepped down, people had started to file out. Griffen wasn’t sure he liked the thought that everyone seemed to have attended the ceremony to get a look at him.

First out the door were the groups of shape-shifters. The ones lurking in the corner departed first. The changelings kept looking back and forth between Slim and the other attendees. They were gawking openly, no two of them looking in the same direction. Randomly, Drake stood up and started to follow the shifters out the door. Tink took that as a cue and followed, gathering up the others as he went.

The vampires were the next to go, followed by Estella and her group. Actually, they followed directly, and Estella stopped at the door and made some pass with her hands that Griffen didn’t recognize. Only then did she step through and leave the hall.

Griffen realized he hadn’t seen Rose that night and was a bit surprised. Actually, mostly he wanted to go have a word with the shifters. It was high time he met them and found out a little bit about what they expected from the conclave. Without at least that much information, Griffen had no idea how to prepare for them.

Unfortunately, Slim was walking toward him with the two he had been standing with earlier.

“Griffen, like ya to meet two of those attendin’ from my side o’ the tracks. This here is Johansson. He’s from Vegas. The other is Margie, down from Wyoming.”

Griffen shook their hands and blinked a bit. Johansson was a small, round man with a red complexion that made him look permanently flushed. Margie was thinner than Slim, and almost as tall. Her face was hard and serious, as if she had never smiled.

“Not what you expected?” Margie said.

“No, I hadn’t realized that there would be so few of you. Or that you would come from so far,” Griffen said.

“There aren’t that few of us, but most don’t care about dealings with others. Margie and I come from hubs, like Slim, so have to keep an eye on the world at large,” Johansson said.

Griffen was hard-pressed to try to figure out what Las Vegas, New Orleans, and Wyoming had in common. Or why they would be called hubs. For once, he was saved having to ask.

“You seem distracted. We can talk later,” Margie said, and abruptly turned and walked to the door.

Slim and Johansson shared a look.

“Well, she’s hardly ever wrong. What’s on your mind, Griffen?” Slim asked.

“I didn’t want to be rude, but I was hoping to talk with some of the shape-shifters tonight,” Griffen said.

Again, there was a look. Johansson shrugged and walked toward the door, leaving Slim and Griffen alone in the big room.

“Shouldn’ be a problem. The talk is they is stayin’ in this hotel. Most of the lower ones will still be hanging around. Go check the lobby bar,” Slim said.

Griffen noticed a bit of an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I didn’t mean to step on your toes, or ruffle your friends.”

“Not friends, just like-minded folk. And you didn’t. Just don’t expect me to come share a drink with you and them.”

Then Griffen was completely alone as Slim walked out. More than ever, Griffen wanted to talk with the shape-shifters. If only to find out why Slim’s attitude had changed so abruptly. He felt woefully underqualified for this job.

Sure enough, the lobby bar was full. It was an open bar, with several low, comfortable chairs strewn away from the bar itself. Someone had moved the chairs together in a great amoeba-like configuration for the sake of conversation. Griffen stopped and saw a repeat of what he had seen during his speech.

There were essentially two rings of chairs. An inner ring held only five chairs, one of which was empty. Sitting in the other four were the group of shifters who had stood in the center of the room earlier.

Then, a foot or so away, was a much looser and wider ring of chairs. Here sat the other shifters, again talking among themselves, but at the same time keeping an eye on those in the center. It was as if they didn’t want to miss anything said but didn’t feel comfortable interfering.

As Griffen approached, most eyes turned his way. Particularly those of the inner circle. No one said anything or so much as gestured. But the vacant chair was plain enough. Without asking, Griffen walked over and took a seat in it.

There was an excited murmuring behind and around him from the outer ring. Those four he was now sitting with merely nodded to him. A small gesture of welcome, or of acceptance.

One man nodded a bit more deeply than the others. He was a fragile-looking man, with short black hair that Griffen noticed seemed very soft. He was dressed elegantly, though a bit too flashy. By Quarter standards they were gay men’s fashions.

“Mr. McCandles, I am Jay. It has been decided that I will do most of the speaking for the shape-shifters you see here,” he said.

“A pleasure,” Griffen replied.

He noticed that the group he had seen lurking in the corner was not present. He asked the obvious question.

“What about the other group I saw?” he said.

The four shared a glance. Griffen was getting a bit tired of that.

“I do not speak for them. How much do you know about shape-shifters?” Jay asked.

“Not much at all. To my knowledge I’ve only met one other.”

“You have met others. But you speak of the chimera you battled.”

“Yes, but what do you mean by ‘others’?”

Griffen didn’t wonder how he knew about his fight with George. Though he couldn’t be sure whether he was getting more used to supernatural sources of information or to the French Quarter rumor mill.

“You and your sister have the power, to some extent at least. You see, that is one of the difficulties faced by choosing who and how many speak for us in such a gathering as this.”

As Jay spoke, Griffen noticed that his accent and speech were very refined, cultured. His movements and gestures were short, seemingly abrupt, but he also seemed to have an uncommon grace. Except for an occasional odd tilt of the head, he was what Griffen thought of as a well-bred gentleman.

“We shifters share nothing in common except our ability. Even more than the animal-control types, those you see here have different ranges, origins, even blood. But we are lumped together because our primary attribute is to change form. Even though by that definition alone, you would be one of us.”

Griffen started to fear this was going the same place his initial conversations with Slim had gone. And began to reassure Jay that he wasn’t interested in controlling a group of supernaturals.

“I have no intention of—” he started.

“No, that was not meant to insult your pride or to insinuate that you wanted leverage over us. I was merely explaining how unfair things were. We have sitting behind you a werewolf, a woman who can become a wolf. But she has no other form, just the one wolf. Next to her is a man who can only change his hands, but he can change them into practically anything. What do they have in common?”

Griffen fought the urge to look behind him at the people pointed out. Somehow he thought it would be rude to stare at those sitting in the outer ring of chairs.

“Not much,” Griffen admitted.

“Exactly. And the personalities and motives change from person to person as well. Some shifters spend ninety percent of their time in animal form, and the human world is only a passing nuisance to them. This causes all sorts of difficulties. Even ignoring putting them in the same room as those whose sole talent is the bending of animals to their will.”

Ah, so that was why he had been picking up some tension from Slim toward the shape-shifters and back again.

“So, unless it is some personal matter, we only discuss at the conclave what affects all shifters, regardless of type. That is why we are here,” Jay said.

That made a certain type of sense to Griffen. A personal gripe or issue could be brought up by anyone. But having a set spokesmen at the outset for dealing with the larger matters, the ones that affected everyone, would prevent confusion.

“So, why you?” Griffen asked.

“Ah, natural ranking. We four are the most powerful shifters attending. And though I am not the most powerful”—Jay paused to nod to a wild-looking man whose eyes were constantly flicking from face to face—“it is agreed I speak best and fairly. In my day job I am a judge, so I also have knowledge of human laws.”

“Good to know, but what makes one shifter more powerful than another?”

“Variety. How many forms? What are his limitations? Does he have to maintain mass? Side benefits and powers like being able to shift objects, such as one’s clothes. I believe your chimera not only had multiple unrelated forms, but also had other tricks, including protection from fire. He might even be more than he claims. This really sets him fairly high compared to the young lady who howls at full moons and may fear silver bullets.”

“Does that really…?”

“I do not know. I have never tried shooting her,” Jay said.

Griffen shook off the thought and instead focused on something that was nagging him.

“Okay, but how can you speak for them if you don’t speak with them? Standing and sitting segregated seems awful cliquey to me.”

Jay blinked, obviously taken aback. Several of the others stirred, and the wild-looking man chuckled, before saying, in a voice like gravel, “We don’t do it to them, they do it to themselves.”

“Quite,” Jay said. “We have had no fights for dominance or any of that nonsense. Any of them could have taken the empty chair, but they hold themselves back in mixed admiration and fear. Even if they could have brought up the courage to step forward, most of them would ask ‘May I join you?’ and would have taken a ‘No’ without hesitation. The fact that you sat without asking marks you as one of the elite, even though they are setting the standards of the elite.”

Griffen looked back now, at the faces of all those listening to the conversation. They were right, each one held that nervous admiration of a… well, of a fan. These four were the equivalent of shifter rock stars, at least as far as the conclave was concerned.

“Okay, so what about that other group I saw?” Griffen said.

“Actually, they were locals. You’ll probably have some trouble with them. They call themselves ‘loup garou,’ the French, or, I am told, Cajun word for werewolf. They are quite powerful as far as variety. They have complete control, not just man to wolf but all stages in between, including a monstrous form to make a Hollywood effects man slit his wrists for being a dismal failure. Very pack-oriented, but independent, too. They only showed up to make it clear that what any of us says does not apply to them. Arrogant thugs,” Jay said.

Much as when he had first met the changelings, Griffen felt overwhelmed. Too many new concepts too quickly. He was going to need some time to think of some better questions, but at least now he had a small grip on who, and what, he was dealing with.

“One last question, if you don’t mind me asking. What ‘variety’ are you?” Griffen said.

“That in some circles is a very rude question, Moderator,” Jay said, smiling coldly.

“I did say ‘if you don’t mind.’ ”

“True, and I don’t. There is no name for me. I do birds.”

“What birds?”

“Any birds, size, shape, color, even sex. It makes no difference. I am limited to that, but within my bailiwick have no limitations. If it has feathers, I can manage it with a bit of work.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look much like any bird I have seen,” Griffen said.

Jay smiled and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled the short strands up enough that Griffen could see they weren’t strands at all. They were very soft, downy black feathers. So fine he would never have been able to tell.

“You just haven’t seen one that has evolved enough.”