That was honest but not helpful. Griffen knew then that he did care for her, but as he had told Jordan, he didn't trust her. He smiled. Her eyes twinkled at him.
"Congratulations."
"On what?"
She gestured at the gleaming heap of coins. "You have your first hoard. It is an important day in the life of a young dragon. You did an impressive job. You earned this. It is time to enjoy it."
"Not yet." Griffen listened for a moment, then leaned out the door. "You can come in now, Jer!"
Jerome seemed to detach from the frame of a doorway down the hall as if he were part of the molding. "You knew I was here?"
"Since about five hours ago," Griffen said. "Looking after your investment?"
"Well, I can't let the big boss go without protection," Jerome said. "What would Mose do if I lost him his replacement after lookin' for so long? My, my, isn't that pretty!" He admired the sprawling heap of gold coins.
Griffen was conscious again of how much he owed Jerome and Mose and so many other people in New Orleans. He took another handful of the gold disks and let them clink downward onto the tabletop. He gathered them up again and offered them to Jerome.
"Now, what's that for, Grifter?" Jerome asked, his dark eyes blazing.
"You've put up with a lot this last few months. I didn't give you the credence you deserved. I was pretty stubborn. I know I thought I was right, but I was wrong. I admit it. You earned this. Call it a bonus."
Jerome shook his head. "You get to think you're right once in a while, brother dragon. You didn't have the feelings I did, and truth to tell, there wasn't any other evidence to say that Peter was involved with the troublemakers. So, call it even." He looked down at the handful of coins, and carefully selected one. "Tell you what, I'll take this as a souvenir, but no more. Gold gets to you, changes you. I don't need it."
"What will you do with the rest?" Mai asked.
"I don't know. Pay off my debts."
"But that will take only a fraction of this fortune."
"Call Mose," Jerome said. "This call he might take. He's got about five hundred places that he puts things he wants to keep for later. Don't tell me which one of them you choose. Don't even trust me. This is too big a treasure to rely on common sense. But it is yours. You may need it one day. I suggest you plant it and forget about it."
"But what about my debts?"
Jerome pointed at the gleaming pile. "Sell a few of these and pay your debts. Won't take but a few. I can tell you who'll give you the best price and won't ask too many questions. Then just cache the rest. I promise you won't need it for now. Good job on handling the situation. Mose would be proud. I am, too."
"Thanks, Jer. That means a lot to me."
Griffen took his advice. He also set aside one gold coin each for Fox Lisa and Val. Maybe he'd present them as special doubloons from the dragon king.
It was good to be the king.
" ' Scuse me, dude," said the big blond youth in the Florida State T-shirt. He hoisted what was left of his Hurricane and continued on his stagger up Royal Street.
Drunk as a skunk at noon on a Sunday. Griffen moaned and blotted liquor from his favorite blue shirt. He had avoided Bourbon completely over the last few weeks, but lately even the side streets were jammed with tourists, all of whom were increasingly more drunk and uninhibited. Almost everywhere in the French Quarter, girls on the wrought-iron balconies were flashing the crowds. Everyone seemed to be wearing hanks of glittering throws and donning masks, crowns, or hats in the three colors of Mardi Gras. Griffen was looking forward to Fafnir's parade. After that, he planned to hide out in his apartment until the stroke of midnight on Wednesday morning, when the street sweepers came out and washed the whole festival away. The entire city had gone crazy. There could be, he mused, too much of a good thing.
Griffen did not see a single face he knew in the mass, but he had the odd feeling that someone was watching him. He scanned the faces but never caught anyone looking at him. Still, he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. He ducked into the next alley and made a few turns, in case someone was following him. He came out on Decatur, a block north of the Cafe du Monde, but the feeling didn't go away.
His cell phone rang.
"Glad to see you're close by," Stoner's voice said. "Why don't you join me for coffee?"
"No, thanks," Griffen said. "I've got things to do."
He moved just before the hand caught his elbow. He spun around halfway, and found himself facing a tall, muscular man with a long, rectangular face in khakis and a polo shirt. Stoner's voice squawked tinnily out of the small receiver.
"Just go with Pearson, McCandles. We need to talk."
Pearson had to be an agent, but he was also a dragon. Griffen knew the man didn't have anything near the pure blood that he did, but Pearson was better trained and almost certainly armed to the teeth. He had deep blue eyes that fastened onto Griffen's like glue. Griffen considered making a run for it, but Stoner knew everything about him, including where he lived and where he liked to hang out. It would be better to get the confrontation over with.
"All right," he told the phone. "But he does not lay a hand on me."
"Fine," Stoner said. Pearson seemed to listen for a moment, then nodded. "Come on in. I'm ordering you coffee and beignets."
Griffen went into the cafe. Jason Stoner sat at the back, at a table near the long-leafed plants outside the rails that surrounded the restaurant. As Griffen went inside, Pearson peeled off and waited, looking as if he was deciding whether to go in for a snack.
A very slim black waitress stood by with a cup on a tray. She didn't set it down until Griffen reached the table.
"Thought you'd prefer to see it delivered," Stoner said.
"What can I do for you, Stoner?"
"I told you not to get involved with anything that interfered with Homeland Security."
"And I told you I wouldn't," Griffen said. "I haven't."
"And not to participate in any magical spells that would endanger the country that you claim you love."
"Of course I'm not!" Griffen's face got hot.
"I find that hard to believe when there is some serious hoodoo going on that is counter to the interests of the United States of America, and I find you right in the middle of it."
Griffen held his temper. "I don't want to cross you, Stoner, but you keep accusing me of being involved with things I'm not, or doing things that I not only am not doing but have no idea as to what you are talking about."
Stoner regarded him without expression. "Then you will have no objection if I stop the people who are endangering this country."
"Not at all," Griffen assured him. "I think it'd be a good thing."
"In that case, I want those scepters," Stoner told him.
"You want what?"
Stoner's impassive face twitched just a millimeter. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, McCandles. You have seen them and touched them."
"Yeah, but they're just relics. They're meant to protect the city of New Orleans. They're elemental."
"Do you even know what that means?"