"Thank you!" Lucinda said. Callum, recovering his dignity, hurried over to offer his wife a hand to climb down from her perch. She brushed invisible dust from the seat and sank into it.
"That was fun!" Etienne said, laughing heartily at his companions. "No one has ever done that before! You gotta admit, it was original!"
"No one will ever do that in my house again!" Lucinda insisted.
"No, ma'am," Etienne said, dampening down his enthusiasm. He winked hard at Griffen, who tried not to grin back. "We'll exclude that from future demonstrations, ma'am."
"Impressive," Mitchell said at last. His composure had returned. He regarded Griffen with respect. "Pretty comprehensive animal control you've got there. Been workin' on it long?"
"Not that long," Griffen said, as casually as he could. Mitchell gave him a wry half grin.
"Top of your class, young man," he said.
"Animal control! Anyone with a little talent can do that!" Callum said, scornfully. "That's a street-corner trick. That's not a manifestation of real dragonhood!"
The satisfaction of performing a genuine exercise of power well faded into red-hot anger. "Street-corner trick?" Griffen asked, coldly. "I learned that from a man with more talent and integrity than almost anyone else I know." The fact that Slim had worked on street corners had nothing to do with his skills. He had been a mime statue, surprising tourists for tips.
"Belongs in a carnival," Callum said, with a dismissive wave. He sat down and folded his arms. "I declare it to be a nonstarter."
"I disagree," Mitchell said. "That was more than worthy, Callum."
"Me, too," Etienne said. "It was damned good. Go on to the next part, Pete."
Griffen raised an eyebrow. The next part? The curly-haired man raised the scroll again as if to ward off Griffen's gaze, and read.
"Will you manifest your true self here, to prove without a doubt the truth of your bloodline?"
"This is my true self," Griffen said.
"Not what you show the outside world," Terence said. "Your dragon soul."
My dragon soul? Griffen thought. Up until a few months before, he had no idea that he had dragon blood, let alone a soul with scales on. What did that phrase mean to him?
Did they want him to transform for them? He had hardly ever managed to do it except to defend himself from an attack by the George, a chimeric hunter. Could he bring about the change even though he was not really under threat?
"Go on, young man," Mitchell encouraged him. "Be the dragon."
"If he can," Terence said.
"Yeah, we're gonna find out that he's a weredog or something low down like that," Callum cackled, sitting back in his chair. "No offense, Etienne, but your boy is faking it."
Faking it! Griffen's temper reached a boiling point. He felt steam curling in his nostrils. This whole ordeal was an attempt by these self-satisfied jerks to make him display himself for their amusement! Not one of them felt as strong as he did! How dare they demand anything from him? He didn't have to put up with abuse, not for the sake of leading a parade!
The sensation he had felt only a half dozen times in his life surged through him. He felt his tail grow from his lower spine and whip back and forth against the backs of his legs. The claws that were often just barely under the surface of his skin burst out and curved into miniature scythes. His skin took on a green hue as it covered itself with scales. His whole musculature shifted, increasing the strength in his back and shoulder joints and making his entire body more flexible. Griffen's perspective changed as his eyes transformed from ordinary hazel irises into multicolored orbs that could see on wavelengths no human could imagine.
In his enhanced vision, he saw the cool image of Fenway sitting in his chair, laughing. They had goaded him on purpose! Furious, Griffen leaped for him.
Fenway's eyes went wide. Griffen was on top of him in a split second, the pointed teeth in his elongated jaw clamping the man's neck. In the next split second, Fenway had transformed, too--but only partway. His skin covered with scales, but his face remained largely human. His claws were only half as long and not as well developed as Griffen's. How dare these thin-blooded dragons insult him like that?
His jaws tightened. He knew he couldn't easily penetrate another dragon's skin, but the pressure was making Fenway's eyes bulge out. Griffen felt hands pounding on his back and shoulders, pulling on his wings. A fanged face intruded into his line of vision, a weird combination of fur and scales.
"Mr. Griffen, let him up!" the creature shouted in Etienne's voice. "I think he's convinced now!"
Griffen let himself be pulled up. As swiftly as it had come upon him, the transformation faded. He found himself standing in his shorts on the ruins of his best trousers. His silk shirt was split at the shoulders where his wings had popped through. Luckily, his underwear was made of stretchable cotton. Fenway, much more experienced at transforming, rose to his feet with all of his clothes intact. He clutched his throat. In human form, two lines of bruises showed on either side of his neck.
"Well done, there, Griffen," Callum said. He stopped to swallow hard. Griffen was grimly pleased that his neck hurt. "We wanted to see if you were a true dragon. I must say we are . . . impressed by your abilities."
"He is twice the dragon of anyone else here, Callum," Mitchell said, slapping his hands together. "Damn! A pure manifestation. I never thought that I would live to see one that ideal. I can't do that. None of the rest of us can, not that good--or that fast. Wish I'd taken a picture."
"Do you want to explain to the people at the drugstore counter when you pick up your prints?" Matt asked, scornfully. "Give me a break, Mitch."
Griffen shook his head. "I know half a dozen shape-shifters who could do the same thing, faster and maybe better."
"No way, son," Terence said. "We can feel the difference, like a jeweler can tell a cubic zirconia from a diamond. The real thing shines through in a way no fake can copy."
Griffen nodded. That made sense.
"Why did you jump on me?" Callum asked.
"I wanted to see if you're the real thing, too," Griffen said, offhandedly. "Fair's fair."
"You can sense us, son," Callum said. He felt his neck one more time and let his hand drop. "I take your point. We did goad you into that, I admit, but we often find that a temper storm is the best way to help someone lose his inhibitions. You can see that it worked. You're not a puppet to dance for the masses. But we take our mission very seriously, and we don't want to put our trust into the hands of someone who can't handle it."
"So, I passed your little ordeal?" Griffen asked, letting himself be mollified.
Callum smiled. "You bet you did. You shall be king. Lord above, you could be king in truth if you really wanted to."
"You are even more than Etienne said you were," Terence Killen said, slapping him on the back and guffawing. "My lord, how long has it been since we saw someone like you? Well, you have got good blood. I have heard of the McCandles line, up North, but what is your mother's family?
"Her maiden name was Flambeau," Griffen said.
"Another good line, hardly diluted over the centuries. You have a sister, I believe?" asked Terence. "She must be something."
"She is," Griffen assured them. "About that, I . . ."
Lucinda appeared at his side and handed him a tumbler. The scent of good Irish whisky rose. He took a deep and appreciative drink.
"Thanks, Mrs. Fenway," he said.
She patted him on the shoulder. "Call me Lucinda. Call them by their names, too, Griffen. These old fools stand too much on their dignity. I'll bring you a pair of our son's pants. I think you're about the same size. Dinner's in about five minutes. Be right back."