"Where is she now?" Winston asked.
"Gone. That is all that I care about."
"Didn't the elders warn her not to interfere with us?"
"From her babble, I think they have not told her anything about us," Jordan said, willing the cold to numb the pain. "They will now. She will demand answers. She tried to get them from me. I do not know if she will get them from the elders."
"I hope they tell her to fall down a pit," Peter said.
"She is too dangerous," Winston said. "She must be removed from the scene."
"Mai will never leave," Jordan said. "And the elders want her here."
"She interferes with our mission. I will send her a warning," Winston said, lowering his eyelids dangerously. "If she does not take it, it will kill her."
Twenty
Christmas seemed strange without snow. The French Quarter had gone all out for holiday decorations. Every doorway and lamppost was decked out in red and green tinsel. Statues of Santa, the elves, and the reindeer glowed in store windows and in parks. The dreadlocked contortionist in Jackson Square who folded himself into a small plastic box was wearing a BAH, HUMBUG! T-shirt. Even Salvation Army bell-ringers clanged away in their stocking caps on street corners, but Griffen couldn't feel the holiday spirit when it was still over sixty degrees. He put a dollar in the bucket. The ringer stopped tolling the bell to say thank you. At least that custom was the same all over.
Griffen had gone to the krewe meeting to catch up with the committees, but to Lucinda's disappointment, he didn't stay for dinner. Val, Mai, and Fox Lisa had told him to save the evening. They wanted to hold a small celebration. He had promised to meet them at the Irish bar.
He was a little uneasy having to face all three of them, especially after having just been with the Krewe of Fafnir. None of the three was satisfied with his explanation about the queenship. Griffen had no more news than before. He had asked about who the queen would be. Etienne had laughed and told him if he really wanted to know, he could buy a copy of the Arthur Hardy Guide, which ought to be out in a day or two. Griffen knew that would be no answer for the girls. He patted the opaque, white plastic bag in his arm. He might be able to buy a little peace with the contents.
Val looked up as he came in from Burgundy. She waved him over. The bar, which normally had a string of Christmas lights wound around its upper section, had been adorned with more lights, tinsel wreaths, and cardboard cutouts of reindeer. Griffen slid onto an empty stool. The bartender set out a whisky and water on a bright red napkin and pushed it toward him.
"We went for our costume fittings today," Val said. "They look gorgeous!"
"They look like bags," Mai complained.
"No, they don't. And you look adorable in yours. Green's a great color for you," Fox Lisa said.
"But of course," Mai agreed. "Green is a good dragon color."
"What's in the bag?" Fox Lisa wanted to know.
"Aha," Griffen said, mysteriously. He plunged his hand into it and drew out strings of glittering color. They were samples of the throws the krewe had on order. Jacob had let him take a few of the premium throws to give as gifts. The girls dove for the necklaces, yanking the ones they wanted away from one another. The regulars on the family side watched with great amusement and not a little envy as the three women divided the treasure up among them. Mai tried to take the lion's share, gathering them in her small hands.
"Oh, no, you don't," Val said, untangling the hanks of beads. "You've got more than a dozen there. I want one of those." She pulled loose a string of the giant gold dragon heads.
"Look what it does," Griffen said. He flicked the miniature switch in the clasp, and the eyes flickered.
"Ooh, I want that one!" Fox Lisa said, taking the purple dragons away from Mai from the other side.
"Hey, at least leave me my share!" Mai wailed. She put on the remaining necklaces, including the green dragon beads. "There. Beautiful!"
"I thought you said they'd be tacky," Val teased her.
"Well, I have changed my mind," Mai said. "I didn't know how nice they could be."
"They are good," Fox Lisa said, examining the throws with a critical eye. "Fafnir's picked out some fine things."
"Come on, folks, it's too early for Mardi Gras!" Rustic protested. He was another regular.
"They're Christmas gifts," Griffen said. He put a couple of bills down on the bar. "Fred, drinks for everyone on me, and one for yourself. Merry Christmas, everyone."
The bartender gave him a wink. "Thanks, Griffen."
Word of free drinks spread through the room in a heartbeat. Everyone raised his or her glass to Griffen as Fred served them.
"I hope that is not all you have for us," Mai said, with a lift of her eyebrow. "Some plastic necklaces and a drink."
"Of course it isn't." Griffen patted his bag. "They're staying in Santa's knapsack until our party."
The buzz of conversation died away. Griffen looked up as Detective Harrison swaggered into the bar. He made his way over to Griffen. Rustic and the others made room.
"You asked me to come by here, McCandles?"
"Yes, I did," Griffen said. "Merry Christmas, by the way."
"Yeah, the greetings of the season to you, too."
"Is there anything new you can tell us about the murder?" Mai asked him in a low voice.
Harrison gave her a strange look. "No, ma'am. Nothing fresh."
Mai looked disappointed. Griffen was surprised at her concern, but he didn't want to draw attention to it. He grinned at the detective.
"Well, Detective, I've got something for you."
Harrison's face turned purple. "McCandles, I thought you had better sense than to buy me a Christmas gift," he growled. "You want me in trouble, that is a perfect way to do it. And if you bust my pension, you are going to live in hell the rest of your days on this earth."
"I understand," Griffen said. "I swear, that's not why I asked you to stop by."
From a manila folder in his bag, he took a cream-colored envelope. Harrison's name was rendered in ornate script in the center of the rectangle. He handed it over. "This is an invitation to Fafnir's ball. They just arrived. I wanted you to have it as soon as they came. I'm keeping my promise."
Harrison held it in both hands and eyed it as if he were afraid it would explode. He gave Griffen a suspicious look. He opened the flap and slid out the contents.
Underneath a piece of tissue was a piece of heavy, smooth, cream-colored card stock. At the top of the card was a line, upon which "Mr. David Harrison" had been written in beautiful calligraphy. "The Krewe of Fafnir is honored to invite you to its Masquerade Ball, on Saturday, the eighteenth of January, at eight o'clock in the evening. Black tie. Respondez s'il vous plais."
Harrison looked stunned for a moment, then sounded gruffer than usual.
"So you're giving me a present that I have to pay for. Typical of someone like you."
"Dragons?" Griffen asked.
"Gamblers. Don't flatter yourself."
Griffen could tell he was far from offended. In fact, the dour detective was trying not to show how much of a kick he got out of it. "Merry Christmas."
"Yeah, same to you, McCandles. Well," he said, a little hoarsely, "got to hit the streets. G'night." He stalked out. Griffen knew he was touched.
"Where are ours?" Val demanded.
"But you're maids. You don't get invitations," Griffen said.
"Liar!" Val said. She held out her hand and waited. Griffen shook his head, but he passed out the cream-colored envelopes. Val stroked hers with her fingertips. "I have never seen any paper this nice."