"Which is funny, when you consider that when Aeolus was founded back then, it could be led by a man or a woman, and our krewe has always been part of this ritual. But female kings go back past the common era, Griffen. Haven't you ever heard of Hapshetsut? Or Cleopatra? Technically, I am not a king at all. My title is Sprite of the Krewe of Aeolus. My counterpart, Ethan, is the Cyclone. You see? Nongender-specific titles. The other two, like yours, are more traditional. We actually all started out as one krewe, but it split into four after the first few years so we could cover more ground and bless more of New Orleans. We all used to march through the French Quarter; but when the law was changed, frankly, it was an advantage. The routes we chose are more specific to the compass direction our element is ruled by. Have you seen them?" She fished a magazine out of her large handbag and flipped to the pages at the back. "There we are, all listed on facing pages."
Griffen examined the routes. "I see! Except for St. Charles Avenue, we all start and end in different areas. But isn't that just where your dens are?"
"Why do you think we chose those dens?" Cos asked, tapping the side of his nose like Santa. Griffen pretended to smack himself in the forehead.
"We can't march through the Quarter any longer, but the throws will be blessed--by celebrants of our choice," Holly added, as Cos started to protest, "and that will help to spread the blessing all across the city. Just keep your head together and concentrate on what you're doing. The diary kept by the last Sprite to wield the scepter said it was best to relax and enjoy yourself."
"We can't have fun out there!" Bert said. "It's too serious a matter!"
But they saw the twinkle in his eyes. Griffen relaxed. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad. He was fascinated by the rituals. He really liked his fellow kings, and he truly felt as if he had just joined a secret society. Then a thought struck him. Was this something Harrison needed to know? What could he tell him? And would it be more than the man could take, with the murder of a supernatural already on his hands?
Cos rose and put out a hand to each of them, Holly first. "Got to go back to work. See you all at the parties, my friends. After the parades, you are all invited to come and enjoy some downright serious partying with my krewe. We'd love to have you."
"Thanks!" Griffen said. "Let's talk about all kicking in to sponsor an after-party."
"Good man," Cos said, grinning at him.
"I got to go, too," Bert said. "See you all."
"Do you need to run off?" Holly asked Griffen, as the two other men went out the door together. "I'd love to talk to you for a while."
"No problem," Griffen said. "My job doesn't really start for hours yet." He signed to the cocktail waitress for a refill of their glasses.
"My high priestess went to your conclave," Holly said, a little hesitantly. "So I know who you are. I mean, what."
"A dragon," Griffen said. "Some people know. Most don't. But I didn't hide it from the attendees."
"No, they were pretty proud to have you there," Holly said. "It was a big deal. You feel different than most people. I have talent, and so do Cos and Bert, though they may not be aware of it. In fact, there are a lot of people in our four krewes who are touched in one way or another, but you don't feel like any of us."
"I am beginning to understand that," Griffen said.
"I could feel the difference between our folks and everyone in your krewe. You're all dragons in Fafnir, aren't you?"
"I can only tell you that I am," Griffen said. "I don't have the right to discuss anyone else."
"But I can feel . . . never mind." She grinned. "You're absolutely right. We have the same tradition in my group. That is so cool. I wonder if you'd like to get together after all this is over and talk about things? Sometime in March?"
"I'd love to," Griffen said. "The conclave was my first exposure to most of you, too."
"Well," Holly said, with a little smile that brought up the dimples in her cheeks, "there's a lot of us out there. You'd be surprised."
"Not anymore, I wouldn't," Griffen said. He held up his glass, and she touched hers to it.
"Cheers, brother king," she said. "We're going to make this a memorable Mardi Gras."
"To the safety of New Orleans," Griffen said.
Twenty-six
The river had had many names since human beings came to live on its banks. It had a consciousness, but it had never given itself a name. Why limit itself with syllables, when its definition was the riverbanks, the earth beneath it, and the sky? When the rains were heavy, it grew. When the air was dry, it shrank, but it moved to its own rhythm.
It had been there millennia, long before the tribes of humans came to stay, long before the first blues musician beat out the long, slow, sad pace of his song inspired by the majestic flow. The Mississippi, as humans called it now, was the life's blood of New Orleans. It was vital to the city. None of its unique history, its music, or its people would be in that place without it.
Usually, the river made little note of the time it spent passing through this place. All water throughout the world was one great pool, like the blood dispersed through the vessels in a living body. But today, it picked up a rhythm of ancient power. It had felt this beat before. It stirred the waters a little, unsettled them. It called for them to wake up and be aware. And act.
The sun's rays beat down upon the river's dancing surface. The heat, coming from both above and deep below, felt the imbalance. Steam rose in tiny curlicues from the surface. The winds, too, felt it, zigzagging against the predicted weather patterns. The muddy bottom of the river rumbled, sending bubbles of gas to the surface. Within one of them, a creature that had been asleep for decades stirred and woke up. It kicked itself free of the diaphanous cocoon and shot away into the flow.
"We'll be dockin' in a moment," the master of ceremonies aboard the Delta Queen riverboat announced into the public address system over the mellow strains of the Dixieland jazz band at the stern. "We all certainly hope you enjoyed your lunch cruise with us. Tell all your friends! And come on back! We'd love to see you all again."
The diners seated at the white-covered iron tables didn't notice the hulking figure homing in on the riverboat. It was attracted to the sound of the engine driving the paddlewheel, thrumming like a heartbeat. The creature zipped around under the surface, listening.
Mama? it wondered.
But the boat didn't reply. The river creature, hoping to get an answer, nudged hard. The boat rocked gently. The creature levered itself up and smacked down hard on the surface of the water.
A wave of dirty green water washed up and over the lower deck of the paddleboat. Diners and musicians stood up hastily as the wave swished over their shoes.
"What in hell was that?" demanded an accountant from Illinois.
"River monster," said the trombone player, an elderly black man whose white hair was clipped very short under his straw boater. "Dey turn up once and again."
The tourist shook his head and sat down to empty the water out of his shoes.
"Somebody," he said to his wife, "has had a few too many Sazeracs."
"You saw it, too?" the saxophone player asked his comrade.
"Sure did," the trombone player said, turning the page in his sheet music. "Oh, yeah. Reminds me of dem days before de war."
The boat still didn't answer the creature. It slithered away, listening hard for the right voice.
Twenty-seven
"Hey, babe, can a guy get some service around here?"
Val jerked her head up from the book she was reading. The man who had spoken was only two seats away from where she stood behind the bar. She glanced at the clock. It was five thirty. The bar had been empty since she had started her shift an hour before. She hadn't expected to see anyone but a local for a half hour yet. She smiled at him.