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?"
"Not really, but I know people who do. They say that they're part of an ancient charm that keeps the city from disaster." He didn't know how much more he was able to say, considering the vow of secrecy he had taken, but he guessed that Stoner knew as much or more about it than he did already.
"That protection, as you call it, interferes with the spells that we have running to surveil the United States of America. When it is operational, it blocks all scrying or distance-viewing powers. In other words, it blocks this city from view."
"What about ordinary cameras? Microphones? I'm sure you have all that stuff in place."
Stoner didn't even blink. Griffen wasn't sure he ever did. He had eyelids, but perhaps they didn't close--like a snake's. "Our equipment deployment is classified. But there are things that ordinary technology cannot monitor. The spells must not be laid down."
"Now I don't know what you are talking about."
"You're a bad liar, McCandles. You do. I want you to help me."
"I told you I don't work for you."
"National security is at stake here. We cannot adequately protect this country if one part goes under a magical blackout. I warned you not to become involved in a subversive activity."
"This is New Orleans. Half of what goes on in this city is subversive," Griffen pointed out.
Stoner, notably, had no sense of humor. Griffen should have known better than to try. "Not that endangers three hundred million people and their way of life. You have access to those scepters. Bring them to me."
"I can't do that. And I don't have access, except . . ."
"Except when?"
"Except once," Griffen said, lying again and hoping his poker face was good enough to fool the Homeland Security agent. "They let me touch them. I thought it was just a game."
It didn't. "I'm not a fool, McCandles. No one with any sensitivity would miss the punch those things pack. We have been looking for them for years. They are well shielded most of the time. There have been a few times they were detected. We have tried to obtain them at those times. They were . . . protected." Griffen knew what he meant. He realized that it had to be Stoner who was responsible for the attack on Holly's house, the one that he had just barely survived. He was horrified by the thought that Stoner would kill four innocent people to get what he wanted but not surprised. "The next time you have access to them, I expect you to pass them on to me."
When hell freezes over, he thought. "When I get hold of all four scepters, I'll talk to you. But I have no idea if that's even possible."
"That's the cooperation I expect," Stoner said. "I don't want to have to take action when there are so many innocent citizens around who might get hurt. Don't force my hand. I expect to hear from you, or I am going to come and get them myself before they can do any harm."
The Homeland Security agent rose and placed a perfectly crisp new ten on the table. He left. Pearson and another man in nondescript clothes joined him. They went south on Decatur.
Griffen was relieved when Stoner left. He hated to have the man as an enemy, but his demand put them on opposite sides of the situation. To be a noncombatant in Stoner's battles was all Griffen could hope for. But he had no choice. Griffen could not give up the scepters before they had done their job. New Orleans deserved to be protected. No matter how powerful or all-seeing Homeland Security was, it couldn't guard the city all the time from all events. They had to look out for themselves.
In the meantime, they had to protect themselves from Stoner and his agents. Griffen had no choice. He had to warn the other krewes. They would have to prepare.
"We'll be ready for you," Griffen vowed. He left the coffee untouched and ordered a fresh cup and a plate of beignets. He opened his cell phone and hit a speed-dial number.
Forty-eight
Lucinda Fenway bustled around her unexpected guests with all the aplomb of a practiced hostess. She saw to it that everyone had a chair and a drink in the large conservatory. "Edith will have some nibbles set up soon. You all relax now." She started to leave.
"Don't go," Griffen asked. "You're part of the krewe, too. You need to know what's happening."
"Well, all right, Griffen," she said, sinking into a handy chair. "You sound so serious."
"I have to be." He stood with his back to the fireplace, looking out over most of the same faces that had been at his party: all the lieutenants of Fafnir who could make it, the other three parade kings and their captains, Val, and to Val's annoyance, Melinda. Jerome and Gris-gris sat on folding chairs near the back. "Thanks for coming. I know it's the day before our parades, but we have a problem that will affect all of us."
Without using names, he told them about Stoner, and described him and the two agents he had seen. "He intends to get the scepters between the time they come out of that shielded case and before we bind the energy that has been building up. To me, that means he is going to try to take them before we get to St. Charles and Canal Street."
"He can't do that!" Callum said. "He can't stop the ritual! We've waited sixty-four years to get this done!"
"He sure is going to try," Griffen said. "He's tough, and he isn't working alone. You have to be prepared. Fafnir is under control. I'm worried about you other three krewes."