one of the countless conventions that decided to light up the night for the whole Quarter.
If festivals and fun grew boring, one could simply sit back and watch the young tourists, or at least the young tourist ladies, sweating away in their tank tops and shorts. As the old joke went, nice scenery in the Quarter, the buildings aren’t bad either. Everyday there was something that tugged at Griffen’s attention, and made him glad that, as bizarre as his life had turned, it had brought him here.
Despite this, Griffen had one vice that this delightfully sinful place didn’t begin to address. It supplied him with constant booze, delightful sights, and excitement both tame and dangerous. Yet, he felt himself yearning for just one thing.
If only the damned place had a decent movie theater within walking distance!
Okay, so it was a petty complaint. He got enough fresh DVDs that if he chose to he could plunk down in his apartment and never leave. Not to mention that the bartenders in his favorite pubs would pass him the remote controls to the TVs there without batting an eye. Still, it wasn’t the same.
Griffen loved movies. His tastes ran to the classics. Old comedies, action movies, musicals. But he would watch anything in a pitch, and had. Some of his favorites were pure camp, and the proper place to see a movie the first time was the theater. Sure he preferred older films, but the experience of the theater, surrounded by others, eating cheap popcorn, and losing oneself in whatever new world the screen presented. It was one of his simplest pleasures.
He had mentioned it to Jerome one day, because he realized being crammed in a dark room with a bunch of strangers wasn’t exactly safe. It would be the perfect opportunity for the George to try something.
Jerome had looked at him for a long time before answering.
“Griffen, as soon as you let his threat dictate whether you do or do not live and enjoy your life…well, I figure by then he might as well just stick a knife in your ribs.”
Griffen had to admit, he had a point. In fact, for Jerome, it was absolutely eloquent.
“All right, then I’m going to call a cab and…”
Griffen trailed off, Jerome had started laughing at him. Hard enough that tears were beading in the corner of his eyes.
“Oh, hell, Grifter! Sure have been down here too long. Tell me when you want to go and I’ll get the Goblin pulled out of storage.”
Oh…yeah.
That was a plus.
Griffen found himself grinning a few days later. It had been too long since he had driven his car. Actually, it had been too long since he had seen his car. Apparently Jerome had found a place outside the Quarter with secure parking, and the equivalent of valet service. They had his spare keys and would just park and lock it at a given time and place. Surprisingly, this was actually cheaper then the garages inside the Quarter.
The Goblin had been parked on the side of the street, waiting for him. Whoever had delivered it had already headed back to their other duties, and Griffen stood for a while just looking over her. The clean lines of the car, the gleaming green. He missed the old Sunbeam Tiger more than he had realized. Sitting there, looking to his eye as eager as he felt.
Maybe the movie could wait after all, a few hours on the road, just tooling around, and a later show. That sounded about right. Sometimes it helped to have a reminder that there was life outside of the Quarter.
He unlocked the door and slipped inside. For a few moments he just sat, hands on the steering wheel, feeling the texture under his fingertips. Maybe movies in the theater wasn’t the only vice that the French Quarter wasn’t quite built to indulge. He sighed happily and slipped the key into the ignition. Turned it.
Nothing.
The smile slowly slid from his face. He turned the key again, absolutely nothing. Not even the engine trying to turn over. Like the starter was broken, disconnected, or cut. Griffen took the key out, made sure it was the right one, slipped it in again. For a third time there was no result.
With a grimace he slammed his hand into the dash. Not hard enough to damage his beloved car, but he was just so frustrated. Now instead of a night out, he would have to call a mechanic. He sighed and leaned his head back on the seat. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, as if that could really ease the tension. As he pulled his hand away, though, his eyes caught on something.
There was a small white triangle sticking out of his visor. He hadn’t noticed it. In fact, he doubted it had shown before. It was more like his strike on the dashboard had shaken it just enough to emerge. He reached up, pulled it, and found himself holding the corner of a Knight of Swords tarot card.
Griffen’s mind flashed in an instant, even as his hand reached for the door handle. This didn’t make sense. What skill was involved in this? Cutting an ignition when he was nowhere near the car? Or was there something worse in store? A bomb perhaps, that would have detonated if the turn of a key had worked? And a card he wouldn’t have seen without the impact of his hand…
The door was open just a crack when the crash slammed it shut again.
A beer truck, easily four times the size of the Goblin. It had been parked half a space back, Griffen had noticed it only in passing. Plenty of clearance to back up.
That clearance was closed in half a second, with the roar of the larger engine. It crunched into the back of the Goblin and threw Griffen forward against the dash. Only his awkward position of trying to open the door saved his head from cracking against the steering wheel.
The second crash came a few moments later. The truck backed up enough for another rush. Griffen clung desperately to the steering wheel of his car, not trying to escape, just enduring. If he allowed it, the whiplash from the impacts could have snapped his spine.
Metal screamed and buckled. The strongest part of the Sunbeam Tiger was its massive engine. Compared to the truck behind, the back of the car was as sturdy as tissue paper. Griffen felt the seat smash into his back as the car folded. He was pinned, trapped. He cursed himself for not being faster. One more blow and…
Another blow never came.
Griffen saw the truck drive away, but blurrily. He couldn’t focus on the license, or the details, and realized he had blood in one eye. A scalp wound, he didn’t know when or how it had split. Nothing is perfect it seemed, not even dragon skin.
The visor hung crookedly. The blow of the truck would have dumped the card. Nice to see the George planned things out. Griffen forced the door open, metal shrieking again. It took all his strength to pry himself free from the car.
People gathered, a hand landed on his shoulder. He almost struck out, but realized at the last moment it was a police officer. He couldn’t quite make out the cops questions, his eyes were all for the Goblin. A crumpled, broken mess of metal in black and racing green.
Griffen knew he should be afraid. But looking at his prized possession shattered and bent, his car, his friend, he trembled. Not with fear. With fury.
Griffen soared.
Everyone had dreams of flying, or of falling. Of hurtling through the air, currents buffeting over skin. How much control one had often depended on the type of person.
This wasn’t like that. Griffen wasn’t at the mercy of the winds, wasn’t free flowing through the air. He could feel the power of muscles straining with each powerful beat of his wings. Muscles that he knew, on some level, he didn’t have in the waking world, but here they felt right. He didn’t question them, just exulted in the pounding of his blood through them, the effortless strength that kept him aloft.
He cut through the currents of the air as a shark did through water. Utterly confident, fulfilled, free. He was as much a part of the world as the clouds that passed under him. Sunshine beat down, and felt odd against his skin. As if it weren’t skin at all, but something rougher that soaked in the light and sent small waves of pleasure through his body.
He twisted in the air, tucking arms and legs beneath him, folding wings around him, unquestioning suddenly
