war would crumble mountains, and I am not sure that was a metaphor.”
“And what if I don’t have a choice, and find myself without the skill I need?” Val said, and her voice caught ever so slightly.
Mose slumped back in his chair again and narrowed his eyes.
“Are you talking theoretically?” he said.
“I…”
He held up a finger.
“No games.”
“No… probably not,” Val said.
Mose turned his gaze from her and stared out his window. His eyes were much too far away for him to simply be looking at the courtyard outside.
“I have to think on that one, Valerie. I’m… not a fighter, haven’t been since I was a kid. Let me think on if I can in good conscience help you find what you are looking for. Much less whether I can give it to you, or find someone who can,” Mose said.
Valerie started to speak, then thought better of it. She followed Jerome’s course and left without another word.
She could still see Mose staring out his window as she approached the gate to the street. He didn’t seem to be seeing her.
Twenty-three
The Mystic Den was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the Quarter. Many of the people who lived and worked in the Quarter did not even know of its existence.
It was the lobby bar for the Royal Sonesta Hotel, one of the largest and most expensive hotels in the Quarter. Even though the hotel itself fronted on Bourbon Street, there was no street entrance to the Mystic Den, so it was overlooked by those who prowled and barhopped their way along that famous tourist attraction. You could only get into it by going through the hotel lobby or via a corridor at the back of the Desire Oyster Bar.
The bar itself was quiet and furnished with deep, comfortable chairs and sofas, a far cry from Griffen’s normal haunt at the Irish pub. That was one of the reasons he had chosen this location for his meeting with Slim. It was getting to a point where too many people knew to look for him at the Irish pub.
In honor of the occasion, Slim had forsaken his trademark white suit and striped top hat for a pair of loose- fitting slacks and a sports shirt. Without his street entertainer’s costume, he blended right in with the sparse afternoon crowd in the den.
“I dunno, Griffen,” he was saying. “Seems to me like you’re makin’ too big a thing out of the whole security problem.”
Courtesy of their meetings over the last several weeks regarding the conclave, Slim had reached a level of comfort where he now addressed Griffen by his first name rather than as “Mr. McCandles.” Unfortunately, this also meant he was comfortable criticizing Griffen’s plans.
“I always thought extra security was a good thing,” Griffen said. “The only way you know you don’t have enough security is when things start going wrong. I’d rather not see that happen.”
“Maybe,” Slim said. “But too much obvious security can send a bad message, too. Looks like you’re expecting trouble. Even worse, it looks like you don’t trust the attendees.”
Griffen grimaced.
“I
“Of course,” Slim said. “But you can’t let it show. Man, you’re a dragon. You’re supposed to be confident and in control. You don’t want to look like you’re tryin’ to bully people around.”
“I thought I had that covered,” Griffen said. “That’s why I was suggesting we go to outside help. If I use any of my own crew, it’d look like I’m having the dragons team up on the rest of the conclave.”
“Outside help?” Slim said. “TeeBo and Patches and their thugs?”
“I know,” Griffen said with a sigh. “I’d really just as soon not owe a favor to them or any other drug dealer. I don’t see many other options, though.”
“I wouldn’t even think of that as an option,” Slim grunted. “Their solution to anything is to shoot it. I really don’t think that’s what you want.”
“Okay. You’re right,” Griffen said, spreading his hands in surrender. “I didn’t like the thought either. That’s why I haven’t contacted them. It’s just that the conclave is less than a week away, and I still don’t have a clear fix on what I’ll have to deal with.”
“I’m not sure of that myself,” Slim said. “But I wouldn’t count too much on that week.”
“Excuse me?” Griffen said.
“You don’t work as much with regular tourists and conventioneers as I do,” the street entertainer explained. “A lot of folks, if they’re planning on attending a convention or even a football game down here, like to come in a few days early to see the sights and party down. Wouldn’t surprise me none if some of the conclave attendees popped up in town ahead of time.”
Griffen covered his eyes with one hand as if his head was throbbing.
“This just gets better,” he said. “How am I supposed to try to keep people out of trouble if I don’t even know who they are? Or should I say, what they are?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t think you should feel any kind of responsibility for anyone who wanders into town early,” Slim said in a strange voice. “And I don’t think you’ll have that much trouble spotting folks with the conclave even if they aren’t wearing suits or name badges.”
Griffen glanced at him sharply, but the street entertainer simply nodded toward the bar’s lobby entrance.
Following Slim’s gaze, Griffen saw a mixed gaggle of what looked like teenagers boiling through the door, followed by one young man who looked to be in his late twenties. It had every appearance of a high-school outing complete with a harried chaperone.
It would have been, at best, a mildly annoying distraction… except the group seemed to be headed directly toward the table where Slim and Griffen were sitting.
“What on earth…?” Griffen murmured, but didn’t get a chance to finish.
The crowd lurched to a halt in front of their table, forming up into a rough half circle. On closer examination, there were only about a half dozen of them, but their youthful energy and eager faces made it seem that there were a lot more of them.
Suddenly nervous and self-conscious, the group began to fidget, glancing back and forth between Griffen and their chaperone.
“Mr. McCandles?” that individual said, stepping forward.
Griffen stared at him for a moment, then nodded.
He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he suddenly felt like a featured stop on a guided tour. To say the least, he wasn’t wild about the sensation.
“We just wanted to take this chance to meet you before the conclave started and to express our thanks for letting us attend.”
“And you are…?” Griffen said, deliberately not rising or offering a hand for a handshake.
“Oh! We’re the fey… or the changelings, if you prefer,” the leader said, hastily. “This is our first time to attend one of these things.”
Strangely enough, Griffen had already figured that one out himself.
“Actually,” he said with a small smile, “I was fishing for a name.”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” The leader was momentarily flustered. “My name is Tink.”
He started to extend a hand, then withdrew it and bowed stiffly.
“Tink?” Griffen said, raising an eyebrow.
The leader flushed slightly.
