“Well, the Quarter doesn’t really start to liven up till sun-down…” Griffen started, cutting off when he realized he was defending himself to a stalker. “You shouldn’t have snuck up on me, sc… startled me half to death.”
“You really shouldn’t admit to being scared. Some of us, we are scared all the time, but we don’t admit it. That just gets you targeted.”
Griffen looked at the young man, who seemed no more than fourteen. Slim had mentioned that the changelings were older than they looked, but that comment clinched it. Even in a lilting prepubescent voice, it betrayed experience and even wisdom a fourteen-year-old would never have.
“Look… I don’t think I got your name when we first met.”
“Because Tink didn’t do the formal introductions. We are fey stock, for cryin’ out loud, and everyone got so excited about meeting a dragon that we skipped the basics. It’s why I thought I’d come find you myself, see if you lived up to the fuss.”
Griffen noticed he still hadn’t told him his name.
“Missed the mark, did I?” Griffen said.
“No, didn’t mean anything like that, Mr. McCandles,” he said hastily. “We are only here ’cause of you; a dragon makes us feel safe. Feel important. Besides, you picked up on me following you. Most wouldn’t.”
“How did you manage to trail me so well?” Griffen said.
“Oh, I can see a little farther than my eyes is all. You felt my gaze even though I was a good four blocks away all the time. Have to say, your tactics are pretty good. Even most of the shape-shifters would have been caught.”
Now the changeling sounded full of admiration. Griffen was beginning to realize that balanced emotions were not going to be this bunch’s hallmark.
“Though your taste in movies stinks. Picking up Stooges when they had Marx Brothers? Really.”
“I already have all the Marx Brothers. Stooges were lower on my list,” Griffen said.
“Well, that’s all right, then. But if anyone puts out Ritz Brothers on DVD, I’m going to have to start looking into some heavy-duty curses. Some things are better left dead.”
Griffen shook his head and decided this conversation needed a radical switch.
“Shouldn’t you be with Tink? Where is he?”
“Oh, umm… let me check.”
Before Griffen could answer the young-seeming man’s eyes went cloudy. Not unfocused, but actual clouds seemed to roll over them, a thin layer of fog appearing to hover just a centimeter over the eyes themselves. Condensation started to form on the ends of his lashes.
“Damn… he is heading toward your Irish pub that you didn’t meet us at last time. From his expression, he’s looking for me through you. I think I’m going to go hide now.”
“No, you don’t,” Griffen said firmly.
The changeling’s eyes snapped back into focus, the fog dissipating. He blinked, and small drops flew from his lashes, looking a bit like tears on his cheeks. It was so slight a physical sign that Griffen could doubt he had even seen it and knew anyone who wasn’t looking for something magical would just overlook it. It was something very outside his experience, both from before and after he had started to learn of dragons. He was beginning to be impressed by the changelings.
“Fine, if we hurry we can get there before him. Guess I could use a drink.”
With that, the changeling walked past him and turned toward Toulouse. Having made a decision, he moved without hesitation, practically bouncing along at a pace that Griffen had to hurry a bit to keep up with. Griffen shook his head again and hurried.
Sure enough, they beat Tink to the bar, though Griffen wasn’t sure how. Then again, he wasn’t sure how the fogged-over vision of the changeling with him really worked. The two sidled up to the mostly empty bar, and the bartender stared at them.
“Sorry, Griffen,” the bartender said. “Friend or yours or no, I got to card him.”
The changeling was already holding out an ID.
“Every friggin’ time,” he muttered.
The bartender looked over the card carefully, even running his nail over the seams and texture, then shrugged and went to pour their drinks. While he was a bit out of earshot, the changeling leaned over to Griffen.
“It’s not the ID that’s the problem, it’s replacing them every ten years or so. No one would buy the right birth date, and unlike some, I don’t have enough glamour to do up a fake on the spot.”
It was then that Tink came in, surrounded by the rest of the changelings. He stopped in the door, the rest gathering tightly around him like a flock of nervous geese, and his expression wasn’t happy. He moved forward again, glaring at Griffen’s companion.
“Hey, big man,” the changeling said as he approached. “You forgot to do intros last time.”
Tink stopped again, and his expression surprised Griffen. He looked startled, even embarrassed. It was very much the look of someone who had just had an obvious oversight pointed out to him. Griffen hadn’t expected it to be a big deal.
“That’s no call for going off and bothering our host.” Tink tried, but Griffen didn’t think his heart was in it.
“You didna’ say I couldna’,” the changeling said.
Griffen didn’t have enough experience with accents, but the one the boy suddenly adopted sounded an odd blend of Scottish and Irish. Again, it drew Tink up short and made Griffen wonder if there was more going on here. Was it a quote from somewhere perhaps?
“True enough,” Tink said. “Mr. McCandles. If I may introduce you to my companions as they are currently called. This is Nyx, Robin, Hobb, and Tammy.”
He pointed out each in turn. Nyx was the young woman with the piercings who had changed Griffen’s drink. Robin and Hobb had to be a couple from the way they seemed to always be holding hands. Tammy was the coltish, attractive young girl Griffen had noticed earlier. She shot a sour look at Tink and stepped toward Griffen, taking a bit of a breath to swell her modest chest.
“That’s Tamlin, Mr. Dragon,” she said.
“Tammy suits you so much better,” Nyx said.
Tammy, which Griffen had to admit was a better name for the young blonde, shot the other a dirty look and took a step back to rejoin the group.
“And that is ‘Griffen’ please,” Griffen said, still wincing over “Mr. Dragon.”
“And he skipped me over, punishment for bothering you, Mr. McCandles.”
That was from the changeling who had been following Griffen. Sure enough, Tink had skipped him over. Again, Griffen wasn’t sure why. As the changeling took a sip of his drink and held out a hand, he had a bit of a smirk.
“They call me Drake,” he said.
Griffen shook his hand.
“I notice you all say that is how you are called. May I ask why?” Griffen said.
Tink took a seat at the bar, leaving Griffen between him and Drake, with the rest all milling about on their feet. He signaled the bartender and ordered for himself. He had to wave twice to get the man’s attention. On an afternoon shift with the bar still nearly empty. Griffen had already noticed the bartender and the other few patrons weren’t paying any attention to them. By now, he just assumed it was the changelings’ influence.
Once Tink had his drink, he explained.
“It’s tradition and magic. Never give out your true name, or secret name. Most changelings pick or find or are given a name that they use in public. Many ritually discover a secret name as well, which they adopt as their ‘true name,’ ignoring whatever their human parents saddled them with. A lot of us grab our names from mythology, or popular media,” Tink said.
“So why can’t I be Tamlin?” Tammy put in.
“Because he was a man, and, by most reports, human. And Tammy just fits too damn well,” Tink said.
