concerned, it was on the house.
Of the animal-control people, only Johansson had attended. Griffen gave him an uncomfortable glance when he saw the man approaching the gathering tour group. Johansson saw the look and walked up to Griffen directly.
“I want you to know,” he said without preamble, “Margie and me, we don’t blame you. This was his town, and he should have known the risks better than anyone.”
With that he turned away from Griffen and joined the tour group. Griffen let him; after all, what more could be said?
As the tour actually got started, Griffen more or less tuned out the guide. History really wasn’t his passion. Yet another reason he had avoided the tours in the past. He wasn’t really paying attention till after their first stop, when one of the changelings spoke up.
“What do you mean we don’t get to go inside?” Drake said.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the tour guide said, “but all the sites on today’s tour are, of course, private residences. We don’t have permission—”
“You mean we are just going to stand on the sidewalk and listen to you talk?” cut in someone else.
“Well, one of our stops is Jean Lafayette’s Blacksmith Shop, one of the oldest taverns in the Quarter. It is said that many of the pirates who used to run with Lafayette still come back to have one last drink at their old… haunt.”
“A bar… go figure.”
“ ‘Haunt’? Is that the best you can come up with?”
“A piece of eight says he will use the line ‘dead drunk’ before the night is over.”
The tour guide’s jaw tightened noticeably, and Griffen almost stepped in. However, he also knew that tourists, any tourists, put the locals through worse. For now, he would just hang in the background, and pay a little bit more attention.
The tour moved on, and after a few more stops and unimpressive narratives, the guide obviously decided it was time to spice things up a bit. He glanced a bit nervously at the changelings. Probably, Griffen figured, wondering who in the group were their parents.
“Now, this was the chateau of a famous marquis in the late eighteenth century. In the tradition of the Marquis De Sade, this perverse nobleman entertained members of the French aristocracy by beating and tormenting servants and local wayfarers. It is said—”
“Said by who?”
Griffen stifled a laugh.
“Tha… What?” the guide said.
“Said by who?”
“Yes, you keep using that line, but never quote a source.”
That last was from one of the vampires, who was beginning to sidle up to the guide as he became more and more distraught. Nothing like an easy meal.
“Not to mention completely glossing over your facts. You didn’t mention the marquis’s name, the actual year, or even what ‘aristocrats’ he was entertaining,” Johansson said.
“And ‘wayfarers’? Come on, man,” Drake said.
The tour guide pressed on, showing much admirable determination.
“
Then a woman Griffen had not yet seen at the conclave stepped forward.
“See, now you are way off. The marquis’s chateau was three blocks from here. This was an old brothel. And believe me, it’s not moans of pain you are hearing.”
The tour guide threw his hands up.
“Moving on!” he said as he walked down the street.
The others all seemed to share a glance before following him. Only Griffen paused, some instinct in him telling him to watch the woman who’d spoken. She turned to him and winked, before turning transparent. The specter walked toward the building in question as she faded away.
When he caught up to the group, they were standing behind Saint Peter’s Cathedral. He was just in time to hear a line so tired and cliched, he was shocked that he hadn’t heard it earlier.
“And if you listen closely, you will hear them,” the guide said to wrap up whatever tale he had been spinning.
Almost as one, the entire group turned and cocked their heads. Listening.
They waited, and waited, and the guide started to fidget. “Nnoooo…” one said carefully, “can’t hear a thing.”
“There are going to be ghosts on this ghost tour, right?” Griffen laughed.
“Maybe if we had a goat.”
That came from one of the voodoo practitioners. Griffen was almost sure he was kidding.
“Hey, isn’t Jackson Square on the other side of that church?” Robin asked.
Again, there was a pause, and almost as one the group surged past the guide, down Pirate Alley, and into the Square. Griffen smiled and, as he passed the befuddled guide, clapped him on the shoulder and tipped him a twenty. It did Griffen much good to see some of the conclave actually unified for a change.
Now, Griffen wasn’t obligated to keep an eye on everyone, even in his own mind. That night he was more playing host than anything else. Still, most of the ex-tour members were congregating around the various tarot readers. There were over half a dozen tables set up, spaced well apart, and each was promptly filled by one of his attendees. Griffen strolled from table to table listening not too discreetly.
Some were good.
“Give me your hand,” a reader said to Johansson.
“Be gentle,” he said with an easy smile.
“Hmm… very compassionate. A gentle touch… especially with children? No, animals. You have much skill with animals. Have you ever thought about show business?”
Some were bad.
“The cards say you will marry but never have children. You will excel in business but never own one. You need to learn to communicate more with people.”
Drake smiled at the reader across from him. His smile did not match his young features.
“I’ve already had three kids, no wives, and my youngest is about your age. Don’t get me started on the businesses.”
And some… well, “ugly” just didn’t describe it.
“This… this is impossible. No one can have this many life lines… and they keep changing! Don’t you ever stay the same?”
“Well… hold on. Let me try.”
The young shifter looked down at her hand and focused. The reader’s eyes crossed as the lines on her hand truly changed, the many wrinkles merging into one deep line, almost in the exact center of her hand.
“Is that better?” she asked innocently.
“That… that… that’ll be twenty dollars if you please.”
“Sure thing.”
Griffen’s attention was drawn to Robin and Hobb. They were actually standing behind one of the vampires, who was getting his cards read. The reader, an elderly man with an exaggerated lisp and a pink cowboy hat, was having some difficulties.
“Death card… again,” the reader said.
All the cards on the table were death cards. Five of them in all.
“Is that some kind of trick deck?” the vampire said, scowling.
“No… no… someone must be playing a trick on me. The readers are competitive here… Let me try another deck.”
Neither noticed Hobb elbow Robin in her ribs soundly. Griffen could just make out her comment as she
