Dragons Wild (3 page)

Mai wasn’t in their hotel room when Griffen returned. Also missing were her bags and clothes.

He knew from previous outings with her that she was far from the world’s fastest packer. That meant that she must have been particularly motivated to have gotten back to the hotel, packed, and departed before he had figured out her ploy and returned himself.

This did little to put Griffen’s mind, already in a turmoil, at ease. What had started out as a clever ploy to try to land a cushy job had turned out to be the most disruptive day of his life.

First his uncle Malcolm, instead of offering him a job, had given him a load of nonsense about dragons. Then there was the conversation with the senator and his bodyguards that weren’t. Now, on top of it all, his old playmate Mai not only turned out to be aware of the whole dragons thing, but had done a disappearing act rather than answer any questions.

Maybe he should have taken Malcolm more seriously…or, at least, listened closer.

What all had he said about dragons again?

They were long-lived, and resistant to illness or injury. Did that mean that he could have taken on the two bodyguards if they had come after him? Resistant didn’t mean invulnerable. Besides, what if they were part dragon themselves? That grip had
hurt
.

Griffen shook off that train of thought. Was he really ready to accept his uncle’s delusion? Had his lack of options made him that desperate? He already had his doubts, and half blamed himself for scaring off Mai. Who wouldn’t run off at such crazy talk?

Animal control. Something about animal control. Actually, that could be kind of neat…if it were true. Unfortunately, there weren’t any animals in the hotel room for him to try it out on. What was more, he had no inclination to head out onto the city streets to look for subjects. Then again, could it possibly work on weaker-minded humans…like those without any dragon blood in them? Didn’t Malcolm specifically mention that dragons were charismatic and able to influence people to a disproportionate degree? Was that just another form of animal control?

Despite his scattered thoughts, Griffen had to smile. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Move along.” No. It was just too silly to be taken seriously. But wasn’t he doing precisely that?

Griffen was pacing the limited confines of the room now, moving from the window facing an air shaft to the bathroom door and back. Idly, he found himself wishing that he smoked, if for nothing else than a hand prop. As a poker player, he had never developed the habit. Too many tells were possible just from lighting a cigarette, as he knew from exploiting the same in others. On the other hand, if what Malcolm had said was correct, getting cancer was the least of his worries currently.

He made himself stop pacing, leaning his forehead against the wall. The cool plaster did nothing to ease the ache in his head. It was too much. Dragons, he was actually running through the characteristics of dragons. His thoughts were colliding, his heart pumping, pulse as loud in his ears as the absurdity in his brain. If it had just been his uncle. Even just his uncle and the senator, though the latter was harder to brush off. Then Mai, leaving him like that. Instantly, without hesitation, as if he were…nothing.

Or as if he were a threat.

A dragon?

What else? Heightened senses. Now that was something Griffen could relate to. Of course, up until now, he had always assumed that everyone else had the same powers of observation that he had, but never developed them or used them. Maybe he was something special.

Leaning away from the wall, he stood still, trying to calm himself. He let his concentration go out of focus and stretched out his senses to “feel” the hotel around him. The task proving a focus for his calm. It was so easy to do and…

There was someone outside the door of his room!

Now that he was “listening,” Griffen could hear the minute sounds of breathing and clothes rustling in the hall. What was more, they weren’t passing by. They were just standing there.

His first thought was that it was Mai, but he quickly discarded it. Mai would have simply used her key and come in, or, at least, knocked. Besides, it didn’t sound like Mai. It sounded like someone who was trying hard not to be heard.

He never even considered the possibility that it might be someone random trying to remember their room number. With all the other weird stuff that had happened today, that would be too much of a coincidence.

No, someone was specifically trying to check up on him. But who? Other than Mai, who knew where he was staying? Malcolm had never even asked. The senator! Or, for that matter, the two so-called bodyguards.

Or worse? Griffen suddenly realized, he only knew of three that seemed to be watching him, but how many knew of him? He wouldn’t have known about the senator if he hadn’t been summoned into the limo. Was this another party interested in the new dragon? Another recruitment attempt?

Or one of the ones who thought recruitment was too risky?

He had sudden visions of someone waiting outside with a gun. Or maybe just teeth and flaming breath. Terror and absurdity and indignation all flared up in him suddenly. He was torn between a sudden fear of opening the door, and a burning desire to confront whoever was out there and settle things once and for all.

And, like a dam breaking, all emotions eased away into sudden calm.

They had left.

As he had weighed the pluses and minuses of his choices, his senses had still been tracking the figure. Whoever it was seemed to have moved off while he was sorting out what to do. The threat, real or imagined, was gone. His body had relaxed accordingly.

Moving to the door, he first checked the crack of light showing under the entrance, but could see nothing. Cracking the door, he looked out cautiously, then boldly stuck his head into the hall. The corridor was empty. Whoever it had been had vanished completely.

Closing the door, Griffen turned the night lock, then put on the security bar for an added safeguard. His hand shook slightly, and he realized he wasn’t all that calm after all. At this point, he wasn’t even going to try to pretend that he wasn’t spooked.

Turning away, his foot hit something on the floor. It was a small piece of paper, possibly a note or an advertisement had been slipped under his door. He felt another small wave of relief. That would explain why a stranger had approached his room.

He stooped and picked it up. Examining it, it turned out to be a tarot card…the Knight of Swords to be specific. It was from a small deck, so the card was barely the size of a business card. There was no writing or other message on it.

Griffen frowned at the card. Instead of finding an explanation to the presence in the hall, he was presented with a new mystery.

The phone rang; the sound like a fire alarm, loud in the stillness of the room.

Griffen collected his nerves from where they were clinging to the ceiling like a velcro cat and reached for the phone. An inch from the receiver, he hesitated. There was no way this was going to be anything good…unless it was Mai.

Cursing himself for being a nervous Nellie, he picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

There was a moment’s hesitation on the other end.

“Griffen? Are you alone?”

Griffen relaxed as he recognized the voice.

“Hi, Uncle Mal. Yes, I’m alone. What’s up?”

“I wanted to warn you,” his uncle said. “Things have changed since we talked earlier.”

“Changed how?”

“Some of the other dragon factions I mentioned know you’re in town.”

“No kidding,” Griffen said with a sarcastic laugh. “I’ve already run into some of them.”

“What happened?”

Griffen proceeded to narrate his meeting with the senator, including his suspicions about the bodyguards. As he did, he found himself waving his arms wildly and pacing with the phone next to his ear. Here, alone in the hotel room, he allowed himself the physical release, though he was sure his voice would match it with at least a little strain.

There were several moments of silence after he finished.

“Not good,” his uncle said at last.

“It gets worse,” Griffen said. “I think there was someone outside the door of my room a little while ago. They’re gone now, but it creeped me out a little. Whoever it was left a calling card. They slipped a tarot card, the Knight of Swords, under my door.”

“The Knight of Swords?” Malcolm’s voice was suddenly very sharp. “Are you sure?”

“I’m holding it in my hand right now,” Griffen said. “Why? What does it mean?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that,” his uncle said. “It would be too much like interfering. I shouldn’t even be talking to you, Griffen, but family’s family. All I can do is give you a warning. Get out of there now. Don’t wait until morning. Get out right now. As fast as you can.”

“But where should I go?” Griffen said, taken aback. He glanced at the door, the window, even the door to the bathroom.

“I don’t know, and if you think of someplace, don’t tell me. What I don’t know, they can’t get out of me. Good luck.”

Griffen started to ask something but realized he was talking to a dial tone.

Replacing the receiver, he started gathering up what few clothes he was traveling with. If nothing else, his uncle Mal had convinced him he had to get out of the hotel and out of town as soon as possible…like, right now.

As to where he was going, he had no plans to return to his old campus. The few items he had been planning to pick up later were unimportant. No, he was thinking of something truly precious. His sister. Valerie’s school was still in session, and he wanted to talk things over with her. Something about what Malcolm had said about the dragons “having other plans for her” didn’t sit quite right in his mind.

Tooling down the expressway with the morning sun rising on his left, Griffen realized he wasn’t in the least tired despite his driving through the entire night. Other than a couple stops for fuel and a quick stop at a Waffle House to stretch his legs and grab a bite, he had been behind the wheel for nearly ten hours and felt as fresh as when he had started.

He found himself wondering if this was one of the so-called dragon powers that Uncle Malcolm had talked about, then caught himself and forced the thought from his mind. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t fret over the whole dragon thing until after he had a chance to talk to his sister. Besides, it was more likely that he simply enjoyed driving his car.

A state trooper eased up beside him with customary predatory smoothness, paused to look him over, then glided on ahead.

Griffen was neither worried nor surprised. It was the third or fourth time that had happened during this run alone. He knew he was well within the speed limit, being in no particular hurry, and was used to his vehicle drawing attention.

It was an old Sunbeam Tiger with its original British racing green paint, with a black top and trim. A few people recognized the body as being the same kind of car that Maxwell Smart had driven during the opening of the old
Get Smart
television series. Except Max had been driving a Sunbeam Alpine, not a Sunbeam Tiger. Only a few sports car fanatics were aware of the difference.

The Alpine was a sporty little two seater with a four-cylinder engine. The Tiger, on the other hand, used the same body, but had a Ford V-8 engine crammed in under the hood. Basically, it was an engine on wheels with a thin candy shell, and could hit 120 mph with comfort.

Griffen had lusted after the car the first time he set eyes on it, though even now he felt a twinge of guilt recalling how he acquired it.

It wasn’t really his fault, he told himself for the hundredth time. The kid who owned it was legally an adult, and no one had put a gun to his head to get him to sit in on a high-stakes poker game. Definitely no one was to blame that the kid hung in until he was deep in the hole. It had been a fair game, and there was no reason for Griffen to feel any guilt over his winnings.

Even as he reviewed the evening, however, Griffen found himself again shaking his head in disgust. His oft-recalled justifications didn’t nearly take into account the whole story. Fair game or no, the kid had no business being there. He was perhaps a decent frat or dorm game poker player, but he had been way over his head that night. The only reason he had sat in at all was that he was flattered that Griffen had invited him to play. Even then, he might have bailed out after a while if Griffen hadn’t encouraged and flattered him, loaning him the necessary cash to hang in while “waiting for his luck to change.” When the debts were totaled up at the end of the evening, however, it was clear that the kid would never be able to come close to buying back his IOUs. That was when Griffen had offered to tear up the chits and give the kid an additional five grand in exchange for his car.

Griffen still felt twinges of remorse over that deal. It certainly wasn’t the last time he had used his poker and people skills to further his own ends, but it was the most blatant gambit he had ever pulled simply to get something he wanted. He felt bad about it, but not bad enough to give the car back. The car, which he named the Goblin, was his pride and joy, and he had taken his share of trophies driving it in gymkhanas, those amateur races where you run a driving obstacle course against a stopwatch.

Two pickup trucks were cruising along in the slow lane ahead of him. Without changing speed, he switched to the passing lane to ease past them.

As he passed the lead truck, he glanced over at the driver, thinking to give him a pleasant nod of the head as a road courtesy. Instead of meeting his gaze, the man responded by accelerating, matching Griffen’s speed so he couldn’t pull ahead.

Annoyed, Griffen glanced in his rearview mirror, thinking to pull back in behind the suddenly awake trucker. The trailing truck, the one he had already passed, had switched lanes and was now sitting on his rear bumper, also matching his speed.

A small trickle of alarm woke in Griffen’s mind. Whether they had intended to or not, the two trucks now had him boxed in against the soft shoulder.

Easing up on the gas pedal, he tapped his brakes lightly so his taillights would flash, trying to signal to the truck behind him that he wanted to slow down and return to his original lane.

Instead of slowing to let him escape, the truck behind him suddenly accelerated, ramming his rear bumper and forcing him to speed up. The truck alongside him matched the move, not only increasing its speed, but edging over until its left wheels were crossing the center stripe.

Griffen was fully alert now and more than a little scared. What were these jokers trying to do? If they weren’t in a clear stretch of road…

Glancing ahead, he saw there was a gentle curve to the right less than a mile ahead. If he didn’t do something, the two trucks could potentially run him off the road and into the ditch that ran along the median.

For a moment, Griffen was tempted to floor the gas and try to outrun them, but he decided against it. He didn’t know what these two had under their hoods, and if he failed to outrun them, they’d all hit the curve at an even greater speed.

There was, of course, another option.

Wrenching his steering wheel to the left, he took the Goblin onto the soft shoulder, then stood on the clutch and his brake pedal simultaneously.

The Tiger slid and fishtailed a bit, but came to a halt as the two trucks swept past and into the distance.

Heart racing, Griffen saw them slow to their original speed and reassume position one ahead of the other.

That should have been it. He was out of danger and could either sit for a few moments until they were out of sight or follow at a distance until he found an exit.

Instead, he stared after them through a red haze.

“So they want to play, do they?” he said out loud.

Dropping his shift lever to low, he popped the clutch and stood on the gas, charging back onto the expressway with a spray of dirt and a roaring engine.

It didn’t take him long to overtake the pickups. They were driving below speed limit now, back in their old formation one behind the other in the slow lane.

Dropping his speed, Griffen slid in behind them, making it a line of three vehicles. He figured if nothing else, it would make them nervous enough to spark a reaction. It didn’t take long.

Studying his opponents at leisure, he noticed something he had missed before. Both truckers had CB radios, and were talking back and forth as they watched him in their rearview mirrors.

Apparently they reached a decision. They reduced their speed, seeing if he would fall into the old trap and try to pass them.

No deal. Griffen lowered his speed to match theirs, sitting about ten feet behind the tailing truck.

The lead truck pulled out into the fast lane, then started to drop back as his buddy held his speed. Unless he dropped his speed even further, Griffen was going to end up in the same box he was in before, with one truck ahead of him and the other alongside, pinning him against the soft shoulder.

This time, he had something else in mind. Instead of dropping back, he moved onto the soft shoulder and eased up on the truck in front of him. This placed him in the blind spot of the second truck, while that truck in turn was blocking the line of sight of the truck dropping back. For a moment, neither driver could see him.

Confused, the driver in the trailing truck craned his neck around trying to get a fix on Griffen’s position, while his partner dropped back quickly to try to establish the box.

With a tight smile, Griffen dropped down a gear and floored the accelerator. With a snarl, the Goblin responded, darting along the soft shoulder to pass the truck alongside. Startled, the driver shied away for a heartbeat, then gunned his own engine and moved toward the soft shoulder, trying to crowd Griffen into the ditch.

Too late. The Ford V8 engine was wide open and Griffen slid past, pulling back onto the highway ahead of his attacker.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, Griffen could suddenly see only one truck.

Not having encountered the expected resistance, the truck which had tried to run him off the road had itself gone into the ditch. Its front wheels were mired and twisted at a painful angle, and the hood had popped open.

That only left one.

The truck still on the road slowed momentarily, as if hesitant. Then roared to life again, surging forward. With his lead, Griffen could outrun him, but his blood was still up. Anger and adrenaline making him act foolish. He let the truck gain.

Not even Griffen knew what he was thinking. No longer was he acting off a plan, but merely following the heat of the moment. He let the truck start to pull up along his side, not quite at an angle to run him off the road yet. He only had ill-conceived notions of taunting his adversary before flooring it and leaving him in the dust. He glanced back, catching sight of the driver through the window.

Caught sight of the driver, past the length of a shotgun.

Startled, Griffen almost wrenched himself off the road in shock. That involuntary jerk was the only thing that saved at the very least some damage to his car, if not preventing total disaster. His engine screamed, drowning out the roar of the blast behind him, and the shot went wide as the Goblin tore down the road, finally outdistancing his attacker. In his rearview mirror, a now thoroughly panicked Griffen watched the truck slow. His last glimpse of it was to see it turn, pushing over the divider, presumably to go rescue the other driver.

Putting his car back in gear, Griffen continued along his way at a much more reasonable speed. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as his pulse pounded through his ears.

As his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, he found himself wondering at his recent actions. Even though things had eased considerably in Michigan since the late sixties, when the crumbling auto industry inspired frustrated laid-off line workers to retaliate by running imported cars off I-94, it was not unheard of for such incidents to occur even today. Griffen himself had survived three such attempts in the Goblin. In those cases, he had dodged the initial attack, then pulled off at the next exit, shaken and glad to be alive.

He had never felt moved to retaliate…to counterattack the way he had just now. It had been a mistake, a nearly fatal one. Even though he had no way to know just how hostile the truck drivers had been, it had been utterly reckless to give up his lead without a clear plan of action. This sudden shift in his reactions both puzzled and bothered him.

What bothered him even more was not the final attempt, but the quick burst of savage glee he had felt when his initial plan had worked and he saw his first attacker in the ditch.

It wasn’t until he pulled off the expressway to refuel that he noticed his steering wheel was bent slightly out of round.