“They disregarded the humans when they first appeared as being too weak and slow to be of importance. But the humans had intelligence, and they bred like rabbits. The dragons bred slow, and arrogantly didn’t see this tribe of apes as truly any more special than any other. They busied themselves with what activities they deemed important, and barely noticed the humans spreading over the globe. By the time the dragons recognized them as a threat, it was too late to stop them.”

Why was his uncle making him listen to such a fantasy, and where was it leading? Was this all some kind of odd ruse, a test? Griffen thought himself a fair hand at reading people, but Malcolm McCandles revealed nothing, though Malcolm did show a brief smile as Griffen started to fidget. Catching the smile, Griffen made himself stop.

“Many dragons could adjust and change, many actually living near or with humans. Many cultures have very positive legends about the guidance and protection of dragons. Though not always using that term, of course; it came later. However, some of the European dragons, stubbornly refusing to see the handwriting on the wall, decided to try to fight the humans. They used their shape-shifting to take on fearsome appearances, which gave rise to the lurid images that people today identify as the true form of dragons. The fact that they are now relegated to the status of myth and legend is mute testimony to the effectiveness of their antihuman campaign.”

“So what did they look like outside of the frightening guises?” Griffen asked.

“Different, big, depends on who you…Don’t interrupt.” Malcolm snapped, eyes flashing back into focus. Griffen noticed that his manner was now angry, and slightly embarrassed.

He didn’t know what to make of it, though. Griffen flushed slightly, but didn’t press the question. After all, what was he asking? How dragons are supposed to look? He couldn’t believe he was getting sucked into this bizarre narrative so easily. A worried thought flashed through his mind. Did one inherit madness?

Malcolm nodded and continued. “There was another group, however, who went to their Eastern brethren, seeking the secret of size shifting to augment their own shape-shifting ability. You may not know it, Griffen, but Eastern dragons never had wings. When they needed to fly, they would size shift down to tiny dimensions and ride the wind.”

Griffen leaned back more in his chair, looking nonchalant. He was aware of his uncle watching each reaction, and decided some input was expected. He hesitated, again worried about letting himself slip into his uncle’s delusions, but decided he had little choice but to go along with the flow of the bizarre conversation.

“I don’t pretend to know much about the East, and nothing much at all beyond China and Japan,” Griffen said, trying to keep things sounding normal and make one more attempt at getting the conversation back on the track of why he came here in the first place. After all, he had attended international business classes…once in a while. “But it’s been my impression that they are deadly negotiators. At the very least, it’s not a crowd I would want to deal with when they knew in advance they had something I wanted or needed.”

Griffen stopped again, unsure whether the comment had broken any ice with his uncle. Again Malcolm McCandles’s face showed nothing to give the younger man any relief.

“It was brutal,” Malcolm said. “It is unknown today what promises and powers the European dragons had to surrender, but they achieved their objective and gained the ability to size shift. They used that new skill along with their shape-shifting to infiltrate and blend in with the humans, even to interbreed with them in some instances. Their descendants survive to this day, dwelling unsuspected among the humans.”

“I see,” Griffen said carefully. “And now you’re going to tell me that you’re one of those dragons?”

“That’s right,” Malcolm said. “More importantly, so are you…and your sister.”

“That’s interesting,” Griffen said. “I have to admit, Uncle Mal, I don’t particularly feel like a dragon.”

“That’s because you’re only just coming into your physical maturity,” Malcolm said. “Your secondary powers haven’t put on their appearance yet, but they should shortly.”

“Secondary powers,” Griffen said, interested despite himself. “Should I ask what my primary powers might be?”

“You’ve had them all along,” Malcolm said, “but you haven’t seen them as being extraordinary. First of all, you rarely if ever get sick. What’s more, in the few times you’ve suffered an injury, you heal remarkably swiftly.”

Griffen started to speak, then held his silence. He had always been blessed with good health, but he had always assumed it was just good fortune. It hardly made him some sort of inhuman lizard.

“You also have a certain affinity with animals. You can exert your will over theirs to control their actions.”

“Animal control,” Griffen said, and a smirk twisted slightly at the corners of his mouth. Polite attentiveness wasn’t seeming to help him anyway, and he just couldn’t help himself. “You mean like Obi-Wan in Star Wars ?”

“You could say that,” Malcolm said. “In a small way. You can draw animals to you, or send them away. You can even calm them if they’re excited. Exactly how much control depends on how much of the talent you were born with, and how much you’ve developed and exercised it. There are some nondragons who have similar powers. Circus animal trainers and some shamans, for example.”

Griffen nodded, trying to keep the skepticism from his expression.

“Uncle Malcolm, granted you said dragons were never big scaly beasts, still, I’ve never looked anything but human when I checked in a mirror.”

“Ah, and you are wondering how a disguise, for all intents and purposes, is passed on from father to son?”

“Pretty much.”

“Dragons are not fools Griffen. Quite the opposite. What good would trading for a disguise be, if every baby born put its parents in immediate danger? Let’s just say that geneticists barely understand their own DNA, and aren’t likely to get a dragon sample.”

Again Griffen held his silence, but it was more difficult. There was something that disturbed him in that last comment. A hardness in his uncle’s voice that was surprisingly intimidating.

“As I was saying,” Malcolm continued, “your senses are notably keener than those of humans, particularly your powers of observation. I suspect that would account for your success at cards. Whether it’s gambling or business, dragons have always been able to ‘read’ their opponents, which gives them a sizable edge in conflicts.”

“I’ll admit I’ve always been lucky,” Griffen said with a smile. “Then, too, I’ve always been fond of money. Isn’t that another trait of dragons?”

“Actually,” Malcolm said, “dragons are fond of power. Money or gold is simply one way of gaining it. Some turn to politics or warfare to achieve the same thing. There are several who have gone the route of becoming entertainers. If you look around our modern society, not to mention history, it isn’t that hard to spot the dragons lurking there. Usually around power, always at or near the top.”

Malcolm’s expression darkened. The look he suddenly shot Griffen was filled with greed such as he had never seen. Griffen could hear his pulse beating away wildly as he watched the executive force himself to stay relaxed. Griffen wasn’t sure what set him off more, the expression, or the obvious show of iron-willed control.

“Check me on this, Uncle Mal,” Griffen said, keeping up with Malcolm’s thought. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m operating with limited knowledge, but I’ve always thought that your basic power broker wasn’t wild about sharing that power with anyone else.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows in pleased surprise. His expression slipped back into his more neutral mask.