Date:         Tue, 28 Feb 1995 19:55:33 -0400
From:         The Merry Fluffsters 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 1

Children:

Some co-authored fluff for your diversion and enjoyment.  Please
let us know what you think; all comments, kisses and especially
backrubs are greatly appreciated.

Pandora  (wallacel@ac.dal.ca)
on behalf of the Merry Fluffsters,

Baron Gideon Redoak  (fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca)
The Gray Adept       (jgra@music.stlawu.edu)

* * *

Shades of Gray
Part 1

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace

* * *
                        "Leaving Miss Preston's"

      The Gray Adept sipped quietly at his overly sweet iced tea.  He
did not usually like the beverage, especially sweetened, but he
marvelled at the turn in the weather that allowed him to enjoy the
cool drink on a warm porch in January.  Miss Preston was actually
fanning herself and keeping her satin parasol turned against the bright
winter glare of the afternoon sun.  She had made little more than
polite chatter since calling him out to join her in the slightly frayed
wicker lawn furniture.

      "Isn't this warming trend unusual?" he asked to break the silence.

      "Mmmm," she replied, dismissing the weather with a negligent toss
of her fan.

      Silence.

      The Adept sighed and turned to watch several of the girls
returning to classes from an apparently exhausting workout on the
athletic field.  Odd that they never noticed their coach's penchant
for long pants and sleeves, broad brimmed hats and sun-glasses -- the
spindly woman looked more like a withering orchid than a successful
athletics director.  The woman saw him looking at her and started to
wave; then she noticed Miss Preston and thought better of it.

     The Gray Adept set his unfinished tea on the the little table and
started to get up.  "I must thank you for making me take note of this
glorious afternoon..." he began only to have Miss Preston sharply motion
him back to his seat.

    After a brief moment's pause she asked him, "Mister Adept, how
much longer will you be with us here at our little school?"

    "I had planned," he began, watching her carefully, "to stay through
the first week of February.  Is there a problem?"

     "I think, perhaps, there may well be."  From her chair she pulled
a slim newspaper printed in red ink.  "I believe you know this...
publication?"

     "The Transylvanian Post-Mortem, isn't it?"

     "Just so," she pinched her lips together in clear disapproval.
"And have you read this edition?"

     He looked at the paper briefly, recognizing it immediately.  "Why
yes, I believe I have.  Doesn't the Dear Mina collumn have something
from you?"  He tried to keep his features neutral, but it was not easy.
Miss Preston's rant against the extravagances of the Children of the
Night had been soundly rebuked in Mina's response.

     "Yes, it does," she agreed.  "Whatever possessed me to take a
subscription, let alone write into such a...bloody rag--" she took
a brief moment of privacy behind her fan to compose herself.  "Well,
I guess I have you to thank for that."

     The Adept refused to be baited by such an obvious barb.  "Now
Miss Ella, we talked about this..."

     "Yes, I know!" she snapped.  "And you talk so very smoothly,
one could almost believe you *belonged* here.  Do you know where I found
this paper?"

     The Adept's jaw muscle spasmed as he contained his own growing
anger.  Deep breaths, he told himself.  "Where?" he managed the mono-
syllable.

     "It was confiscated from one of the *better* students by one of
my *loyal* staff, along with a most embarassing letter that she planned
to send to that gossipy floozey.  I talked to the girl myself, and do
you know what she told me?  She said that you put her up to it!"

     The Adept did not bother to respond.  It would gain him nothing.

     "I cannot have you affecting my girls, Adept." She spoke softly
yet deliberately.  "I went with you to that...party.  I saw what the
world of chaos and darkness has to offer.  You may think me silly
and old-fashioned, but I know my girls and I know they are not ready
for such things.  I will be their guide into this strange new
nightmare of a world -- and since we have plenty to spare, we shall take
our time about it.  Your influence is not desired here, sir.  I
begin to think that ever allowing you to stay was a mistake."  She
paused for him to respond and when he didn't, she said, "How long
before you can leave us?"

     The Adept cleared his throat nervously.  "I can be gone today.
I will need to return from time to time for brief visits to do follow
ups.  I may have to contact a few informants to clear up any details
that I've missed, but I will, of course, do so through you.  I
certainly do not wish to stay if you perceive that I am a problem."

     Miss Preston looked away.  "No, no.  That will be fine."

     "Well, then.  I guess I'll be off.  Thank-you, Miss Preston,
for your hospitality and your service.  If I can ever be of any help..."

     She did not look at him, but simply nodded her head and flapped
her fan.

     He stood to go, turned from her and took a few steps.  He paused
a moment and turned back to her.  "You don't, you know," he said.

     She blinked and looked at him.  "Don't?  Don't what?..."

     "Have plenty of time," he answered, his eyes not letting hers go.
"You may be long-lived, but your world may not be.  The world outside
does not run on without you, no matter how isolated you may feel.  You
are a part of it and a part of its fate.  I think, perhaps, you may
be trying to protect your students from the wrong thing."

     "I was at that party," she said as her eyes squinted into angles
of defiance.  "I've seen how your kind behave.  We were meant for better
things!"

     "Not my kind," he replied.  "Yours.  And what I saw was that it
didn't take too long for you to fit right in.  If only, somehow, you
remembered how happy you were there before it was over..."

     "Happy?!" she almost yelled.  "I was polluted on foul spirits,
thanks to you.  If anyone is responsible for my shameful actions, it
is you.  And you can't even be responsible for your own.  You almost
killed a woman!"

     Now he looked away, fingering the little pustules that still
blistered on his neck.  Somehow her sharp words awakened the irritating
itch that had all but faded.  In the heat of Miss Preston's rebuke,
he could only think of Genevieve's face, slick with sweat and that
vile bile.  "What are you?" she had shrieked in horror before collapsing
into violent seizures.  In Miss Preston's eyes he saw the same fear
and mistrust that had been in Nicholas and Baron Redoak's faces.
A fear so great that even Pandora, dear sweet Pandora, could not erase
it entirely from their faces.  He was used to such mistrust and
rejection, although he did his best to overcome it.  It hurt most
to see it on the faces of those whom he truely cared about, and even
more so to think that someone like Pandora might suffer for being
his ally.

     He wanted to yell at Miss Preston that she was too innocent of the
cosmos to fling such insults.  He wanted to shake those mistrusting
immortals until their bad opinions fell away.  To stop his fingers
from flexing into fists, he reached again for his neck and the tiny
sores there.  There was little he could do to mollify Miss Preston at
this point, and, to tell the truth, he didn't really care to.  But that
he was so disliked in Fletcherville bothered him greatly.  As he
fingered the still tender wounds, he wondered if perhaps Miss Preston
weren't right about him avoiding his responsibilities.

    "I think it is time you left," Miss Preston's voice was calmer now,
but still insistant.  "You may contact me in a few weeks if you need
anything further from us, but for now I would like for you to leave...
just get out of my sight."  With that, she turned to look out at
the trees, positioning her parasol between herself and The Adept.

    "Farewell," he smiled sadly at the wall of satin.  "And thank-you,
Miss Ella.  You have been most helpful."  He walked stiffly away,
determined not to let her see the success of her barbs.  He returned to
the central lounge, gathered his things, and left by the back entrance,
avoiding the matron on the porch.

*************************

     The Gray Adept returned to his Atlanta apartment.  It was rather
bare and utilitarian -- he hadn't actually slept there in over a
month -- but it was a friendlier home than he had just left.  He had
lied about being able to leave so soon and his work with the girl's
school would suffer for it.  But he knew he would have had to leave
immediately anyway.  At least he had not been banished from the school
entirely.  When the air cleared and when Miss Preston finally realized
that he was not the source of her problems (months? years?...decades
from now?!), he would be able to finish the field work.

     But that was down the line.  For now, he had other pressing work
to do.  First on his list was contacting Fletcherville and making sure
that Genevieve had indeed recovered.  Limited past experience indicated
that there might be complications that would be late in forming.  She
was a rather old vampiress (not that it showed in the brightness of
her face or the contours of her figure) and that bode well for her
recovery.  She had only ingested a small portion of his "blood" and
Pandora had been quick in removing the taint.  Still, he should
contact someone up there in Maine and make sure all was well.

     Pandora, of course, was the logical person to call since he trusted
her and he knew where she lived.  He did not, however, intend to simply
show up on the doorstep of Meadowsweet Ridge.  Rather, he would once
again penetrate the communication grid and use some mundane form of
electronic connection.  He flipped on the PC and accessed the
searcher program he had activated to locate telecom lines into
Fletcherville.  The screen displayed that Nicholas and Pandora owned
a computer with a modem as well as standard phone and cable
lines, all listed under the name Edwards.  He considered sending
an e:mail request, but thought that was too impersonal.  Instead, he
decided to call the healer.

     He punched a few keys on the computer, including the number of the
Maine address.  On the screen, a strange icon appeared that was
somehow like and unlike a telephone.  From the computer's speakers
came the sound of a phone ringing.  For each ring, the word "RING"
appeared on the screen.

     After five "RINGs" a male voice answered, which The Adept
recognized immediately as Nicholas.

     "Hello?" Nicholas said.  "RESPONDANT: Hello?" the screen tran-
scribed.

     "Ah, hello, yes?  Nicholas?" The Adept stammered to the screen.
Face-to-face interactions were hard enough with these people; the phone
and its various codes of use were almost impossible.

     "Yes." Nicholas paused.  "Who is this?"

     "Oh, yes," The Adept blurted.  "This is The Gray Adept.  I was
wondering if Pandora were available...uh, for the phone."

     Silence answered him on the other end.  "No," Nicholas finally
said, simply. "No, she is not...available.  What do you want?"

     "Oh, it's nothing really," he tried his best to sound friendly, but
he even seemed forced to his own ears.  "I was just calling to make
sure Genevieve had made a full recovery.  And, of course, to make
sure that all is well in Maine."  Nicholas did not answer.  "Is it?
Well, I mean."

     "Everything is just fine and Genevieve is recovering," Nicholas
seemed more than a little cool.  The Adept could barely make out the
words that were whispered under the bard's breath, but they clearly
scrolled across the screen: "No thanks to you..."

     "That is very good news,"  The Adept winced at his own ineptness.
"Well, uh, please tell Pandora I called, and let me give you a number
where I can be reached if there is any trouble..."

     "Thank-you," the bard replied before he could give his number,
"but we are managing just fine on our own and I doubt we will need
your help.  I'll make sure your message...goes where it needs to,
however."

     "Thank-," The Adept said as he heard the phone disconnect, "you."
He scanned back over the transcript of his conversation, absently
rubbing at the seemingly more tender wounds on his neck.  He doubted
that Pandora would ever know that he called.  He resented Nicholas'
attitude towards him, even as he understood it.  Well, he sighed,
at least he knew that Genevieve was doing better...

Date:         Wed, 1 Mar 1995 08:36:32 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Re: Shades of Gray, Part 2

Shades of Gray
Part 2

c. 1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L.M. Wallace

* * *

"No," Nicholas said over the telephone, listening to the sound of the shower
running.  Abruptly the water was turned off.  "No, she is not...available.
What do you want?"

Pandora emerged from the downstairs bathroom moments later, wearing a thick
teal blue terry-cloth robe and towelling her long hair dry.

"Who was on the phone?" she asked.  She had caught the name "Genevieve," and
hoped that nothing was wrong.

Nicholas studied her, wondering how much of his side of the conversation she
had heard.  The bathroom door had been closed but he knew she had sensitive
hearing.

"Gideon," he answered.

Pandora's eyes widened with alarm.  "Gen...?"

"Gen's fine," Nicholas responded hurriedly, noting the concern in her
eyes.  He sighed.  The week of caring for the beautiful vampire had taken its
toll on Pandora, he knew.  Genevieve had not exactly been an easy patient, and
he suspected that Pandora had been supplementing her herbal treatments with
elixirs of her own blood.  He eyed the dark circles under her eyes and her
paler than normal skin worriedly.  "Gideon was just wondering if...if you were
planning to come out to see her."

"Oh, well," Pandora mused.  She had been out to Oakwoods the day before last
and Genevieve was definitely doing better, if still somewhat shaken by the
event. She had not asked her any more questions about the Gray Adept, for
which Pandora was grateful.  She didn't think she could answer them anyway.
But she wished she knew what it was about his alien blood that had caused such
a violent reaction in Genevieve.  She honestly did not know if all of the
poison had been removed, and found herself worrying that there might be side
effects.  She wondered, for the hundredth time it seemed, if there were some
way she could get in touch with him, but she did not know where he lived.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea," Pandora agreed.  "Were you planning to go
to the club tonight?"

"No," Nicholas responded, although he had, indeed, been considering it.  "I
can take you out there."

"Okay then, just let me get dressed," she said and ran upstairs.

Nicholas expelled a long breath then picked up the telephone to dial
Oakwoods.

* * *

"Pandora.  Nicholas.  How lovely to see you," the Baron greeted them
warmly, rising from his favourite chair in the drawing room.  Warg rose
to all four of his feet, as well, yawning and wagging his tail.  There
was the click of claws on the part of the hall floor that was not
carpeted, and Pumpkin cautiously stuck her nose around the corner to see
what was going on.

Pandora eyed Gideon curiously.  They had seen more of him in the last
week than they had in the previous month.  But she kissed him lightly
on the cheek before sitting down beside Genevieve on the sofa.  A glass
of the Baron's "special" stock sat beside her on a table, untouched.

"Cherie, if you are here to feed me more of your infernal tea..."
Genevieve joked.

Pandora laughed and took her hand, squeezing gently.  Despite Genevieve's
impatience and anxiety over being incapacitated, the two women had grown quite
close during the course of treatment.  Sharing the blood was the most intimate
of experiences between vampires, forming a bond that went very deep, although
Pandora had not herself tasted the French vampire's crimson fluid.

"Perhaps we should leave the ladies alone," Gideon interjected.  He and
Nicholas were standing awkwardly to the side, watching the exchange between
the two women.  Mitch had also wandered by, wondering what was going on,
but the sight of Pandora make him skid to a stop and beat a hasty
retreat.  The tea she had made him drink the last time the change had made
him ill had been ghastlier than being sick.

"That's not--" Pandora began, but the men had already left the room.
"Necessary," she finished, shaking her head.  Nicholas had been unusually
pensive on the drive out, uttering only monosyllables when she tried
to start a conversation.  "Men," she muttered and was rewarded by Genevieve's
sparkling laugh.

"Les hommes, ils sont difficiles de comprendre, oui?" Genevieve asked in her
native tongue.

"Ah oui," Pandora agreed.  She leaned forward, studying her friend intently.
"How are you feeling, Gen?"

Genevieve smiled warmly, but Pandora could detect traces of exhaustion
in her eyes which worried her.  "Tired, cherie, but fine, otherwise."
Her glance flickered to the fireplace, and perhaps a small sigh escaped
her.

"You are taking nourishment?" Pandora asked, eyeing the full glass at
Genevieve's side.

"My appetite is...perhaps, not as it should be.  But it is just
the fatigue, Pandora.  It will come back," Genevieve assured her,
but she did not look wholly convinced herself.

Pandora looked at her thoughtfully.  "Perhaps there is something--"
she started.

"No, ma chere, it is just a matter of time.  I do not need the blood
like the young ones."

"But you've been ill," Pandora protested.  "You need it more than
ever now."

Genevieve shook her head.  "I am fine, Pandora.  Now, perhaps I could have a
visit with my friend and not my healer?"  she said, her blue eyes
twinkling.

"Of course," said Pandora, smiling.  She relaxed against the back
of the sofa and curled one leg up beneath her.  "What shall we talk
about?"

"Why, les hommes, of course!" she laughed, then put a finger to her lips
and eyed the doorway.  "Evan, depeches-toi!  This is woman talk."

Pandora had not even felt the presence of the Nameless One, but she heard
his deep laugh and saw his muscular form move away from his listening
post.

* * *

"And you say he called Pandora this evening?" Gideon asked Nicholas.
He adjusted himself more comfortably in his chair and steepled his
fingers under his chin.

The two men had retired to the Baron's study, but the serious expressions on
their faces belied that this was a social call.  The mere fact that
they were in Gideon's private study made this solemn business, as almost
no one was invited into that sanctum.  Nicholas had never seen it
before.

Nicholas nodded and nervously ran his fingers through his tangled locks.
"There's something about him, Gideon.  Something that just doesn't ring
true."

"He is attracted to Pandora?" the Baron said, watching the Bard for his
reaction.  He suspected that Nicholas was not one to be jealous, but then,
he had never been the type to stay with one woman for long.  That is,
until now.  Gideon knew that the Bard was more content committed to one
lover, but Nicholas had played the field widely before settling down.
Perhaps he was finding marriage more difficult than he had thought he
would?

"Perhaps...but it is not that," Nicholas shook his head.  "No, I do not
like the attention he pays her, but she is a beautiful woman.  I see how
other men look at her--" he broke off, looking absently at a painting
on the wall.  It was an old master of a handsome male nude, beautifully
painted in strong colours.  Nicholas blushed slightly and turned away,
meeting Gideon's dark gaze and slightly ironic smile.  The Bard swallowed
and continued speaking. "I don't trust him, for other reasons.  He is
hiding something."

"The night of the party," Gideon began slowly, weighing his words
with care, "the Adept said something that I have been pondering
ever since."  He wondered if he should offer Nicholas a drink, but
thought better of it.  Alcohol would only deepen the Bard's
dark mood.

Nicholas looked at him expectantly, trying to calm the anger that
was rising.  If Gideon had any information that could confirm his
suspicions, well...

"He said, when we came across he and Genevieve in that *room," he
fairly spat the word with distaste, "'Please don't let me have killed
her.'"

Nicholas rose from his chair, murder flashing from his eyes.  "So,
he *was* the cause."  Nicholas remembered Pandora's explanation that
it was "something she drank."  She had not exactly lied, but he knew
she had been fudging the truth.  Pandora was not good at deception at the
best of times, and Nicholas knew her better than anyone.

"So it would seem," Gideon agreed, still sitting calmly in his chair.
"But he seemed genuinely distressed, Nicholas."  He watched Nicholas
restlessly pacing the floor and wished he would sit down.  There
were valuable objects in the study.

At Gideon's words Nicholas stopped and leaned on the Baron's desk.
"Distressed at being caught, perhaps?" Nicholas said bitterly.  "Or
a damned good actor."

"I agree, Nicholas.  I do not trust him, either," the Baron
responded, knowing as he spoke that his feelings went far deeper
than distrust.  Genevieve, his beloved mere, had almost died because
of that man.  That was not something he could forgive easily.

"So, what do we do?  What do we know about him?  What can we find
out..."  Both Nicholas and Gideon turned their attention to the telephone
on the Baron's desk as Nicholas spoke.

"Michael," they declared in unison as Gideon reached for said instrument.

* * *

Pandora (wallacel@ac.dal.ca)
Baron Gideon Redoak (fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca)
The Gray Adept (jgra@music.stlawu.edu)

All comments gratefully received.

Date:         Wed, 1 Mar 1995 12:56:33 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 3

Shades of Gray
Part 3

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L.M. Wallace

(fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca) (jgray@music.stlawu.edu)  (wallacel@ac.dal.ca)

* * *

"And how are things at Meadowsweet Ridge?" Genevieve asked Pandora.  She had
not been unaware of a certain tension between the healer and her husband,
partially caused by her own presence she knew, but she suspected that
it stemmed from something else, as well.  Or someone.

"Oh, fine.  I think Skye misses you, though," Pandora responded evasively,
referring to the kitten which had been a handfasting gift from Genevieve
and Jean.

"She is a bundle of mischief," Genevieve laughed.  "But that is not
what I meant, cherie."

"I know."  Pandora stood from the sofa and wandered over to the fireplace,
stirring the embers of the fire aimlessly with a poker.

"This Monsieur Adept, he has made a strange impact on our lives, no?"

"No is right," whispered Pandora, shaking her head.

"Nicholas does not like him,"  Genevieve stated matter-of-factly.

"No.  I tried to explain, but..." Pandora trailed off.  She laid the
poker aside and took her seat once again.

"Gen, I--I never expected...Oh, I don't know," she sat back
and leaned her head on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling.

"Never expected to be attracted to another man?  Oh, mon amie,
you are married, not dead," Genevieve laughed at her unintended
irony.

Pandora smiled ruefully.  "Well, that's not exactly it, either.
Yes, I find him attractive but--but it's not in the usual
sense.  And I'm not *making* any sense," she laughed and shook
her head.  How could she explain this without telling Genevieve
what she had seen, what the Adept had revealed to her?  The image
of his alien form was inextricably blended with his human shape
in her mind--this man who seemed to be of the Earth, but was not.
There was a certain beauty in his alienness that had touched her deeply.
She could not describe her feelings accurately without revealing his
secret, and that she would not, *could* not do.

"This has something to do with your disappearance, at the party?"

"Mmm hmmm.  Oh, it's silly, it will probably never happen again.
But I came close...we came close to--" she broke off and looked
at her friend.  Genevieve just smiled in understanding.  "I am
happy, Genevieve.  And fulfilled.  There is nothing missing
from my life, now, nothing--" but as she looked down at her belly
such a haunting shadow of sadness crossed her face that Genevieve
winced in empathy.  She, too, had lost a child.  Children.  She
reached over and took Pandora's hand in hers.

"Pandora, you must not feel guilt about what might have been.
We may be immortal creatures, but we are still very much
human, it seems.  And still susceptible to human desires, as
illogical as they may feel at times."  Genevieve's own face
clouded over as she frowned.  "It seems that I, too, have been
a victim of my desires."

Pandora looked at her curiously.  "What happened that night, Gen?
Why did you bite him?" she finally asked the question that had
been bothering her.

Genevieve sighed and picked up the glass from the side table.  She
twirled the liquid slightly, staring into its murky depths, then
returned it to its original place.  "I was...feeling somewhat
lonely, cherie.  And amorous--" she broke off and smiled slightly.
"Jean has been away so long now and there's been something of
a dearth of male company at home.  The 'little cousins' are not exactly
what I would call 'company.'  This Adept, he is a handsome
man, no?  We had an encounter at your handfasting...unusual yet
arousing.  But perhaps...perhaps I was somewhat forward, but
I usually do not get the signals so wrong." She shook her head.
"And he is not a usual man, is he, Pandora?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh, Gen, I don't think he meant to harm you, really," Pandora
said, putting her arms about the French vampire and avoiding
her last question.  "We'll get through this."

But even as Genevieve nodded and returned her friend's embrace,
a shadow of doubt lingered in her mind.

* * *

"I'm worried about you," Gideon said as he handed Genevieve a warm
wrap.  At last some of her clothes had arrived from France so that she
no longer had to borrow Pandora's things, which had not fit very well.
In fact, she had taken to wearing some of Mitch's clothes, with the
cuffs rolled up.

"I wish everyone would stop saying that," Genevieve replied, rather
sharply.  Pumpkin, who was cuddled on her lap, looked up at the tone of
voice and whined.  "Easy, little one," Gen soothed the dog.

"You are not recovering the way you should," Gideon insisted.  "You
are not taking any nourishment."

A guilty glance to the untouched glass at her elbow betrayed her.
"Cheri, this bottled blood, it is not to my taste."

"Then I will summon Evan and he will take you in the limo to the hunting
grounds of your choice."

Genevieve sighed.  He had gone all Lord of the Manor again.  He was upset
and afraid, however, she saw it in his eyes.  Joshua was not well, either, and
the double strain was telling badly on Gideon.

"Non, mon fils, s'il tu plait, do not summon Evan.  See, I will drink
what you have so kindly provided."  She picked up the glass and sipped
the contents until Gideon looked satisfied.  Then she set it down with a
slight shudder.  "La pauvre vache..."  She glanced sharply at her "son."
"And did I not tell you at the party not to use that tone of voice in my
presence?"

* * *

"I'm worried about Genevieve," Pandora said as she brushed out her hair
by the dresser.

Nicholas sat on the edge of the bed, watching her.  "But she seems to
be improving, doesn't she?" he asked with concern.

"Yes...but not as well as she should, I think," Pandora sighed.  "I wish
I knew how to reach the Gray Adept--"

"Why?" Nicholas asked sharply, his violet eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"What can he do for her?"

Pandora hesitated, mentally kicking herself for bringing it up.  She
was beginning to feel very alone and somewhat helpless.  She did not
like it at all.  "He...he has knowledge that might be useful to me," she
explained briefly.

"Knowledge," Nicholas echoed, his tone sarcastic.  "If it weren't for
him she wouldn't be sick in the first place."

"You don't know that, Nicholas," Pandora retorted.

"I *do* know that.  Why are you protecting him, Pandora?"  Nicholas
asked accusingly, rising from the bed.

"It's no more than I would do for anyone I thought was wrongfully
accused," she responded coolly, returning her brush to the dresser more
loudly than she intended.  "Please don't start with me tonight,
Nicholas.  I'm tired..."

"I know you're tired.  Damn it, Niamh, you're making yourself ill caring
for Gen."  Nicholas's eyes still displayed anger but his tone softened
when he spoke her ancient name.

"I am a healer, Nevyan.  It can be difficult and enervating, yes, but
it is what I do...what I am.  Others' needs come before my own.  Always."

"I know.  But it doesn't mean I have to like it," he said petulantly.

"Nevyan, please..." she pleaded, sighing heavily.  She crossed the short
space that lay between them and placed her arms around his waist.

"I worry about you, Niamh," the Bard murmured against her hair, pulling
her closely to him.  He closed his eyes and revelled in her sweet
softness, trying, for her sake, to quell his anger.  He felt a momentary
pang of regret about the Adept's phone call, thinking perhaps he
should give Pandora the message, given her concern for Genevieve.  But
he quickly dispelled it, still anxious about the man himself.

"I'm a big girl," Pandora responded, looking at him, her warm blue eyes
lighting up with desire.  "What I need to feel better is you.  Your special
magick, Nevyan.  Your song--"  she broke off and kissed him, softly at first
and then passionately as she felt him respond.

They fell to the bed, all the tensions of the past days melting with
their mutual yearning, losing themselves in the expression of their love.
Nicholas read Pandora's body like a map, knowing it as well as his own by now,
tracing the fine web of veins and lavishing attention on her pleasure zones.
He breathed in the smell of her, relished the taste of her. He wanted to fill
up all of her empty spaces; reach into her very soul and light up the dark
corners.  Permeate her with music; saturate her with his love.

Pandora reached out to him in her need, in her hunger.  Wanting to be filled;
hungry, so hungry for his love, and for the pleasure that could wipe away her
confusion and fatigue.  She closed her eyes, letting Nicholas fill her
senses--smelling his musky, earthy sweat and the tang of sea-air in his hair;
feeling the soft, silken hair of his chest against her cheek, her lips, her
tongue; tasting the salt of his skin, laced ever so slightly with the memory
of blood--warm, rich and sweet.  She opened herself to him, felt his music
permeate her, his love saturate her.

Finally, they slept with their limbs still entwined, pleasantly exhausted,
their troubles momentarily forgotten.

Date:         Thu, 2 Mar 1995 07:56:34 -0400
From:         The Merry Fluffsters 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 4

Shades of Gray
Part 4

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace

* * *

"You're plotting something."

Gideon looked up, startled, as Joshua came into his study.  His lover
was looking a little less tired, Gideon was relieved to see.  In fact,
he was eyeing Gideon suspiciously as he stood there leaning against
the doorjamb with his arms crossed and one foot tapping the floor.

"Plotting?" Gideon repeated.  He had been thinking about his
conversation whe'd had with Nicholas earlier in the week, and their
subsequent phone call to Michael.

Joshua sighed and put down his arms, thrusting his hands into his
pockets.  "You can't hide it from me.  Give over."

"I'm not plotting anything.  Whatever makes you think I am?"

"You are spending an awful lot of time in this study.  And you had
Nicholas in here the other night.  Now that alone makes me think
there's something afoot.  Planning a surprise party?"

"That hadn't crossed my mind," said Gideon, truthfully. "A surprise
party?  No, that's not it at all."  He knew those were the wrong words
as soon as he said them.

Joshua smiled in triumph and came fully into the room, draping himself
in a vacant chair.  "So, there _is_ something," he said, just as the
sound of the door knocker came from downstairs.  "Come on, talk!"

"I can't," Gideon said.  "Not yet.  That'll be Nicholas."

"What _are_ you two up to?"

"I will tell you when I can."  At Joshua's expression, he added, "I
promise.  We're going out for awhile.  Are you certain you're feeling
better?"

"Much better, so don't think of siccing Pandora on me with more tea."
He laughed slightly, though, to take the sting from his words, for the
herbal tea had seemed to restore much of his energy.

"That thought hadn't crossed my mind, either," Gideon lied.  He had been
thinking of it, but hadn't wanted to stretch Pandora's resources too
far.  Genevieve's need had seemed more pressing, and two patients in the
same house had been taxing poor Pandora.  Although recalling the look on
Pandora's face when she had discovered that they'd been trying to
conceal Joshua's exhaustion from her, Gideon shuddered slightly.

Gideon kissed his lover on the way out of the study and went downstairs
to find Nicholas waiting impatiently for him while Warg and Pumpkin
frisked at his feet.

"Come on," said the Bard urgently.  "I told Niamh I was going to the
club and I called Gus to tell him to expect me.  If she calls and I'm
not there she'll get suspicious..."

"I know what you mean," Gideon sighed, thankful that Genevieve was over
at Valley Mansion, talking to Janine and Alex.

They drove to Fairlawn in silence, neither wanting to say anything until
they discovered what Michael had found out.  The Archdruid had promised
to put his resources to work, getting the international part of the
Brotherhood to seek out information on the mysterious Gray Adept.  He
had promised to share his findings with Nicholas and Gideon first,
before taking it to the rest of the Cliff Road Crowd.

They had to spend a brief time with the family before seeing Michael
privately.  Bess was nowhere in sight, but Mary and the twins were happy
to see the visitors.  Vivain came up to Nicholas and tugged on his pants
leg.  Gideon moved almost imperceptibly away in case one of the twins
should accost him, but they ignored him, sensing his dislike of
children.

"Where's Pandora?" Vivain asked Nicholas.  "Why didn't she come,
too?"  She pouted slightly.  Pandora had become a favourite "Aunt."

"Pandora's at home, sweetie.  She...she's feeling kind of tired
tonight."  Nicholas responded, cautiously.

"Is she in bed?  Daddy says that you and Pandora spend most of your
time in bed," she remarked innocently, staring at the Bard in all
seriousness.

Nicholas stifled a startled laugh, but looked over at his friend
questioningly.  Michael had turned red and looked as if he wanted to
crawl under the rug.  Gideon covered his mouth with his hand, but his
eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Vivain, honey, when did you hear Daddy say such a thing?" the Druid
queried his daughter.

"Oh, it was one time when you and Mommy were talking," Vivain
shrugged.

Michael shook his head.  "They never listen when you want them to..."
he muttered, but he was saved further embarrasment when the other
twin clamored for the Bard's attention, too.

"Watch me, Nicky!" Galen demanded, tired of his sister receiving all the
attention.  Tongue sticking out from deep concentration, the little boy
performed a rather wobbly somersault.  "Wasn't that great?"

"Very nice, Galen," agreed Nicholas absently.

"You weren't even looking!  Mommy, make him look!"

"I think Nicky has other things on his mind, Galen," Mary took her boy
onto her lap and glared at Nicholas.

Michael used this as his excuse to usher his guests into the library.

"Well," said the Archdruid as he made his two callers as comfortable as
possible.  "I can tell you what I found out."

"What?" they chorused.

"Nothing..." Michael started.

Date:         Thu, 2 Mar 1995 09:07:28 -0400
From:         The Merry Fluffsters 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 5

One last part before the party starts.  Please let us know
if you're reading this and, especially, if you're enjoying it.  *smile*

Direct any questions, comments, hugs, to:

Baron Gideon Redoak (fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca)
The Gray Adept      (jgra@music.stlawu.edu)
Pandora             (wallacel@ac.dal.ca)

* * *

Shades of Gray
Part 5

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace

* * *

"Nothing?!" echoed Nicholas incredulously.

"Nothing _conclusive_, Nicholas.  Nothing we can hang him on,"
Michael explained patiently, although he was very disconcerted at the
vehemence of his friend's tone and mood.

"What _did_ you discover, Michael?" Gideon asked, sitting with
composure in a chair.  Nicholas's restless pacing was annoying him
and he glared at the Bard.

"It appears he is a scholar--"

"What does he *study*," Nicholas sneered.  "Vampire women?"

Michael ignored the Bard's sarcasm.  "A scholar of the supernatural;
yes, of vampires, of the Kindred," he explained, looking at Gideon.
"And he seems to work independently," Michael hastened to add,
anticipating the next question.

"Is he an immortal?" Gideon questioned.

"He might be.  He is certainly very long-lived.  Sources place him in the
American southwest at least eighty years ago."

Nicholas had stopped pacing to listen to Michael.  He now studied him
with a curious interest.  "Where is he from?"

"Unknown," Michael responded simply.

"What about that girls' school that his Winterfest party guest
runs...in Georgia," Nicholas suggested.

"It's a finishing school.  There are some concerns with that school
among the Brotherhood but no one has thought it worth infiltrating.
Everything appears above board."

"What about the schoolmarm, what's her name...?"  Nicholas asked.

"Miss Ella Preston.  On the surface is a pillar of society.  She's
being looked into, but I haven't heard anything yet."

The violet-eyed Bard ran his hands through his black hair in
exasperation.  "So you're saying he's clean.  Dammit!"

"Nevyan..." Michael interjected.

"I find this all a bit hard to...swallow," the Bard continued,
ignoring Michael.  "First he disappears with Pandora to Goddess knows
*where*--all *she'll* tell me is it was some "otherworldly"
experience where she was almost seduced.  Then Genevieve nearly dies
in his presence--"

"Nicholas, if this is about Pandora," Michael interuppted, "then
perhaps you should be discussing this with her."

"It's not *just* about Pandora, Tadg.  But, dammit, yes, I want to
know why he's interested in my wife!  And it's *not* about sex, you
two," Nicholas said crossly, looking back and forth between the two
other men.  "She's hiding something and she's protecting him, but if
she'd fucked him I'd know it," he said, unmindful of the vulgarity of
his words in his anger.

"Nevyan..." Michael tried to lay a calming hand on his friend's arm,
but Nicholas pulled away.

"And Genevieve...what *did* he do to Gen, Gideon?  What does he want
with Genevieve, as well?" he finished, glaring at the dapper vampire.

Gideon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Nicholas's words striking
close to his heart.

Oh, gods, if he'd lost Genevieve... he firmly damped down that thought,
long years' practice of smothering his emotions coming to the rescue.

"I don't know," Gideon admitted, "but Genevieve spoke of the Adept often
after the handfasting, she seemed quite taken by him."

Nicholas snorted.  "Or she was hooked on whatever drugs he gave her."

The Baron looked rather startled at the suggestion that his mentor had
become a drug fiend.  "Oh, I don't think so," he protested.  "It was a
year before she saw him again, after all."

"Do try to be reasonable, Nicholas," Michael interjected.  "Tell you
what, since you're both so anxious for more information, I'll try a
scrying and see if that produces anything."

Nicholas looked dubious, Gideon interested.  "Scrying's pretty vague,
Tadg," the Bard said.

"How do you do it?" Gideon asked.

"Well, basically, it's looking into a bowl of water and hoping to get
impressions of what you're looking for," Michael replied, slightly
uncomfortable discussing the Sight with someone who didn't have it.
"It's more complicated then that, of course, but that's the general
idea."

"Try it," Nicholas said.  "I'm ready to try anything.  Gideon, we should
get going soon."

"Yes," the Baron agreed.  "Genevieve will not wish to spend the entire
night in conversation with the Goldaniases."

* * *

Michael's guests headed towards the door of the library, but before
they could leave the Archdruid placed a restraining hand on
Nicholas's arm.  "Can we talk, Nicholas?" he asked softly, "Gideon
if you'll excuse us."

"Certainly," the dapper vampire nodded and exited the room, closing
the door behind him.

"Nevyan," Michael began.  "Please sit, my friend.  We have not had
a chance to talk in a long time."

"No," the Bard responded, but he eyed Michael with some suspicion.

The two sat on the sofa.  Nicholas turned to his friend expectantly.

"Nevyan...I'm concerned about you.  And Pandora.  Please tell me what
is going on."

Nicholas shook his head. "Everything's fine, Tadg..."

"No.  Everything is not fine, Nevyan.  You can't hide this from me,"
the Druid said.  "Help me to understand..."

The Bard sighed heavily and leaned back into the sofa.  "Damn you,
Tadg, I could never hide anything from you," he said softly, but did
not speak further.

Michael took a deep breath and then began.  "I do not think there
was anyone more surprised than I when you announced your intention
of becoming handfasted to Niamh, nor more delighted, truth be told.
You see, I remember...I remember the night you two met and I remember
your fear when you could not find her again.  But Nevyan, you and I have
been friends for a very long time and I know that you have never been
one to commit to any woman for long--"

"What are you saying, Tadg?  You think I've made a mistake?" the Bard
interejected crossly.

"No...what I'm saying is that I don't think you were totally prepared
for your union with Niamh.  We live in different times now, Nevyan,
our ways cannot be the same as they were."

"Niamh...ah Goddess, Tadg, do you know I never forgot her?  We shared
only one night together but she etched herself into my very cells,
I couldn't forget her.  I never forgot the look on her face when
she handed me her child...I would have pledged myself to her forever
then, given the chance.  But I was never given the chance..." Nicholas
buried his face in his hands at these words.

"I know, Nevyan, I know..." Michael intoned, placing a hand on the
Bard's shoulder and rubbing gently.

"When she appeared at Gideon's party, I--I couldn't believe that it
could be her.  She was a mortal when we met, but--," he broke
off, his mind free-associating with memories.  "The night of
our handfasting, I found her in the arms of a man, outside, behind
the bar.  When he looked at me I felt as if I looked in a mirror, a mirror
that reflected my own emotions back at me.  For an instant I thought
I would lose her again--that she would go off with that man and never
look back.  But I was wrong.  He left and she made no move to follow him.
I know who he was...is, she explained it to me.  And that is in her
past, but--"

"Nevyan, you have helped to make Niamh whole again--you have brought her full
circle and she has discovered her past because of you, but it is
a grave error to think that one can ever possess someone else.  I
do not see a noose around *your* neck."

Nicholas raised his eyes to his friends at these words in silent
pleading.  He understood fully what he was saying.  "Tadg, I know that.
I am thankful to the Goddess for bringing Niamh back to me."

"I am concerned because you are acting like a jealous husband," Michael
finally expressed in words what had been bothering him since Nicholas
and Gideon had entered his library.

"I am not jealous..." Nicholas objected vehemently.

"Are you being honest with yourself, Nevyan?" the Archdruid asked
gently.

"Yes...no.  Dammit, Tadg," the Bard muttered.

"You have good instincts, Nevyan, I know that.  And I have concerns about
this man myself, given what you and Gideon have told me.  If he has placed
Pandora or Genevieve in any kind of danger that is serious and deserves
our attention.  But there are other things to take into consideration
here, and right now we're only going on instincts.  And I also
believe that Niamh has good instincts," Michael raised his hand when he
saw Nicholas was about to interrupt.  "Don't turn her honesty against
her, Nevyan.  Why would she confide in you as much as she has if she had
something to hide?  You don't seem to appreciate the significance
of that..."

"But I _do_, Tadg. But it doesn't change the fact that she _is_
hiding something, and I want to know what that is."

"Niamh is a loyal friend, and I would always hope to have her as
an ally.  She obviously respects this man, and I respect _her_ for
that.  Nevyan...what I'm telling you is to look deep into your
heart and question those things that are telling you this is wrong."

"My biggest fear, Tadg, is that she'll leave me.  Okay?" Nicholas
looked at his friend despairingly.

"But, why?" Michael asked.  "Oh, Nevyan, have you looked at her
lately?  I mean, really *looked* at how she looks at you?  If Niamh
meant to leave she would never have been handfasted to you--would
never have agreed to stay here."

"No, that's not what I mean," responded the Bard, but his expression
betrayed the fact that it was at least partially what he meant.

"You think someone is going to take her away," Michael exclaimed,
realization slowly dawning.

Nicholas nodded.

"How can we guarantee that nothing will happen to our wives, to
our children..." Michael pondered aloud on a subject dear to his
own heart.

"I am afraid, Tadg.  I am afraid that I cannot protect her from
those things that would drive us apart.  Like the soldiers..."

"I understand, my friend," Michael said, and he did, indeed,
understand.  "But you mustn't let that fear cloud your judgement.
There are things we cannot prevent, try as we might.  But we can't
let them rule our lives."  He leaned forward and grasped his
friend's hand in his own.

Nicholas returned his friend's grip, silently seeking the support
he needed--the support he had been unable to find elsewhere.

"Nevyan, you said that this man called for Pandora the other night?"
Michael asked, his mind already working on the immediate problem.  He
could not remain impartial where his closest friend was involved,
and he did trust the Bard's instincts when all was said and done.

"Yes," Nicholas answered simply.

"Niamh is worried about Genevieve, and she thinks he may be able
to help?"

"Yes," the Bard answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Above all else, Nevyan, you must trust Niamh's healing instincts.  If
she feels this Gray Adept can offer her guidance in this matter then
you must not obstruct their meeting."

"What are you saying, Tadg?" Nicholas asked suspiciously.

"I'm saying that you should give Pandora the means to contact him.  You do
remember the number he gave you, don't you?"

"Ummm, no.  He didn't give his number," Nicholas looked down at the floor.

"He didn't give--you mean you didn't give him the chance to give
his number," Michael responded in frustration.

"No...Michael--"

"Never mind, Nevyan.  You've explained your feelings to me, I'm
not about to argue with you about what you did or did not do now.
But there must be a way of finding that information and giving
it to her.  Or helping her find it."

"I doubt he's listed in the phone book, Tadg."

"No, but there are ways of finding out.  And it might help ease
some of the tension between you two if Pandora felt you were
supporting her in some way."

"Mmm.  I haven't been very helpful and she's been looking so
tired, I'm worried about her," the Bard said, his mood softening.

"Good, then it's settled.  We find a means of inviting him here."

Nicholas sat bolt upright and glared at his friend.  "And if he comes?  Isn't
that a little like inviting the fox into the chicken coop?"

"Not if the farmer is standing in the shadows."

Nicholas looked at his friend long and hard.  "Yes, I see what you are
saying."

"Good.  Now go home--and go to bed," Michael said mishievously.

Nicholas smiled slightly and nodded.  "Goodnight, Tadg."

"Goodnight," the Archdruid responded, opening the door.



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