Date:         Thu, 9 Mar 1995 16:31:57 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 6

Shades of Gray
Part 6

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

* * *

Pandora clutched her long black cloak about her as she picked her
way carefully over the stone littered beach.  Bel, the couple's
mongrel pup and the other half of the handfasting gift from Jean
and Genevieve, pranced happily ahead, occasionally chasing an
ebbing wave then snarling and barking when the wave returned to lap
at his paws.  Pandora laughed at his antics, the clear joyous sound
ringing out in the damp night air.

It was an unseasonably mild evening in what had been an unusually
mild winter.  The breeze that blew offshore was warm, laden with
humid air from the Gulf Stream.  Pandora was grateful for the
respite from the typical bitter cold and snow of January.  The moon
was full and she was pleased that she would be able to perform her
customary solitary ritual to the Goddess out of doors.

She called softly to Bel as she turned onto the path which led to
the meadow.  The puppy dashed ahead of her and raced across the
field to the opposing woods, snuffling and scratching at the soft
loam of the forest floor.  His ears twitched as he listened for the
sounds of small animals foraging for food.

Pandora approached the spiral garden which had served as altar for
the handfasting.  The bed lay dormant, blanketed in winter sleep.
Branches of spruce formed a thick mat of protection against the
inevitable thaws and freezes which marked spring in the Northeast.
Here she spread out the black nylon sheet she had carried to cover
the damp, soft ground, before kicking off her gardening clogs.
Removing her black-handled athame from her cloak pocket she cast a circle,
whispering blessings as she did so.  She laid the small sword aside
and lit the candle she had brought, a single black taper, which she
placed carefully inside a hurricane lamp to shield it from the
breeze.  This she set at the top of the circle, next to the garden.
Bending over, she picked up the other object she had brought and
moved to the centre of the circle.  Pandora dropped her cloak,
letting it fall in soft folds about her bare feet.  Skyclad, she
cut a striking figure in the otherwise deserted meadow.  The heavy
full moon bathed her in a soft, cool light, playing on her
alabaster skin and lending it an iridescent sheen.  Her long,
straight hair fluttered gently about her shoulders, arms and back,
caressing her skin with soft, feathery strokes.

Pandora held her arms out in front of her, hands encircling a small
iron cauldron.  Her eyes closed tight, her lips moved in a silent
chant as she envisioned the Goddess of Transformation, Cerridwen, keeper
of the Cauldron of the Underworld in which inspiration and divine
knowledge are brewed.  She called upon Cerridwen for strength, as she summoned
up all of the knowledge and understanding that she held within her, focusing
on Genevieve and her healing needs, and felt them well up within her and flow
through her hands and into the cauldron.  She concentrated on the cycle
of life and the transformations that occur with each passage of the sun
and moon.  Next she centred on Nicholas, and on their love for each other and
his love for his music.  She focused on the dynamics of their relationship,
their decision to be handfasted, their individual lives and passions.  She
imagined these currents of emotion and expression flowing from her like a
myriad waterfall of colour and shadow, flowing into her cauldron.
She stood, transfixed, for countless moments, feeling the swirl and energy now
contained in the cauldron return and regenerate into a magnetic field which
coursed up her arms and circulated through her entire body, from
the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

Abruptly, she opened her eyes, her focus wavering and then clearing, fixing on
the candle which burned ever brighter, its flame leaping high as if trying to
escape the glass in which it was encased.  Very carefully, she placed the
cauldron beside the candle, then returned to the centre of the circle and sank
to her knees.  She laid her hands, palm upwards, on her thighs, and held
her back straight and her shoulders squared.  Her legs parted slightly as she
shifted her calves outwards, keeping her feet pointing straight backwards,
seating herself more comfortably on her body's centre.   She closed her eyes
and turned her face to the moon, feeling its energy flow into her:  the
Mother, nurturing and loving, fertile and sexual; the Mother, womb
full, breasts ripe and heavy with life, nourishing and generous.  Pandora
felt the moon's light being absorbed into her very skin, penetrating to her
cells and arousing the flow of blood through her veins.  Her ivory
skin took on a faint pink flush as her crimson fluid cycled through
her body, tingling her nerve endings.  The breeze touched her with
the caress of a dozen hands, the slight dampness of the air speaking
to her in tongues.  She lifted her hands to cup and lift her breasts as if
in offering, awaiting the kiss of a lover.  The heady sense of power
and pleasure coursed through her until she cried out, "Mari!", arching
her back and neck in ecstasy.

Gradually Pandora relaxed, dropping her hands to her lap once again,
centring her body and taking deep, slow breaths.  As her body
quieted, her mind opened and she became aware of the sound of
surf in the distance and the slight rustle of bushes in the
forest.  Nicholas's face swam before her sight, her eyes still closed,
as was her wont following this ritual and she rubbed her hands on
her thighs lightly, thinking of his touch, of his nimble fingers.  She
sighed, unaware that she did so, and a slight frown played at
her lips.  But before her mind could take her to the source of
this anxiety she was startled from her trance by a dog's barking.

She gasped and her eyes flew open.  "Bel!" she called, turning
her head slightly to look in the direction of the sound.  The pup
was barking and whining at something, but she could not discern
what.  Pandora reached for her athame and quickly uncast her circle,
then grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her.  She felt mildly
disgruntled for being disrupted and crossly hurried over to find her dog.

"Bel, where are you?" she called as she neared the woods, clutching
her cloak at the waist and still carrying her athame.  "Bel?"
Her senses were pricking in alarm and she was suddenly aware
of an uncomfortable sensation, as if she were being watched.  "Here, pup!"
she called with some urgency, taking a cautious step into the bushes.

The little mutt was whining and pawing frantically at the ground,
but there was nothing in sight--no animal tracks, no holes.

"You foolish mutt," Pandora laughed uneasily and hurried over
to pick him up.  She pocketed her athame and cuddled the wriggling
animal in her arms, murmuring to him in soothing tones as she
retraced her steps to her altar.  Bel finally quieted and lay
fairly docile, although he tickled her neck with his tongue.  She
slipped into her clogs and grabbed the sheet, crumpling it as best
she could into one hand.  She left the candle and cauldron in
remembrance of her ritual and headed back to the house.

* * *

Still wrapped in her cloak, Pandora sat at the small desk in
the Great Room which held the telephone and computer, fingering
the handset of the phone thoughtfully.  She was contemplating how
to contact the Gray Adept, her thoughts leading her back to the Winterfest
party and the Adept's unusual guest, Miss Preston.  She runs a girls'
school, doesn't she?  Pandora thought.  And she's Southern...Alabama?
Louisiana?  Ah...Georgia!  she remembered, smiling.  So the
Adept must be in Georgia.  But would he be listed under that name?
Perhaps Miss Preston could tell her...but she shook her head at that
thought.  She didn't believe Miss Preston would remember her, and she
did not seem the type of woman who would give such information out
over the telephone.

Pandora sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her
eyes lightly with her fingers.  She needed to rest and relax, and forget
about Genevieve for a while, forget about alien beings from a distant
star system, forget about Nicholas's uncharacteristic behaviour.
Standing, she slowly climbed the stairs and made her way to the
second story bathroom.  She dropped her cloak at the doorway and
crossed the tile floor to the oversized bathtub.  Turning the taps,
she let the water run until its temperature suited her and poured
two heaping capfuls of an herbal oil into the water.  She climbed
into the tub and gratefully sank into its soothing depths.

* * *

Please send comments, cuddles and candles to:

Baron Gideon Redoak (fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca)
The Gray Adept      (jgra@music.stlawu.edu)
Pandora             (wallacel@ac.dal.ca)
Date:         Thu, 9 Mar 1995 16:32:29 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 7

Shades of Gray
Part 7

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

* * *
                          "Night Rituals"

Firelight flickered on the sandstone walls, casting the midnight
arroyo in a devilish glow.  Swift Storm Cloud watched from the top
of a large boulder as the smoke pouring out of the blackened hogan
changed color.  Inside, strident chanting could be heard, pierced
every so often by animal screeches.  His brows furrowed, Swift Storm
Cloud listened intently as the chanting changed.

Slowly, four figures emerged from the hogan carrying a limp and listless
female between them.  The light from the fire caught the feathers and
bones that pierced their flesh.  Behind this procession followed a tall
man in the skin of a coyote, his head hung low and his ritual rattle
almost falling from his limp grasp.

Swift Storm Cloud leaped from his perch and marched up to the shaman.
"Why have you stopped?" he demanded.

"There is no hope," replied the shaman, Bone Cinder.  "There is no
spirit willing to assist in sparing the life of this poor witch."

"She is not dead yet!" his strange grey eyes flashing anger.  "Why are
you bringing her outside?  This is no place for a sick person."

"We cannot let a witch die in our hogan," Bone Cinder replied. "It
would be useless to us.  Buzzard Feather knew this.  She understands.
She will be more useful to us on the other path."

"Maybe we should call someone else," Swift Storm Cloud suggested.
"Owl Woman, maybe?"

Bone Cinder spat.  "Owl Woman!  She would never come.  She has no
dealings with witches.  And I would have nothing to do with her!"

"Then let me take her..." Swift Storm Cloud began.

"No!" Bone Cinder grunted.  He grabbed Swift Storm Cloud's arm and
pulled him closer.  As wrinkled brown face met smooth brown face,
the shaman was once again struck by the oddness of this "Hopi's" eyes.
"You are the stranger here.  You may have great magic to wear our skin
as we wear animal skins.  And you may also be death to any foolish
enough to try to take that power.  But Buzzard Feather is one of our
own, not yours.  You will have her when she sets down the dark path.
You must be patient, Gray Spirit of storm clouds."

"I can't..." Swift Storm Cloud began, but the dark shaman had turned
and the time for conversation had passed.  Down the arroyo, the small
figure of Buzzard Feather weakly thrashed her last moments on the
uncomfortable pebbles of the stream bed.

* * *

The Gray Adept shook himself out of the half-sleep of the long ago
memory.  Another time and another body.  In the end, he remembered, he
had taken Buzzard Feather, but his own skills had been little better
than Bone Cinder's.  She had died, at last, the true death.  Although
the memory, and scant few others like it, had been haunting him for the
last several days, he was never able to recall the face of the poor
victim.  Always, instead, he saw the sweat and vomit smeared features
of Genevieve.

He did his best to put the uncomfortable thoughts behind him.  Pandora
had treated Genevieve almost immediately and she had recovered.  But
then, Buzzard Feather had shown similar improvement only to be left
rotting on the floor of some nameless canyon before a month was out.
He simply could not stop worrying about the lovely French vampiress.

And yet, for all of his good intentions, he still felt like a spy.
It wasn't just the voyeurism that bothered him -- his profession made
that something of a necessity -- but that he was now spying on friends
for unprofessional reasons.  Safely hidden within his "duck blind," he
had a good view of Meadowsweet Ridge and the rocky beach beneath it.
He told himself that he was there to make sure that all was well
with Pandora and to see if she seemed to be struggling over a
difficult case.  He had also hoped, at first, that Genevieve might
be staying with the healer, but that was clearly not the case.

His task would be much simpler if Nicholas had not dismissed him.
He did not blame the Bard for his obvious contempt.  He hoped that
that feeling was not so strong that he would do something foolish.
Nicholas seemed like a good enough fellow, wise in his own fashion.
His devotion to Pandora was more than admirable, although a virtue that
could turn to vice with just the right turn of jealousy.  The Adept
wished that he could reassure Nicholas that he had no intentions
for Pandora, but he wasn't sure how he could convince the man -- or
himself -- of that.

The sad truth, he told himself, was that Nicholas had refused his
telephone number.  Going behind the Bard's back to get that number to
Pandora would only add to the problem.  If Genevieve were well, he
would leave the Fletcherville community to its tarnished opinion of him.
But he was not sure about Genevieve, and thoughts of her welfare now
itched in his brain worse than the half healed marks on his throat.
So here he was, spying on people who should be friends...

His self absorption in his own thoughts had distracted him such
that he hadn't seen Pandora leave the house and stroll down the beach.
Now, as he watched her casually meandering along the shore, her little
puppy playing in the foam, he might find out what kind of work she had
been up to.  She was obviously headed for the clearing that
contained her altar, the place where he had first seen her as she
joined hand and life with Nicholas.

He pulled himself from the substance of the tree he had been sitting in
and collapsed the blind.  He followed cautiously, wary of attracting
her or anyone else's attention.  That cute puppy, he thought with a
grimace, just might get in the way.  However, his people had long ago
learned ways to keep "Man's Best Friend" from betraying their presence.
He managed to slip behind a cluster of pines outside of the meadow's
main circle of transplanted trees.  As he established the blind again,
he was happy for the good perspective.  He noted, however, that the
puppy was making its way in his direction.

Pandora's ritual was quite striking, an homage to the moon and her
light.  Pandora was not, apparently, working on a cure for anyone,
which was a profound relief.  As he watched her meditate and
renew her spirit, he couldn't help but pull out his electronic
notebook.  The athame seemed very old and he desperately wanted
to have a closer look at it.  The chants were familiar but in a dialect
he did not recognize.  He suspected that this ritual would normally
be held indoors at this time of the year, but the strange warming
trend of this mild winter had allowed an outdoor celebration.
He began singing softly to himself, "Well it's a marvelous night for
for a moondance..." and quickly stopped.  Was it always to be dancing
with Pandora?

He blushed as Pandora presented herself fully to the light of Mother
Luna.  Under different circumstances, he wouldn't have missed
a beat in his note taking.  But Pandora was no anonymous informant.
She had once come damned close to presenting herself in such a way to him
and he had nearly done the same, falling into an adulterous embrace of
unexplainable passion.  As this sensuous ritual brought back those old
feelings, he knew that Nicholas had good reason to be jealous.

But unlooked for passion was not all that caught him off guard.  There
was something else, some kind of guilt that plagued him.  Pandora
writhed naked in moonlight and he watched, trying to be objective
but giving in somewhat to passionate arousal.  Ever the voyeur, he
thought.

The word "voyeur" echoed in his skull and the puzzle of his reaction to
Pandora's ritual came to disturbing completion.  Silently watching
a woman, his presence unrecognized, enjoying the curves and shape of
her body...he had been here before.  In this condition Genevieve had
found him at the Winterfest party.  Playfully teasing him about his
role as a "peeping tom," she had exacted her price of admission.  And
he, impotent in his guilt, had been unable to stop her.  Pandora
turned, revealing herself fully to his gaze, and The Adept, for the
first time ever within the safety of his blind, looked away.

At his feet, the puppy was sniffing the base of the pines.  Slowly,
it lifted its hind leg and sprayed a tree with urine.  Thanks to
the blind's veil of insubstantiality, the steaming piss did not make
contact with his leg, but he felt no less soiled.  The puppy sniffed
further, part of it's animal mind somehow aware of his presence.  Some
beetle or bug captured its attention and sourceless instincts provided
an excuse to bark.  The beetle swiftly moved on, losing itself under
pine needles, but the little dog continued its noise, not sure what it
was barking at but only that it should bark.

Regaining control of himself, he looked up to see Pandora approaching
in search of her small friend.  He caught his breath and almost spoke
her name in greeting.  But, of course, she could not perceive him
while he was in the blind.  Finding the puppy, she bent to scoop it into
her arms and the gesture carried her head through The Adept's solar
plexus.  He knew that there was no sensation from this phased non-
contact, but he nonetheless tingled from the experience.  He
wanted so much to speak with Pandora, to drop the veil between them
and talk of the things that troubled him...to actually *ask* about
Genevieve's condition.  Even in his distracted state, he knew that
such a sudden appearance would not be wise.  So he watched, always
watching, as her form passed through him and she went back towards
her comfortable home.

He sighed deeply as she at last disappeared into the night.  He still
did not know anything about Genevieve, nor did he really know how to
find her.  For a moment he cursed his aversion to using implants in his
work, but abduction and surgery were not his style.  Above all else,
he respected the beings that he studied.  He also knew that, with
Pandora and Genevieve at least, there was more than respect.

Salt air again pulled at his hair as he dropped the blind and moved
into the clearing.  Here, amongst the abandoned symbols of her faith (a
metal pot, a guttering candle, the dormant lives waiting for rebirth),
Pandora had reaffirmed her spiritual strength in a bath of moonlight.
Although he grasped with all he knew, The Gray Adept found that
his own inner strength had assumed the insubstantiality of moonbeams --
of a voyeur in a phased blind.

Perhaps, just maybe, he thought, it wasn't only Genevieve who needed
a healer.

Date:         Fri, 10 Mar 1995 08:06:58 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 8

Shades of Gray
Part 8

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

* * *

Pandora was disturbed from her restful soak by the ring of the telephone.
The first ring merely crept into her reverie, pulling her out of
her thoughts.  The second ring made its demand and she climbed out of the
tub and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her dripping body.  As she
ran downstairs she thought perhaps she and Nicholas should think about
putting an extension upstairs, but then, she normally would have ignored
the phone ringing.  Given her worries about Genevieve, however, she could
not let any call go unanswered.

She grabbed the phone on the fourth ring, hoping this was not one
of those impatient people who didn't realize how long it could actually
take someone to get to a phone when they were in the middle of something.

"Hello?" she said, scarcely breathless.  She pulled the towel around
her more tightly and sat in the chair, eyeing the wet footprints
she had made across the hardwood floor as she waited for the caller
to identify him or herself.

"Hello?  Pandora?  This is Evan," came the deep voice on the other end.

Pandora sat up straighter.  "Evan?  What's wrong--is it Genevieve?"  she
couldn't figure out why Gideon's protector would be calling her
otherwise.

"Yes, but don't be alarmed, Pandora.  She is okay and has actually
gone to bed to rest."

"But what is it, Evan?  Did something happen?"

"Apparently she fainted while she was visiting with Alex and Janine
earlier.  When I went to pick her up in the limo she was very pale
and weak, Pandora.  She protested that she was fine, but she didn't
*look* fine.  I know that Gideon is concerned that she's not, uh,
eating."

"Is Gideon home?  Has he seen her?" Pandora asked, feeling somewhat
perplexed.  Why hadn't the Baron phoned her?

"He was still at Fairlawn with Nicholas when I brought her home.  I
don't want to worry him needlessly, Pandora.  Genevieve's illness
has taken its toll on him too.  And Joshua..."

"At Fairlawn?" Pandora repeated.  "With Nicholas?"

"Oh," Evan sounded surprised.  "Yes, Nick picked him up earlier.  I
assumed you knew..."

"I thought--oh, never mind," Pandora said, trying to keep from sounding
peevish.  "Perhaps I should come see her," she mused aloud.

"She's resting, Pandora, and she seemed to recover somewhat once
I got her home.  But I thought I should let you know."

"Thank you, Evan.  I appreciate it.  But could you call me back
tomorrow to let me know how she is?" Pandora was twisting the phone
cord in her fingers, a number of emotional reactions doing battle
within her.

"Yes, of course.  Sooner if need be..."

"I'll be here, Evan.  Thank you for calling."  Pandora hung up the
phone lost in thought.  She was still sitting there, minutes later, staring at
the desk when Nicholas walked in.

"Hi," Nicholas said softly behind her.  He bent forward and kissed
a bare shoulder. Her skin was still moist from the bath and smelled
delicious.  He eyed the towel and the wet floor beneath her with
interest, noting with appreciation that the towel barely covered
her.  But when she looked up at him and he caught the expression
on her face he frowned.

"Is something wrong, love?" he asked with some trepidation.

"Evan just called.  Genevieve had a fainting spell out at the Valley
Mansion," Pandora explained.

"Do you want me to take you out there," Nicholas asked with concern,
feeling for the car keys in his jacket pocket.

"No, apparently she's okay now," Pandora sighed.  "He was just
concerned and didn't want to worry Gideon."  She smiled slightly.
"How was business tonight?" she asked.

"Business?" Nicholas repeated, his heart quickening.  "Oh, a bit
slow.  But it usually is on Thursday night."  He was glad he had
actually stopped at the club after dropping off Gideon at Oakwoods.
He was starting to appreciate what was meant by snowballing lies.

"And how are the twins?" Pandora asked further, standing up and
turning to face him.  "And Mary?  We should really have them over
for dinner some night soon, Nicholas.  It seems like ages since
we've seen them."  She was unable to keep an edge of sarcasm from
her voice.

Nicholas winced at her words.  Evan must have mentioned something
about him taking Gideon out to Fairlawn.  He stood, silent, not
knowing how to respond.

Pandora's eyes shifted to a cold, angry grey as she watched
Nicholas squirm beneath her gaze.  "Do you care to share something
with me, Nicholas, or are we going to continue to see how far we
can push the limits of our communication skills?"

"Pandora..." he pleaded, stretching out his hands towards her.

"So you two decided to go to Michael about the Gray Adept didn't you?
Going to sic the Brotherhood on him?" she accused.

"We're--we're concerned, Pandora.  This incident with Genevieve
is troubling..." Nicholas tried to explain.  His eyes shifted downwards
to where she was clutching the towel, rather unsuccessfully.  It had
slipped open at one hip and the Bard couldn't help but be distracted.

Pandora saw his lowered gaze and it only served to increase her anger.
"Stay here," she commanded.  "I'm going to get dressed."  With that
she turned and ran up the stairs.

Nicholas watched her go, trying to shake his sudden desire.  She
was angry and that was a rarity.  He remembered Michael's words about
offering her support and he made up his mind to do just that and try
not to antagonize her further.

Pandora descended the stairs moments later, sporting a well worn
pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt.  Her attire did nothing to
diminish Nicholas's arousal, however, and he shifted uncomfortably
on his feet as she approached.

"Sit down, we need to talk," she said coldly as she passed him.

Nicholas nodded and sat on the sofa opposite to the chair she
had taken for a seat.  He watched her expectantly.

Pandora struggled for self-control, struggled to contain the anger
boiling inside of her.  She wanted to scream and rage at Nicholas, but she
recognized that this urge stemmed as much from her own overwhelming feelings
of helplessness and frustration over Genevieve and the Gray Adept, as from
Nicholas's deception.

"If you want to explain what's going on, I'm listening," she said in
a low, controlled voice.

Nicholas swallowed hard and stared at his hands.  "We approached
Michael to see if he knew of any information on the Gray Adept.  Anything
the Brotherhood might know about him."  He looked up at Pandora who
nodded, her expression blank.

"And?" she prompted.

"And--they know very little," he admitted.

Pandora smiled slightly.  "I'm not surprised."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed.  "No you wouldn't be would you?" he said,
biting his tongue too late.

"What did you expect to find out, Nicholas?  That's he's an axe murderer?
A vampire hunter?" but as she gauged his reaction, she realized that
perhaps she had struck closer to the truth with her last crack than she had
intended.

"It's been my experience that vampire hunters don't go long undetected,
Nicholas.  Sooner or later they get caught, or get stupid."

"No, it's unlikely he's a vampire *hunter*, Pandora.  But he's a scholar
of some sort and studies vampires and other such creatures.  Is that not
enough to make you wonder about him?"

"Why?  Humans have been studying and writing about such creatures for
centuries.  Why should that make him different?" Pandora asked pointedly.

"Because of his methods...because of his ability to interact with
his subjects.  He knows of their existence, Pandora, unlike most others who
have ever undertaken such study.  That makes his knowledge dangerous,"
Nicholas explained patiently.

Pandora frowned.  He had a point.  "But is there any evidence to suggest
that he has used this knowledge against any of the Kindred?  What about
Joshua?  He knows of our existence.  Intimately.  Does that make him
dangerous?"

Nicholas shook his head, realizing he had reached a dead end.  "Joshua
is trusted.  The Gray Adept is not."

"He is *not* because you haven't given him the chance!" Pandora retorted,
unable to contain herself any longer.  "You've convicted him before
even giving him a fair trial!  You'll be pulling out the noose, next!
Or the torch..."

"No, Niamh.  Look, I admit that my personal feelings are involved here,
but can you blame me for that?" he raised his eyes to her beseechingly.
"It is because I love you, Niamh, because I want to protect you--"

"Protect me?!?"  Pandora shook her head incredulously.  "Do you
think me incapable of protecting myself?  I have survived alone
for many, many years, Nevyan, I have not lost those skills simply
because of our union."

Nicholas grimaced, realizing too late, again, that he had said
the wrong thing.  He stood and crossed over to where she sat, kneeling
in front of her.  "Then help me to understand, Niamh; give me a reason
to trust this man and I will," he entreated, taking her hands in
his.

Pandora sighed and closed her eyes.  They were no further ahead then
they had been the other night.  There was nothing more she could
tell him to convince him of her reasons for believing in her friend.

"Let him help me, then, Nevyan...with Genevieve.  Will you at least
trust *me* in knowing that he has knowledge that is valuable to
me?"

Nicholas nodded.  "How will you reach him?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't know--I'm rather surprised he hasn't tried to reach *me*,
actually," she sighed and sank deeper into her chair.

"Niamh..." Nicholas started.  How could he tell her that he had
further deceived her?  He had finally earned some of her trust
in this matter.

"Yes?" she asked absently, still pondering the problem of reaching
the Adept.

"I'll help you find him," he said finally, his heart beating quickly.

Pandora's face lit up at these words and she opened her arms to him.
He entered her embrace gratefully, but he frowned at himself.  Had
he made the right decision?

"Thank you, Nevyan," she whispered against his hair.

* * *

Date:         Fri, 10 Mar 1995 08:07:20 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 9

Shades of Gray
Part 9

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

* * *

"Really, Evan, I am feeling quite well again."  Genevieve did not look
well, though, Evan thought as he laid his old friend down on the bed in
her room at Oakwoods.

"I am going to call Pandora anyway," Evan said stubbornly, easing off
Gen's shoes.

"Ah, bien, mon ami, whatever you think best," she said wearily.  "But
pray do not bring her out here tonight for my silly little fainting
spell.  We have quite exhausted poor Pandora in visits to this house."

"Well," Evan chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, "If you really
think you're okay..."

"Je suis bien."  She smiled.  Even with the lines of exhaustion etched
on her face and in her bare feet, Gen was a remarkably beautiful woman.
Evan melted.

"I won't ask her to come out, then," he sighed.  "Do you need help
undressing?"

She laughed.  "Not from you, cheri."

A wicked smile crossed the protector's face.  "Shall I send in Joshua,
then?"

"Out!"  An imperious hand pointed at the door, and Evan obeyed its
command, laughing.

"A trial, that one," Genevieve sighed, sinking against the soft pillows.
"He is never serious for very long."  She stood up, trembling a little
as the weakness threatened her, and undid the fastenings of her gown.
It slid to the floor, where she left it, for once heedless of the
expensive fabric and tailoring.  The lingerie followed, and the lady,
naked and shivering, slid under the covers.

It was a pretty room, she thought drowsily.  In the massive redecorating
that had taken place before the Yule party in 1993, this room had been
done over with female guests in mind.  Rose-patterned wallpaper, dusky
rose curtains (hiding heavily shuttered windows for vampiric guests), a
pretty matching quilt, and soft colours in the carpet all blended into
a soothing environment.  She had been enchanted at once by its delicacy,
and Gideon had told her that the room was hers whenever she came to
visit.

This had not been a planned visit, she reminded herself.  Dieu,
whatever had possessed her to attack the Gray Adept like that?  What
manner of being was he that his blood had acted like poison in her?
A poison that had not completely left her, no matter how she protested
to Pandora, to Gideon, to Evan, that she was fine.  Mortal blood no
longer held any appeal for her, and as for the bottled animal blood that
Gideon kept in stock--she shuddered delicately.  Yet she could not
continue to accept blood offered her by Pandora and Gideon.  It was
telling on them both.

Pauvre Gideon.  He was so worried about her, and about Joshua.  She
recalled what her dear friend, her "son," had endured when his Jonathan
had died, and she prayed that Joshua would be well.  When she was strong
again, she would have a talk with Joshua about the Dark Gift.  It need
not be the horrible fate he seemed to fear.  And it would be so cruel to
leave Gideon alone again.

The Gray Adept.  Her thoughts, floating like beads in wine, turned to
him again.  Who was he, really?  So intriguing, so handsome, so...
alien.  A mysterious stranger, in more ways than one.  She had been
wrong to approach him the way she had.  Her illness was her own fault,
not his, although she seemed unable to convince Gideon of that.  The
Gray Adept had tried to warn her, there at the party, had he not?  She could
not be angry with him, mistrust him as Nicholas and Gideon seemed to do.  She
did not think she could love him, however, not after what had happened.

Alone, in the darkness, feeling very bereft, Genevieve wept.


Date:         Sat, 11 Mar 1995 11:37:32 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 10

Shades of Gray
Part 10

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

{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca; jgra@music.stlawu.edu; wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

The twins had been tucked safely into their beds, smiles on their faces
from their bed-time stories.  Michael closed the book with a sigh and
bent to kiss each cherubic little forehead.

"Hold fast," he murmured to himself, "my little blessings."  He shooed
the setter Ruddigore off of Galen's bed and went out of the bedroom,
shutting the door behind him.

Soon they would have to give the twins separate rooms, but so far they had
fought against being divided.  Once their awareness of their differing
genders arose, though, they would have to be separated.  Michael smiled to
himself at the thought of his little blessings growing up.  They would,
of course, and only too soon.  Hadn't it been just yesterday that Bess
was this small?

As if the mere thought of her name produced her, genie-like, his
teenaged daughter came up the stairs.  Michael withheld his comments on
her hair, her make-up, her clothing.  He thought they were too adult for
her, the layered locks, the mascara and lipstick, the leather skirt and
silk blouse worn with defiant abandon.  Bess was asserting herself,
drawing further away from parental control and more into the world of
adulthood.  Since she had run away last summer, she had striven to prove
herself a grown-up.  She was still his little girl to him.

"Hi, Dad," she greeted him breezily.

"Hi," he replied.  "You have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess.  Did I see Nicholas's car heading down the road?"

"More than likely.  He was here earlier."

"Something's wrong between him and Pandora, isn't it?"  Bess asked,
catching her father off guard.

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, honestly, Dad, I'm not a child!  I can tell when things are wrong
between people.  Are you going to help them?"

"If I can," he said, sensing the futility of denying that anything was
wrong.

"Cool.  You're okay, you know that?"

"So are you."  He told her this quite sincerely.

"I've gotta study.  See you later."

"Good night, Bess."

Michael went back downstairs, wondering what on earth he'd done to
deserve such a high accolade from his daughter.  He doubted that many
teenagers informed their parents that they were "okay."  He found Mary
in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Want a cup?" she asked.

"No, thanks.  I'm going down to the basement.  I'll likely be gone for
several hours."

Mary nodded.  'Going down to the basement' meant that he was going to do
something or other mystical, and she had long since learned that she was
happier not knowing precisely what.  All magic was dangerous, even
Michael's benign green magic.  If he didn't return by dawn, chances were
he wouldn't return at all.  She'd rather not know the details.

Michael went down the stairs to his special locked and warded room.  He
opened it, and retrieved the articles he needed:  his scrying bowl, his
robe, and other necessities.  He followed a path out of the house that
no one else could see, and walked into the oak grove dressed in a white
wool robe.  Luckily it was a mild January, although even in the most
bitter weather the cold did not penetrate the grove.

This was a sacred, ancient place.  The grove itself was only a little
more than a hundred years old, the foreign oak trees barely mature.  Yet
the miasma of great age hung like sacred smoke in the air.  Michael lit
some pine incense to purify the grove and cast a circle with his
athame.  He blessed the scrying bowl and picked up the thermos of water
he had brought with him.  After blessing the water, he poured it into the
bowl.  He lit no candle, for the round, full moon provided more than
enough light and he did not wish the distraction of a candle flame.  He
could sometimes "see" in firelight, but it was chancier than water, and
tended to bring him images of death.

He banished that thought from his mind, concentrating on his breathing,
and centring his body.  He let the trance take him, gazing at the still
water in the bowl, waiting for the visions to come.

The water darkened, as if storm clouds gathered in its depths.  Michael
did not stir, kept his breathing slow and deep.  The clouds slowly parted,
revealing a sweeping expanse of midnight sky, dotted with twinkling stars.
As he was pulled deeper into the vision, one star began to shine more
strongly than the others, almost blinding him with its brilliance.  The light
grew, banishing the darkness then contracted sharply, taking the shape of a
single candle flame.  At a shadowed desk sat an Asian man, studying a scroll,
peering at it with grey eyes.  The man's form shifted and Michael saw himself,
younger, kneeling in the dirt of a stable beside a blood-soaked form, gaping
up at a blonde, beautiful woman in the doorway.  Images began to shift more
quickly, moving across the water like frames of a film:  Nevyan and Niamh,
walking hand in hand past the Beltane fires; their handfasting, couples
dancing and laughing, and the swirling chaos at the China Clipper; the Gray
Adept, dancing with Pandora, then sitting at the bar with Genevieve; Gideon,
sitting ashen-faced in his study, staring at Nicholas; the Adept, seeming to
walk out of a willow tree--a willow tree in the grove at Meadowsweet Ridge--
as if pulling himself out of its very substance; the meadow where Pandora
meditated, surrounded by a sense of watchfulness that made Michael frown,
even in trance; the Gray Adept again, on a street somewhere that
still had stone walls, talking to a man.  The man looked familiar,
somehow, black hair, like raven's feathers...

The water showed no more.

It was the most abrupt wakening from trance that Michael had experienced in
years.  He was shaking.  Those last three images...what had they meant?
How could anyone just walk out of a tree?  Was the Adept spying on
Pandora?  That man, with the black hair...

No.  Surely the image of raven's feathers meant Corvus, the mage.  But
even as he rationalized, Michael knew that the man he'd seen was too
tall, too coldly handsome, too deadly to be Corvus.

Michael poured out the water, returning it to the earth, saying a
prayer to thank his goddess for the visions and beg her for the wisdom
to interpret them correctly.  He snuffed out what was left of the
incense, gathered up his things, and left the grove.  He walked as one
who feels the sudden weight of centuries crushing him down.

Even though the man in the vision was dead, burned and his ashes
scattered, Michael could not quell the horror seeing his image had
woken.

And how was the Adept involved?  What was his purpose?  Why had he been
shown conversing with that man?  That scion of evil?

With Kent Ravensbrook?

Date:         Sun, 12 Mar 1995 11:16:05 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 11

Shades of Gray
Part 11

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

{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca; jgra@music.stlawu.edu; wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

The Bard had already donned his jacket and had placed his guitar
by the door when Pandora wandered sleepily downstairs.  She rarely
slept through the day anymore, getting up early in the morning and
then taking a nap during the afternoon when the sun was at its
most intense.  But she had slept later than usual this evening, falling
into a heavy slumber to make up for the tossing and turning of
the previous night.  Nicholas smiled when he saw her, her hair
rumpled and her eyes still soft.  She was wearing her worn
blue jeans and a black mock turtleneck that accentuated her generous
curves, and he wished suddenly that he didn't have to go to the club.

"Why don't I call Ian," he suggested, taking her into his arms,
"and tell him something's come up..." he grinned wickedly.

Pandora laughed softly and returned his embrace.  "He started
getting suspicious about *that* excuse months ago," she teased.

"But maybe I should stay home," he continued, his expression
serious, "in case they call from Oakwoods."

"Evan will come for me if I'm needed," Pandora responded shaking
her head.  "Now go, or you'll be late."

"Musicians are supposed to be late.  It's in our contract," Nicholas
joked.  But he pulled away from her and picked up his guitar case.
"Call me if anything happens," he said, kissing her on the lips.

Pandora nodded.

"Oh, I picked up the mail," he told her, gesturing towards the
kitchen counter.  "There's a card there for you.  No postmark
though..."

"Oh?" she responded absent mindedly, still caught in the last
vestiges of sleep.  She had been considering taking the pup for
a walk to the highway to get the mail herself.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," the Bard teased. "Ian will
understand," he added, grinning.

"Go!" she said, making a shooing gesture, but she had caught
Nicholas's grin and it spread across her face.

Nicholas chuckled as he went out the door, taking a long, lingering
look at her before shutting it firmly behind him.  He whistled
as he made his way to the car, feeling lighthearted for the first
time in days.

Pandora padded into the kitchen in her bare feet, absently glancing
at the stack of mail as she went about making some tea.  More fully
awake now her mind returned again to the problem of contacting
the Gray Adept.  She and Nicholas had spent a couple of hours
earlier phoning operators and searching the Internet for possibilities
but kept coming up empty.

Taking her mug of steaming tea, she picked up the letters from
the counter and made her way over to the sofa in the Great Room.  The
fire was burning brightly--Nicholas had stoked it before he left--and
it leant warmth and light to the shadowed room.  The temperature had
dipped overnight and the weather was more seasonable.  Bel lay on
the rug before the hearth and thumped his tail when she approached,
but did not move, otherwise.  Skye mewed plaintively and stretched
on Pandora's leg before jumping up into her lap.  Pandora smiled
and rubbed the kitten's ears, eliciting a deep purr of contentment
from the small feline who stretched out on her lap and fell
into a doze.

Pandora idly flipped through the mail, tossing aside bills and junk
mail advertising a wonder device to grow super tomatoes that you could
harvest in March.  Yeah, right, in Greece, maybe, Pandora thought, as she
dropped it to the floor.  She took a big sip of tea and fingered the last
envelope thoughtfully.  It was made of fine quality, grey ragg paper and
was addressed simply to "Pandora," the curves of that name written with
calligraphic abandon.  Beneath it, the address was printed in neat, block
letters.  There was no return address, but instead a strange five pointed star
glyph.  Across the flap on on the back, in raised calligraphy, was a curious
phrase: "Power Lies in Motion and Transaction."  The letter smelled faintly of
tangerines, but there was no postmark to indicate its origin.  Intrigued,
Pandora slit the envelope open with a fingernail and gingerly removed
its contents.  She pulled out a card made of the same fine paper.  The cover
showed a pen and ink drawing of an old woman ministering an invalid
in bed, a small cluster of men and women standing to one side.  One
of them leaned closer, countering the crone's bent figure, and took
copious notes.  The notetaker, for all the abstraction of his
illustrated features, seemed somehow familiar.

Written in the same blocky letters as the address, the inside message
said:

      To the lovely Pandora, greetings.

            I hope all is well with you and Nicholas.  I so
            enjoyed seeing you again at the Winterfest.  I
            am sorry that things got so out of hand before
            the night was over, but that is the nature of these
            gatherings, I suppose.  I hope that Genevieve is
            recovering and wondered if you might be able to
            tell me how I could contact her.  I cannot bear
            to think that I might have in any way harmed her
            or earned her distrust.  I realize that she may
            not wish to hear from me, so I trust your intuition
            in letting me know what I should do.  And, in truth,
            it would be good to speak with you again, as well.
            Take care and give Nicholas my best.

                                          --The Gray Adept

Beneath his signature was that curious star symbol from the envelope,
a PO Box in Boston, and a 1-800 phone number.

Pandora's heart skipped a beat as she realized that she held in her
hand the means by which to contact this elusive man.  The hand
which still held her mug of tea trembled slightly and she quickly
placed it on the end table before she spilled any of the hot liquid.
She turned the card over in her hands before opening it again to reread
the message.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked herself aloud.  But she
suddenly felt like a nervous schoolgirl, trying to get up the courage
to phone the boy that sat on the other side of the room.  With
determination she took hold of herself, carefully moved the kitten
from her lap and stood, picking up her tea and crossing the room to the
phone.  She sat down and placed the open card on the desk before picking
up the handset.

The phone rang twice before a deep voice that she recognized as the
Adept's came on the line.  "Hello?" he said, his voice lilting at
the end of the word.  There was a strange muffled quality to the background
noise and the image of him sitting in the middle of the woods came to Pandora
out of the blue.

"Hello?  Could I speak to the Gray Adept, please?" she asked, even though
she knew it was him.

"This is he, ah, speaking...who may I ask is calling?"

"This is Pandora, Gray, er, Adept, uh," she faltered.  She was never
quite sure what to call him when addressing him directly.

There was a moment of silence on the other end before his voice came
on the line again.  "Adept is fine," he said, and she knew he was
smiling.  "You got the, ah, card?"

"Yes, thank you.  It's lovely," she said, closing the card again
and examining the sketch.  She now realized why the notetaker had
looked so familiar.  "And thank you for including your number.  I've
been wanting to reach you."

Again he paused before responding.  "Yes?  And how are you and
your, er, Nicholas?"

"Just fine," she said evasively.  "It's Genevieve I wanted to
talk to you about."

"Ah, of course.  How is she?" his voice never changed timbre, but
Pandora could detect a note of tension nevertheless.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't quite know how to answer that.  She was
doing very well," Pandora hastened to add, "but there seems to be
some recurrence of illness.  I feel as if--as if I've only been
able to treat the symptoms, you see.  I was hoping you could give
me some guidance as to what form of treatment I should attempt
next."

"What have you been doing for her?"

"Herbal treatments, mainly.  Some blood..." she trailed off and
looked at her wrist, which still bore the faint marks of the
vampire's teeth.  Pandora herself did not heal as quickly, not being
a full vampire.

"I see." the Adept said slowly.  Another moment of silence
passed before he continued.  "I think, perhaps, I should come there,
Pandora.  That is, if it's all right to do so."

"Oh, if you think it's necessary," Pandora said cautiously.  She had
very much hoped he would say that, but she suddenly wasn't exactly
clear on why.  "I mean, if it's not an imposition..."

"No imposition," the Adept said firmly.  "I--I would prefer dealing
with you in person, Pandora.  I think I can help you, that is, with
Genevieve."

Pandora let out a sigh of relief.  "Yes, I'm glad to hear that.
Thank you.  You know where I live?  You attended the handfasting
ceremony, I believe?"

"Yes.  Yes, I did."

"When might I expect you?"  Pandora asked.  She did not know
how the Adept travelled, but suspected that he was able to employ
means much faster than the usual.

"Soon," he said simply.  "Ah, Pandora?  Will I be, that is, will
Nicholas be there as well?"

Pandora chewed on her bottom lip as she pondered the answer to this
question.  Nicholas had certainly not been on his best behaviour at the
Winterfest, having confronted she and the Adept in a drunken rage when
they had reappeared following their strange dance.  "Nicholas will be
playing at the Clipper all weekend," she responded.  "We will
be able to talk in private."

"Ah, I see.  Well, then.  I shall see you soon," he said.

"Okay then.  Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Pandora."

Pandora listened as the line was cut and softly replaced the phone
in its cradle.  She expelled a long breath and leaned back in the chair.

All she could do now was wait, but patience was not among those virtues
she could consider her own.  Especially not when someone's health was
in question.  But as she sat at the desk, idly stroking the Adept's card
with her fingertips, it was not Genevieve who she found herself thinking
about.

The phone rang, startling her so that she jumped in her chair and banged
her knee.

"Damn!" she cried out, rubbing her injured leg.  She grabbed the phone
with annoyance.

"Hello?" she answered, somewhat harshly.

"Hello?  Pandora?  This is Evan.  Am I interrupting something?  You sound--"

"Oh, hello, Evan.  No, no, you're not interrupting anything.  Is everything
okay?" she asked worriedly, suddenly remembering Genevieve and Evan's phone
call of the previous night.

"She was too tired to get up this evening, Pandora.  She doesn't
look well at all."  Evan's voice sounded tired and strained.

"Then I must come out to see her.  Nicholas has already gone to
the club, though..."

"That's okay.  I'll come get you.  Be there in about an hour."

"That's fine, Evan.  I'll be ready.  Goodbye."

Pandora hung up the phone and picked up the Adept's card again.  Soon,
she thought.  He said he would be here soon.  She could only hope that
it would be soon enough.

* * *

Date:         Sun, 12 Mar 1995 11:16:35 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 12

Shades of Gray
Part 12

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

{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca, jgra@music.stlawu.edu, wallacel@ac.dal.ca}
* * *

The wind had picked up, although the shifting molecules of
atmosphere had no affect on The Gray Adept while he was safely within
the confines of the blind.  Instead, he seemed totally absorbed in the
screen of his electronic notebook as it flashed Pandora's "Okay then.
Goodbye." over and over.  He had watched Nicholas take in the afternoon
mail, including the card he had secretly added to the cluster of
meaningless flyers.  He had watched the Bard drive off, hoping against
all hope that his card had not been intercepted.  He had decided that if
there was no immediate response he would leave Fletcherville.  Hiding
and spying were getting him nowhere and it was time to move on to
other concerns.

But then, just as he was about to lose himself in another disturbing
day dream, the phone monitor on his notebook announced a call to the
1-800 number.  He knew it had to be Pandora, was truly relieved, but
he nonetheless trembled as he punched the "answer" key.  Her voice
seemed strained and unsure.  The conversation was mundane, nothing
to arouse alarm and really only a series of long rehearsed questions
and answers.  He discovered, however, a strong subtext that seemed to
turn his most innocent comment or question into audacious suggestion.
Something like desire ran up his spine and he knew that any interview
with Pandora was going to be most difficult.

He stared down at the small house with its warm light making luminescent
grids on the dormant ground.  He had his invitation and it was all he
could do to keep from collapsing the blind and marching up to the door.
Soon, he had said and now repeated to himself.  Soon.

In his mind's eye, he saw a bad tv situational comedy of the variety
that humans had been broadcasting to space for the last half century.
Pandora, dressed in an incredibly frilly green and white polka-dotted
apron, was puttering around the set of a perfect kitchen potting plants.
Suddenly, a knock came at the back screen door.  There he stood in an
atrocious plaid jacket carrying a super space-age deluxe vacuum
cleaner.  Pandora squealed, dumping soil on the floor as she jumped
excessively up and down.  He simply stepped through the door, dropping
merchandise with an impressive thunk on the floor.  The studio audience
cheered his entrance with much enthusiasm. He squared his chest and
smiled at Pandora.  "Howdy, hon.  Is the hubby home?"  Pandora cooed
and batted her overly long eyelashes.  "Why, no...tee hee." The studio
audience twittered.  "Then why don't I show you my equipment?"
The audience broke into peals of raucous laughter as Pandora positively
danced into his embrace...

The Adept shook his head violently.  He'd been losing focus and day-
dreaming quite a lot lately, but this dream was entirely too ridiculous.
He had only ever had a cursory interest in human popular culture,
although the actual structures of its multiple media fascinated him.
However, he knew enough of the various genres to know that this dream
had been somewhat tawdry.  Whatever else Pandora may be, she was not a
twittering tv housewife in a frilly apron!

Steeling himself to withstand the presence of Pandora, The Adept
decided to delay no longer.  He collapsed the blind and walked the 30 or
so meters to Pandora's front door.  Before he could knock, the door
swung open and Pandora, pup at her heels, stared at him in wide-eyed
surprise.  The dog began barking immediately.

"Oh!" Pandora cried, her mouth and eyes forming and holding the same
round shape.  "I didn't...I mean, you said...well, I guess you meant
soon when you said soon."

"I was actually in the neighborhood," he smiled shyly.  "Your friend
seems to like to be noticed."

"Oh, that," she said, seeming to hear the yapping for the first time.
"Hush!" she said, the word's fricatives clipped in such a manner that
they caught the dog's attention and he dutifully obeyed his mistress.
"He's been given to barking for no reason of late," she said by way of
apology, recalling his behavior at the meadow.  Briefly, a frown
furrowed her brow.

"May I come in?" The Adept said to break the silence.

"Of course!  Where are my manners?  Do please enter of your own free
will.  Oh no, that's right.  You don't really need quite so formal an
invitation, do you?"

"Need?" he replied as she led him to the Great Room.  "No.  But I do
prefer it."

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, seeming to look for excuses in
the manners of hospitality to expend excess energy.

"I don't suppose you could boil water for tea?  Something herbal,
perhaps?"

Pandora let a laugh escape before catching herself.

"Have I asked for something I shouldn't?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh no, not at all," she smiled.  "It's just that lately, most people
grimace whenever I offer them herbal tea.  I tend to forget that some
people don't think of it as medicine.  What would you like?"

The Adept shook himself.  Her laughter, her smile while explaining her
laughter, had all been very distracting.  "Something with zing," he
smiled back at her.  "Something you like.  Something grown by you,
by your hands..."

Pandora listened to him, not appearing to notice that her body swayed ever
so slightly as she listened, but caught herself when she realized that a
moment had passed without either of them speaking.  She had been
studying his tweed and turtleneck outfit, tracing his lean and angular
body with her eyes.  He spoke of herbal tea and she could only seem to
listen, as if his request were music instead of language.  She
raised her eyes to find the Adept studying her likewise and jumping
slightly, turned towards the kitchen.

"I'm sure I have just the thing," she muttered as she left.

Abandoned, The Gray Adept examined the contents of the great room.
It was something of a misnomer, since the house was small, but
there was an illusion of space.  On the far side of the
room was a sitting area, in front of the hearth, while by the
door sat a table and chairs to form a dining area.  There were many
interesting books on gardening and music and a wonderful wall display
of very old stringed instruments.  He tried to focus on the clear and
physical presence of Nicholas, as if thoughts of the irate husband might
keep him from being distracted by this severe attraction to the wife.

Pandora bustled back in with a tea tray.  "The water will just be a
minute.  Could I interest you in some gingerbread while we wait?"

The Adept picked up a crumbly square of compact confection.  It smelled
strongly of lemon peel and ginger.  The texture was hard to the touch
but melted like butter on the tongue.  The taste was, of course, divine.
Without meaning to, The Adept groaned in gustatory appreciation.

Pandora smiled at the compliment.  "I much prefer Grasmere gingerbread
to the usual cakes you get in America, but it's Mary who deserves
the credit.  It's her recipe.  I admit I'm just starting to find
my away around a kitchen..."

"It is full of flavor," he agreed, breaking eye-contact to take another
nibble.  "You've done your friend credit."

"But come," Pandora said after another moment of awkward silence, "you
didn't come all this way to share baking secrets."

"Would that I had," he sighed.  "I would much rather be enjoying such
sweetness without restraint, believe me."  He could not help but stare
long and meaningfully in her grey-blue eyes.

"Um, yes." Pandora was the first to break contact this time. "I wish
that Genevieve were with us as well.  She, however, does not seem to
have much of an appetite for *anything* these days."

Pandora's strategy worked.  The subject of Genevieve had a profound
sobering effect on the ecstatic energies at play in the room.  "She
is not well, then?"

"Well enough, but not improving.  She gets more and more resistant to
treatment, but it is not the resistance that comes with returning
strength.  I fear that she is weakening.  I am not yet alarmed, but this
trend could be a dangerous slippery slope.  I am growing very
concerned, though..." she trailed off and sought his eyes.

"You are very wise, Pandora."

"Please pardon me for asking," she shifted uncomfortably on the sofa,
"but has this...sort of thing ever happened before?"

"Yes." There was no pause before the answer.  The affirmation simply
hung in the air between them.

"And what happened?" she urged.

The Adept shook himself out of what seemed to be an unpleasant memory.
"I have been able to prevent this sort of...exchange from occuring in
most cases.  In a very few, I have been unsuccessful.  Almost every one
of those cases died the true death, if not immediately then not too
terribly long afterward."

Now Pandora was alarmed.  "What were the symptoms?  Were they treated?
How?  By whom..."

The questions were interupted by a piercing whistle from the kitchen.
The Adept nodded his head and looked at the floor.  Sensing that he
might take a moment to organize his answers, she excused herself to
go and make the tea.  When she returned, he was squatting by the
fire, lost in explosions of sparks as he poked it vigorously.

"Honey?" Pandora asked, to hear him answer an easier question.

The Adept turned and looked at her curiously.  Was she speaking
endearments now?  He shook his head, feeling as if had lost himself
in a daydream again.

"In your tea, I mean," she explained, seeing his questioning look.
She blushed slightly and looked away.

"No thank you," he said, turning from the fire, thankful for the warmth
to explain his own flush.  He accepted the warm china cup she offered him
gratefully.  "Pandora, I won't lie to you.  I am very worried
about Genevieve.  I had hoped your wisdom as a healer and her advanced
age as a vampire coupled with the smallness of the ingestion and the
speed of the treatment...well, I had hoped all these factors would play
in Genevieve's favor."

"But now you fear otherwise?" she prompted.

"Yes."  Again, the simple affirmative.

"What can we do?"

"I honestly don't know," he said as he sipped the steaming concoction.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice the strength of
the aroma or the full-bodied flavor.

"Okay," Pandora said, refusing give into the fears that were building at
the base of her spine.  "Tell me, then, about the symptoms.  What is the
course that this condition will follow?"  She grabbed a pen and pad from
the side table.

"It varies, in my experience," he began.  "In my experience, when...the
subject does not die from the initial convulsions, they will show some
temporary improvement.  Then, a growing weakness will manifest as
testiness or depression.  The...patient will find it difficult to
eat, the desire being totally absent or the act causing painful
nausia.  Lack of sustenance will only add to the growing depression
and weakness.  Eventually, the seisures return and take a more
permanent toll on the weakened body.  It is a horrible way for a vampire
to die."

As he spoke the last, the pain of his previous experiences filled the
space between them.  The healer in Pandora instinctively wanted to
reach out to him, to help him to forget such pain.  But she knew that
she could not let him forget.  Genevieve's condition was far more
serious than she had believed, and if she had a hope at all of healing
her friend she would need every scrap of information the Adept could
give her.  She quelled the seeming contradiction by assuring her inner
healer that the best cure for him would be to cure Genevieve.

"I wish that I knew more about these other cases," she said to the
empty air as much as to him.

He slowly shifted his position and brought out his electronic
notebook.  After punching a few oddly coded keys, he handed the device
to Pandora.  At the top of the small screen, a folder header flashed:
"Non-human Blood Ingestion: Seisures, Vampiric Anorexia, Depression,
Death."  As she scrolled down, she saw thorough notes on slightly more
than half a dozen individual cases, including date, location, amount of
blood ingested, symptoms, time of death, and treatment.  She noted that
only one case did not seem to have resulted in death.

"This is incredible," she said as she scanned through screen after
screen of information.  "You're certainly very detailed, I'll give you
that." She whistled softly as she read the clear description of a
specific type of fever.  "Who is this man who survived?  What was
different about his case?"

"Baron von Diesel," he said clearing his throat.  "He ingested only a
small amount and was quickly treated.  When the other conditions
followed, he disappeared.  I do not know what he did and he has never
told me...although I have asked him many times.  His case gives me
some small hope for Genevieve, at least."

Pandora nodded in response.  She was absorbed in his notes, but wanted
to know more about this Diesel fellow.  She was about to ask about him,
when the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway distracted both of
them.

The Gray Adept looked at her in great concern, as if he had been caught
in an elaborate trap.  "That would be Evan," Pandora predicted.  "He is
coming to take me to Genevieve.  I think you should come with me."

"Is that wise?"

"Wise?" she replied. "Yes.  Pleasant?  I don't know."  Pandora
looked at him pointedly.  "But it--it might be more so if we could tell my
friends wha- er, who you really are.  You see, I have been unable to
explain what happened to Genevieve..."

"Hmmm." The Adept considered.  "I'm afraid I cannot do that.  Not yet,
anyway. You must understand, I am not entirely autonomous in my actions.
There is politics where I come from and I am constrained by it to
maintain a certain level of secrecy.  I took too many liberties in
telling you, I fear."

Pandora had been listening with an intense look of concentration, as
if trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.  She shook her head and
smiled.  "Very well, we'll do it the hard way.  I understand, of
course.  I apologize for asking,"  she sighed and looked away, her
eyes shadowed.

As the last word formed on her full lips, Evan's knock resounded on the
front door.


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