Date:         Tue, 14 Mar 1995 20:38:41 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 13

With thanks to everyone who has responded to this story.  *smile*

The Merry Fluffsters:

Baron Gideon Redoak
The Gray Adept
Pandora

* * *

Shades of Gray
Part 13

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

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

* * *

Pandora stood to answer the door and the Adept stood with her.

"Stay here," she said softly, laying her hand briefly on his arm.  "It
will be okay."

She hurried across the room, slipping her feet into her low, black
leather boots before opening the door.

"Hey, Pandora," Gideon's protector said, smiling in greeting.  "Are
you ready--" he broke off when he spotted the Gray Adept, fixing
Pandora's guest with a cold stare.  He pulled himself up to his
full height, assuming a defensive stance.  Evan was muscular and
well-built, and his presence could be intimidating.

"Evan, this is the Gray Adept.  Have you met?" Pandora asked hurriedly,
trying to maintain some social advantage in the situation.

"Yes," Evan responded, the sibilant hissing between his teeth.

"He's come to see about Genevieve--to help me with her treatment,"
Pandora explained as she took her cloak from the coat-tree by the door.

Evan turned to her in surprise.  "Gideon won't like this, Pandora,"
he said under his breath, but his words carried clearly to the Adept
who shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Gideon will have to answer to me, then, Evan," said Pandora firmly.
"I assume full responsibility.  He's coming to Oakwoods with me."
She stared at Evan, her eyes flashing defiantly.

Evan, now accustomed to Pandora's demeanour when it came to her
patients, acquiesced.  But his expression betrayed his uneasiness.

"It's okay," she said, turning to the Adept with a smile.

The Adept hesitated slightly, eyeing Gideon's protector, but
crossed the room to stand beside Pandora.

"After you," Evan said, gesturing to the door and looking at
the Adept.

The Adept nodded and exited.  Evan placed a proprietary hand
on the small of Pandora's back and ushered her out of the house,
closing the door behind him.

* * *

The drive to Oakwoods was uncomfortably silent, with Evan keeping
a close eye on his passengers in the rearview mirror.  Pandora
stared out of the window, her mind pondering the problem of Genevieve
and what treatment to try next.  The Adept also stared out his
window, hands clasped loosely in his lap, watching the shadows
of the passing trees as they dipped and swayed in the wind, their
bare branches like the arms of fairy-tale witches.

Pandora turned to look at him, feeling an empathetic stab of
loneliness as she took in his thoughtful expression.  She reached
over impulsively and placed her hand over his, squeezing with
gentle reassurance.  He glanced over at her, startled, but returned
the pressure of her touch, enfolding her slender hand in both of his own.
Their eyes met in the darkness of the back seat, faces illuminated
by the occasional passing headlight.  Pandora felt herself being
pulled into his gaze, experiencing a disconcerting but not unpleasant
lightheadedness.  The blackness of the night lightened to a soft
gray, like that of pussywillows, as she felt herself crossing
a threshold reminiscent of twilight.

 she heard the Adept's voice in her mind,
surrounding her and caressing her eardrums with its vibrant touch, but not
a word did he speak.  She felt the word "resolve" caress itself into
the small of her back, accompanied by the comfortable smokey smell of
her favourite blanket.  She felt herself relax noticeably, small ball
bearings of tension rolling not completely off her shoulders.

 she responded, feeling her thoughts touch
his consciousness in the way his own were touching hers, raising
a mist of stardust that smelled somehow yellow.  Sitting in a cold car
driving through the mild brutality of a Maine winter, she could hear
only the warm texture of satin. Instinctively, she knew that this was
his preferred means of communication, this odd combination of sensation
and meaning.  At the vanishing point of the highway's horizon, she
now saw the distant Oakwoods radiating bitter beams of uncertainty.
She nodded in agreement, the gesture caught in the soft nell of distant
bells.

As they continued their strange yet somehow familiar communication, Pandora
felt a tender breeze lightly brush her face, like the whisper
of fingertips across velvet.  A hush of what seemed like voices enveloped
her, echoing softly along her tingling nerves, awakening her senses to
profound new heights.  The voices sang to her but not in any language she
could recognize; yet she responded silently in the same hushed tones,
understanding, and at the same time knowing somehow that she was understood.

Pandora did not know how many moments had passed before the Adept released
her hand.  She was startled from her reverie by the cessation
of the car's movement.  They had arrived at Oakwoods.

In the front seat, Evan frowned.

* * *

Gideon hurried out of the drawing room where he had been waiting somewhat
impatiently for Evan to return with Pandora.  But he halted in his
steps when he caught sight of the Gray Adept.  Warg crouched down
on the floor, his ears flattened, growling softly at the back of
his throat.

"Warg!" Mitch called sharply, eyeing both his pet and his boss with
concern.

"Take him, Mitch," Gideon said, waving his hand and for a moment
Mitch thought he meant the unexpected guest.  But he whistled and the wolf
followed him obediently down the hall.

"Pandora," the Baron greeted the healer coolly.  "And the Gray Adept.
What a surprise."  The vampire stood stiffly, his arms at his sides,
a slight tic in his jaw betraying the effort he was expending at
controlling his emotions.

"Gideon," Pandora said softly, taking a tentative step towards
her friend.  "He is here to help--with Genevieve," she continued,
starting to feel like a broken record.  "You must let me take
him with me."

"And if I refuse?" he responded obstinately, but the concern in
his eyes betrayed that he was not likely to refuse Pandora anything if
it meant helping Genevieve.

"Then as her healer I reserve the right to defy you," she said
calmly, holding his gaze steadily with her own.  "But please don't
let it come to that, Gideon," she whispered, her eyes softening.  She
did not like playing the "heavy," but she would do what she must
when a patient's health was at stake, even if it meant risking
a friendship.

The Baron's eyes flickered with something like remorse at her words,
his concern for his beloved mentor overriding his instinctive
"Lord of the Manor" stance.  Above all else he trusted Pandora's
healing instincts.

"Very well.  But Evan goes with you."

"Certainly," Pandora responded, nodding formally.  But her eyes were
expressive with gratitude and concern.

"Sir," with a cold nod to the Adept, a gesture that was just barely
polite, Gideon stepped back and allowed his guests to pass, fighting the
urge to follow.

Partway up the stairs Pandora called to him, "Oh, and when you phone
Nicholas, be sure to tell him that I'll need a drive home."  She
turned away before she could see Gideon's reaction, but she
suspected that he was not pleased.

Outside of the guest room that Genevieve was occupying, Pandora
turned to the Adept.  "I had better go in first, Adept," she said
gently.

He nodded in understanding and stood to the side awkwardly.  Evan
took a post beside the door, never letting his eyes stray from
the mistrusted stranger.

Genevieve opened her eyes as Pandora entered the room, closing
the door quietly behind her.  The room was lit by a boudoir
lamp on the nightstand, casting Genevieve in a soft, pastel light.  Her
normally luminous blonde hair hung limp and dull and her eyes were
shadowed with dark rings.

Pandora gasped in shock at the change that had occurred in such a short
time.  Genevieve had looked tired when Pandora had visited the other night,
but now she looked deathly ill.

"They have called you..." Genevieve said weakly.  "Gideon, he worries
too much."

"Genevieve, you are not well!" Pandora protested, rushing over to
the vampire's side.  "Pray what has happened!"  she uttered before
she caught herself.  Taking a deep breath she quickly controlled
her rising panic and assumed her healer's pose.

Genevieve did not miss the alarm on Pandora's face and her eyes
shone in response.  A single, unbidden tear tracked its way down
her cheek and Pandora noted that it was clear, lacking any hint
of crimson whatsoever.

"Gen, how long now since you've taken nourishment?" Pandora asked
firmly, pushing her shirt sleeve up her arm as she spoke.

"A few days, perhaps, ma chere.  It is not unusual..."

"It's been more than a few days since I was last here, and you hadn't
taken anything then," Pandora chastised.  "You need to keep your
strength up."  She held her wrist to Genevieve's mouth and pressed
it gently against her lips.  "You must feed..."

"I--I cannot!" Genevieve protested and turned her head away, grimacing.
Tears fell unchecked and her shoulders shook with silent weeping.

"Oh, Gen," Pandora whispered, her own stomach cramping spasmodically
in empathy.  She gathered the distressed woman into her arms and
held her close, rocking her and murmuring in soothing tones.

"I cannot," Genevieve repeated against Pandora's shoulder.  "Mon
Dieu, what is wrong with me?" she pleaded.

"Genevieve," Pandora started, weighing her words with care as she
continued to hold her friend.  "You need help that I am unable to
give alone.  I have called the Gray Adept--"

At these words Genevieve started and pulled away.  "L'homme qui...
Pandora, why?"

"You must trust me, Genevieve.  Do you trust me and know that
I have only your health as my concern?"

Genevieve nodded.  She did, indeed, trust Pandora.

"Good, then you must also trust me in this matter.  He is concerned
about you and wants to help.  He will not harm you, I guarantee that,"
Pandora explained then hesitated.  "He is here, now."

"Ici?  Oh, Pandora, not now, not like this," Genevieve protested,
pushing her lifeless hair out of her eyes.

Pandora smiled.  "This is not a social call, mon amie.  But come,
we will dress you in a pretty nightgown and brush your hair before
he enters.  Okay?"

Genevieve nodded dumbly and sank back onto the bed, exhausted.  She
did not protest when Pandora helped her into a blue satin gown with
matching bedjacket, then brushed out her long hair with loving strokes.

"There.  You are always beautiful, Gen," Pandora said with encouragement,
as she adjusted the bedcovers around her.  "Beautiful in spirit."

Genevieve nodded and closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for this
unexpected meeting with the man whom she had somehow never expected
to see again.

* * *

Date:         Fri, 17 Mar 1995 18:25:14 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 14

Shades of Gray
Part 14

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

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

* * *

In the hallway, The Gray Adept shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Evan stood solidly by the door, refusing to make eye-contact but
obviously keeping an eye on every move the threatening stranger made.
The Adept was moderately curious about this strange servant of vampires.
Were the situation different, he would chafe at not being able to
ask Evan questions about his race and history.  As it was, he was too
concerned about Genevieve to think about adding to his endless research.

The silence was becoming more than painful.  It did not take a vampire's
heightened senses to hear that there was a certain amount of commotion
downstairs.  He heard a young voice, Mitch he thought, arguing with
what could only be the quiet assertions of the Baron.  "All right,
all right," came Mitch's exasperated voice in a partial snarl, followed by
solid youthful stomps as he marched to some back portion of the house.
The Adept could not afford to lose too much concentration worrying
about what transpired downstairs; he had to keep his focus on
Genevieve.

"You breathe," Evan's ominously flat voice broke the silence between
them.

"What?" he asked, more as a reflex than as a considered response.

"You breathe," Evan repeated, keeping his eyes on the far wall of the
hallway.  "Do you also bleed?"

"Yes," he did not know how to respond to his dangerously neutral tone.
"Yes, I bleed.  I bruise.  I break.  I will die." Then, because he could
think of nothing else to say, he asked, "You?"

Evan grunted.  "You kill?" he asked, keeping his role as interrogator.
Like a good guardian, he was assessing the extent of the threat to his
master's household.

The Adept paused.  There was no sense in seeming to avoid such direct
questions.  Whatever this man might think of his answers, it was better
not to seem to be hiding anything.  "Yes, on occasion."  Then, as an
afterthought, "Although not always with intention."

Evan seemed to have to process this last bit of information.  He asked
no more questions and The Adept was about to try asking another
question of his own when the door opened a few inches and Pandora peered
out.

"Please come in now," she said, looking only at the Adept.  Evan moved
to follow him as he slipped past Pandora.  "No Evan, we will be okay.
Please wait there."

"Pandora, the Baron won't..." he started, but she stopped his protest
with a finger to his lips.

"Gideon understands.  I take responsibility here.  Genevieve is my
patient.  This is *my* job, Evan."

Evan did not look convinced, but he no longer moved to enter Genevieve's
room.  He took his position by the door where he could clearly hear
what transpired inside.

During this exchange, The Adept had been focused on the figure in the
bed.  Genevieve smiled weakly at him, looking both radiant and somehow
shriveled at the same time.  There was still strength in her spirit
which only served to counterpoint the obvious strains on her physical
well-being.  "Genevieve," he gasped, half in greeting and half in
shock.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Adept," she said, a frail imitation of her usual
manners and grace.  She gestured weakly to the side of the bed and he
quickly moved to where she had indicated.  At the door, Pandora finished
her instructions to Evan and turned quietly to watch the meeting.

"You'll pardon my saying, but you do not look well."  He did not mean to
state the obvious, but he did not want to equivocate with pleasantries.

"It must have been someone I ate," she smiled limply.  The pale attempt
at humor was more painful than a rebuke.  He looked at the floor as she
tried to recover the moment with a frail and careless laugh.

"I am so sorry, Genevieve," he said, forcing himself to look back up at
her.

"Sorry for what?" she replied, simply.  There was no accusation in her
voice, nor was there any consolation either.

"For this," he gestured vaguely, encompassing the bed and her prone
figure.  "For being the cause of your pain, of your sickness."

She stared at him intently, her eyes focusing and unfocusing as if with
fever.  "I do not think about causes," she said, finally looking down
at her hands as they picked fretfully at the edge of the bed covers.

He waited for her to say more, and when she did not he turned to
Pandora.  He cleared his throat.  "Pandora," he began slowly, "would
it be possible for me to have a moment alone with Genevieve.  It
would help with my...diagnosis."

He held her eyes that were so like his own, hoping that with her he
could depend on trust.  She seemed to falter, recognizing that Evan
and the Baron would not tolerate such liberties with this threatening
stranger.  But between them came the coarse texture of a half forgotten
melody and Pandora understood, although she could never have expressed
it in language.

She looked at Genevieve, who seemed more curious than concerned.  "It
is all right with you, Gen?"

Genevieve looked back and forth between them, trying to understand what
unfathomable secrets had just passed through the air.  She looked at
her friend, confidante, and healer and simply shrugged.

"Yes, of course," Pandora said to the Adept, "but I doubt I can leave you for
long.  There are limits to my influence in this house, even in a
situation like this."

She quietly opened the door and slipped out into the hall, the soft
sounds of her movement obliterated by the words of protest that
greeted her.

The Adept turned back to Genevieve.  She looked at him with careful
unconcern and, perhaps, if she were not ill, that mask would have
hidden the odd mix of emotions that seemed to be at war in her
weakened body.  There were many feelings there in response to being
alone with him, but The Adept could only see the disturbing
combination of fear and disgust.

He steeled himself to say what he knew he had to tell this woman.
"I am sorry, Genevieve," he said again, "for not stopping you."

"Could you have?" she asked, one superbly shaped eyebrow arched with the
question.

"Perhaps," he answered.  "Perhaps not.  But the point is, I did not try
as hard as I might have.  I think..."  he began only to falter with the
admission and start again.  "I know...I wanted you to...do it."

"Knowing the result?" her brow furrowed at the possibility of
treachery.

"No!" he said quickly.  "Yes.  Well, forgetting the result, I guess.
What you offered, I truly wanted...from you.  Not the dark gift, but
the...connection.  In that moment, you desired me.  And in that desire
I found a greater desire in return; that someone as special...as
beautiful...as *present* as you could desire me...it made me foolish
and weak...with desire."

He ground to a halting stop, unable to look away.  Genevieve's
expression changed very little, giving nothing away.  Cruel, he thought,
but I deserve it.  He closed his eyes and turned away, breaking the
contact.

"And this is the result," he said to the wall.  "I have hurt you,
Genevieve.  Seriously.  More seriously than I think you know.  But
I will not...hurt you again.  I have some ideas that I must discuss
with Pandora.  We will find a way to make you better, I promise.  You
must trust me in this...and when you are well, I will leave you
forever...if that is what you want."

Genevieve said nothing.  Slowly, the Adept nodded.  He had nothing
more to say.  As he opened the door and quietly slipped out into
the hall, he did not see Genevieve's studied composure break as she
buried her face in the covers.  No one heard the soft sobs that came
from a long-lived vampiress, lost in unaccustomed weakness and unsure
of her feelings.

Date:         Sat, 25 Mar 1995 21:14:53 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 15

Shades of Gray
Part 15

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

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

* * *

"What do you think?" Pandora asked, searching the Adept's face for some
indication of what had transpired in Genevieve's room.  Down the
hall, Evan stood at his assumed post.  The Adept was sure that the
Baron's servant and protector missed nothing, but he did not care
about the surveillance.

"I think she is very sick," he said without any trace of emotion.
"And I think we must do something about it soon."

"How soon?"

"Surely, it is only a matter of days now."  He ran his fingers through
his thick hair, trying to pull his face tight to release some clearer
idea of what they should do.  "I think we should..." he began.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"I think we should consider other methods than symptomatic treatments."

"Yes. Please go on,"  Pandora hesitated to speak further, wanting a clearer
idea of what sort of alternative treatment he might be suggesting.

"'Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold,'" he seemed to be speaking
to himself.

"'And a blood dimmed tide is loosed upon the world?'" Pandora was not
much in the mood to play "finish the literary quotation," but she wanted to
know what he was thinking.

"Hmmm...no, more like 'The best lack conviction given time to
think.'" He seemed to recognize her as if coming out of a deep
trance.  "I don't mean to be obscure, Pandora.  Wasn't it a Yeats'
poem set to music that we first danced to at your Handfasting?"

"Yes," she suppressed the desire to smile at the memory of that truly
wondrous dance.  "Why do you think of that now?"

"I think that the problem is not about alien physiologies," he said,
suddenly very direct in his answer.  "I think that Genevieve suffers
from...well, an inability to hear her falconer."

"'Turning and turning in the widening gyre,'" Pandora made the connection
but was not sure she yet grasped the significance.

"The experience of my blood in her body, it has had a greater effect
than simply poisoning her.  She is, how to say it?  Fractured?  I
mean, fractured spiritually.  She is betwixt and between total dispersal
and the solidity of her former being.  And unless we find a way to
usher her back, the dispersal will result in her...death."

"But how do we do that?" Pandora said, taking the idea and pacing the
confines of the hall.  "I have used every concoction I know to restore
her health, physically and spiritually.  I am running out of ideas.
My herbs have only given a surface relief, I see that now." She frowned.
"And my touch..." she continued, staring down at her hands, "my touch
cannot penetrate deeply enough."  She looked up, the memory of Michael's
illness of the previous year coming back to her.  "As with Michael,
I could not restore his health until he could resolve his loss of
faith.  The salves, the herbs, the backrubs...while having the potential
to cure, the final resolution was in his own hands."  Pandora
studied the Adept with wonder, as the echo of a word, "resolve," touched
her once again.

"I think what she needs is a more communal representation of her
healing, of her passage back to health." He made this observation
almost sheepishly.

"Representation? What do you mean? Draw her as healthy and she will
become healthy?"  Pandora was looking somewhat confused again.  She
had started to follow the Adept's path of thinking, but he seemed
to have veered off suddenly.

"Something like that, yes," he nodded.

"I'm not sure I understand...are you suggesting poppets and fetishes?  How
can those work if she does not believe in them?" she asked, remembering
again how Michael had needed to reaffirm his own faith before he
could fully recover.  But Genevieve had not lost spiritual faith--or
had she?  Faith in her Self, perhaps?

The Gray Adept held up his hand to the light and studied it.  "You have
seen me as I *really* am, Pandora.  This body is but a human
representation of me.  It is a mask, of sorts.  I believed for so
long that it was *merely* a mask, part of my research equipment."

He paused and Pandora instinctively resisted the desire to encourage
him to elaborate.  As she suspected, he continued at his own pace.

"However, I have learned that is not the case." He now held both hands
up to the light and studied them intently.  "I work alone because I
no longer *fit* with my people.  I am not as I was before I came here.
I have worn this representation of your human alienness until I am no
longer that which I was."

"You are becoming human?" she asked, the lilt in her voice suggestive
of hopefulness.

"No, I don't think so," he replied frowning.  "But I am affected by
this mask, by living this representation of humanness.  I still work
for my people, operate as one of them.  But I am no longer really
*of* them.  No matter how much I refused to believe such a
transformation was possible, it has occurred...continues to occur."

"And you think the same is true of Genevieve and this sickness?" Pandora
asked, not really sure she was following his line of thinking.

"Something like that." He dropped his hands.  "Or maybe more like
Voudoun, where the 'victim' need not believe in the loa for the magic
to work.  Do not think like a psychologist--it was always a dubious
study at best.  We are not seeking to convince Genevieve's subconscious
through some inspirational activity that she is healthy.  We are going
to use the power of communal representation to affect the world,
specifically to affect it such that she will be her whole self again."

"Communal representation?" Pandora felt that she was on the verge of
understanding.

"Ritual," he whispered.  "We must perform a full blown communal
ritual.  A rite of passage for Genevieve from her liminal state
betwixt and between centrifugal dispersal and the order of being,
between death and life."

Pandora was silent, as she let the last of his words filter through
her consciousness.  While she studied the Adept thoughtfully, something
like fear seemed to cross her face and he frowned in response.

"Ritual," she repeated slowly, rolling the syllables around her tongue
as if savouring them.  In an instant her expression revealed both
the desire to spit them out and the decision to swallow them.

The Adept continued to watch her with puzzlement on his face.  Seeing
his expression, Pandora struggled to explain.

"In my own experience, ritual was always reserved as a last resort.
For the dying..." She finally made the last connection, the one that
she had been resisting, both from the stance of a healer and as a friend.
"Then it is true," she said softly, seeking his eyes.  In them was
mirrored the sadness she was herself feeling.  "Then it must be so,"
she stated firmly, but turned away from him slightly as her mind
grappled with this decision.

She was remembering--remembering an event long buried in her past,
of a situation in which she had similarly reached such a conclusion.
Pandora took heart from the memory that the woman had survived, but it
had not been achieved without a great deal of expended energy on
her own part.  An energy that had taken with it much of Pandora's
own strength, requiring as it did such an extraordinary effacement of
self.  Indeed, it had been necessary to call on the aid of
a pagan priest from a nearby village--something that was a very rare
occurrence in Pandora's community of women.  She flushed slightly
as she thought of it, and looked shyly at the Adept, becoming aware
of a slight tension in her belly and thighs, a heaviness in her breasts.
No, that will never do! she protested to herself.  The person must
be effaced by the ritual persona or it would not work.

Pandora turned to face the Adept, once again, struggling to control
the complexity of emotions doing battle within her.  Yet as their
eyes met, she came face to face with what she had begun to suspect as the
source of her own fear.  This man was her opposite--she was of the earth, he
was of the air.  She swam in the soothing comfort of the ocean, while he
travelled in ethereal spaces fuelled by fire.  But the elements were
not really opposites, were not really polarized.  For in union they
created a whole.  In ritual, as in life, they were essential for
completion.  It was not that she feared the consumption or the burning
that troubled her, but that she craved it.

Date:         Wed, 29 Mar 1995 19:46:12 -0400
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      Fluff:  Shades of Gray, Part 16

Shades of Gray
Part 16

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

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

* * *

Oblivious to Evan's presence, Pandora and the Gray Adept felt
themselves pulled once again into the curious energies that seemed
to emanate from and around them.  Pandora took a step, then two,
closer, longing suddenly for the strength of his arms about her and
the comforting scratchiness of wool beneath her cheek.  For the
first time in many days she felt that someone truly understood her,
truly supported her.

"I've felt so alone," she whispered, a slight hitch to her voice.
"I'm so glad you've come."

"Pandora," he whispered in return, lifting a hand to brush a stray
lock of hair from her cheek, "I'm so sorry.  Sorry for the trouble
you've been through.  Trouble I've caused--" he broke off, heaving
a sigh.

She shook her head.  "No, you don't have to apologize."

The Adept closed the remaining distance between them, sensing
Pandora's need to be held, coupled with his own desire to hold and
comfort her.  "We'll do the best we can for her, Pandora," he
murmured against her hair.  "I promise you I will do everything in
my power..."

Pandora held him tightly, as if she could draw strength from him,
feeling the soothing relief of gentle, encircling arms.  But when
she heard Nicholas's voice she pulled away and turned towards the
sound slowly, as if moving through water.

"Where is she?" the bard asked Evan upon reaching the top of the
stairs.  He turned his head to follow Evan's glance, seeing the
Gray Adept and Pandora pulling out of an embrace and staring at him
dumfoundedly.

Pandora was the first to find herself, the first to move.

"Nicholas!" she cried, her voice tinged with both happiness and
trepidation.

The bard just stood and stared, his violet eyes flashing with mute
anger, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.  He turned
to look at Evan with accusation.

"They were just talking, Nick," Evan reassured him, but he did not
look wholly convinced of that fact himself.

Meanwhile, Pandora hurried over and kissed her irate husband on the
cheek.  "Genevieve is not well, Nevyan."

Nicholas looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, his
eyes momentarily flickering with confusion.  "So, looks like you
needn't have worried about finding him after all, eh, Pandora?
Looks like the fox was able to find the chickens without the
farmer's help."

"What are you talking about?" Pandora asked, clearly puzzled.

Nicholas focused on his wife's face and immediately regretted his
words. "Nothing, Pandora," he said, shaking his head.

"It was the card, Nicholas," she hastened to explain, sensing that
Nicholas was also troubled by the Adept's unexpected appearance.  The
card in the mail--it was from him."

"The card with no postmark."  His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he
surveyed the stranger who was still standing awkwardly at the end
of the hall.

"Nevyan, please," Pandora whispered, "I need his help.  I thought
we had resolved this..."

The tone of her voice reached him and he saw finally the traces of
fear and worry in her eyes.  "Yes, we did, Niamh.  It's okay."  He
placed his arm possessively around Pandora's shoulders and extended
his free hand in greeting.  "Good evening, Mr., ah--"

"Adept.  Just Adept is fine, Nicholas," the Gray Adept spoke,
noticeably relaxing as he came forward to shake the Bard's hand.
"It's good to see you again, and the both of you, looking so well."

"Yes, thank you.  So you're staying in town?  Can we drop you off
somewhere when we leave?"  Nicholas asked pointedly.

"Ah, yes. Yes, you can, at the village," the Adept responded, his
eyes flicking to Pandora and then back to Nicholas.

"Pandora, are you ready to go home now?" Her husband turned to her,
his arm still around her shoulders.

"Ummm, soon," she mused, slightly perplexed by the exchange she had
just witnessed between the two men.  "I need to give Evan some
instructions for some special tea and a quick word with Gen..."

"Okay, then.  We'll wait downstairs for you," the bard said,
purposefully including the Adept and gesturing to him to follow
him.

Pandora and the Adept's eyes locked for a moment and she nodded
slightly.

"I have to go, too," Evan said softly, after the two men had
rounded the corner.

"No, wait just a moment," Pandora said hurriedly.  She ran a hand
through her hair in exasperation.  "I'm going to leave some herbs
in Gen's room, Evan.  Infuse a tablespoon for ten minutes in hot
but not boiling water.  Make sure she has a cup before dawn, then
one cup every four hours tomorrow night.  Can you repeat that back
to me, please?"

Evan looked at her with dismay, but quickly obeyed when she
challenged him with a hard stare.

"Good, thank you, Evan," she said softly, laying a hand on his arm.
"This has been difficult for all of us..."

"It's okay, Pandora."  Impulsively, he reached out and ruffled her
hair as he passed.

Pandora laughed, feeling momentarily lighthearted.  "Evan?" she
called.  "Could you send Mitch up with some hot water now, please?"

"Sure thing," he called up the stairs.

Genevieve appeared to be sleeping when Pandora re-entered her room,
so she went about her business quietly--preparing the herbs for
tea, gathering up her cloak and bag.  When she heard Mitch in the
hallway she hurried out before he could knock and disturb the
patient.

"Thank you, Mitch," she whispered, accepting the hot mug of water
and retreating back inside, but Mitch's voice stopped her.

"Pandora?"

"Yes?" she asked, finding the young werewolf studying her intently.

"Is she--is she going to be all right?" he asked, his expression
troubled. His shaggy hair hung in his eyes, and Pandora started to
move to brush it away, but stopped herself.  Mitch's boyishness
brought out the mother in her, but she knew he didn't like the
attention.

"I hope so, Mitch, I'm doing everything I can."

"I hope--well, you and Nick will work things out, won't you?  I
mean, this Gray Adept guy, he's not..." Mitch looked pained to
express himself and he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"No, he's not," Pandora responded firmly.  "Nicholas and I,
well...we'll work things out," she smiled, if a bit ruefully.

"Good," Mitch said then turned around and dashed down the stairs.

Shaking her head, Pandora slipped back into the guest room and
quickly infused a portion of the herbs in the hot water.  As it
steeped, she sat back in a chair and studied her patient
thoughtfully, her mind wandering over the events of the evening,
and the Adept's suggestion of ritual.  It disturbed her that she
associated a healing ritual with impending death, for all of her
healing had ritualistic elements.  And she did not believe, nor had
she ever believed, that death was a finality.  It was but a turning
of the wheel that led to rebirth.  But in her experience, a full-
blown healing ritual had always been an extreme measure and,
despite her outlook on death, the thought of losing a patient, and
particularly one as dear to her as Genevieve, was painful.  A
healing ritual involving the Adept was also likely to meet with
some resistance, particularly from those who would be most needed
to make it work.  She sighed and buried her head in her hands.

"Still here, chere?" Genevieve's small voice broke through
Pandora's reverie and she started up, taking the cup of brewed tea
over to the bedside.

"You are awake," Pandora said, more as a statement than a question,
smiling.  "I have something for you to drink.  At Genevieve's
grimace she persisted.  "You must take this. It is what I take for
nourishment, Gen.  It emulates the blood.  And it tastes good,
too," she added.

She helped the French vampire sit up, propping pillows behind her
back.  Genevieve took a small sip of the tea.  "It is good," she
said, taking a larger sip, then holding the steaming mug in both
hands and breathing deeply of the scent.

"Would you like me to stay here with you, Genevieve? I would feel
better knowing--"

Genevieve dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand.  "Non, mon
amie, that will not be necessary.  And I think you need your time
with Nicholas, no?"

Pandora nodded, her face strained.  "Yes, I do need my time with
him.  I just wish..."

"Yes?" Genevieve prompted.  She had drunk half the tea already,
Pandora noted, pleased.

"Oh, nothing.  It's just--he is not always an easy man to live
with."

Genevieve laughed and it was like music filled the room.  Pandora
remarked with relief that a faint flush had also returned to her
cheeks.

"It would not be so much fun if he were, would it?" she teased her
friend and healer.

Pandora laughed in response, as much from relief at Genevieve's
temporary improvement as from the realization of the absurdity of
her words.

"I do rather like the making up," Pandora agreed, a slightly wicked
gleam coming into her eye.  But then her face clouded as she
remembered that he was waiting for her downstairs, and not in a
very good mood.  "He is here now.  I suppose I should be going.
Now, finish your tea.  Evan will be up in a few hours with some more,
and I want you to drink all of that, too."

Genevieve nodded, taking another sip.  "And Monsieur Adept?" she
asked, watching Pandora put on her cloak.

"He is downstairs as well."  Pandora sighed.  "I had best make sure
they haven't strung him up from the nearest oak."

"Thank you for bringing him, Pandora," Gen said quietly.  "I feel--
more at ease, I think."

"Good," Pandora said, going over to the bedside once again and
patting Genevieve's hand.

"You two," Genevieve continued, taking Pandora's hand in hers.
"There is something, I don't know, something unique, yes?  The
other night when we talked, I thought you meant something, well,
physical.  But it's not that is it, cherie?"

Pandora studied her friend, taken slightly by surprise by this
sudden perception.

"You are right, I think, Genevieve," Pandora responded slowly.

"It is that which is most bothering Nicholas--it is something he
cannot quite understand."

"I'm not sure I understand it myself, Gen, how can I expect Nevyan
to?" the healer whispered.

"Be patient with him chere, he loves you very much."

Pandora's eyes shone in response to her friend's words and she
quickly dashed away a stray tear that had slipped onto her cheek.

"I love him more than anyone...I have always loved him," she
murmured.

"Go then, Pandora, go and love him.  I am feeling better, now."
She passed her empty cup to Pandora and snuggled deep under the
covers.

"Be well, my friend," Pandora said softly, bending over to kiss
Genevieve gently on the cheek.

She gathered up her belongings and hurried downstairs.



    Source: geocities.com/g_redoak