Date:         Wed, 7 Jun 1995 23:12:56 -0300
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      FLUFF:  Shades of Gray, Part 28

Shades of Gray
Part 28

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace
{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca, jgra@music.stlawu.edu, wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

"But if the peoples of the world knew unequivocally that there
were, in fact, other beings out there in the void..." Ray continued
the argument that the Adept had been unable to resolve for a day.

"Then they would look to us to solve their problems," the Adept answered
blandly, his eyes scanning the road by the public beach for Nicholas and
Pandora's arrival.

"And that would be a bad thing?" Ray asked.  They had been around this
issue before.

"Yes," the Adept sighed.

"I don't understand.  If you can help us, then isn't it immoral to stand
by and watch us suffer?"  Ray shuddered again at the memory of being an
all too often idle witness of suffering.

"The last thing this world needs is for us to come along and try to play
into your rescue and salvation myths.  First, I doubt very much that we
_could_ save you if you needed it.  And second, and most importantly, it
would rob you of the right to solve your own problems and gain wisdom
from the experience."  The Adept was relieved to see Nicholas's car
purring down the road.

"Ah, but..." Ray was smiling in anticipation of his rebuttal for this
point.  The Adept had stymied him with this one before and it had taken
him most of the afternoon to come up with a possible counter argument.

"Ray Griffin," the Adept chuckled the witch's name, shaking his head.
"It is not my decision.  And Nicholas and Pandora are here.  Can we, at
least, postpone this debate for the moment?"

Ray nodded in mute and frustrated agreement, withdrawing into his more
usual cryptic silence.  Hands in pockets, he waited for Nicholas to pull
the car to a stop.

"Remember, not a word.  You promised," the Adept needlessly reminded him
as Ray nodded again.

Nicholas and Pandora were both clearly surprised to see Ray with the
Gray Adept as the two piled into the back seat.  Nicholas grunted a
greeting and pulled away from the side of the road.  Pandora quickly
recovered from her confusion and wished them both a good evening.

Not being one to contain her curiosity, she asked, "So how did you
two meet up?"

The Adept did not miss the furtive glance she shot him.  He thought of
a green bud, the sharp odor of its bloom kept secret.  Pandora nodded
slightly as if she understood.

"I guess I did some of my own spying," Ray finally offered.

"Would that all spies were so friendly," the Adept laughed in light
agreement.

"Indeed!" Nicholas said softly, but not softly enough.  An uncomfortable
silence followed the comment and remained in the car for the rest of the
short drive up the Maine coast.

When Pandora, Nicholas, Ray and the Adept arrived at Oakwoods, all four
of them were considerably surprised when Gideon walked out to meet them at
the car.  The dapper little Baron usually observed much more formal manners,
even with friends.

Tight lines of concern tugged at the corners of Gideon's dark, pretty
eyes as he greeted the visitors.  There was no hint of a smile on his
face, only exhaustion.

"There's a whole new factor to be considered," he said, without much
preamble.  He tugged at his neck before realizing that he wasn't
actually wearing a tie.  "A wild card."

"What are you talking about?" Nicholas asked impatiently.

"Jean de la Mare."

"Sacre bleu," said the bard.

"Precisely."

"Is something wrong?" the Adept asked, shifting his weight from one foot
to the other, aware that tension was rising to unbearable heights.  "A
wild card?  I do not quite understand."

Gideon ran a hand through his hair.  "Genevieve's lover," he said.  "He
arrived last night, in a great flurry.  I think he intends to challenge
you to a duel over the lady's honour."

The Adept looked startled, as well he might.

"Jean might very well mean it, too," Pandora put in worriedly.  "He's
very unpredictable, Adept."  She looked at Gideon with mixed concern and
vexation, although he could tell that the latter was not aimed at him,
particularly.  "You didn't invite him, did you?"

"Good lord, no.  He just turned up, issuing threats and generally
causing a disturbance.  I thought he was still safely in Spain."

"GIDEON!"  roared a voice from within the house.  "Who is out there?
Bring them in, little mouse, do not keep guests waiting outdoors!  Have
you no manners?"

Gideon rolled his eyes and sighed wearily.  "You see?" he asked
wryly.  "Here one night, and he thinks he's the master of this house."

Before anyone could answer or run for cover, the boisterous Frenchman
swooped out of the front door and joined the group at the car.  He
scanned the small crowd, a sneer pulling at his lips in a decidedly
unhandsome way.  His eyes had not finished their perusal of the group
before he jumped immediately at Ray, grabbing the witch by his collar
and lifting him off the ground.

"AHA!" he exclaimed into Ray's face.  "You are the one who has done
my Genevieve wrong.  You will pay, Adept."

Blue fire crackled across Ray's flexing fingers as the Baron rushed to
his aid.  Several of the assembled group tried to speak at once, but it
was the Baron's voice that penetrated the passionate Frenchman's head.

"Jean!  Put him down," Gideon commanded with a baronial air.  "That is
not the Gray Adept, as you should well know.  That is Ray.  Ray Griffin?
You've met the man before.  Now put him down before he turns you into
something...vile."

Fortunately Jean did not hear the subvocal "even more" that preceded the
last word of Gideon's warning.  The Frenchman peered closely at the
witch and then casually dropped him.

"Merde! As if he would dare!"  Jean snorted loudly and surveyed the rest of
the group, somewhat less hastily this time.

He spotted the Adept easily; he was tall and thin and different,
somehow.  He was holding a fragile looking contraption, rather like an
overly large desk calculator, but Jean paid little attention to such
meaningless detail.

"You, then!  You are this Gray Adept?" Jean growled the man's name as he
approached menacingly.

"So I am called," the Adept agreed, backing cautiously away.

In one swift gesture Jean pounced on the Adept.  In unison, the others
grabbed Jean's arms, trying in vain to prevent him from pummeling the
defenceless visitor.  So caught up were they in restraining the
overly strong vampire that it was a moment before anyone noticed that
Jean held nothing.

"Coward!" Jean shouted to the empty air, flexing his hands.  "Come back
and face me!  I demand honor!  You cannot hide from me, you coward.  I
will have satisfaction..."

Jean looked under the car, behind a bush, and accusingly at the Baron.
Gideon only shrugged.  Then, off in the distance, Jean fancied he caught
a glimpse of the stranger.

"Ah, there is the gutter trash!  He cannot hide from me for long.  You
see what villains you allow here?!  Well, no matter.  I will set things
aright.  Mes amis, never fear, Jean de la Mare is here!"  And with that,
the overconfident vampire changed form and bounded after the Adept.

The small gathering watched him go.  Pandora pulled at her fingers
nervously while Ray massaged his throat.  Even Nicholas seemed concerned
for the Adept's safety.

"Do you suppose he will be all right?" the Baron asked of no one in
particular.

"Jean or the Adept?" Nicholas asked.

"Jean will be fine," the Adept answered from behind, surprising them
all.  They turned in unison to find him picking a loose thread from his
tweed blazer.

"But we can't expect him to chase rabbits all night.  We had best go
talk to Genevieve while he is otherwise occupied.  We can deal with
Jean later."  The Adept paused, looking out at the fields where a
dark wolf was bounding from one copse of pines to another.  "Has
Michael arrived?"

The Baron nodded.  "He is with Genevieve now."

Together, the group headed into the house.  Gideon, his composure
somewhat returned, led the way as a proper host.

* * *

Date:         Sat, 10 Jun 1995 10:33:16 -0300
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      FLUFF:  Shades of Gray, Part 29

A brief note of thanks at this time to those of you who have been
reading along.  Your feedback and encouragement are greatly
appreciated.  Don't stop!

* * *

Shades of Gray
Part 29

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace
{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca, jgra@music.stlawu.edu, wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

"Just the Adept," Pandora turned at the foot of the staircase to
address the men who were following close at her heels.  "We need to
talk to Genevieve and Michael about the ritual."

"Of course," the Baron bowed slightly and gestured for Nicholas and
Ray to follow him.

Nicholas did not protest, but as Pandora met his eyes she noted the
consternation and suspicion there.  She smiled briefly and reached
out to touch his arm in reassurance but he had already turned away.
A heavy sigh escaped her before she could stop it, and the Adept looked
at her curiously as they climbed the stairs.

"Is everything all right, Pandora?" he asked, concern lining his
forehead.

Pandora nodded.  "Just a bit tired," she said softly, although since
coming into contact with the Adept again she felt anything but tired.
The strange energy that ran between them had heightened considerably
since their encounter on the beach and the non-verbal communication
was almost effortless now.  She had caught Nicholas studying them both
more than once on the drive here and outside, and knew that he was
sensitive to this chemistry.  She knew also that it disturbed him, but
there was little she could do about it, having no control over it
herself.  At least it seemed to her that the edge of desire had
softened somewhat, its mutable tension having dissipated into another
channel for the time being.

"I met with Michael last night," she added hurriedly to change the
subject and fill the air with words.  "He is very supportive and seems
to understand the unique nature of the ceremony."

The Adept nodded, a thoughtful smile crossing his face.  "That is
good.  Yes, very good.  He is a wise man.  I am glad he understands.
I feel much better now."  He caught himself about to chatter out of
control.  Pandora's presence was very empowering, a result of their
"dancing" no doubt.  He looked at her profile, alert to the fact that
she was aware of his gaze and the power that flowed between them.  He
wanted to say something profound and appropriate to the moment, but he
was yet again at a loss for words.  He could not even think of an
accurate sensation to share for this experience.  Frustrated, he
turned his attention back to the hallway.

"Ah, here we are," he observed rather weakly as they reached
Genevieve's room.  He stood aside to let Pandora enter before him.

Both Michael and Genevieve looked up as they entered.  Michael was sitting
in a chair beside the bed, his expression very grave.  The French
vampire was lying prone in the bed.  Pandora gasped involuntarily at
the sight of her.  Her health had obviously declined considerably since
last the healer had been here, the woman's cheekbones standing out
in sharp relief to the gaunt and sunken cheeks.  Genevieve's eyes
were dull and unfocused, although they lit up slightly when she
registered Pandora and the Adept's presence.

"Gen," Pandora uttered and hurried to her, sitting gingerly on the edge
of the bed.

"Mon amie," Genevieve whispered, fingers brushing Pandora's hand weakly as
it grasped her own.

Pandora instinctively turned to look at the Adept, but he could not disguise
his own shock at the downturn.  He frowned and shook his head slightly.
Sharp cactus prickles worked their way up Pandora's spine, the
feeling of urgency clearly communicated between them.  Nor was their
communication entirely lost on Michael who watched them with arched
eyebrows.  Pandora turned back to Genevieve, missing Michael's
expression.

"Have you been taking the tea I left you?  I've brought some more..."
Pandora asked, feeling an uncomfortable wave of helplessness rise and
threaten to engulf her.  Had they waited too long?  She fought down
a surge of anger as she thought of the Brotherhood's distrust--
a distrust that may have irrevocably cost them precious time.

Genevieve nodded.  "Evan...insists..." her lips fluttered briefly in
an attempted smile and then were still.

"It is the only thing giving her what strength she has, I believe, Niamh,"
Michael spoke up quietly from his chair.

"But for how long?" Pandora asked rhetorically, her face a mask of dismay.
She quickly smoothed her features, however, and turned back towards her
friend.  Genevieve needed rest, so it was best to get through this as quickly
as possible.

"Has Michael talked to you about the ritual, Gen?"  At the vampire's nod,
Pandora continued.  "How do you feel about it?" Pandora asked quietly.
"Are you comfortable with this?"

Genevieve nodded again, but Pandora could detect the anxiety in her eyes, and
at last the fingers she still held tightened slightly around her own.

"Genevieve?"  The Adept interrupted quietly.

She turned slowly to him, her fever no longer allowing her the luxury
of hidden emotions.  Her anxiety heightened and a weak hand tried to
brush a wet forelock from her brow.

"I meant what I said," the Adept whispered, his voice relying on
consonants rather than volume for intensity.  "This ritual is your best
hope.  I will do whatever it takes to make you better.  You can trust
me on that."

At the word "trust" Genevieve seemed to brighten, as if she were seeing
or feeling something very comforting.  She was on the verge of relaxing
into the experience when she apparently noted the nature of the
hallucination.  As the substance of her communication with the Adept
faded back into fever, her trembling returned.

"Mon Dieu," she muttered to the empty air.

Pandora frowned slightly as she watched the exchange.  Genevieve was
exhibiting some resistance and she knew she needed as much reassurance as
they could give.  "I asked you before if you trusted me," Pandora said,
lowering her voice.  "I would not do anything I thought would endanger you,
and I will be there the entire time.  Will you keep your faith in me,
Genevieve?"

"Yes," Genevieve whispered so softly that all that could be heard was the
sibilant.  Her blue eyes glimmered with tears, and Pandora felt
a prick in her own eyes in response.

"You are frightened, I know," Pandora leaned forward so that Genevieve
could hear her low, quiet tones, carefully modulated for only her
ears.  "I understand and it is perfectly natural to feel so.  It
is even good that you feel that way."  At Genevieve's raised brows
Pandora smiled fondly.

"It is not such a contradiction, Gen.  It means you are aware and
conscious of what is happening.  Your body is preparing itself and
finding strength in your fears.  This may be a beautiful experience if
you will but open yourself to it.  There will be much love there,"
the healer continued, reaching to lightly brush away a tear that had
trickled over Genevieve's temple.

Again the French vampire nodded, biting her lower lip to stifle back
a sob.

"We will all be there for you, Gen.  All working to make you better.
Now you must rest," Pandora finished, brushing her lips gently
against her friend's cheek.

"Your friends that care about you are here," the Adept added.  "You
must take strength from their...from our presence.  You are a very
fortunate woman to be loved so much by so many, Genevieve."

The Adept knelt and clasped her free hand firmly.  He felt even as she
felt the sensation of wafting in a great flow, as if they were both
reeds in a river.  She took what strength she could from the experience
and the happy memories it evoked.

"The Handfasting..." she whispered, a smile briefly flitting across
her lips.

"Yesss..." The Adept agreed quietly.

"You must rest now, Genevieve," Michael said.  He eyed the Adept
uncertainly, curious about this stranger's abilities.

Genevieve blinked her eyes, indicating agreement, then let the lids
close.  Pandora felt Genevieve's hand go lax in her own, and released
it gently, laying it over the woman's chest.  The Adept more reluctantly
did the same.

Turning to face Michael and the Adept, who was now standing awkwardly
to the side, Pandora relaxed the hold on her emotions, allowing
them to play over her face.  "We cannot wait any longer," Pandora said
sadly, anxiety scratching fitfully at her ribs as the realization sank
in.  "We must perform the ritual tomorrow night."

Both Michael and the Adept nodded gravely.

"But will that be enough time to prepare?" the Archdruid looked at the
Adept pointedly.

"It will have to be," the Adept sighed.  "Based on her condition, we
should be doing this tonight.  But that is not possible.  We have
ritual preparations to make.  Yes?"

Pandora and Michael nodded in sympathetic unison.

"Pandora, I hope that I might make a few minor additions to your
altar at Meadowsweet Ridge?" the Adept continued.

Pandora blinked once.  "Of course," she answered.

"What exactly can we expect from you and your background?" Michael
asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Just a few more vital metaphors," the Adept smiled in response. "Nothing
contradictory, I promise.  But the flow of power can be harnessed
with symbols, and we need as much of that as possible.  Do you
agree?"

"Yes," Michael nodded, "I suppose."

"Then it will be so," Pandora asserted, standing carefully so as not
to disturb the sleeping patient and crossing the room.

The two men followed, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.  They
descended the staircase in silence, each lost in their own thoughts
and troubled emotions, already mentally preparing for the communal
ceremony which would inevitably test their individual as well as collective
strength.  As they reached the downstairs foyer, a dangerously ruffled Jean
burst through the front door, head swivelling as he sought his
prey.

"There you are you...you..." he blustered, ready to leap again at the
Adept.

"Jean!" Pandora said sharply, quickly stepping in between the
volatile Frenchman and her friend.  "Harm him and you risk Genevieve's
health even further!  Is that what you want?"  She stood firmly, arms
folded across her chest, daring him to cross her.

Jean's eyes flickered with fiery emotion, but his shoulders slumped
at the mention of his beloved sire and lover.  "Mais, non, Pandora.
Mais...mais il..." he stammered, levelling a stormy gaze at the
stranger.

"Non, mais rien, Jean," Pandora countered.  "Il est un ami.  Il est
ici pour nous aiderons.  C'est tout!  Tu aimes Genevieve, oui?"

"Oui," Jean muttered, hanging his head.  "Pandora, she is so ill,"
he said finally, seeking her eyes beseechingly.

"I know, Jean," the healer said softly, stepping forward to lay a
consoling hand on his arm.   "She will get better, but only with
everyone's help and cooperation."

"Avec moi, aussi," he admitted.

"Avec toi, Jean," she said, opening her arms to embrace the man who
moments ago had entered the mansion with murder on his mind.

Michael and the Adept discreetly slipped away into the drawing room,
where the Baron and his guests still awaited their return, allowing
the confused and frightened Frenchman an outlet for his more vulnerable
emotions.  Evan had joined them and he nodded to the two men as they
entered, his eyes unobtrusively scanning the Adept for anything
potentially threatening.

Nicholas looked up from his post by the fire, his eyes narrowing
when he did not see Pandora.

"She's with Jean, Nevyan," Michael said quietly, placing a restraining
hand on the bard's arm as Nicholas moved to leave the room.

"Jean?  Is he back?  I must speak to him about disrupting the household
like this..." Gideon said tiredly, starting from his chair and looking
out of the doorway.  Seeing the volatile vampire in Pandora's soothing
embrace, he backed away, a small smile on his face.  "Looks like
he's in good hands," he remarked.

"Yes," the Adept agreed, nodding, but quickly glanced away as Nicholas shot
him an accusing glare.

"Nevyan," Michael whispered harshly under his breath, but Nicholas had
resumed his study of the fire, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Genevieve?" the Baron asked finally, unable to contain his anxiety any
longer.  He looked from both the Adept to Michael, his eyes full of
questions.

"The ritual will be tomorrow night, Gideon.  At Meadowsweet Ridge," Michael
informed him quietly.  "We will make the necessary preparations--we just
need you to be there at the appointed time.  Say, an hour after sunset?"

Gideon nodded, what little colour graced his face draining away as the
realization sank in.  "Will it be all right to transport her?  Should we
do anything...?"

"We can make her comfortable in the limousine, Gideon.  There's plenty of
room," Evan piped in reassuringly, concern lining his forehead at
Gideon's reaction to the news.

"Yes, of course," the Baron nodded slightly, reaching for the arm of
his chair with a trembling hand and sitting down heavily.

Just then Pandora came in, a slight smile playing on her face.

"Where's Jean?" Ray asked, looking over her shoulder nervously.  He
absently rubbed his throat, which still bore angry red marks from
Jean's brutal fingers.

"Gone to sit with Gen...I told him to be quiet," she added hurriedly.
"He's beside himself with worry, and maybe she will find comfort
from his presence as well--even in her sleep.  Gideon, are you all
right?" the healer turned her attention to her friend, noting with
alarm the ashen pallour of his face.

"Yes, thank you, Pandora," Gideon said quietly.  "But I think I will
retire to my study for a brandy, if there is nothing else to be done
tonight."  The Baron was anxious suddenly to be with Joshua, feeling the
need for his lover's warm, strong arms.

"It would be a good idea for us all to retire early this night," Michael
suggested, "if possible."  The Archdruid looked weary, dark circles
shadowing his clear green eyes slightly.

"Yes," Pandora agreed, slipping her hand into Nicholas's.  "Let's
go home, love," she said softly, raising her eyes to his.

"Yes," Nicholas echoed, holding her gaze and clearing a sudden huskiness from
his throat.  "We'll drop you off at the end of the road," he addressed the
Adept and Ray, who both nodded.

The visitors made their way to the exit in a flurry of last minute
instructions to the Oakwoods household.  When finally they departed,
they left in their wake a hushed silence that yet vibrated with an
imperceptible echo of tension.  The same silence followed them all as
they made their individual and collective ways to their respective
dwellings, the precarious health of one of their members dangling
over all of their heads like a steel-sharp dagger on an unravelling
thread.

Date:         Mon, 19 Jun 1995 22:16:42 -0300
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      FLUFF:  Shades of Gray, Part 30

Shades of Gray
Part 30

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace
{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca, jgra@music.stlawu.edu, wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

Quimby stood muttering over the coffee maker, grumpy as usual in the
morning.  He needed to look over the boy's work with the cows and make
sure he had done all his chores before the two of them could ride into
Fletcherville for some supplies.  He'd lost his love of the work since
his wife died the previous summer; if it weren't for Tom and the boy's
need for security and a recognizeable life, he would have sold the
farm and left this place before Christmas.

He was just sitting down to his oatmeal when a commotion at the back
door broke his morning's sour contemplations.

"Pa!" the boy's high pitch voice called.  "Come quick!  You gotta
see this!"

"What's the matter?" he answered gruffly.  "What happened?"

"You gotta see it!" the boy pleaded.

Quimby slipped on his boots and grabbed his red wool coat.  Probably
just another of his herd sick with anemia.  What was it about this
place?  He followed his son out into the cold morning light.  The air
was crisp and the night had brought a gentle coating of snow.

He grumbled as the boy led him not to the barn but to the hillock
overlooking their pastures.  Tom stood by the fence, shivering and
shaking his head.

"What is it?" Quimby asked Tom as he approached the fence.  Tom pointed
to the pasture.

The snow had turned the fields into a canvas of pristine white.  In the
center of the largest grazing pasture for some 100 yards, the snow had
been swept away, revealing the dark and dormant ground beneath.  The
dark pattern was large and regular, three interlocking circles with a
series of straight lines radiating outward.

"Well I'll be damned," Quimby swore, recognizing what in another
season would have been damaged crops and an invitation to throngs
of curious tourists.

* * *

The sun rose over Meadowsweet Ridge on a white world.  Snow had
blanketed the entire Maine coast in a few inches of pristine purity.
Only the clearing at the top of the ridge was remarkably free of snow.
The spiral pattern of the altar stood out in clear relief, although
other markings had been added to it in the night.  A circle of thirty-
six round burn marks was written over the spiral, a clear wheel with
four spokes each pointing to the compass points.

In the middle of the circle/spiral, the Gray Adept sat shirtless and
cross legged on the "hub."  From this position on the Medicine Wheel
he greeted the sunrise, asking Grandmother Spider to weave a good tale
of the day to come.

Softly he chanted:  "We we lo lo ah yum tu ma, pinu'u, pinu'u"

* * *

Mitch shook his coat as he returned from his morning run.  He loved
snow and this winter so far had been disappointingly mild.  Without
the luxury of changing form, he had nonetheless taken a decidedly
canine joy in jumping and rolling in the feathery covering and
snapping at the few errant flakes that were still falling.  He needed
this simple pleasure as his instincts warned him the rest of this
day and night would probably be more somber.

With much of the household comfortably abed, Mitch liked to take this
time to break the solitude with the local top forty radio station.  He
enjoyed the music but was really much more interested in seeing if
they could expect more snow. The Baron disliked radio, so it was one
of Mitch's private pleasures that he normally kept out of sight (and
out of earshot).

"...with a total accumulation of three inches," the announcer on
WYRE FM 96.1 proclaimed midsentence.  "Conditions expected to clear
throughout the day with no more accumulation.  Day time high of -2
Celsius and an overnight low of -8.  In other news, several fields
around the Fletcherville area seem to have been marked with strange
circles in the overnight snow cover.  No report as yet as to the nature
or cause of these markings, although several of the local farmers
are labeling them as a variety of crop circle.  Look out for the
little green men, Fletcherville!  In sports, the Bangor Wildcats..."

Mitch flicked off the radio with a frown.  "Whoa!" he whispered,
stretching his neck to look out the window.

* * *

When Pandora opened her eyes she found Nicholas lying beside her, propped
on an elbow, watching her thoughtfully.  Blinking the last vestiges
of sleep away, she smiled.

"Hi," she said, her eyes lighting up with a warmth sparked from within.

"Hi," he responded, his mouth relaxing into a soft smile.

Pandora swallowed hard over a catch in her throat at the intense emotion
conveyed in Nicholas's violet eyes.  She reached her hand up to
touch his cheek in response, tracing her finger over the fine stubble
near the jawline.  "Whatcha doin'?" she asked huskily.

"Watching you sleep," the bard admitted, taking her hand in his own
and kissing the palm.  "It's the most peaceful I've seen you in weeks."

"I did sleep well," Pandora blinked, hardly believing it was possible.
She had not gone to bed until the early hours of the morning, having
spent the night making preparations for the ritual.  When she had climbed
beneath the covers the sun was just kissing the sky with its golden rays.
Sleep had come quickly and mercifully.

Glancing towards the window she noted that the sun was again low in the
sky.  It was late afternoon, with perhaps only an hour or so left until
sunset.

"I brought you some tea," Nicholas sat up and reached over to the nighttable,
where a still steaming cup sat.

"Oh, thank you, love," Pandora sighed, sitting up so she could take a deep
sip from the proffered brew.  Nicholas's gaze shifted appreciatively
downwards to where the covers had slipped away.  Pandora did not notice,
however, having closed her eyes and leaned back against the oak headboard,
holding the cup of tea so that the fragrant steam reached her nostrils.
As she slowly came fully awake, remembrance of what the night was to bring
filled her consciousness.  Suddenly her eyes flew open.

"Nicholas..." she began, her brow furrowed.  She took a deep, calming breath,
steadying herself for what she was about to try to say.  If she didn't
try to explain some things now, about she and the Adept, about the dimension--
she shuddered to think what might happen.  "Nicholas, I think we should
talk.  There are some things you should know--"

"Shhh," Nicholas said, silencing her with a finger pressed to her lips.  He
coaxed the warm cup from her hands and carefully replaced it on the
nightstand.  "There's nothing that can't wait..." he said, kissing her
bare shoulder.

"No," Pandora protested.  Now that she had steeled herself it was best
to go through with it.  "We need to talk before the ritual--before...Nevyan,
something strange might happen tonight, and I want you to be prepared--"

"The ritual is about healing Genevieve. And I know you will do what you
must do to ensure her recovery," Nicholas said quietly.  Despite his jealousy
of the Adept and his deep misgivings about the whole incident, Nicholas
had finally come to terms with Pandora's role and understood how much she was
needed.  It had not come easily, but his deep concern for her, coupled with
Michael's wisdom and helpful advice, had made its mark.

"Whatever is to happen will happen, and I don't think there's much I or
anyone else can do about it," he continued.  "But for now it's just you and
me, and I just want to be with you, Niamh--" he broke off, his voice hitching
slightly as he spoke her name.  He pulled her towards him, enfolding her
in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Nevyan," Pandora sobbed softly.  Hot, salty tears trickled into
her mouth as he eased her back onto the bed, kissing her ardently,
hands exploring the satin smoothness of her skin.  They made love with
a passion that spoke of too many years separated; a passion that burned
ever brighter with each consummation.  They made love as if they would
never make love to each other again.

* * *

When dawn had come, Ray had reluctantly left the Gray Adept's ship to
make his own preperations.  Being on board while the Adept had made the
circles and wheels had been fun, and Ray was really enjoying having
someone to talk to for a change.  He knew that his endless questions
were driving the Adept up a wall, but he couldn't restrain his
curiosity.  But finally his voice had given out, his throat unable to
take the abuse of endless talking on top of the physical damage Jean had
caused.  Ray had taken the Adept's hint to go home and rest.

He had slept surprisingly well for a few hours, then had risen and made
himself some tea.  Pandora's methods were catching, the witch smiled to
himself.  He preferred coffee, but his throat called out for soothing
lemon and honey.  Damn that Frenchman!  He was too impulsive.  Ray had
a natural mistrust of anyone who lived so much on their emotions and
never let cool thought prevail.

The tea was all he would take today, until after the ritual.  Such an
undertaking would require a clear head, and meditation and fasting were
the keys to that goal.  Soon he was in the lotus position, eyes closed,
breathing slowly, letting his mind empty.  A long black robe that opened
at the front was neatly folded on a chair, ready to be put on for the
ritual.   In it, Ray would not be skyclad, but the next thing to it,
as the robe could easily be discarded at a crucial moment.  A slight
grin cracked the young Wiccan's harsh features as he thought of the
probable reaction to his suddenly appearing naked in the circle...

* * *

The sun had nearly completed its descent when Pandora emerged from the
path that led from the beach to the meadow.  The horizon was streaked
a deep violet and pink, standing in vivid contrast to the deepening
twilight sky, salted with faintly twinkling stars.  The air smelled
crisp and clean, fragrant with the resin of pine and spruce.

Bel bounced along ahead, snuffling happily in the thin layer of snow
that still covered the meadow.  He stopped suddenly as he reached the
spiral altar, whining softly.

"What is it, Bel?  What's the matter, pup?" Pandora asked absently
as she approached the nervous dog.  But as she glanced down she drew
in a sharp breath.  There, superimposed over the dormant bed which had
bloomed with a profusion of night-scented flowers on the night of her
Handfasting to Nicholas, was a large circle, a wheel, with four
spokes radiating from a central hub.  She walked slowly around it,
studying it with awe.  It had not been drawn, but appeared to have been
burned into the earth's surface, deep enough to etch itself into the
sub-layer of slate.  Each spoke marked a point on the compass, she noted,
and she slowed at the arm which pointed north, looking out towards
the ocean.  Pandora gasped as, looking up, she saw the first pulsing waves
of the Northern Lights, radiating exuberant energy into the quickly darkening
sky.

"Adept," she whispered softly, her eyes shifting downwards once again,
tracing the pattern of the wheel and then the spiral, until she could
no longer tell where one began and the other left off.  She smiled,
feeling a warmth radiating from the earth upon which she stood, penetrating
to her very core.  She felt him near, could feel his consciousness reaching
towards her own, could sense the yellow of his touch and discern a faint whiff
of smoke in the air.  For a moment she panicked, however, becoming
disoriented, as the dulcet sound of a guitar reached her on the salty breeze,
the smell of meadowsweet and oak leaves blending with tangerine; but rather
than give into the sudden confusion, she relaxed into the sensations, allowing
them to soothe her, joining together until they were indiscernible from
each other.

* * *

Date:         Tue, 20 Jun 1995 09:22:32 -0300
From:         Pandora 
Subject:      FLUFF:  Shades of Gray, Part 31

Shades of Gray
Part 31

c.  1995, A. Fraser, J. Gray, L. M. Wallace
{fraser@vax.library.utoronto.ca, jgra@music.stlawu.edu, wallacel@ac.dal.ca}

* * *

The Baron nervously smoothed his suit jacket one more time.  "I hope
this is appropriate," he murmured.

He was dressed in tailored finery:  his very best double-breasted suit
jacket, complete with coat-of-arms on the breast pocket, a
whiter-than-white shirt, a silk paisley cravat that had obviously been
very expensive, knife-edge creased trousers, and shoes with a blinding
shine on them.  He had fussed over what to wear until Joshua and Evan
between them had practically dressed him themselves.

"You look fine, Gideon," said Joshua for the umpteenth time, taking a
chance at checking his own appearance.  Quiet grey business suit and
striped tie, sandy hair neatly brushed--he could have been going to
church, or to meet a client.

Since neither Gideon nor Joshua had much experience attending rituals
of any sort, they had agreed that looking as if they were going to
church would be the best thing.  Joshua was beginning to regret that
decision, but Gideon would never have agreed to dress casually for so
important an event as saving Genevieve's life.

"Perhaps I should have worn my tuxedo," Gideon fussed, adjusting the
fall of the cravat by an infinitesimal degree.

Joshua opened the bedroom door.  "Evan!" he called out.

The protector appeared, dressed in a rather odd-looking outfit that
would not have been out of place in Sherwood forest--doeskin leggings, a
short cloth tunic of a neutral shade of brown, and high boots of molded
soft leather.  He had at least five knives in view, and only he knew how
many hidden weapons.

"Native costume?" asked a stunned Joshua.

"So to speak," replied Evan, mysteriously.  "This is ritual clothing, in
some circles.  What's up?"

Joshua hooked a thumb in the direction of his lover, who was
straightening the creases in his trousers.  "Get him out of here.  Take
him somewhere and neutralize him.  If he keeps fussing over his clothes,
I am going to lose my temper.  I know he's worried about Gen and this
ritual, but I just can't take it any longer.  One more word about
clothing, and the heck with Jean, *I* am going to be the one that whacks
him."

Evan didn't smile.  He simply nodded, and went in to tap Gideon on the
shoulder.  "I need your advice about putting Genevieve in the limo," the
bodyguard said, and Gideon followed him like a lamb.

* * *

Pandora removed a single white candle from the pocket of her cloak before she
let it drop from her shoulders, revealing the black priestess's robe she wore,
emblazoned with gold bands across her chest.  She lit the candle and
knelt upon the ground.  Night had come in all its fullness, and she could see
the crescent moon out of the corner of her eye as she turned her focus to the
wavering candle flame.  As she stared, it grew strong and bright, until she
felt a part of its fire and its light, reaching ever higher up, gracefully,
steadily.  She called upon the Goddess, seeking the healing wisdom of the
Crone, who found her strength in the waning time of the moon; she sought the
sacred knowledge and teaching of Airmid, Goddess of medicinal plants, and the
creative, regenerative spark of Brigid, Goddess of healing and smithcraft.

"Bone to bone, vein to vein, balm to balm," Pandora whispered, unconsciously
speaking an ancient healing charm.  "Sap to sap, skin to skin, tissue to
tissue.  Blood to blood, flesh to flesh, sinew to sinew."  As she spoke,
her voice lilting softly and musically in her native Gaelic tongue, she
envisioned Genevieve, focusing the energy now flowing from the candle
into her hands towards her vision.

"Marrow to marrow, pith to pith, fat to fat," she continued.  "Membrane
to membrane, fibre to fibre, moisture to moisture*."

All at once a gust of wind blew off the ocean and snuffed the flame out.
Pandora started out of her trance, and fought to catch her breath from the
sudden shock.  With trembling hands she laid the candle on the ground, the
wax dribbling into the fissure at the northern point of the wheel.  Standing
up she whistled for the pup, who came bounding out of the woods.

"It's almost time, Bel," she said quietly, pulling her cloak tightly
about her as she made her way back to the house.

(*Source:  _Sage Woman_, #25, Spring 1994, Erynn Darkstar)

* * *

Ray climbed from the shore up to the clearing at Meadowsweet Ridge.
He wondered where the Adept was hiding and when he would arrive for the
ritual.  His robe was little protection against the winter sea breeze,
but as he approached the clearing with it's palimpsest of markings, he
noted a perceptible warming of the air.  The points on the Adept's
Medicine Wheel were radiating a soft heat still, providing a brief
oasis of warmth in the winter chill.

Ray moved to the South stone, moving along what the Adept had told him
was the dark path.  He had shied away from this part of the wheel when
the Adept had described it to him for he felt that too much of his life
had been down a dark path.  The Adept had been quick to explain in their
night preparations that this southern path was in no way a moral
evaluation, but more a metaphor for the development of intellect and
learning.

He turned and faced the northward spoke, the path of purification that
would be so relevant in the upcoming ritual.  Listening to the breeze,
he caught the distant sound of car doors slamming and a few strains of
eerie music.  At the edge of his consciousness he thought he caught
sight of a lurker, as if he were being watched.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," he whispered to the breeze.

* * *

A red car squealed to a braking halt as its occupant, a stunning woman
with red hair that matched the paint job on her vehicle--stopped to stare
at the town common.  The light snow that had fallen on Widow's Green had
been rearranged in a circular pattern with intricate loops and spirals.

"Goddess!" said Maggie Bruce, with feeling, as she noticed others gaping
at the 'crop circle' in Widow's Green.  "This will have the town buzzing
for months."

It was getting to be time, Maggie realized.  She started her car up
again and headed back to her duplex.  She had decided that going to work
today at her job in the museum/art gallery was a better choice than
sitting at home worrying about the ritual.  Now she was running a bit
tight for time.  She flew out of the car and up the five steps to her
front door, already unlocking the magical wards that were more effective
than any deadbolt.

Her working clothes--baggy shirt and jeans (being a conservateur could
be a messy job)--seemed to shed themselves as she leapt gazelle-like up
the stairs and took the world's fastest shower.  She struggled into her
white ceremonial robe, muttering to herself in a dozen languages, and
shook her glorious scarlet tresses back into place even as she crammed
her feet into sandals and raced back down the stairs, somewhat
resembling a burning candle hurtling through the night.

"The things I do for friends!" she exclaimed as she jumped back into her
car, disregarding the startled look on the face of her neighbour.

* * *

The Adept watched as a sports car wheeled into Pandora's driveway
A limousine followed closely behind.  He closed his eyes as
these arrivals approached the small cottage, hoping again that this
ritual would be enough.  It had to be.

Within the confines of his blind, he bolstered himself with the
monster slayer's chant:  "Eh heh yah ah nah, eh heh yah ah nah..."
He repeated the phrase over and over, remembering long buried
villages where such communal breathing among the braves had prepared
them for battle.  He drew strength from their traditions, from the
sense of balance encoded in their myths and rituals.  Within that
spirituality was an important lesson that had all but been forgotten
by the dominant forces on the planet for the last 200 years.

"Mita kuya oyasin," he whispered, a break in the monster slayer's
chant.  "We are all related."

Taking a few more moments of peace and refuge within his blind, he
meditated and watched the other participants arrive.

* * *

Nicholas sat at the dining room table, watching the shapes of the evergreens
blur and gradually fade into the ever growing darkness of the night.  One
hand idly stroked the taut skin of the drum at his side, stained from
the oil of many hands and years of use.  He, too, was mentally preparing
for the ritual ahead, as he concentrated silently on a complex melody he had
learned centuries ago while still a bard in training.  Yet the anxiety
tensing his muscles and strumming his nerves would not easily go away,
and he broke off in the middle of his mental playing more than once,
cursing aloud.

Perhaps he should have let Pandora speak her mind earlier, he mused.
Let her clear the air, if she could, before this ritual.  But he doubted
that was possible at this point, and was honestly afraid of what she would
have said.  No, she needed her full concentration for the night ahead and for
her's and Genevieve's sake he needed to be as supportive as possible.
Although he felt as if the bottom of his stomach would drop out every
time he thought of what might transpire--there were too many uncertainties,
too many unknowns.  He had never before entered into a ritual with this
much doubt before, and it worried him deeply.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and forced himself to imagine the intricate
progression that began his meditative piece.  He was startled out of
a light trance minutes later when Pandora entered the house.

"Maggie's here," she informed him.  "She just pulled up.  And there's
another car coming down the road..."

Nicholas nodded as he stood, hefting the drum in his arm.  Pandora picked
up the bag which sat by the door, containing all the articles she
would need for her part.  Their eyes locked momentarily as they met at the
doorway, communicating a complexity of emotions for which neither could have
ever found words.  Shutting the door firmly behind him, Nicholas took
her elbow as they made their way to greet the arriving guests.

* * *

Genevieve trembled in the back seat of the limousine.  She felt so tired
and weak, the mere effort of leaning against Jean's shoulder caused
her to shake.  Her stomach turned and growled, obviously hungry for
her favourite liquid diet, but the thought of blood only made her
weaker.

The cold Maine winterscape flew by the window, blurring into streaks of
grey and black.  Within that whirling she fancied she saw a figure
beckoning her, summoning her to its side with long and slender fingers.
The figure was slight and frail with a large head and enormous black
eyes.  She felt that she knew this being, that it was important.

"What...?" she muttered weakly to the window.

"Shhh, ma petite," Jean whispered as he held her closer.

Beside the strangely alien figure now stood an old brown man wearing
ceremonial skins and feathers, his image fuzzy and indistinct within
the blur of passing country side.

"You are well cared for, Golden One," the Indian said, his voice coarse
and rumbling in her head.  "We will help you understand a little
Wankatanka, the great mystery."

The slight gray figure beside him nodded and blinked serenely.
Genevieve nodded in response, settling against Jean's shoulder as the
vision faded.

* * *


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