Immortal Addictions copyright 1996 by Anne Fraser ________________________ "Good evening, Mary, is Michael in?" I offered her a smile, and she returned it. "Yes, Gideon, he's in the library. Is anything wrong?" Her concern showed in her eyes. "Everything's fine," I assured her, knowing that she was thinking of Joshua. "I'd have telephoned if it was anything serious, I just thought I'd drop in for a moment." "Go ahead, then, I think he'll welcome the distraction." She stood aside to let me into the house. "Thank you. How are the children?" "Just fine, thanks." I nodded again and made my way towards Michael's library. It was amusing how many of us had his own personal "lair" in our own house, an inner sanctum that was all our own. Mine was my second floor office, the secluded den outside my bedroom where even Joshua had to knock to gain admittance. Alexander had his study, with its leather sofas and huge fireplace where he liked to pose. Michael had his library, book-lined, fully supplied with a bar and other necessities, a thoroughly masculine room. "Come in, Gideon," he said, without looking up from the papers on his desk. Something seemed to be missing from that desk--a handsome carved teak and mahogany antique that he prized highly and that Joshua coveted. But as usual it was piled so high with papers, books, pens, a small globe, various artifacts and even a small skull; so it was hard for me to place what wasn't there. "Anyone I knew?" I inquired, picking up the skull. He grunted. "Not unless you were personally acquainted with my barn cat," he replied. "Ah. Alas, poor Frisky..." I set the cat skull back down on the desk. Michael frowned and patted his pockets, then sighed and looked up at me. "What can I do for you this evening, my dear Baron?" "Nothing, really. I really just needed to get out for a bit." "Everything well at home?" He asked sharply. "Fine, everything's fine. I was starting to feel too domestic, in fact." He grinned, and once again reached into his jacket pocket. He was wearing the disreputable old tweed that Mary had tried many times to jettison. "I know what you mean, Gideon. Whatever happened to the old days when adventures galore awaited us? The Brotherhood is all settling down, getting soft in its old age." He toyed with the skull, then with the globe, then patted his pockets again. "Oh, bother," he said under his breath. Then I realized what was gone from the desk--Michael's pipe rack and smoking paraphenalia. He was patting his pockets in search of his tobacco pouch and matches. The penny dropped. "You've given up smoking!" The Archdruid gave me a wry grin. "Aye," he said with another sigh. "Well, Gideon, between Mary, Pandora and the kids nagging me, what choice did I have?" He stopped himself from searching his pockets again. "I'll admit it's a terrible habit, but I miss it already. Gave me something to do with my hands." Realizing he was once again fiddling with the cat skull, he promptly sat on said hands to keep them out of mischief. Since I had seen what else he could do with those magically skilled fingers, I was glad he was stilling them. "There is the danger of second hand smoke, after all," I pointed out. "I know, and that's why I gave it up. Distract me, old friend. Let's talk of something else." We passed an hour or so amicably, talking of doings in the village, of the Brotherhood and the CotN, of how passive our lives seemed to have become. "Not that I'd go through another White Lion or fight with the likes of Ravensbrook," Michael noted. "But a little spice might be a nice change to keep us from getting too soft." "You just want something to take your mind off of nicotine withdrawal," I accused him. "Just as you want something to distract you from worrying about Joshua all the time," he shot right back. I freely admitted as much. We drank a last tot of his excellent brandy, and then I parted to make my way back home. On the way, I pondered his words. It was true--I would welcome danger, trouble and the possibility of meeting the true death just to shake me out of a domestic slump. Hadn't there been enough of that in the past? Hadn't we all had our fill of the dangerous times? Wasn't it incredibly stupid to wish for such diversion? Who was it who said "be careful what you wish for"?