A Novel Experience
copyright 2000
by Anne Fraser


Gideon stood in the doorway of the den in Valley Mansion, waving his hand
in front of his face.  A thick blue fog of cigarette and fireplace smoke
combined obscured the room to the point where Gideon wasn't sure if he
should hail his friend Alex or a London cab.

In the centre of this thick cloud, a tall, muscular, handsome man could
just barely be seen.  He was hunched over a table much too small for him,
his fingers hammering at something that the smoke hid.  The tapping of
typewriter keys betrayed his activity to his observer.

Gideon paused.  He hadn't been aware that Alex _could_ type.  And whatever
could he be working on so industriously?  Alex had always been allergic to
work.

The Baron politely cleared his throat.  "Good evening, Alexander," he said.
 "I think you should check your flue, not to mention your smoke alarm."

Alex's head jerked around.  He struggled to his feet, disentangling himself
from the typewriter table and nearly overturning the full ashtray that
balanced precariously on one side of the table.  A half-smoked black
cigarette dangled from the tall vampire's lips.  He snatched this and
scrunched it out in the ashtray.

"Gideon," he said, forcing his voice to be nonchalant.  "I didn't hear you
come in.  Mrs. Jenkins didn't..."

"I let myself in," the Baron replied.  When you've been friends with
someone for over a century and a half, you are permitted certain liberties.

"Oh.  Of course, you're always welcome..."

"I haven't seen you for quite some time, Alexander," Gideon said.  "I
wanted to be sure you were well."

Alexander's physical well-being had not changed since 1815, of course.  He
was a vampire.  He was safe from the illnesses that felled mere mortals.
However, since his cousin Janine had returned to Toronto, Alex had been
very quiet.  His friends were worried about him.  He was prone to fits of
suicidal despair and self-hatred.   He'd fallen into one of these black
moods after Janine's departure, but he had shown signs of coming out of it.
  Just when his friends had started to hope for his recovery, Alex had once
more retreated behind the gloomy gray walls of Valley Mansion.

"I'm fine," Alex replied to Gideon's concern.  "I've been... working."

The Baron raised an eyebrow.  "You?" he asked in that incredulous tone that
only very good friends can get away with.

"Yes, me," Alex snorted.  "I've been taking... correspondence courses."

A lesser being than Gideon Redoak would have let their jaw drop.  As it
was, the other eyebrow joined the first one in elevation.  "Correspondence
courses?"
he asked, floored.  It was as if Pumpkin had told him she was going to
university.  One of the inescapable facts about Alex was that he wasn't one
of the brightest vampires to get out of the coffin.

Alex was nodding.  "Yes.  Correspondence courses.  It's interesting," he
said defensively.

"In what?" Gideon asked.

Alex's hands searched for his gold cigarette case.  "Philosophy.  Political
science.  History.  I've been taking several courses, to see if there's one
thing that suits me."  He extracted and lit one of his custom-made cigarettes.

"And is there?" Gideon wondered.  Typical of Alex, to be unable to stick to
one thing.  That he was attempting this at all was astounding.

An eloquent shrug, accompanied by tobacco smoke.  "You'll see," came the
enigmatic reply.

Gideon knew that was all he was going to get out of his friend.  He longed
to have a look at the typewritten pages Alex had been churning out, but
that would be a violation of privacy.

"So, you have found a way to spend your time," he said instead.  "I'm glad.
 I hope it proves worthwhile."

"You mean you hope it keeps me from being suicidal," Alex commented wryly.
"Gideon... I miss Janine.  I missed her terribly when she was first gone.
It's not as bad now; I can talk to her on the phone without breaking down
afterwards.  However wrong our relationship was, it was still a relationship.
I need... something to fill the void.   I know I'm not very smart, but I
thought I could handle a couple of correspondence courses."

"I think it's an excellent idea, Alexander," Gideon's voice was sincere.
"If you need any help at all with them, please ask.  Maybe you'll be the
first member of the Brotherhood with a degree."

Alex laughed.  "I doubt that," he chuckled.  "But thanks for the
encouragement."  He flung the remainders of his cigarette into the
fireplace.  "Manners!" he slapped himself on the forehead.  "Come and have
a drink, Gidoen. I'll tell you Janine's latest news."

Gideon agreed; and they adjourned to the leather leather couch.  Alex
poured brandy and steered the conversation towards Janine and her doings in
Toronto.
When Gideon took his leave an hour or so later, he was satisfied that Alex
was not only surviving, but finding an interest outside both his departed
cousin and himself.

Good for him!  But Gideon still wanted to know what Alex had been typing.
Mitch enjoyed reading the Vampyres mailing list.  Often he engaged in
exchanges on it, especially when he had a chance to tease or send up his
boss.  He particularily liked reading the book reviews posted by the
MadBibliographer.  He'd acquired a taste for vampire fiction and purchased
books based on the MadBib's reviews.

He sat down in his office, played briefly with the toy cards he kept on the
computer desk, then logged on to his ISP.  There were several message in
his mailbox; a few personal notes, some spam, and a smattering of posts
from Vampyres.  The list was certainly much quieter than it had been.
There were two book reviews from the MadBib; one for a Buffy spin-off that
didn't sound very good, and one for a first novel from a new author.

[Insert Review}

Mitch reached the end and let his breath out with a whoosh; only then aware
that he'd been holding it.  He rubbed his eyes and reread the review, to
make sure he hadn't misinterpreted it.

"Holy shit," he said.  He had to read this book, too see if it really was
that... he couldn't finish the thought.

He sauntered out to the parlour, where he found Evan doing the dusting.

"I'm going to make an office supply and bookstore run into Bangor," Mitch
said casually, as if he'd just discovered a burning need for paperclips.
"Need anything?"

"Mmmm."  Evan's expression indicated suspicion.  "Pick up some stamps."

"Stamps.  Gotchya."

"This came up very suddenly, didn't it?"

Mitch shrugged.  "Okay, I'm bored.  I want to drive to Bangor.  Sue me."

He left Evan to the dusting and made his way upstairs, Pumpkin and Smoke
trailing hopefully behind him.  He found Joshua in the latter's office,
carefully examining an elaborately carved chair.

"Is it real?" Mitch asked, watching his friend peering at the carvings
through a magnifying glass.

Joshua looked up and smiled.  "It is assuredly a real chair," he replied.
At Mitch's snort, he grinned slowly, then relented.  "I have doubts about
the carvings," he replied.

"Oh."  Mitch's chief interest in furniture was how much abuse of being
sprawled in, kicked back in, or in extreme cases chewed on it could take.
"I'm driving into Bangor.  Need anything?"

Josh shook his head.  "No thanks.  Got cabin fever?"

"Something like that.  There's a book I want to get, and I doubt I'll find
it in Fletcherville."

"The MadBib write one of her usual scintillating reviews?"

"She certainly made it sound like this is a must-read.  Besides, I need a
bunch of stuff like computer paper and stamps, and it's cheaper in Bangor."

Josh didn't bother to mention that the amount of time and gas spent driving
to the state capital more than cancelled out a dollar's difference on the
price of computer paper.  Mitch wanted to go.  There was no harm in him
doing so.

"Have fun," Josh said, getting back to examining the suspect carvings.

Mitch ended up having to take the two younger animals with him.  Warg spent
most of his time sleeping anymore, but Pumpkin and Smoke were always ready
for an outing in the ATV.

Once Mitch got out of Fletcherville and hit the highway, it was a little
more than an hour to Bangor.  He found a park and took the animals for a
run, then left them in the ATV with a window cracked open and some food and
water.  He did his office supply shopping first, then hit Barnes and Noble.

Jackpot!  They had _Stormwings_ in stock.  He bought a copy, picked up a
couple of other books that looked interesting, and lugged his purchases
back to the ATV.

He couldn't wait to read the book.

It was even worse than Mitch had anticipated.  Not in the sense of badly
written; indeed, the writing was more than competent and verged on the
excellent on occasion.  No, it was not the writing.  It was the story itself.

The plot was fairly standard:  boy meets girl, boy romances girl, boy turns
out to be a vampire and girl freaks.  But the situation and the characters
were what made Mitch gasp at every page turn.

Whoever the hell Sandy Daniels was, he or she knew some pretty key stuff
about the Brotherhood in general, and about Alex in particular.  This
novel, barring a few trivial details and some transparent personal name
chances, was about Alex's stormy love affair and stormier break-up with
Brier Snow.

They were all there.  The brooding Byronic vampire, the shy art teacher who
falls for him, the vampire's gay best friend and that friend's lover, the
mysterious Druids, the black-clad sorcerer, the muscular bodyguard, the
puppyish young werewolf...

Mitch knew he had to tell Gideon about this book.  By long-distance phone
call from Japan, preferably.  He looked up from the final pages, with their
maelstromic parting scene that yet contained a kernel of hope for
reconciliation, and saw that it was nightfall.

He, Gaylord Algernon Pritchard, had a solemn duty as a member of the
Brotherhood of Darkness to protect and preserve said Brotherhood, and to
make any threat to their security known onto them.

This book was a threat... not so much in itself as that it represented the
fact that an outsider knew the secrets of the Brotherhood.   Somewhere,
somebody who knew about Alex and Brier had turned their tragedy into a
novel.  This Daniels person had dangerous information.  It might not stop
at just a novel.

Who could have betrayed them like this?  The few ordinary humans who knew
of their existence were all trusted.

Mitch decided he had no choice but to tell Gideon about _Stormwings_, and
to get the Baron to pass the information on.  Buoyed by this decision, he
went down to dinner.


Gideon agreed amiably to Mitch's request to speak to him alone after
dinner.  They withdrew to the downstairs office, and Gideon shut the door.

"You have my full attention," he assured the werewolf.

Mitch toyed with one of his Matchbox cars, making the tiny rubber wheels
spin with his index finger.  "You won't like this," he warned.

Gideon looked patient.  "I don't know that until I've heard what it is," he
pointed out.

Mitch sighed and put the car down.  He handed Gideon the novel.  The Baron
studied the cover illustration of a pretty girl being menaced by a darkly
handsome man whose cloak spread behind him in a not-very-subtle suggestion
of wings.

"A novel?" Gideon asked, sounding as if he'd never seen one before.  He
turned it over to study the publisher's blurb.  "A vampire novel?"  He
raised his eyes up to look at Mitch, noted the young man's unusually sober
expression, and went back to the blurb.

"'Welcome to Shadowfall Manse, where dark secrets lurk in the cellars and
in the heart of Comte Philippe Danescu.  When pretty young Bianca Thorn is
drawn into the Comte's tormented word of vampires and magic, her life is
changed forever.'"

"It gets worse," Mitch said gloomily.  "And I don't mean the writing."

Gideon sat down in one of the swivel chairs and opened the book at random.

"'As Philippe and Damien stood talking, one of the ladies they were
discussing gave a shriek as a thief snatched her purse and sent her chair
sprawling with her in it. Philippe took off in hot pursuit of the the
thief.  Behind him, ever the gentleman, Damien assisted the stricken woman
to her feet.

"'Philippe easily caught the thief, who after all was only human, and
wrested the stolen bag away from him.  Aware of several eyes upon him, he
resisted the urge to pound the thief's head several times onto the stone of
the piazza; instead leaving him with a strong mental suggestion to cease a
life of crime.

"'Returning to the scene of the crime, Philippe discovered that Damien and
the young lady had secured themselves a table.  He restored her purse to
her with a bow.

"'"This is yours, I believe," he said.  "I am Philippe Danescu, at your
service."

"'"Thank you," she said, flushing.  "I'm Bianca Thorn.  Your friend Damien
Kirkwood has already introduced himself.  Do you go around in pairs,
rescuing people?"'"

There was a moment of appalled silence.  Gideon's troubled dark eyes met
Mitch's blue ones.  "Is it," he asked softly, "all like this?"

"Yeah, boss.  It's all like that.  Only the names have been changed to
protect the guilty."

Gideon leafed through a few more pages, discovering passages about a young
werewolf named Rich and a meeting of the Fraternity of The Night.  He
closed the book and looked at Mitch.  "Thank you for bringing this to my
attention.  I think I should read the whole thing at once."

"I think you should, too," Mitch agreed.  "I guess I should have bought
more copies."

"Why?"

"Because everyone in the Brotherhood is going to want to read this.  We're
all in it."

Gideon shuddered.  "Who is Sandy Daniel?  Any guesses, young Rich?"

Mitch shrugged.  "Sorry, Baronet Kirkwood, but I have no idea."

"Ah, well.  Perhaps my lover Jericho might know something."

Holding the book as if it might bite, Gideon departed from the office.
Mitch sagged in relief.  There hadn't been the scene he'd been
half-expecting, even though he knew Gideon would never make a scene.

Gideon and Josh traded _Stormwings_ back and forth until the wee hours;
reading each other voice passages outloud and hunting for clues to the
identity of the author. The standard "about the author" insert told them
nothing.  The only information to be gleaned from the single sentence was
that _Stormwings_ was Sandy Daniels' first novel.  There was no hint as to
the gender, location, age or appearance of the author.

"I think it's a man," Joshua ventured his opinion on Sandy Daniels. 

"Why?" Gideon asked.

"Just some of the phrases used, and the sex scenes..."

"I think it's a woman," Gideon argued.  "Some of the passages are
reminiscent of torrid romances."

Josh mulled this over.  "Men write romances, too," he pointed out.  "But
maybe you're right.  Our relationship... I mean, the relationship between
Damien and Jericho; is treated more sensitively than you'd expect a
straight guy to write it."

"And 'Sandy' sounds more like a woman," Gideon said.

"Mmm.  I have to admit that I rather like the sound of 'Jericho Pengallon'.
 Pretty clever, changing 'Joshua' to 'Jericho'."

"I can't say I'm overly fond of 'Damien Kirkwood', however."

"You're just mad that you got demoted to a mere baronet."

"'All baronets are bad,'" Gideon quoted, eliciting a laugh from his partner.

"Seriously, Gideon, you'd better tell Michael about this."

"I think it might be more appropriate to inform Alexander that someone is
turning his personal life into a tawdry novel."

"He'll probably hang himself."

"We must find out who this Sandy Daniels is," Gideon stated firmly.

"How?  The publisher won't tell you anything if the author doesn't want the
information to get out."

"If you want to find something out, my dear Josh, you ask an investigative
reporter."

"Ah.  And I know that you meant that quite literally."

"I shan't be able to ask anyone anything until sunset," Gideon pointed out
with maddening logic.

"Oh, all right.  I'll go talk to Fox.  *And* Michael."

"In the meantime, though, Damien Kirkwood would like to speak to Jericho
Pengallon."

"Yes?  What about?"

"Care to make the walls come tumbling down?"

Joshua shoved aside a filthy coffee mug, an ashtray crammed with cigarette
butts and gum wads, a pile of papers of assorted sizes, colours and
ancestry, and miscellaneous other debris.  The occupant of the desk he was
performing urban renewal on watched him with deep suspicion.

"Hey," Fox Fletcher objected.  "You're disturbing the ecosystem.  It took
me years to develop some of that strata."

The battered investigative reporter for the Fletcherville Gazette had
become a friend of the Brotherhood more or less by accident... the accident
involving his fascination with Janine and his misguided attempt to rescue
her from the clutches of her vampiric cousin.  He had nearly been the one
who had needed rescuing, but the misunderstanding had been cleared up and
Fox was now firmly in their camp.

As long as nobody mentioned Janine to him.

"Do you know anything about this?" Josh asked Fox, plunking the now
well-thumbed copy of _Stormwings_ down on the cleared space on Fox's desk.

Fox's right hand, which was lacking two fingers, reached for the book.
"It's a book," he said.  "It's made of paper, which is derived from the
murder of innocent trees, and ink, which is derived from the murder of
innocent soybeans or whatever the hell is trendy right now.  Do you want to
know how books are printed and bound?"

"I'm not unaware of the process," Josh replied.  "I want to know if you
know anything about this particular book."

Fox examined it.  "Bought at Barnes and Nobles in Bangor... nice
alliteration, that."

"Fox..."

"Okay, okay, it was just a joke.  No, I don't know anything about this
book.  I've never seen it before, and I don't tend to read the book review
columns.
Something wrong with it?"

Joshua explained, tersely.  Fox whistled. 

"No wonder you're so tense," he commented.  "You want me to find out who
Sandy Daniels is, right?"

"Yes.  Someone has betrayed us, Fox."

The reporter frowned.  "Now, this is before my time," he began. "I didn't
stumble across your secret til Brier had headed for the hills of North
Dakota... but could it be her?"

"I thought of that myself," Josh admitted.  "She certainly seems the
obvious suspect on the face of things, but somehow, I don't think so.
You'd have to ask Alex, though; none of the rest of us really got to know
her very well."

"I'll nose around, see what I can find," Fox promised.  "Can I keep the book?"

"We only have one copy," Josh replied, "and I still have to show it to
Michael."

"Maybe I can pick one up, then," Fox handed the novel back to Josh.  "Are
you guys going to get really upset about this, like Donovan-level upset?"

Josh repressed a shudder at the reminder of the evil mage whom
they--Gideon, actually--had wiped out.  "I doubt it," he replied.  "Depends
on who this author turns out to be."

"Good luck," Fox said.

"You, too."  Josh departed, clutching the book, and drove back to the Cliff
Road.  Time to go talk to Michael.

Michael's desk in the library was only slightly less cluttered than Fox's
had been.  His coffee mug was cleaner, and there was no ashtray since the
Archdruid had given up smoking.  But the carefully developed strata and
entire miniature ecosystems were in full evidence.  Josh was fairly sure he
saw one of the piles of paper shift independently of any air current or
gesture on Michael's part.
There was a rubber ball on the desk, even though the children were banned
from this room.

When Josh explained his mission, Michael looked up and ran a hand through
his blond hair, disarraying it.  "We'd better order multiple copies," the
Druid observed wryly.

"Mitch already thought of that," Josh said.  "He figures everyone will want
one."

"Has anyone spoken of this to Alex?" Michael asked.

"Not yet.  There hasn't been time.  The review only came out yesterday."

"The MadBib isn't aware of Alex's relationship with Brier, but how did the
Fraternity of The Night escape her notice?" Michael wondered.

"Maybe she just thought it was coincidence, or something."

"Likely.  Will you leave it here, with me, so that I may read it?"

"Sure," Josh replied.  "I've talked to Fox Fletcher, he's going to see if
he can track down the author.  He thinks it might be Brier."

Michael's expression was dubious.  "I should think that highly unlikely,
actually.  Someone really has to break this to Alex..."

"Gideon will do it.  He's Alex's best friend, and he won't get all
emotional about it.  Alex is probably going to go ballistic, though.  This
is his private life."

"It even looks like him, a bit, on the cover," Michael mused.  "Whoever
this author is, he or she has a lot to answer for."

"Fox is worried that we're going to do a Donovan on Sandy Daniels if we
find her."

"That depends on Alex, I imagine.  Gideon may have to hold him down."

"The Brotherhood may take turns.  After all, we're all in this book."

Michael nodded.  "Even the twins," he said, "which is carrying coincidence
much too far.  Thank you, Josh.  I'd better start reading this soonest."

"Sure.  Enjoy."  Josh let himself out of Fairlawn, stopping briefly to pet
Ruddigore the Irish setter, who was sprawling in the hallway outside the
library.  The house was otherwise empty, the kids being in school and Mary
being at work.

Satisfied that he had done his best for the cause, Josh went home and
waited for sundown.

For the second time in less than a week, Gideon found himself calling on
Valley Mansion.  This time, he knocked and allowed Mrs. Jenkins, Alex's
long-suffering housekeeper, to announce him.  When he reached the study, it
was a tad less smoke-filled than it had been on his last visit, but little
else had changed.  The typewriter table with its cascading sheets of paper
was still set up against one wall.  Alex was studying a book rather than
typing, but he had obviously just left off working on something... the
keyboard was still steaming.

"You caught me taking a break," Alex grinned at his old friend as Gideon
came fully into the room.  "I'm getting typist's cramp."  He flexed his
long fingers carefully.  "Look, I'm getting callouses."

"I don't think we can get callouses, Alexander," said Gideon mildly.  "How
are your courses going?"

"Quite well, actually.  I'm enjoying them."

"Good.  But that isn't why I came over."

"Oh?  Is something up?"

"Do you know the expression 'my life is an open book'?"

Alex looked puzzled.  "Is this some sort of trivia game or something,
Gideon?  I'm familiar with the expression, why?"

Gideon tossed him a copy of _Stormwings_.  "Open this, and that old saw
will be literally true," he said.

Alex stared down at the paperback in his lap.  Gideon couldn't read the
younger vampire's expression, which worried him.  "Explain," Alex commanded.

"Whoever wrote this novel had intimate experience of your relationship with
Brier, the breakup of that relationship, and of the membership and function
of the Brotherhood."

"You mean... the plot of this novel...?"

"Precisely."

"But that's absurd."

"You are holding the proof in your hand, Alexander.  I would suggest you
read it."

Alex sighed and thumbed the pages of the paperback with all the enthusiasm
of a true bibliophobe.  "When," he asked slowly, "is the meeting of the
Brotherhood to discuss this?"

"Tomorrow night," Gideon replied.  "We had to give everyone time to read
it, first.  Mitch had to drive to Bangor and buy several copies."

"I hope everyone reimburses him."

"You owe him seven ninety-five."

Alex snorted.  "I'll pay him tomorrow night, then.  I don't think I'm going
to like this, but I'll read it.  Who the hell is Sandy Daniels?"

"We're trying to find that out," Gideon replied. "Joshua asked Fox Fletcher
to look into it."

Alex nodded.  "When he finds her, she is going to be one sorry author."

"We don't know that it's a she."

"Pronoun of convenience.  Well, if you don't mind, Gideon, I have some
schoolwork to do before I can read for displeasure."

"Of course.  I will see you tomorrow night, then.  Good evening, and happy
reading."

A bitter laugh followed him out.


The conversation level in the meeting room at Fairlawn the next night
bordered on breaking the noise bylaw.  Everyone wanted to talk to everyone
else, to see what they had thought of _Stormwings_.  Pandora crossed over
to where Alex stood, looking calm despite the disruption in the hive, and
politely collared him.

"How do you feel about this?" she asked, displaying her copy of the hotly
controversial novel.

"It certainly seems to be far too much for mere coincidence," he replied.

"You know what I meant," said the healer, giving him a look.  "Are you
upset, angry, hurt...?"

"Mostly numb," Alex replied.  "I don't really know why this has happened.
I don't know what to think."

Pandora gave him a quick hug, then returned to Nicholas' side as Michael
came into the room.  The Archdruid took his place behind his desk, and the
angry hum of conversation slowly dwindled.  The Brotherhood took their seats.

They were all looking at him, Alex realized.  Some sympathetically, like
Josh and Pandora, some quizzically, like Ray and Maggie, some as if they
thought this whole thing was funny, like Mitch and Francis.  Mostly they
were looking at him to wait for his reactions.

Fox Fletcher was the last person of all to come in.  He sat down near the
door, quietly nodding to one or two people.  Michael cleared his throat and
expertly herded up everyone's wandering attention.

"You all know why I called this meeting," Michael said.  He held up a copy
of _Stormwings_.  Gideon privately thought that he was getting sick to
undeath of the sight of that cover illustration.  "We are here," the
Archdruid continued, "because of this.  The MadBibliographer reviewed it
for her column, Mitch read that review and recognized the similarity to
events that occurred within the Brotherhood, and went out to buy the book.
It is not just similar.  It is identical, save for name changes and perhaps
the odd minor detail.  That indicates dangerous knowledge on the part of
Sandy Daniels.  Whoever that may be.  Fox?"

The scarred reporter shook his head.  "Josh set me on the trail," he said,
"but the publishers aren't talking, even when I threatened lawsuit.  Seems
an author is entitled to have a pseudonym, and to not have their real
identity revealed if they don't want it to be.  Craig Books isn't talking.
I couldn't even find out if our Sandy is a guy or a girl."

"Sandra, probably," Maggie remarked.  "A woman wrote this."

"A guy," Evan argued.  "There's a fight scene in here that had to be a guy."

Michael interfered before squabbles broke out.  "Whether man or woman or
transgendered gerbil," he said, getting a brief laugh, "we do have the
problem of this book to contend with."

"But Michael," Pandora spoke up, smiling over Aisling's sleeping form
 in her lap, "it's a novel."

"Yes," the Archdruid agreed.

"Everyone who is reading it will know it's fiction," Pandora went on to
point out. 

"Good point," Ray backed her up.  "Nobody in their right minds would think
that any of this is 'based on a true story'!"

"Especially the part about the cynical ex high priest of black magic,"
Francis teased.

"I'll admit your point," Michael nodded at Pandora, ignoring the other two.
"But we still must face the fact that the author of this book knew about
Alex and Brier, knew about the Brotherhood, and wrote about them in very
thin disguise.  My counterpart in the novel is named Rafael Greensward.
Another archangel, and a synonym for 'Fairlawn'?  The other names are as
transparent. This Sandy Daniels is laughing at us."

Nobody in the room was laughing as that aspect sank in.  Eyes once more
turned to Alex, who seemed on the whole unconcerned.  He shrugged.

"Alex," Michael's voice was gentle, but uncompromising.  "could it have
been Brier who wrote this?"

"Not a chance," Alex replied promptly.  "Look at the way it ends.  With
hope for a reconciliation.  There's no hope at all for once with Brier, and
she certainly wouldn't have written the story that way.   Assuming she'd
write a vampire novel in the first place, which I doubt.  She did not leave
me solely because I have black moods, you know.  She left because she hates
vampires.  Why would she write a vampire novel?"

The members considered these words.  It was a valid argument.

Gideon's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Alex.  Why wasn't the broody
Count more upset over this?  It was his life, his love affair, that had
been turned into a trashy paperback.  Nobody else seemed to find anything
wrong with Alex's reply, though.

Pandora said, "But who else, other than Brier, knows the details of the
affair?"

"Well, I do, of course," Alex said, "And Gideon and Joshua, and the rest of
you know enough about it to have written the book."  He smiled to show he
was kidding.  "Otherwise... it's quite a mystery, isn't it?  But as you,"
he bowed to Pandora, "pointed out, it's a novel.  Fiction.  It can't hurt us."

"I would still like to know who this Daniels person is," Michael said.  "If
anyone has any ideas how we can find out...?"

Fox shook his head.  "The publishers ain't talking," he reemphasized.  

"We could use mind control," Francis suggested.

"No," said Alex.  "That's dishonourable."

"So?" challenged the younger vampire.

"We will see if we can pursue this through more mundane methods first,"
said Michael.  "I'll see what I can find out, I have contacts in the
publishing business.  So, unless anyone else has something to say...?"

Nobody did, and the meeting broke up.

Gideon was getting tired of standing in the entrance of the den at Valley
Mansion, a haze of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes, watching Alex
pound away at the typewriter keys.  Deja vu wasn't even in it.

Two nights had passed since the meeting, and nobody was any forwarder on
identifying the author of _Stormwings_.  But Gideon knew, or had a very
shrewd guess.

"So," he said, watching Alex's head whip round, "how are the correspondence
courses going?"

"Fine, fine," Alex replied, standing up and threatening to topple the pile
of typed papers.

"Tell me... would any of that correspondence be with Craig Publishers?"

Alex blinked.  "What?"

Gideon extended his copy of _Stormwings_.  "I think I would like the author
to autograph this," he said.

Alex sagged.  There was a lot of Alex, six feet four inches of him, and it
took him some time to sag.  "Damn you," he said.  "How?"

"Simple deduction, actually," Gideon replied.  "Who else knew all the
details of that relationship, other than Brier?  And the transparent name
changes... nobody thought to look closely at the author's name.  Maggie
thought that Sandy was short for Sandra.  But it's also short for
Alexander.  And it is not hard to get Daniels out of Goldanias."  He
clenched the book tightly as he confronted his friend. "Why, Alexander?"

"I couldn't think of a better pseudonym?"  Alex saw the flash of anger in
Gideon's eyes.  "All right!" he shouted, then calmed.  "It's true that I've
been taking correspondence courses," he said.  "In creative writing.  One
of the exercises was to take a bad experience in your life and turn it into
a story, distancing yourself from it.  So I did that with Brier.  The
instructor actually called me on the phone, he was so impressed, and urged
me to turn it into a full-length vampire novel.  He was really blown away
by the fact that I'd made my fictional counterpart a vampire.  He seemed to
find that deeply symbolic."  His expression was wry enough to make whiskey
out of.  "So I wrote _Stormwings_ in about a month, and sent it to him, and
the next thing I know, I'm signing a publishing contract."

"You have risked exposing us all," Gideon said.

"No, I haven't.  It is, as Pandora pointed out, a novel.  Fiction.  The
fictions of a demented Romanian.  Nobody will think it's real."

"Supposing Brier reads it?"

Alex, who had started pacing as he grew more agitated, froze mid-stride.
"She won't," he said, almost under his breath.

"You should tell Michael that you wrote it," said Gideon after a minute.

Alex threw himself dramatically on the sofa.  "I suppose," he admitted.
"I've done nothing wrong," he defended himself. "I never lied.  I just
didn't tell the truth."

Gideon's expression showed what he thought of such dubious honesty.  "If
someone had asked you outright if you knew who had written this, would you
have answered?"

A shrug.  "Nobody did."  A long-fingered hand reached out for Gideon.
"Give me your copy," Alex said.  "I'll sign it for you."

The Baron found himself handing over his copy of _Stormwings_.  Alex found
a pen, scrawled something, and handed it back.  Gideon read the inscription.

"To my best friend, Baronet Damien Kirkwood, with my highest regards.
Sandy Daniels."

Despite himself, Gideon found himself smiling.  "Joshua says he likes the
sound of Jericho Pengallon," he offered.

"Tell him to come over and I'll sign his copy to Jericho," Alex grinned.

It was impossible to be angry with Alex.  He was right, the world would
regard _Stormwings_ as no more than fiction.  Well, most of the world...
Gideon wondered how many of the CotN read vampire novels.  No doubt they'd
find out.

"You end it on a hopeful note," Gideon said gently, closing the cover of
the book on Alex's signature.  "Do you really think there is hope of a
reconciliation with Brier?"

Alex stood up.  He put a hand on Gideon's shoulder, briefly.  "Not a one,"
he admitted.

"Then, why...?"

Alex sighed.  "It is," he answered, "fiction, after all."
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The End.

    Source: geocities.com/g_redoak