"Yeah, can't wait for the rematch..." Iain commented, entering the kitchen with a half-smile, dressed in a dark-blue T-shirt and black jeans.

"Top of the morning, ladies. Everybody's up early today..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Tue 31 Jan 2006.

"Risen and shining it is, Iain," Johnny agreed, remaining in the doorway so he wouldn't have to worry about getting in Iona's way. He always hated people getting in his way when he cooked. He haphazardly supported his weight on one hand, carrying a scarce stack of paper in the other. "In my hand, I carry medical documents of utmost importance. Normally, the Oath of Hipocrates and the extreme dullness would prevent me from sharing any of this with you, but - as part of the Thanksgiving festivities - I will spice this day with paraphrases of wit gone dry. As an apertif - Iona, somebody in this room has reported he doesn't care much for the taste of garlic. Of course, my medical ethics prevent me from actually naming him." Johnny's eyes met Iain's glance.

Iain smiled sheepishly: "Ah, right, thanks for reminding me. Well, I guess you are all familiar with the myth of garlic being the bane of vampires? Its powers have been grossly exaggerated by fiction, but vampires tend to steer clear of rooms full of it, because of the foul smell - as do most humans, come to think of it. More to the point, it turns food from 'almost tasteless' to 'definitely bitter'."

An instant later, on an afterthought, he added: "Except green garlic: it seems to be an exception, for some reason."

"That must explain why I have so much trouble making out with girls," Pieran said brighty from the kitchen door.  "I eat garlic by the whole!  Maybe you'll have to direct me to some of that green stuff, Iain."

He smiled -no, beamed to everyone in the room.  Pain no longer creased his face, sweat and shakes stung him no more, and his pallid color had gone from Saran Wrap to his more natural olive and tanned pink, minus the tan for now.  "Hey," he said smartly, "I'm back!"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:33, Sun 23 Apr 2006.

Dren stood at the top of the stairs, far from sight with an unlit clove hanging from his mouth. He remained there only long enough to hear the pleasantries being exchanged below before decided… he wasn’t about to ruin them.

Turning he headed, ghostlike and noiselessly up to the top floor of the mansion, past his room and out onto the screened porch that rested up against the laundry room. Sitting to watch the shadows of the mansion he reached down for the tucked away bottle of scotch and with one hand, smoothly unscrewed the top, then pour out a generous amount into the nearby glass before lighting his clove and enjoying the silence around him.

Alex stared at Pieran for a moment, then actually managed a small smile.  She didn't know how he had suddenly fought the poison back, but she was glad that he had.

Grabbing some fruit, she wove her way through the people now occupying the kitchen toward the exit, pausing briefly by Pieran.  "Its good to see you're feeling better." she said softly, again mustering that small smile before ducking out of the kitchen and heading to the media room to eat her breakfast.

Raven smiled at Pieran. "It’s nice to see you up and about, Pieran. How are you feeling?"

Iain considered for an instant following Alex, but the image of her dead body in his arms stopped him.

"Praise the Lord..." He smiled, then, looking pointedly at Raven and Iona, he added: "But let's not forget the ladies."

He knew the two of them had been working on a cure for Erynies' poison/curse/whatever: apparently all that effort had finally paid off.

"It's good to have you back, Pieran. Now, if you could manage to stay away from vengeful spirits, just for a little while... Everyone in this room would really appreciate it."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Thu 02 Feb 2006.

“Damn, there goes my bid for a seat on the Senate.  Thanks, Iain.”

He noted the passage through which Alexis had made her exit but thought better of saying anything.  He'd catch up with her later.  His attention then turned to Raven.  “Worlds better than I was two days ago,” he replied, “and not quite as great as I will be tomorrow.”  He shot her a mischievous wink but then his tone turned abruptly meaningful.  “I won’t forget all that you did.”  He saluted her with his characteristic salaam.

"A salute to you also, Mr. Hope. Your tireless efforts champion you.  You have my thanks with devotion and all that I can give.  Mòran taing," he closed, his head nodded humbly, a salaam from his hand.  It was clear that he gave his thanks like a prayer.

"Now, may I help Iona in the kitchen?  Otherwise, there's a place on the grounds I want to visit."

Iona was about to comment, but was saved by the timely arrival of Raven and Iain.



“Well, I have a lot of things already to go, but I could use some help with the pies later. Thanks. Oh, and after I get the Bird stuffed, I would like a hand getting him into the oven. 26 pound turkey’s are heavy! Maybe I can rope one of these big strong men into that…” She tilted her head and batted her eyes in an obvious flirt as Johnny joined the group.

When Pieran entered, her eyes flashed brightly. “Pieran, you look so much better.”



“No, no. I have things well under control. You just enjoy this day of Thanksgiving. Just don’t be late for dinner.” A thought seemed to cross her mind. Iona turned toward Raven.

“Raven, you must invite Marco to join us. There will be more then enough food for all. He could watch some football with the guys in the media room. American football that is. I will have a relish tray ready right after the parades and before the game. Maybe Dren would share some of his Guinness beer with him. It has got to be better then sitting in that hotel room all day.” It was clear that she liked to play matchmaker, even if this was not quite the match she had worked on before.

Without further need for a prompt he took his leave to the outdoors, heedless of the autumn chill, pausing as he exited just long enough to place his hand softly upon Raven's shoulder, punctuated with a gentle, warm smile.

Sat in the media room, munching half-heartedly on an apple, Alex idly looked out of the window when she heard the door shut.  Outside she could see the retreating form of Pieran, walking toward some unknown destination.  The apple promptly lost what little flavour it had possessed as she stared at his back, trying to decide what to do.  She needed to talk to someone or she was going to go mad trying to work it out on her own - Sarah's midnight visitations had convinced her of that much.  Pieran had been one of the few people she had seriously considered confiding in, and here the opportunity was presenting itself.

Jumping up from the couch, she too left the mansion, though the autumn chill was positively balmy compared to what she was used to back in England.  Jogging up behind Pieran, she easily fell into step with him, her slender hands playing with one another in an unusual display of nerves.

"Pieran...  Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked hesitantly, with a backward glance toward the mansion to check they didn't have company.

Her accompaniment was unexpected but fully welcome and it shone in his face.  “My heart is yours as long as you wish, m’lady,” he replied.  His voice was soft and deferential, with that peculiar accent of Spanish and English.  He’d been bearing on pain so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.  “I was just going to the stables.”  Her wringing hands and telling glance toward the mansion did not escape his notice.  “But if you prefer a finer scent, the chapel is before us.  Or perhaps we shall just walk?  I surrender the moment to you.  Fair thee,” he finished, a comely smile upon his lips, his hand gesturing upon the path(s) before them.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Iona. I’ll give him a call in a little bit. Thank you.”

Raven looked over the array of food and cooking paraphernalia. She wondered if Iona turned down the offers of help because she truly didn’t need it, because she took great joy in doing the cooking herself, or because she couldn’t stand anyone messing up her carefully arranged order and placement of things. The scientist was definitely the exception to the rule that 'messy cooks make the best cooks'. “At least let me help with the clean-up.” Raven started to gather the things that Iona was obviously finished with, taking great care to not interfere with the preparations of their resident Julia Child.

After having spent a while in the kitchen downing a quick and simple breakfast and passively observing everything which was going on around him, Johnny silently put his used plate where it belonged like a cat through a dogs' pen.

"You seem to be very well atop of things, Iona. I'll make sure there are plenty of, ah, shall we say, beverage, in the fridge, and see if there's enough chips around to get everyone through the game. But if I know a certain someone right, nobody's found room for anything but Guiness in there." He looked around himself for a moment, tongue playing across his upper lip as searched for the words.

"Anyway, I'll make sure the media room is in presentable shape for our special guest, I might head out to reinforce our stocks of liquid stupifier, so seize hold of me if there's anything you need."

"I don't mind.  Wherever." Alex replied, just content to be out of anyone else's earshot.  Their feet crunched along the gravel path for a few steps further until she spoke again.  "I, uh..." now she floundered for words, having planned to have this conversation for some time, but never really taking the time to think about how to actually start it.

"You...  You have those extra," what?  Voices?  That made it sound like she was saying he was crazy.  Souls?  Why was everything these days about souls?  If one made a difference, if too many was a problem...  Why couldn't things be simpler?   Realising that she had fallen into silence and that Pieran was waiting patiently for her to continue, she finished her sentence.  "Souls.  Right?"

Without waiting for confirmation she ploughed ahead, not wanting to loose what little courage she had summoned in order to talk about this.  "Do they just talk to you?  Or...  Can they do more?"

Hmm.  Well, at least it wasn’t a complex question like, ‘How do you make a paper kite?’  Still it was a powder keg question –loaded and incendiary.  Pieran liked those kinds of questions and he took some time before answering, allowing their walk around the grounds to drift wherever spirit guided them, to say nothing of carrying them farther from the mansion that so seemed to unsettle Alexis' nerve.

“I went to a bar one day," Pieran said at last.  His voice was soft and mild, an intimate conversation that would not disquiet the trees and gardens. "A man beside me started talking but he really didn't say anything at all.  I needed him to be quiet because I was stalking prey at the time.  In the end I missed the kill thanks to his incessant babbling.”

He paused to help set the stage.

“Alex, to me, the soul is conscience, a creature of perpetual evolution.  The medium through which Soul evolves is consciousness, which is thought, memory, knowledge.  In short: experience, time, the past.  The medium generally perishes at some point and so the Soul must seek a renewed medium through which to resume its evolution.  Some of its past lingers, like a dog that has run through mud –when it’s time to return home he carries some mud back to his master.  It is a measure of Soul’s evolution; it’s learnings.

“For example, when a child learns something he graduates to something higher.  In the same way, as Soul evolves, it changes the consciousness it works with so that it does not need to return to the basics; it evolves beyond its current understanding.  That’s the whole point!

“And so, in a sense, Soul informs consciousness.  And then consciousness, guided by this spiritual compass, moves in the direction that best offers what Soul is seeking.  Well, sometimes.  I'm being deliberately simplistic, of course, but we're only just 'opening the book,' so to speak."

He paused, picked up a fallen leaf and looked at it, turning it round by its stem.  It was bright with the colors of autumn -gold, green, red and orange.  It smelled like fall and felt of both leather and paper.  He handed it to her so she could play with it also, bidding her to smell it, and to feel it tickle across her lips.

“Anyway, there resides within the consciousness of Pieran Swift, no fewer than a dozen Souls each with varying degrees of evolution.  Like skillful artists they are sharing a single palate dotted with colors and opportunity."  He nodded toward the leaf in her hand as they walked on, hoping she'd connect the dots.  "They ‘talk’ to me, commune with me, paint their portraits through me if you will, and I try and follow their guidance.  My behavior, my language, mannerisms, and ultimately my moral choices are their brush strokes upon the canvas of this body.  Can they do ‘more’ for me?  What more should they do?  If you heed the counsel of a wise Soul then nothing else need be done.  If you do not then no more can be done.  In other words, Alex, the ‘more’ is in your hands, not theirs.”  He smiled, eyeing her briefly, letting his point strike home.  "You, this body-mind willful consciousness with its attending four-layer bio-body suit is the Soul’s chief effective force in the world and if we do not allow Soul to use it rightly, really it is like the jabbering of that imbecile at the bar, telling a tale of sound and fury, signifying nothing; spoiling everything.”

That was a lot to digest so he paused briefly, returning with a more cautionary voice.  “In my case, the original tenant of this consciousness is the man in charge of the house.  But when forced by extremis, or incapacitated under certain remarkable conditions, my more dominate Souls take charge.  In other words, this ship is never without a man –or woman- behind the helm.  If the captain is unable to command the ship, the first mate takes over.  Believe me I know what I’m saying.

“So while there are some ‘perks’ to possessing a surfeit of Conscience, there is also a terrible price to pay…which is why I think the Powers that Be sometimes do us a favor by not giving us too much.

“Now then,” he concluded, his voice still more grave, “you must tell me why you are asking this question.”

Spinning the leaf by its stem between her forefinger and thumb, Alex stared at it as they continued to walk, letting Pieran's words sink in.

"Because I thought I was sailing solo, but it seems I might have a mutinous first mate?" she finally said, trying to appear light-hearted and failing miserably as her voice betrayed her.

Looking away and across the grounds, she figured that a more detailed explanation was in order.  With a heavy sigh, she began.  "A little while before we all got dragged here, I had a run-in with a demon.  I don't want to go into the gory details, but its enough to say that it died and its blood got mixed with mine.  Since then... she shrugged, again not wanting to entirely elaborate on the matter.  "Strange stuff started happening to me - like the telekinesis."  There was an obvious air of distaste as she spoke the last word, as though she found the very idea of it unpleasant.

"I thought, well, I hoped that was the end of it.  I mean, I couldn't find anything that hinted it would get any worse and things seemed to have plateaued out.  But last month, at the arch..." she shook her head.  "There was another one of those demons there and it could feel the one that I had fought - Kaphious, it called it."  Alex abruptly stopped talking, telling herself that the burning sensation running along the scars on her back was purely psychosomatic.  Frowning, she carried on.  "Who am I kidding.  It called me Kaphious.  It said that we were merged or something, tried to get Kaphious help him and it nearly did.  I nearly did.  But it wasn't me.  At least, I don't think so..." she trailed off.  There was something in Alex's eyes that said she wasn't really sure of this at all and with a final glance at the leaf in her hand, she let it flutter to the ground while she waited to hear what Pieran would have to say.

Pieran stood in his tracks, a grimace frozen on his face.  Unconsciously he rubbed the shoulder wound which was only just starting to heal normally.  He was crestfallen and sad.

“I understand, now.”  He paused again, weighing her story.  “But yours is a color of a different horse,” he said at last.  “You asked if my Souls can do more for me than just ‘talk.’  If they could I think I would have seen something by now.”  He felt awkward.  Still, he felt right about the 'more' being in his hands, not theirs.  He needed an illustration.

“You’ve heard me sing. I’m not a singer and you’ve been very kind not to tell me so,” he chuckled.  “I have no training in it.  The joy of song –the beauty, the delight: those belong to the Soul.  The notes, pitch and tone of song: they belong to the vocal chords.  I sing because it is an impulse of Soul to sing, not because I imagine myself having any talent in it.  That is the way it is for most of what I do; why I carry a bow or swing both European and Asian steel.”

He continued the pace of their walk, rallying now from her confession, and wishing to come to her aid.

“So my condition (if I can borrow that word) is spiritual.  But what you’re describing is mechanical.  It reminds me of a blood borne viral infection.  I don’t know much about that, Alex, I wish I did.”

He was quiet again as they walked together, two friends on a path.  He was moved –too moved to tell her how her confession had effected him, and at how honored he was that she chose to speak with him about it.  And then a new idea came to mind.  “Some say changes in our DNA may result from viruses.  Radiation is also blamed for changes in DNA and cellular behavior.  We hear about that all the time.  So it isn’t hard to suppose that you may inherit peculiar qualities as a result of exposure to the toxins of demonic blood.  But that is NOT the same thing as saying that you are necessarily becoming a demon; that its blood is some kind of diabolic viral mutagen hell-bent on replicating itself through you.

“Nor do I believe that you are possessed, if that’s any comfort.  Nor finally do I believe that Kaphious dwells within you –your ‘mutinous first mate.’  That his blood mingled with yours is known; my guess is your last foe smelled or sensed that blood within you.  He concluded that an ally of his was present and so, called you Kaphious by name.

“As for feeling like he was speaking directly to you, or for feeling an urge to ‘nearly help,’ as you put it, I understand that to some degree.  That’s why I mentioned song a moment ago; I am availed by the impulse to sing…and so I sing, even if I really shouldn’t try!  But talent or not, I know the joy of it.  And that is why I do it and why it is a reward to Soul.”

He paused and smiled as something came into memory.  “Iron filings!  Left alone they appear as a pile, or scattered about a sheet of paper.  (I played with them when I was a kid.)  But in the presence of a magnet they come to attention and can be directed, pushed, pulled, shaped, anything.  The enemy’s call upon the blood of Kaphious reminds me of the call of a magnetic field upon shavings of iron.  And in that same psycho-telekinetic way, you could have been directed, pushed, pulled, whatever…rather not unlike an hypnotic suggestion making you bark like a dog, when every sane man knows you are in truth nothing like a dog.

“The important thing to remember is that it isn’t Kaphious.  You are no more a demon than I am a wizard and I have a wizard’s soul!   But I can’t even pull a rabbit out of my hat.  (Don’t think I haven’t tried.)

“We’re alike; both vulnerable in some ways.  If I don’t puff the magic dragon twice each day I relapse into a pain that I cannot survive a second time.  I am like a diabetic dependent upon his insulin; if misfortune or enemies deprive me of my medicine I am in a world of some very serious suffering.

“You are vulnerable to the vicissitudes of hell’s blood.  You display psychokinesis.  All right, consider it a gift, like a guitar at Christmas.  Not fun at first.  But if you learn to make music from it, you could become a rock star.    But you shall not lose your Soul by that!   I swear it.  And that is all the difference in the world between you and a demon."  He smiled reassuringly.  “Now, tell me how I can help you.”

"I think you already have." she replied, and it wasn't a lie.  Pieran thought she was still plain old Alex, Slayer-That-Never-Was, and oddly enough that gave her hope, something she hadn't really expected to take away from this conversation.

His simple metaphor had been almost perfect in describing how she had felt that night, when the demon had tried to command Kaphious and bring what little telekinesis she had to bear; iron filings trying to respond to a magnetic field.  After all, surely she would have noticed or felt something by now, if there was more to it?  And if there was more to it, maybe she was better off trying to learn how to control her 'gift', as Pieran had put it, rather than doing her best to ignore it.

She shook her head and sighed again.  "This wasn't a part of my plan.  I'm not sure what my plan was, but I do know it didn't involve nearly dying several times, getting weird demon blood infections, being sucked into another dimension and - " having fuzzy feelings for a vampire?  Alex caught herself before she finished the sentence, wincing at the fact she had nearly blurted it out and feeling the colour creeping onto her cheeks at the thought of it.  She debated bringing that up as well, since Pieran had been helpful with the other major issue that had been plaguing her mind, but it didn't feel the same.  After all, demons and their associated side-effeects were easy; there was always some way to deal with them, however obscure it might be.  People...  Well, you could do everything right and still be wrong.  And that was if they stuck around long enough for it to be an problem.

"Can I ask you something else?"  She brought her hand up to her chest and tapped twice with her forefingers where a pendant would be resting, if she had been wearing a necklace.  "Who'd that belong to?" she asked, eying the cross around his neck.

Pieran startled at her question and he clutched the slender jewelry reflexively, almost protectively.  It lay in his open palm while the lyrics from that night echoed in his memory…

‘Oops! I did it again / I played with your heart / Got lost in the game.
Oh baby, baby / You think I’m in love / That I’m sent from above.
I’m not that innocent!’

He coughed lightly to regain himself.  “It belonged to…..a client.”  He shuffled his feet nervously.  “A girl interrupted,” he said from a faraway voice.  “Innocence lost.  She gave this to me as part of a promise I made to save her life from a monster.  It’s a long story.  It used to have a gem in the center; look see?  About ten years ago they re-cut the Hope diamond.  The chips went into some select jewelry; this is one of them.  I lost it along the way; probably damaged in a fight, somewhere.

“Anyway, I decided that what she asked me to do was too costly so I took a different path.  I did the right thing.

"But she died.  Then the monster that killed her took his own life.  In the end it would have cost less to do what she asked; the monster would still be dead, she would still be alive and maybe, just maybe…happy.  Like one of my Souls I carry this cross to remember her and to remind me that sometimes, even when you do all the right things, you still end up making a mistake.”

He sighed.  “This symbol means many things to many people.  To me it means humility and the truth that even gods may fall; it means sorrow, loss, and those two words more spoken in all the world –yes, even more than I love you:  ‘If only.’”

“I’m just a man, Alexis, an all too human man, with his qualities and his failings, doing only the best he can.  But you didn’t follow me out here to ask about my past.  My door is always unlocked; I’d like to hear more about your story, and about your past with this situation.  I also hear tell that you were a blitzkrieg in your last battle.  I’d love to have seen it.  Second to none!”  He smiled bright.  “Take my arm if you will, and keep my escort.  What more shall we talk about?”

Alex hesitated a moment, then looped her arm around Pieran's with a faint, but genuine, smile.  "A blitzkrieg?  I think plain old 'mightily pissed off' is closer to the truth.  There should be some sort of memo sent out: note to demonkind - conjuring up images of Alexis Taylor's dead friends appears to be counterproductive."  The smile faded from her face as she spoke, for try as she might, Alex could not yet understand why everything had gone the way it had.  The last time she had faced the same kind of demon, every one of her friends had died and she had nearly joined them.  This time, they had come home whole and intact, with a few cuts and bruises to show for their trouble.  If she could fight like a dervish when she was taunted with images of her departed friends, why didn't she fight like that when they were right by her side?  Maybe that's exactly what Pieran had been talking about; despite doing everything that she could, doing everything right, that fight had been destined to go terribly wrong.  It wasn't hugely comforting, but at least it was something.

Listening to the repetitive sound of their feat striking the ground, Alex realised that they had once again fallen into silence.  It was an odd sensation, because even on noticing it, she didn't feel uncomfortable.  It left her some time to decide what she really wanted to talk about next, rather than blurting out the first thing that came into her head, just to fill the void.

"You know, I was eighteen when I discovered the big wide world.  And it was a lot to take in after what I'd been used to.  I didn't cope very well.  I don't remember most of it, due to the vast amount of alcohol and er...  other substances I consumed.  Well, that and the burning shame that makes me suppress anything I can remember."  She smiled awkwardly as another blush took hold of her cheeks, showing she really wasn't joking about being ashamed of that particular part of her past.

"There were men.  Far too many of them, actually.  But nothing that ever lasted longer than a night."  Alex frowned, paused and cleared her throat as her embarrassment reached new highs.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that most twelve-year-olds have had a more meaningful relationship with the opposite sex than I have.  Romance is always something that seemed like a nice idea, but I always figured it was something I could never have.  And...  Well, there's a chance of it now and I'm scared silly on so many levels its just not funny."

He listened, smiling all the while.  He recognized the voice.   Her Soul was talking, filtered by the fog of thought.

“I wasn’t born as I am now,” he said after a pregnant silence.  “I had my metanoia when I was twelve.  Talk about a lot to take in and not coping well!  In a metaphorical sense I died and was reborn.  That’s another story.  But I understand your view.  I suppose that’s not hard to imagine.  I haven’t had a romance….ever!  Too young before twelve; too old, after.  Oh plenty of crushes, sure, and a few one-to-three-night stands which shamefully served more for interrogation than lovemaking.  Today, my mistresses are the horses, the rising sun, the forest, the seas and seasons, the noiseless flight of an owl, a dray of squirrels, a skulk of foxes, and the way a leaf in her time dances silently to the earth."

His eyes roamed the woods and he inhaled deeply the cool air.  He fell silent again, allowing the soft breezes to tickle the flaming leaves and sway their tender branches.  He listened to a song of the earth, hearing its voice, nodding that he would repeat its message, obedient to its call.

“I want to tell you a great truth, Alex."  He pulled her nearer to him and his voice hushed for effect, falling like an archer's swift arrows into the heart of a lie.  "There’s a rumor which says that we are afraid of the unknown.  I want to tell you it is impossible.  We are not afraid of the unknown, we are afraid of the known coming to an end.  The known, as we were saying before, is the past, the familiar, the comfortable –experience, time, memory.  And when the known ceases we say we are gazing upon the face of the unknown and feel ‘scared silly on so many levels it’s just not funny.’  Then we make matters worst by thinking, ‘What if this or, what if that; supposing this, supposing that!?  My God, what will I do?’

“But theories, suppositions, thoughts; they are rooted in time, derived from memory and experience –the known.  And so it is the known that breeds fear, not the unknown.  Romance, like demon slaying, requires courage –the courage to abandon the comfortable known and to live in the mystery…to float in that terrible but forgiving place of forgetting; to cut your ties from the world and sail off into the unknown, into uncharted seas.  If you can’t do that, and many seem unable, then often love between you and he becomes a battleground; two ignorant blind armies clashing by night.

“It isn’t true that romance is something you were never supposed to have.  It is your birthright!  Seize it.  If you can do that, you’ll find romance everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the woodlands around them.  “You’ll be laying in its lap.  You'll be in it; part of it.  Romance in this fullest, true sense is every Soul’s quest.  It is part of the journey, part of the reason the Soul entered into the world.  But that’s a sermon for another day.

“Have you noticed how gentlemanly I am not to ask you with whom you have this fresh chance of love?”  He smiled to her the devil’s own grin.  “Not that I don’t already know,” he added.  “I mean, it’s fairly obvious it’s me!”  His smile became impossibly more devilish.   “Are you ticklish, at all?”  For an answer he tried poking her ribs between his thumb and forefinger.

"Not there..."  she answered with a sly smile, batting Pieran's hand away playfully.  "And of course its you!  But since I couldn't possibly compete with your other mistresses - the horses, the rising sun, and all the rest, I'll have to abandon that pipe dream and settle for someone actually attainable."

Alex brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, still easily smiling.  Suddenly she felt very silly for stewing on her problems for as long as she had, instead of talking it out with someone.  Whether her spirits would remain as high as they were once she was given the chance to mull over it again on her own was a different matter, but there was no denying the fact that this conversation had done her the world of good.

"Its..."  She shrugged, not usually so reckless with confessions of her feelings, but she figured that since she was in for a penny, she may as well go in for the whole pound as well.  "Well, its Iain."

There, she had said it.  Out loud, and to a person, no less.  At the same time, she felt suddenly liberated and terrified in the same heartbeat.  Now it had been spoken, it was like it was set in stone; there was no pretending she hadn't thought it, or that it was just the product of an increasingly weird set of dreams.  Nope, now it was real and she couldn't take it back.  Dammit.

"So, um, yeah.  I seem to be developing a bit of a thing for him."  She was blushing, again.  "I'm just struggling with the whole vampire bit."

Ouch.  “I imagine he is, too,” Pieran said, none too ironic.  Ouch.

“Well,” he said, after another infamously long silence, “you’re not asking me for advice and I wouldn’t give it if you did.  It’s your journey, after all and I can’t presume to know anything about…that,” he said, referring to her revelation -God love her for it.  Ouch.  (‘Where are you?’)

‘You’re on your own now, kid.’

Same old story.  He breathed wearily.  “The two things I’d be concerned with are power and that tattoo he wears.  From what I’ve learned the tattoo is what makes Iain more or less human.  If it should be marred or altered, it could make all the difference in the world, like the letter P changing into an R by the mere inclusion of a tiny little line.  These symbols make all the difference between events such as Peace and Riot.

“Then there’s that whole power thing.  Iain’s got it," Pieran sighed.  "The poor man.”  He sadly shook his head.

Pieran paused again, studying the light filtering through the trees, turning the world into mist and flame and earth.  Abruptly he offered the light a salaam and a gracious nod from his head.

“It isn’t true that power corrupts, only that power is corruptible; the corrupt -those who crave power- are the ones who corrupt it.  That’s the real story behind King Midas.”

He turned to face her, placing both of his hands upon her shoulders where he massaged gently, lovingly.  He looked in her eyes and his voice took on a caste of depth, as though he were reciting verbatim what his mistress had just told him.  “The sane are never tempted, Alex.  It is only the unbalanced who are tempted, who need discipline and restraint.  You see, the pure of heart have no need for power because they already have absolute power –a pure heart.  Only a rare few men are like that and I must confess that I am not among them.  So I know of where I speak.  Iain is not among them, either.  His tat tells me so.  It’s a mechanism, a crutch, and if it should be kicked out from under him, he will fall.”

He released her, smiled compassionately and taking her beside him, draped his arm about her as they continued to walk.

“The fastest way to attain power is to refuse it.  Learning that is Iain’s path and he may have to walk it for unknown ages.  If you are to love him you must help him stay on that path, for his good and yours for as long as you are able.  I do not have women fight my battles for me.  But I am thrice blessed when they fight my battles alongside of me!  That is what you will have to do with Iain, maybe even while your own battles are raging within…and out with.”

He released her once again and faced her, looking deep within her eyes.  “Can you do that?”