Title: Enthralled, 8/?
Author: Scribe
Fandom: Bell, Book, and Candle
Pairing:
Status: WIP
Series/Sequel:
Summary: Shep gets a surprise visitor, and Gilbert is feeling pleased with the
world.
Archive: Yes
Feedback: Yes. On list, or to poet77665@catlover.com
Disclaimer: I did not create and do not own any readily recognizable media
characters. I have no agreement, legal or otherwise, with the creators or
owners. This is purely for entertainment--I have not made, do not seek, and
will not accept any profit for it. This story is in no way meant to reflect on
the lives or life styles of the actors/actresses who originally portrayed the
characters. I have nothing but fond affection and respect for them, for giving
me so much entertainment, and no disrespect is meant by anything herein.
Rating:
Warnings: Okay, people--I've lost my notes. From here on in this will be
written from what I remember. Which is just as well, I suppose--it will be less
of a rehashing that way. This way I'll get the flavor without going too 'word
for word'.
Notes:
Personal Websites: http://www.scribescribbles.com and
http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver (which can be reached through the
previous site).

===========================================================================

Enthralled, 8/?
by Scribe

Shep left Merle's apartment feeling both relieved and energized. Funny, he'd
always thought that breaking up would be much more onerous. Aside from the
slap, some choice words that Shep would never have credited Merle with knowing,
and that one thrown ashtray, things had gone fairly smoothly. Now he felt a
great, refreshing sense of freedom, and a sense of belonging that shouldn't have
been possible along with it, but somehow seemed perfectly right.

He had had a hard time tearing himself away from Gil, and then there'd been the
visit to Merle, so he was late getting in to work. He was whistling cheerfully
when he breezed into the office. Anna, his secretary, looked up from her
typewriter with mild surprise. "Well, you're in a good mood. I guess you had a
nice Christmas?"

Shep stepped over to her and dropped a kiss on the astonished girl's forehead.
"Nice is hardly the word for it, Anna. Wonderful, fantastic, miraculous... You
get the drift. This is a book publisher's office--we should have a thesaurus
around if you need more examples."

He was moving toward the door that led to his personal office, and Anna raised
her voice, making him pause with his hand on the knob. "You have a visitor."

Shep frowned as he took off his coat and hung it up. He went to hang up his
hat, then stopped when his hand touched his hair, and smiled. "Really? Anyone
I know?"

She shook her head. "Not personally. I think he's an author." She wrinkled
her nose. "He looks like a creative type."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, nothing that a lot of sleep, a pressed suit, and a good haircut wouldn't
cure."

Shep grunted. "I don't remember making any appointments. It's a little
presumptuous of him to just drop in and expect to see me, especially so close on
the heels of the holiday."

"Want me to go in and tell him to scram--in a polite way, of course."

"Mmm, no. I'm in too good a mood to disappoint someone. I tell you what, give
me ten minutes, then come in with an 'urgent phone call'."

"Check."

Shep went into his office, eyes going automatically to the chairs before his
desk. They were empty. He called back over his shoulder, "Anna, are you sure
you haven't been hallucinating?" There was a snore. Shep's eyes darted toward
the source of the sound, fixing on the sofa on the near wall, and the figure
sprawled on it. "Never mind."

He was feeling a little impish, and was tempted to give the door a slam, but his
charitable nature won out, and he instead closed it gently, then went to stand
over his visitor. He could understand what Anna had meant by her description.
He was a rakishly handsome man in his early forties, with thick, unkempt dark
hair, and a luxuriant moustache. He was wearing a very, very rumpled suit, the
tie loosened almost to the point of falling off. He looked, in fact, like a
'creative type' who was sleeping off a monumental bat. Shep couldn't place him,
but there was something vaguely familiar about the man. *Well, that's hardly
surprising, considering the number of authors I have to deal with.* He leaned
over. "Excuse me." The man snored. "Sir?" He snored again. "Last call!"

The man sat up abruptly, eyes still closed. "Scotch and water." He opened his
eyes and blinked several times, looking around. He spotted Shep and said, "No
scotch and water?"

"Considering the time of day, don't you think you should make it scotch and
milk?"

"Milk? Must you use four letter words?" He swung his legs over the side of the
sofa, rubbed a hand through his hair, putting it in even greater disarray, and
yawned again. "You sure you don't have a drink around here?"

"I'm a friendly sort, but I usually know someone's name before I buy them a
drink."

"Oh, sorry." He held out his hand. "Sidney Redlitch."

Shep started in pleased surpise as he shook hands. "Mister Redlitch! I should
have recognized you from your photo on the dust jacket."

"I don't know why. My mother couldn't recognize me from that tarted up
portrait. You're Shepherd Henderson, right?"

"Yes, sorry--forgot my manners for a moment. I've been wanting to meet you for
some time. I thought that you were living in Mexico?"

"I was. I was taking a little sabatical, starting to plan my next book, and
returning to this land of cold and damp was the fartherest thing from my mind.
Then suddenly yesterday evening I was struck by a sudden compulsion to come
here."

"Back to New York?"

"No--here. Specifically to see you." He frowned. "I'm not sure why."

"You do? Good. Who am I?" When Shep looked startled he said, "Kidding, at
least for the most part.I heard that your contract with your publisher is
complete. Are you looking for another publisher?"

Redlitch shrugged. "I guess so. It's as good a reason as any. Are you
POSITIVE you don't have a drink around here?"

"What would you like?"

"If it's alcoholic, I'm not fussy."

Shep moved over the the small set of decanters he kept on the shelf. "I don't
have any scotch. Would rye do?"

"Sounds like a winner." While Shep poured the drink, Sidney said, "Yeah, now
that you mentioned it, I DO need another publisher. My last one was okay, but
he wanted to tie me down to a five book contract. I never make plans that far
in advance." He accepted the glass that Shep offered. "If I can't make a note
of something on a weekly planner without turning a page, it's too far in advance
for me."

Shep sat down beside Sidney. "Since you're looking for another publisher, I'd
be very interested in talking to you about bringing it here. You..." Sidney
had tipped the glass up and was taking a deep swallow. "You might want to sip
that."

Sidney drained the glass in another long sip. "Nah. I don't really like the
taste--I just like the effect."

"Oh-kay. Have you thought about your next book?"

"Only in a general manner." Sidney was gazing at the empty glass with something
like wistfullness. "It'll be a non-fiction, about magic, of course."

"That hasn't failed you yet. Hoo-doo in Haiti was your first, right?"

Sidney nodded. "Ju-Ju in Japan did better than that, then Eeriness in England
beat that, and Magic in Mexico has been the best yet. I'm gonna have to go a
ways to surpass it, but I think I can, if I can just get the right slant on the
subject matter. Are you interested?"

"Interested is hardly the word. Try fascinated--no--slavering. How would you
feel about...? Oh, you don't like multi-book deals, but I have to have
something a little bigger than one book to justify any substantial advance."

"I like those two words--substantial advance."

"How about contracting for one book, and giving us first refusal on the one
after that?"

"Sounds good to me." He lifted the glass. "Let's drink to it."

"Um... yes." Shep took the glass and went back to the decanter. This time he
only put a little liquor in the glass, topping it up with water. Sidney
accepted it and once again did his amazing imbibing act. "Look, should you be
drinking like that this early in the morning? I mean what with the writing, and
such."

"I don't drink when I write. Well, only enough to keep the inner workings
oiled. If I tried to write stone cold sober you'd end up with something as dry
as a gardening review in the Sunday suppliment." He drank, then smacked his
lips. "You need a tighter seal on your bottle--the hooch is losing its
strength."

Shep got up and went to his desk, picking up his phone. "I'll call the firm's
lawyer and have him start drawing up the contract. It should be ready later
today--he's a whizz at these things." Sidney was finishing the drink. "Can I
order you some breakfast?"

"Nah."

"You really ought to have something in your stomach if you're going to drink
like that this early in the morning."

"I do. You used to have a pack of pretzels in your desk drawer."

Shep thought. "But Anna accidentally got those for me last year."

Sidney shrugged. "I thought they were a little chewy."

"You need some real food--protien."

"If you insist, you can order me a corned beef on rye bread, very lean, with
mustard."

"You should have greens--how about some lettuce on that?"

"How about a martini with an olive?" Shep stared at him. "Right. Make it a
pickle. Don't look at me like that. They used to be cucumbers, and that's
salad in anyone's language."

~*~

Queenie tapped impatiently at the door to Gil's shop. He'd been waiting for
over five minutes. At last he saw Gilbert making his way through the shop to
the front door. "Finally!" he scolded as his nephew opened the door. "It's
freezing out here."

As he shut the door again, Gil said calmly, "You're just complaining for effect,
Queenie. You don't feel the chill any more than I do."

"No," Queenie admitted, "but it's the principle of the thing. It was very rude
to leave me waiting for so long, and now that I think of it, why was your door
locked? Shouldn't you be open by now?"

Gilbert led Queenie back to the living area, and settled languidly on the sofa.
As Queenie sat beside him, Pyewacket came in and jumped lightly up onto
Gilbert's lap. "I'm my own master--I don't have to do anything if I don't want
to. Today I just didn't feel like opening up." He stretched luxuriously, and
the resemblance between him and Pye was undeniable.

"What's wrong?" asked Queenie solicitously. "Are you having trouble sleeping?
Restless again?"

"No. No, I didn't sleep, but it wasn't for any unpleasant reason."

Queenie brightened. "Good news? Tell! Tell!" Gilbert just bent his knees,
settling his feet on the sofa, and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking a
little. "Oh, you look pleased with yourself. Don't tell me--let me guess.
This is so much fun... Now, what have you been wanting lately. Ah!" He held
up a finger. "That author person came in last night." Gilbert shook his head.
"No? Drat. That was such a good guess. Well, I can't think of anything else,
unless... Gil?" He peered at the younger man. "DID you?" Gilbert smiled
slowly, and Queenie clapped his hands. "YOU DID! Oh, Gil! I'm so happy for
you. He really is very sweet--for a human." The last phrase was absent, and
dismissive. Queenie settled forward eagerly. "Was it wonderful?"

He didn't have to explain what he was asking. It was a given that if Gilbert
had worked magic on Shepherd Henderson, then they'd had sex. Why else would a
witch bespell a mortal, unless it was to torment them? And Gilbert wasn't the
tormenting sort. Oh, Nicky enjoyed playing pranks on the humans--sometimes
fairly mean spirited pranks--but Gilbert had never had the inclination. True,
he didn't go out of his way to champion the human, but his stern disapproval
kept Nicky from ever doing anything really terrible, and Queenie was privately
of the opinion that was just as well. Most decent witches didn't approve of
harrassing the humans--it was considered unsporting--rather like hunting a deer
that had been raised by hand.

Gilbert's smile widened, becoming dreamy, and he rubbed his hands up and down
his own shins. "Now, Queenie--you know I don't kiss and tell."

"You don't have to." Queenie was peering at him closely. "My dear, you glow."

Now Gilbert frowned. "No fair reading my aura, Queenie."

"I didn't really try, Gil. I didn't have to, the way you're shining. I've
never seen you like this before." Queenie's tone became speculative. "Maybe
there's something to these mortals that I haven't seen. Perhaps I should
consider taking a mortal lover."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I wish you'd consider taking ANY kind of lover,
Queenie. Perhaps if you had someone to keep you occupied, you wouldn't be so
bored that you'd want to use your magic when you shouldn't."

"How long do you think it will be before you're bored with this one, Gil?" asked
Queenie. Gil raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm not interested like THAT. He's a bit
too young for me. I think I'd prefer someone more settled, if I went looking at
all. No, I'm just curious."

"Who can say?" Gil pushed a hank of hair back behind his ear, and his hand
trailed down touching a tender spot on his throat. He smiled, remembering
Shep's whispered apologies when he'd realized that he'd marked Gil, bruising his
skin. "But I don't think it will be any time soon. You know, I've always
thought that humans were simple creatures, but when I look at Shep, I can see
that I'm mistaken. You know, I think I could watch him my entire life, and I'd
never know him completely. That's not how it is with us. There's only so much
there, and once you've seen it," he shrugged.

"I'm afraid it's part of our make-up, dear," sighed Queenie. "We don't change
much outwardly, so we don't change much inwardly. Luckily most of us don't
notice, or don't care. Missing a few emotions can be a blessing."

The phone rang and Gilbert got up to answer it. "Holyroyd residence. Oh,
hello, Shep." Queenie bounced up and hurried over eagerly, trying to get close
to the receiver. Gil pushed him away, using more force when the first gentle
push was ignored. "I'm fine. Nothing dreadful has happened in the two hours
since you last saw me. What?" Gil's lips pinched down a little. "Of course I
understand. If you can't make lunch, you can't. You have your own business.
In fact, since I was late getting open, I was thinking about staying open for
lunch, just to make up the time. Tonight? Well, I'm not sure. Let me think
for a moment..." He put his hand over the mouthpiece and made threatening
gestures at Queenie. Queenie had been trying to mouth questions at him, had
moved up to whispers, and was rapidly approaching full voice. He uncovered the
mouthpiece and said cooly, "Yes, I think I can make it tonight. Are you sure
that you want to go to the Zodia Club again? No, I don't really mind. I
suppose it CAN seem rather exotic the first few times. All right, then. 8:30.
Fine. I'll see you then." He paused, listening. Then he smiled and whispered,
"Stop that. You're at the office. What if your secretary heard you?
Good-bye."

"What did he say?" asked Queenie eagerly.

"He can't make our lunch date because something important has come up at work,
and he's abjectly apologetic, but he thinks that he'll have some exciting news
for me tonight. We're going to meet at the Zodiac Club."

"I gathered that much, but you know what I mean." Queenie wiggled. "What did
he SAY?"

Gilbert gave him an arch look. "I'm not going to tell you." Queenie pouted.
"Oh, all right. I won't tell you what he said, but I will say one thing." He
smiled, shaking his head, "To look at him, you'd never think that he'd enjoy
talking dirty over the phone."