Subj: The Diary Of Victor North Pt.5
Date: 4/22/99 4:19:55 PM Central Daylight Time
From: marcos1

Barnabas rode on the back of Josette. He had a firm but gentle grip on the Fairy Princess, his green pantaloons dangling in mid-air.

"Are you sure about this?" Josette asked. "In 1796, Angelique turned us into fairies. But if we dare cross her again, this time it could be something worse...maybe even vampires."

"She turned you into a fairy," Barnabas said, sadly. "She turned me into a gnome...something malevolent and useless." He pushed back his red conical cap. "I don't enjoy living underground. I'm a man, a member of the Collins family."

Josette was dressed in transparent cloth, with a star on her forehead. She glowed with a blue light that created an aura framing her face and leaving a slight trail. She smiled. "In many ways, I enjoy being what I am...I'm not afraid of things anymore...just afraid of losing you."

They flew above a long path, known as Grub street. It was a street much inhabited by needy writers of fan fiction. And so it was very common to see people asking for spare change. But today, there were none. Only a large bulldog, waging his tail.

"Barnabas is that you, my friend?" The dog asked, moving his large jowls. He barked loudly, wagging his tail. "It's me...Professor T. Eliot Stokes."

"What do want, Stokes?" Barnabas asked. "We don't have time to speak with you. Angelique is back, up to her old tricks."

"And she is going to kill, Victor North," Eliot said. "Yes, I'm very aware of her evil plans...and I want to help."

Later that evening, the three of them, sat in the Mug-house. Barnabas sipped wine through a straw, Eliot lapped at a bowl of ale, and Josette danced above a glass of sparkling spring water. The house was full of villagers singing a song praising whores and their virtues.

Molly, the waitress, walked over to them. "Can I get you anything...and I mean anything?" She threw back her blond hair and laughed. "There will be no charge, for you have a friend paying for it." She motioned to a man sitting at the bar. He had cold blue eyes, a twisted mustache, wearing a brown derby.

"Oh, no," Barnabas said, spitting wine all over his green mantle. "Not him...not Nicholas Blair!"

"Mr.Collins, Miss duPres, and Professor Stokes," Nicholas said, smiling, "how wonderful that we meet again."

To be continued