The bellow started Susan straight out of the lovely little dream she was having about upgrading her computer--she'd just managed to get all 32 meg running and the two gig hard drive was humming along. Unfortunately, she sat up too quickly and bumped her head on the underside of the table top.

Rubbing her head, Susan disentangled herself from the blankets and sat there a moment. She was in Janette's office, sleeping beneath a table she'd dragged in from the Raven. After all the going back and forth and vampires breaking in and out of the place all night, she'd decided that it might be better if the Ravenettes who wanted to moved into the Raven for the duration. They were scattered throughout the back rooms and Miklos had taken up semi-permanent residence in Janette's bedroom in her old flat, once it had been cleaned up and they'd installed a few deadbolts inside the door so he could protect himself from wandering Ravenettes.

Shaking her head, she wondered what other protective measures she might be forced to take. Poor Miklos couldn't get a minute's peace--there was always someone hanging off him. It was interfering with his work. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy the situation. Maybe if she stashed a few more water pistols around the bar in strategic places . . . ? She'd found nothing as quick a damper on mortal puppy love than a squirt of cold water right in the kisser. That, of course, meant changing and reapplying makeup, and by the time the lovelorn in question was finished fussing and preening, they'd fallen completely out of their momentary lapse of judgment.

"Miklos!" came the bellow again.

The outraged and angered cry made Susan sit upright again, so she smacked her head once more. "Damn!" she muttered, crawling out from under the table. But it was while she was slipping into her big, woofly bathrobe that she realized--with a sudden chill--what that voice entailed.

Could it be? Had the boss returned? Was Janette back in Toronto?

Hurriedly, Susan ran out of the office and out toward the bar. No one else seemed to have awakened yet, but she heard vague stirrings as she passed various rooms. Once outside, she stopped dead in her tracks.

It was the boss . . . or the Boss' back. Her hair was up in a chignon and she was wearing that red velvet number with the straps. Susan blinked and took a step forward. "Boss?" she asked softly.

"There you are!"

But it wasn't the Boss. Oh, sure, it was the Boss' attitude and hair style and dress . . . but the body inside was Nat Packer Amy Hull. She pointed at a line of glasses on the bar top. "There is a war on, isn't there?" asked Amy, voice dripping with disdain. "You may ask how I could tell--I couldn't miss glasses glued to my bar and shelves. Someone will pay for this."

Susan walked over to the bar and sat down on a stool. She tried to lift one of the glasses--Amy was right, it was stuck square in place. "Damn. Not the Knighties, cause they usually end up breaking glass if they're anywhere near it. And the FoD's would never mess with anything related to food. Probably the Cousins. Unless--" She glared at Amy. "What the hell are you guys playing at? You're not equipped to start a war. It's just not part of the Nat Pack milieu."

"Milieu," corrected Amy sharply. She leaned her elbow on the bar and pulled an empty ashtray over to herself. "What about the Nat Pack?"

"Joke's over." Susan rose from the bar stool and turned up her glare a notch. "Just because the Boss is gone, you don't have to rub it in. You know, that was some mean stuff you pulled, but this has got to be the cruelest--"

"But I'm not gone--I'm right here.," Amy said evenly. With a slight smile, she picked up a packet of cigarettes from the bar and eyed them. "This isn't my brand--Tara's, I assume?"

Susan watched in wonder as Amy lit the cigarette with far more grace and elegance than should be expected from a non-smoker, and a smoke-allergic non-smoker at that. "I don't think you should--?"

"What? Smoke so early in the morning?" Amy simply smiled. "You forget--our schedules are different. This would be the equivalent of your late evening." The cigarette went to her lips. She took a puff--

And then began to cough, violently.

"Watch out!" Susan ran forward, put one foot on the stool and scrambled over the bar (taking some glued glassware with her). She stamped on the fallen cigarette before it could burn the floor or Amy, then took the bowl from one of the broken wine glasses, put water in it, and force-fed the Nat-Packer.

Amy sputtered for a second, still coughing, then got a sip or two of water. She pushed Susan and the glass away. "What are you doing?"

"Are you nuts? You know what smoke does to you--it's like Superman and kryptonite. Amy, I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but this has gone way too far--"

"I am not Amy."

Susan stared as Amy spoke, enough of the inflection coming through. Amy wiped the ash from her dress in a very un-Amy-like fashion, then put down the broken glass. There was a slight line of blood on her palm, where the broken edge of the glass had cut her and Amy licked it delicately, almost . . . .

Hungrily.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Amy, staring at Susan, who was well aware she'd passed the point of pale a while back. "Where's Miklos? This place is a wreck! I'll have Alma's hide for leaving dirty ashtrays out." She pushed aside a pack of cigarettes. "Filthy habit! Perhaps I'll give it up, make the place non-smoking."

Susan swallowed, suddenly becoming very, very frightened. It was Amy, but Amy was acting like Janette and doing very un-Amy types of things. She knew very well what that meant.

"Have you, uh, seen any vampires lately?" asked Susan, in a very small voice.

Amy smiled, one of those "you're an idiot but I'll humor you" smiles Janette was so good with. "Every time I don't look in a mirror."

"I mean--" Susan swallowed nervously. "I mean, have you seen anyone else, any other vampires? Like Nick? Or LaCroix?"

"No." Amy pouted and turned away, running her hand down the length of glasses glued to the bar. "I haven't seen Nicola in ages. As for LaCroix--" There was a growl to her voice as she turned, "I think I want to have a word with him about what he's done to my club."

"Oh, good heavens," muttered Susan. She walked around the bar and pulled up a stool, then sat down on it heavily. "You've been hoodoed."

Amy followed her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you well? You look as if you're about to faint."

"I'm about to be royally ill, is what I'm about to be," answered Susan. She looked over at Amy. "And you think you're Janette?"

Amy pulled herself up to her full height and stared down at Susan regally. "Have you lost your senses? I know exactly who I am."

"That's it," agreed Susan. "I've lost my mind." She rubbed her hand over her face. "At least it wasn't me this time."

"It's all this war business," said Amy almost kindly. She quickly lifted her hand from Susan's shoulder and took a step away. "Perhaps you should lie down."

"I should. But I can't. Not--not right now." Susan took a deep breath--God, she hated making it up as she went along. "You see, we think you're in danger."

"Moi?" asked Amy, eyes widening slightly. "How could I be in danger?"

"Someone's stalking Janette--uh--you." Susan slipped off the bar stool. "That's why we've got so many Ravenettes here, we need to keep an eye on you. Look, I'll go get Miklos and he'll explain it. Just, stay right here, okay? Don't move. I'll be right back." Turning tail, Susan ran into the back rooms and headed up the stairs.

The door to Miklos' room was closed and dead-bolted--although she noted a few scratches on the exterior lock, indicating that there were probably still a few Ravenettes in serious need of hosing down. Rapping hard, Susan called, "Miklos! Get up. It's me. And we've got trouble."

Susan pressed her ear to the door and heard nothing, so she started pounding again. God, these vampires slept like the dead!

A few seconds later, she heard the scraping of the deadbolt. The room was pitch black, but she saw the security chain gleam in the hallway light as the door was opened slightly. "Yes?"

"Miklos, we've got trouble. Someone hoodoed Amy Hull and now she thinks she's Janette."

There was a pause. "Amy--?"

His brain cells weren't up yet. She hoped his had a better kick-start ratio than Nick's--she needed him on a fast burn, full throttle, now! "The Nat Packer? Looks like the Boss?"

"Oh. That one." The door closed, the chain scraped out of the lock, then the door opened again. Miklos stepped into the hallway wearing a long striped nightshirt and Mickey Mouse slippers. "Where is she?"

For a moment, Susan was fixated on the slippers. She looked up at him, trying to keep a straight face.

"They were a gift," he said defensively. "Something to do with this 'Miki' thing."

"I'll bet." Then she grabbed his arm and led him downstairs. "You have to un-hoodoo her or we're in big trouble."

By the time they'd reached downstairs, Amy had swept up most of the glass behind the bar--very un-Janette-like, but old habits die hard. "How did you let this happen?" she accused, catching sight of Miklos. Then her eyes narrowed. "And what are you wearing on your feet?"

"I told him there was glass down here." said Susan quickly. Catching Amy's arm, she steered her to a stool. "Boss, I think there's something in your eye. Miklos--come take a look. I don't have that nifty vampire-eyesight like y'all."

Miklos walked over obediently. As he passed, Susan asked softly, "Can you tell who did it to her?"

"I may," he whispered. "It's very much like a signature." He placed one hand on Amy's bare shoulder, after getting her approval, then looked into her eyes.

Susan closed her own eyes and put her hands over her ears--after being hypnotized left, right and center, the thought of hoodoo made her queasy. Besides which, she seemed very susceptible to that sort of thing and the last thing she needed was to be hoodoed into think she was Amy.

A loud bang and a thump made her open her eyes. Miklos was sitting on the floor and Amy was barely holding a barstool over him--the weight of it eventually swung it to one side and caused it to drop to the floor.

"Sorry, Boss," said Susan quickly, getting between Amy and Miklos (Amy seemed pretty intent on kicking Miklos in the ribs . . . or somewhere more vital). "We just had to check that you hadn't been tampered with. I told you, there's some funny stuff going around. You sort of just dropped in on us and--do you remember where you were, before you got here?"

"I'm always here," said Amy quickly. "This is my club."

"But you sold it to LaCroix, remember," pressed Susan. She advanced on Amy, making her move back and away from Miklos. "You went away."

"I sold--yes, I did." Amy blinked. "I woke up in a booth an hour ago. I'd had . . . too much to drink." She leaned back on the bar and closed her eyes, as if thinking so hard was hurting her.

"You need a nap."

"I . . . do. Yes." Amy straightened and shot her a quick glare. "I'm going to bed. Clean this up--I want the bar spotless when I wake. And have Miklos help you."

Susan watched as Amy turned in a very un-Amy like fashion and stormed up the stairs. She leaned down and offered Miklos a hand up.

He took her hand, then dusted himself off. "She may think she's a vampire, but she doesn't have the strength of one--if that had been Janette, I would have been across the room."

"Who hoodoed her? Can you undo it?"

Miklos shook his head and picked up the overturned bar stool. "I don't know who mesmerized her--the signature's not familiar. I don't think it was Nick. And I can't seem to get through to her. As long as she's Janette, she thinks she's a vampire, which means she thinks she's immune to being hypnotized--"

"So she can't be 'un' hypnotized?" Susan sighed. "Aw, great." Seating herself on the bar stool, she looked up at him sadly. "Well, let me work on it a while. I can't give her back to the Nat Pack like this because they'll think we did it to her. It's not wise to incur that kind of unwarranted karma in war time."

"I'm going back to bed," announced Miklos.

"Um--wait!" He paused when Susan called to him and she gestured upstairs. "Methinks the lady has taken your sleeping quarters. I don't know--I don't want to know--what kind of relationship you had with Janette, but if Amy thinks there was something going on between you two . . . ?"

Miklos frowned. "Then where am I supposed to sleep?"

"There's a nice spot under a table in Janette's office that isn't being used right now."

He glared for a moment, then sighed. "All right."

Susan watched him leave (he really did look cute with those mouse slippers), then leaned her head on the bar. Morning wasn't her best time for thinking, but she had to come up with something. When the Ravenettes awoke, and before Amy came to, they'd have to have a war council on what to do with a hoodoed Nat Packer who thought she was the most stylish vampire club owner in Toronto.

Well, I'd gotten the message back from Jennie. I was to go to Toronto. Now Canadian opinion on Toronto tends to be split. The relative minority thinks, "Ah, Toronto. A Canadian Mecca of culture and people." The majority tend to think, "Toronto. Are we sure its still Canadian?" And then there are those that believe that the Quebec federalists would have had a much higher majority if their campaign had run: "We stay, but we kick Toronto out." I tend to fall in the mid group. A little suspcious, but not overty hostile. But I was going.

For starters, I could plead for protection from a vengeful, sadistic vampire with out having to worry too much about having to spend an extended vacation on the North Hill, or in Selkirk, or at the Royal Ottawa. I barely have time for a war let alone a pychiatric evaluaton!

Secondly, I have enough curiosity to take a dozen cats through all nine of their short little lives and I was dying (bad choice of words?) to meet everyone.

So I was going to Toronto. First I had to find a way out of Brandon. Luckily, a friend had to go into Winnipeg for diving. One reason to be glad Brandon doesn't have a proper pool, I guess. We spent a white-knuckled ride looking at all the cars spun into ditches after the snowstorm, but we did make it. To the airport and into the Emergency Fund (sob) and I had a student standby ticket to Toronto.

I felt kind of guilty about leaving Angus Midhir at home but my roommate was there and I really couldn't afford the extra 60 dollars to transport the cat. Anyways, I really didn't know these people. For all I knew, someone could have serious allergies.

Like any good Natpacker, I was organized. (HA! If people can get better laptops why can't I get better personality traits? <g>) So I wasn't exactly organized. At least I had a foolproof way of being recognized at the airport. (Just for that I'm giving myself a much better laptop. <VBG>) A Senator's jersey. It stands out and, no matter how good the team is doing or how cute Alexander Daigle is, no one else on the planet would be wearing one. Hey, I was from Ottawa, well, my parents are. Sorta. Currently. Considering the only other option I could think of was to put a large cryptic sign on a hat, I picked the lesser of the two evils.

The plane was crowded. I considered myself extremely lucky to even get on the flight. But surprisingly enough, people took one look at my outfit (jeans, red mockneck, and the jersey) and they left me to peacefully go through my laptop. Go figure. I even got both elbow rests.

At baggage claim I scanned the crowd for someone likely to be looking for me. I'd e-mailed the rest of the Natpackers with my description but the only person who seemed to be looking was this guy in a chauffer's uniform. Looked very uptight and proper. Definitely could not be him.

"Are you Ms. Low?"

"You have got to be kidding."

"I was told to look for a young woman in a Senator's jersey and to take her to a Natalie Lambert's apartment to meet up with the rest of 'the Pack.'"

*Well, the Natpack _were_ the only people who knew about the Senator's jersey.*

"Uh, in that case it is me. I'll just grab my bags."

"I shall handle that, don't worry."

*I'm beginning to revise my thoughts on Toronto. What was that again? "Ah, Toronto. A Canadian Mecca of culture and people."*

Twenty minutes later we arrived at Natalie's apartment. The weather was great! Ten above! Didn't have to worry about where I'd shoved my gloves and I could take the bulky lining out of my jacket.

I got to the door and knocked. Someone frazzled opened the door.

"Hi! I'm Kim! What did I miss?"

"Hi. Come in. I'm Jennie. That's Amy. Amparo's in the corner. Valerie and Elaine are over there. And Betsy and GT are over in the kitchen. Sharon and Leslie are trying to deprogramme Jill from a certain fixation. Don't ask. I'll explain where Selma is in a second. Nat's curled up in her room. She's had a bad couple of days. First the Jeopardy theme song, then the break in, then waking up to find us playing with frogs..."

"Frogs? I missed the frogs? But I'm a zoo major. I like frogs! Oh, well, what else did I miss?"

Susan set the ashtrays down on the smoking end of the table while Tara wiped down the length, singing cheerfully and mangling songs from Beauty and the Beast.