Things had been kind of crazy at the church the last couple of days. The Vaqueros had been scrambling around on individual missions to gather information on the various other factions. Torrey had decided that they needed to know a lot more about who they were dealing with, even to stand a chance in this war. Let alone keep up with events as they were happening.

Now with the sun going down, the Vaqueros gathered in the church on their little box seats to put together all of the info they had found out.

"Ok, what have you all found out?" asked Torrey, trying to get comfortable on her box.

"I guess I will," answered Sherri. "Hmmm, I checked out the Knighties, I don't think we have anything to worry about with them. They have been really busy trying to find all of their kidnapped people."

"OK," Torrey said, making a note. "Next?"

"I guess that would be me," answered Cindy. "OK...well...um...I checked out the Ratpack and the FoDs...and see no problems there either."

"Good," Torrey said, making some more marks on the paper.

"The cousins are definitely up to something," chimed in Crystal. "But, I can't tell who is going to get it."

"You never know with that bunch..." answered Torrey, still writing. "They are especially tricky."

The side door slammed open, causing all of the Vaqueros to jump. In strolled Linda...decked out in dark clothing, rapelling gear, and carrying a strange assortment of listening devices, night vision gear, and some stuff no one could place.

"Sorry, I'm late," Linda said, throwing her gear on the floor and pulling up a box.

"What did you find out?" asked Torrey.

"Well...the mercenaries sure are a busy bunch...but, I didn't find anything that would prove that someone had hired them to come after us," Linda said, rubbing her neck.

"Ok, that leaves me..." Torrey said. "Something strange is going on with the Natpack, but I am a loss for what it could be," Torrey said, shaking her head.

A faint giggle was heard in the backround and everyone turned to look at the source of it.

"All right, Vachon," Torrey said, getting up to face him. "You have been lurking around here for days with that 'I have done something bad' look on your face. Give it up....what did you do?"

"Well...remember when you went to the Raven?" asked Vachon.

"Yes," answered the group in a chorus.

"Well... I got worried, so I took the underground way to the Raven myself and got there before you did."

"The underground way...?" asked Cindy. "Ewww, you don't mean you took the sewers, do you? You need to stop hanging out with Screed so much."

"Anyway," shrugged Vachon, going on with his story. "When I got there, I found someone in the club."

"Who?" asked Torrey, her eyes narowing.

"Um, I think she said her name was Amy...Amy Hull," Vachon answered.

"Amy Hull?!? The NatPacker?" gasped Torrey.

"Yes, that's her," confirmed Vachon. "Anyway, I knew you all would be there any minute so I had to get rid of her."

The eyes of the watching Vaqueros grew large with dismay.

"Oh, no!...you didn't...HURT...her did you?" asked Torrey. "You know you can't do that. Uh...don't you?"

"I didn't hurt her...I just whammied her," answered Vachon, grinning.

\\A 400 year old mischievous grin is...unnerving,// thought the Vaqueros.

"Oh, okay, so you made her forget," sighed Torrey, greatly relieved.

"Well...not quite...I kind of made her believe that she was Janette," Vachon stated with a more unnerving grin.

The Vaqueros looked at each other and, simultaneously, broke down into peals of laughter.

"Whew..." Torrey wiped her eyes with the back of a hand, "Not bad at all, I like your style."

After the laughter and bad jokes about a Natpacker thinking she was Janette had died down, Sherri picked up a piece of paper off the table.

"What do you want to do about this?" asked Sherri.

"What is it?" Torrey said, still wiping tears from her eyes.

"It's that invitation to the Die-Hard party tonight," Sherri answered.

"Augh, I forgot all about that...well, never mind, I don't think we should go," Torrey said.

"Why?" asked Vachon, still looking rather smug about his little prank on poor Amy.

"Well, let's see," answered Torrey, "I just think it is a bad idea to have all of the factions together in the middle of the war...something is bound to happen. I would rather stay out of that one."

"Yes...you're right, Torrey," agreed Sherri, "we can just kick back here and let them all attack each other...then we will have the upper hand again."

"Good idea," Torrey agreed. "Plus, I need the rest...with everyone at the party we don't have much to worry about here..."

Susan was about one hundred miles and two feet closer to LaCroix than she wanted to be in this or any other life time. So far, he hadn't bitten, wounded, maimed, or even been too nastily sarcastic to anyone . . . which she considered generally a good thing. But that could only last so long.

"Perhaps--" She cleared her throat when LaCroix turned his gaze on her. "Well--maybe we can come to some sort of . . . arrangement."

"Arrangement?" LaCroix raised an eyebrow and then looked back at Vicki. "Another voice added to the matter? Another lawyer?"

"No," said Susan sharply. "Vicki's our counsel. I'm speaking directly on behalf of Janette and the Ravens and Ravenettes."

"One of Janette's shadows." He turned his gaze to her again and she tried not to look away . . . but didn't quite manage. "I remember. You're her writer, aren't you? The one Dorian wanted to interview. Tell me, how is our little Archivist--still sleeping off his bender from the last war?"

"I wouldn't know," answered Susan tautly. "I'm not his keeper." There was a touch on her elbow--Vicki had moved closer to her. She looked down at the ground, realizing that she was arguing with LaCroix. "Look, this can't go on. If we keep pulling the Raven back and forth between us, the place is going to explode and all we're going to have left is a couple of broken bottles, tangled chains, and part of a dance floor."

"And you want to prevent that?" asked LaCroix, with a disbelieving smile. "For Janette?"

"Yes," Catherine said defensively. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Absolute, unconditional loyalty?" LaCroix looked back across his own people. "How . . . touching. And, I would think, boring. Janette never could abide boredom. Perhaps that's why she left, for greener pastures and more interesting followers?"

There was a snicker from amongst the cousins. Susan stiffened and met Catherine's eyes, realizing that she was just as angry. But before they could do anything, Vicki held up her hand. "We could keep this up all night. And we can spend the rest of the war pulling the Raven apart between us. So you have a choice--keep baiting us, or cut a deal. Which is it?"

LaCroix paused. "That would depend on the terms, wouldn't it?"

"Thief!" cried a very loud and angry voice.

"Oh, God," moaned Susan, hiding her eyes when she heard Amy's cry.

And, sure enough, Amy pushed her way to the front of the crowd and planted herself in front of LaCroix. Her hand snaked out to slap him, but he caught her wrist before it could connect. "What's this?" he asked, more amused than annoyed.

"Let go!" Amy struggled, unable to dislodge his grip.

Her voice quiet, so that Amy couldn't hear, Susan whispered, "Amy thinks she's Janette. Someone's hypnotized her."

LaCroix heard every word quite clearly. His smile broadened as he stared at Susan, then glanced down at Amy, who was kicking at his boots with the toe of her high heel. "One of the coroner's people, isn't she? A . . . Nat-Packer?" Holding her arm a little higher, he turned her around, as if examining her. "The resemblance is uncanny. Of course, she's quite mortal. Shall I fix that little detail and make your transformation complete?"

"Unhand me!" declared Amy, as if oblivious to his comments. To her surprise, LaCroix did so and she ended up on the floor in a heap. When Susan reached down to pick her up, Amy pushed her away, struggled to her feet, and adjusted her dress. "I won't stand for this. This is mine. You'd no right to take it from me. And then, what you did to it--" For a moment, she quivered in absolute fury, then she seemed to regain control of herself. With a look of disdain, she added, "I'd always thought you had a modicum of style, but after seeing how you redecorated my club . . . well, it shouldn't be any surprise, since you seem to have lost all of your fashion sense. Spending too much time at the mall lately, are we?"

LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Clothes do not make the man, my dearest, in case you've forgotten. Should I mention someone's rather unfortunate decade-long infatuation with polyester blends--?" Then, LaCroix stopped, almost in mid-sentence. He looked down at Amy, as if in surprise, and smiled, murmuring, "Oh, she is good. Very good."

"We all make mistakes. My latest was in not having a bouncer stationed to prevent you from entering," said Amy. Turning aside toward the bar, she held out her hand for a drink--which Sheryl quickly gave her. After a sip, and a sharp glance at Sheryl, she gestured toward the door. "I'm certain the rest of the guests wouldn't mind if you had another, more pressing engagement. But would you mind taking your little psychopaths along with you? Either that, or buy them a better wardrobe if you're going to take them out in public. I've never known you to be cheap before."

LaCroix no longer seemed amused. And, much as Susan wanted to delve into this mention of a polyester skeleton in Janette's closet, she realized that Amy's life was probably at stake if this kept up. "We'll handle this, Boss," she said quickly, looking around for some sort of diversion. "Oh, look--is that Nick?"

"Nicola?" Amy's eyes lit up like sparklers. "Where?"

Without a moment's hesitation--the bastard deserved it, after what he'd done to her in the third war--Susan pointed toward a crowd of Knighties by the doorway. Amy handed her drink to Susan, then turned to LaCroix and hissed, "This isn't over. I'll deal with you later," before she left.

"That," said LaCroix quietly, "was actually quite vicious." He gestured toward Amy, who was fighting her way through the incoming crowd to reach Nick, then smiled faintly. "I approve."

"Thanks. I think." Susan blanched at the stench of the mock-blood concoction from the glass and placed it back on the bar.

"We were going to discuss an 'arrangement,' I believe?" asked LaCroix, as he turned toward Vicki.

There was a shriek from the far side of the room. With a sigh, Susan pushed past Catherine, pausing only long enough to whisper, "Do the best you can," before she headed into the crowd. She was leaving negotiations in far more capable hands than her own and anything that got her away from LaCroix had to be considered a blessing.

Especially if it involved embarrassing Nick in a big way.

The shriek, it seemed, had come from the Knightie who was sitting on the floor, still stunned by Amy's bee-line for Nick. Susan looked up and spotted Nick pinned against the wall, with Amy the pin-er--her arms were around his neck, you couldn't have fit an electron between their bodies (in fact, Amy seemed determined to wrap her legs around his waist) and there was some serious lip action going on--at least from Amy's end. Nick seemed more than a little bewildered but wasn't making any really significant attempts at escape from Amy's Frenching him, nor did he seem inclined to help Matt and Gary, the Knighties who were trying to drag Amy off their stalwart leader . . . without much success.

After bemoaning the fact that she didn't have a camera, Susan took the only action she could. Dashing to one of the emergency "Miklos is in danger" units she'd had strategically installed throughout the club, she borrowed the elbow of a leather-clad vampire to break the glass, then pulled out the fully loaded extra-strength super-soaker and fired.

There wasn't time to shout a warning, so a few nearby and concerned Knighties got splashed (which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, considering that the hormone level of Nick's followers usually shot off the scale when he was around). Amy got a shot right down the back of the dress, which was constructed with an optimum skin-to-cold water ratio in mind. Susan fumbled with the trigger for a moment after Amy slipped off Nick, enraged, which meant that Nick caught a face-full of water, too. (No, it wasn't exactly unintentional, but Nick had hormones too and she wasn't about to give up the opportunity of Nick getting as well as he could give for a change.)

"How dare you!" screamed Amy. She flung her hair from side to side, eliciting more shrieks from the party guests (it's the wet-dog splatter effect) and stalked toward Susan with murder in her eyes.

There was nowhere to run and even though Amy wasn't Janette, Susan was pretty certain that Amy's more humane and sensible instincts wouldn't engage in time to save her from some pretty intense pain--hair pulling was a very high possibility on the agenda. Throwing down the now-empty gun, she said, "But Boss, you told me to do it!"

"I what?" declared Amy. She stopped, hands on hips.

"You know," said Susan, gesturing toward Nick. "You said that if he showed, you might forget yourself, so I was supposed to hose you down. You're supposed to be angry with him, remember? I mean, one minute he's kissy-face and then he doesn't call you for a month?" When Susan looked back, Nick--dripping more than slightly--was pushing aside his followers and heading for them. Reaching out her hand, Susan picked up the first thing she could grab (which happened to be an ashtray) and gave it to Amy. "You also asked for ammo?"

"Of course. Thank you." With a fierce smile, Amy turned and hurled the ashtray at Nick. It whistled past his ear and slammed against the wall, shattering.

Nick turned for a second to survey the damage, but Amy picked up another ashtray. Ducking beneath Amy's line of sight, Susan grabbed an empty table, flipped it on its side and ducked behind it. Just after she heard the second ashtray smash against the wall, she peeked up over the table and called, "Nick? Explanations over here!"

He caught the third ashtray in mid-air, but the fourth followed too quickly and barely missed him. Susan was almost bumped out from behind the table as Nick slid into her. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"One of the vampires hypnotized Amy into thinking she's Janette." When Nick stared at her in disbelief, she added, "All I know is that I had to get her away from LaCroix, so I sicced her on you."

"Thanks." He ducked lower as an ashtray shattered against the other side of the table. "And what am I supposed to do with her?"

"Make nice." Nick merely stared at her, then they both ducked again as another ashtray hit. "She thinks she's Janette. Do what you'd do to calm Janette down. Trust me, it will work."

For a moment, Nick smiled, then, if it was possible, he got even paler. "Here? In public. But . . . she's not Janette--"

"Just the PG version . . . a lot of lies, promises, and quick lips." Susan counted on her fingers. "She's only got two--" another bang sounded against the table "--okay, ONE more ashtray. Get her to go change into something dry. By the time she comes out, she'll be fine."

"You're serious?"

Another bang sounded against the table top. "You're on!" called Susan.

Nick moved--he was a blur as he vaulted the table top. Another Knightie dashed in behind him and grabbed Susan's arm. "What's going on?"

"Amy's been hypnotized into thinking she's Janette. Nick's gotta stop her and save the day."

"Oh," said Perri. "Of course. Makes perfect sense."

Susan peered up over the edge of the table. Nick had Amy's hands held down at her sides and was talking with her, their voices low. Several Knighties moved forward, but Perri waved them back--this was Nick's business.

Knighties, you gotta love 'em--they can't believe Nick won't save the day.

There was one or two more lip-locks, then Amy smiled at him and headed for the back rooms, squishing all the way. Susan moved to follow her, but suddenly Nick was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. "Hang on."

Susan "eeped" and looked around for support, but the Ravenettes were scattered and so was most of the crowd now that the show was over. She turned and was faced with a slightly damp Nick and a whole bunch of annoyed Knighties. "Can I get you a towel?"

"Who hypnotized her?"

"I don't know. Like I said, LaCroix's as surprised about this as you are and Alma and Miklos are clean. The Boss--" Susan swallowed when Nick's eyes darkened. "Janette's not here. But . . . you know that."

He released her shoulder. "That's Amy. She's one of Nat's people." Amy Potter stood close behind him and whispered something. Nick half-turned his head, as if considering, then looked back to Susan again. "Have you tried to unhypnotize her?"

"Miklos did. But he said that since she thinks she's a vampire, she also thinks she can't be hypnotized, so it's a no-go." Susan looked down. "We're turning her over to the Nat Pack tonight--they should be able to sort it out. As for who did it--I won't let them get away with this. You know how I feel about that kind of stuff."

"I remember," said Nick evenly.

"At least one of us does." She wasn't able to meet his eyes. Murmuring, "I'll have someone bring you a towel," Susan slipped away into the crowd. She caught sight of Cynthia and gestured toward the wet bunch in the corner. "Towels for the Knighties," she explained, "I'll take care of Amy." Grabbing a bottle from the bar as she passed, Susan called behind her, "And send the Nat Pack in when they show. The quicker we get rid of Amy, the happier I'll be!"

Partly and Tracy arrived at the Raven in Partly's car. She had spent the last four hours cleaning up Tracy's apartment while Tracy got some sleep. Partly was still amazed at how much energy Tracy seemed to have and how well she handled the chaos that was her apartment. The second band was in full swing when Partly finally got there, and the small apartment was packed full and there was a crowd gathering outside. There were two police cruisers parked outside, lights flashing, the boy in blue calmly talking to Tracy. When Tracy saw her, she waved her over and introduced her to the police officers, then dragged her into the apartment, quickly explaining her eventful arrival home. It seemed that Tracy had pulled some strings ("It sometimes pays to be the Commissioner's daughter," she said with a grin) and got the official OK for the impromptu concert. Despite the cold, blustery wind that invaded the building every time someone opened a door, and despite Riot Grrrls not being Partly's first choice of music, she found herself caught up in the atmosphere and really enjoyed herself. She kept hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had done this to Tracy, but she couldn't tell who it could be.

When the last band finally played and most of the onlookers finally left, it was shortly before two o'clock. Partly had sprung for food for the bands and offered the same to any onlookers who would help clean up. It was amazing how quickly the yard and apartment had been reorganized. She had then sent Tracy off to sleep, finishing the last of the cleaning herself. It had been an exhausting afternoon, but one that was well worth it. Tracy had faced her first direct attack with great panache, and Partly was feeling very encouraged about this evening's party. If things only went half as well.

Tracy fairly bounced up the sidewalk. "I was here on a case once," she said. "It's definitely an interesting place." She looked at Partly contemplatively. "I wouldn't expect you to go to a place like this."

"Normally, I wouldn't." Partly shrugged, then laughed. "But then, lately I've been doing a lot of things I normally wouldn't." That's what war does to you, she thought. The bouncer at the door let Tracy in with a smile and looked more suspiciously at Partly. She didn't really blame him. She was wearing her western cut leather duster and flat-brimmed stetson that she had bought early in the week. Under that she donned a bright blue silk shirt, black satin vest that buttoned at the waist, had a lace back and a ruffled tuxedo tail, and black pants that tucked into short heeled boots that tried not to look western, but didn't quite make it. She was, she supposed, the type of person the bouncer had probably been trained not to let in. Partly just smiled at the bouncer and waited for him to open the door. He did so after a moment.

The Raven was crowded and noisy, but not nearly as bad as Tracy's apartment had been. Partly scanned the room, looking for familiar faces, and spotting only a few. She had been on the list for a while, but not long enough for her to recognize the people from it. She spotted Nick and Vachon almost immediately and wondered when they would notice Tracy was here. For her part, Tracy was making her way to an empty table near the bar. Partly was about to follow, when she spotted the DJ in the corner. Taking a quick detour, she requested a song then squeezed back to the bar. Tracy had already ordered a drink for her.

"What song did you ask for?"

"'Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me,' from the Lost Boys soundtrack," Partly answered.

Tracy frowned. "That doesn't seem like the type of song that they would play here."

"It's not." Partly didn't add that it cost her a twenty to get it played and another ten to get it played right away. Still, as the opening strains filled the bar, few of the patrons noticed. It wasn't until the refrain was sung that the commotion began. Partly couldn't tell if the sunlamps went off, but a good number of the others did. Each time the word sun was sung there were annoyed outraged remarks throughout the club. As the song progressed, the more vocal the protests became.

Finally, the song ended and the DJ, obviously not a vampire, began playing another song. There were clusters of people still mingling and two others that Partly didn't recognize were in a heated discussion with Miklos. Most of the clientele were not vampires and therefore the sunlamps didn't bother them. Partly made her way back to the DJ and was about to request another one of her songs, when he played one of them on his own. This time the reaction was swifter and more vehement. Miklos stared up at the lights, wincing away when the sunlamps flashed at him. Partly turned to the DJ and paid him another $30 to play a second song, this time without the word sun. Judging from the vampires' reactions it might be best to cover her tracks. Besides, from the looks of the DJ's booth, he was just playing the songs in a random order, and he would get to them all eventually.

She then made her way back to the bar and ordered a drink, positioning herself close to Miklos. He had gotten a chair climbed up on the bar to get a closer look at the offending light. Berg had informed Partly that he had installed an anti-tampering device that would give the offending party a quick blast of UV rays, designed to bring a quick end to any further attempts to disarm it. While this had seemed like a really good idea at the time, Partly suddenly wasn't sure if it was. It somehow didn't seem right to zap poor Miklos. She wasn't sure if it was fair play she was worried about or just Miklos. Here she was in the middle of a war and unwilling to go all out.

Miklos reached up to unscrew the light, and Partly reached in her pocket and pushed a button on the remote that she carried. The sunlamp switched on and Partly pushed the button again, turning it off. Miklos pulled back from the light and said something in a language that Partly didn't understand. She looked up at him. "Are you all right? Did you burn yourself?" She put just as much concern in her voice as she could.

"I'm fine." He reached back up to the light, and Partly pushed the button again. Partly still didn't understand the language, but she knew a curse when she heard one.

"Really, Miklos. I think you should be more careful." Partly stepped closer to the young vampire, but stopped when he stared at her intently.

"You know me."

Partly nodded and stuck out her hand. "Partly K, Perkulator." Miklos continued to stare at her. "Tracy's faction?" Partly prompted.

"Oh, you're that one."

Suddenly a figure appeared by Miklos' side. "Miklos, what is going on here?" Partly was astonished to see Amy Hull, dressed to kill, standing on the other side of the bar, waiting impatiently for Miklos to answer.

"Janette," Miklos sounded very tired. "It seems someone wired sunlamps into our lights."

"Janette?" Partly spoke out loud. This was definitely getting weird. Why would Amy pretend to be Janette? Berg had planted some bugs in the Raven, but she had just been way too busy this afternoon to listen in.

Amy spared Partly one scathing look then focused back on Miklos. Well, Partly thought, she certainly has the look down pat. "I want you to get rid of them. Immediately." She turned away. "And get me a drink."

Miklos sighed and reached back up to the light, almost flinching as he did so.

"Don't do it, Miklos," Partly said.

He glared at her. "What do you know about this?"

"I may be new at this war stuff, but I know this. Nothing is ever as innocent as it looks."

"Does that include you?"

Partly shrugged. "That depends upon who you ask. I just think you should consider that whoever did this probably set some sort of defensive mechanism on it." She paused a moment. "Or even that it's just an elaborate trigger. You know, flash the lights, then when you or someone else tries to fix it -- whammo!" She clapped her hands for effect.

Miklos looked at the light for a second, then jumped off the bar, landing next to her. "What do you think I should do about it?"

"Haven't got the foggiest idea." She started to leave, then turned back to him and smiled. "I'm kind of pale anyhow. A little sun might do me some good. I don't think that same can be said about all your customers."

Miklos started to say something but Amy's voice interrupted them. "Miklos, we need more private stock brought up." If Partly hadn't known better she would have sworn it was Janette. "Now, Miklos."

Miklos gave Partly one last look, then walked away. Partly headed back to her table with Tracy, grateful for the chance to sit down and the drink that was waiting for her. Everybody else looked so at ease when dealing with these little confrontations in the war. Her stomach was in knots just from talking to Miklos, she'd probably faint if she met LaCroix. She drained her wine glass.

"Are you all right, Partly?" Tracy asked.

"I must be crazy to be a one-person faction." She said, "And in my first war, too."

"What are you talking about?"

The waitress's arrival spared Partly of having to answer right away. She handed the woman her glass and ordered a Black Russian and a glass of water. Finally, she looked at Tracy again. "I sorry. It has to do with why I'm in Toronto, and I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed." The waitress returned and Partly took a large swallow of her drink. It burned down her throat and settled uneasily in her stomach. Slowly she began to relax. Tracy was still watching her. "But enough of me feeling sorry for myself, we're here to have fun, right?"

Tracy nodded. "Right. I haven't seen Nick yet, but I do know someone else who is here." She pointed across the room. "His name is Javier Vachon. I met him about three months ago. I think he comes here often." She stood up slightly and waved at Vachon. "I'd like to introduce you."

Vachon stared at them for a second, recognition dawning, then he pulled himself away from the young woman he was sitting next to and made his way toward them. Partly took another drink. She probably should have ordered two.

Tracy stood as he arrived, smiling brightly. "Javier, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Javier, this is Partly Kludy, Partly I'd like you to meet Javier Vachon."

Vachon's eyes never left Tracy. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Tracy slapped his shoulder. "Javier, mind your manners. I just introduced you to someone."

Partly laughed, relaxing immediately. Leave it to Tracy to tell a vampire to mind his manners. Vachon turned to face her, and her heart almost skipped a beat. He was much better looking in person than he was on TV. "It's nice to meet you... Partly? That's an odd name."

"Well, I don't run across very many Javier's myself," she said. Then she lifted her almost empty drink glass. "I think I'll get a refill. I'll be right back."

Tracy watched her go, then turned back to Vachon. "What is the matter with you?"

Vachon ignored her question. "What are you doing here?" He took her by the arm and pulled her away from the table. "I think you should leave."

"Javier, stop it." Tracy pulled loosed from his grip and stared at him. "I'm not going anywhere, and you can leave unless you want to tell me what is wrong."

Vachon stared at her a moment, then shrugged. "I just don't think you should be here alone."

"I'm not alone, I'm with Partly," Tracy tossed her hair. "And why do you constantly think you have to come in and save me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"And you're a good cop, too," someone muttered from the side. Fortunately, Tracy didn't hear.

Whatever Vachon was about to say, was cut off by Partly's arrival. She handed a wine glass to Tracy, then turned to Vachon. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, but I wasn't sure what you drink." Partly smiled slightly; a quickly disappearing second Black Russian was doing wonders for her nervousness. "I hope you're enjoying the party." Vachon didn't answer and Partly kept on talking. "What do you think of the new decor? You have to admit that it is quite an improvement over how it's been looking lately. Well, you know, if anyone could have fixed the damage done to it, it would be the Ravenet--" Partly stopped in mid-sentence suddenly remembering that Tracy didn't have a clue what she was talking about, and from the look of Vachon's face he didn't either. "Here I go, babbling on about nothing important. Tell me, Javier, do you know many people at the party?"

Vachon blinked at her, trying to keep up with the conversation. "A few," he said.

"I don't know that many either, but since I love parties I thought I'd better come. Since Tracy had off, I invited her along."

Someone bumped into Tracy from behind, spilling her drink, and almost dousing Vachon. Tracy wiped what she could off herself, then looked at the floor in disgust. "I've got to get someone to clean this up," she said. "I'll be right back."

"Get me another Black Russian, while you're at it," Partly said, handing Tracy her empty glass. Vachon waited until Tracy was out of earshot then turned on Partly.

"Why is she here?"

"This is a War party. Everyone's invited. It wouldn't be right not to include Tracy. Didn't your people explain any of this?"

"You mean Tracy knows about," he gestured around, "all of this?"

"Of course not." Partly shook her head. "But that doesn't mean she shouldn't be here."

Vachon stared at Partly a moment longer, then shook his head. He thought the Vaqueros could be confusing. "I think I'll see what's keeping Tracy." He ducked past Partly, heading for the bar.

Partly sat down at the table and drank her glass of water. The drinks were beginning to affect her, and she had a slight tingling feeling that added a bounce to her step. She was feeling daring. It was a dangerous feeling at the best of times. A new song come on and she recognized it as one of hers. She waited for the word sun and noted with satisfaction when the vampires in the club winced. Miklos was staring at her from behind the bar, and she smiled at him. She wondered how long it would take them to figure out what the trigger was. One more song at least.

Tracy returned with the drinks. "I saw Nat in the back. It seems she's a friend of the manager or owner. She was surprised to see me." Tracy frowned slightly. "Everyone seems surprised to see me. And a lot of people I never met seem to know me." She looked at Partly.

"Don't try to figure it out, Trace. It'll just ruin your evening." Partly took another drink. "Did Vachon talk to you?"

Tracy nodded. "He said he thought he should take me home, then some woman in a skimpy black dress dragged him away." Tracy smiled. "I'd be upset except he looked so embarrassed about the whole thing."

They sat and drank and talked for quite a while, then Tracy suddenly stood up again. "Look, there's Nick." She waved at the Detective who had just came in the door. When he saw Tracy he came directly over.

"Tracy, what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Well, hello to you too, Nick." Tracy gave him her most glaring look. "You remember Partly?"

Partly stuck out her hand. Nick shook it, eyeing her suspiciously. "I'm glad to meet you again," Partly said. "And thank you for returning the button." She smiled again. The drinks were certainly helping her social courage. She drank the last swallow. "If you will excuse me, I need a refill."

At the bar, Miklos served her himself. In the background "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me" began playing again. Just as he set down the glass, the sunlamps flashed and he looked directly at her. "The song's the trigger." He leapt over the bar and headed for the sound booth. Smart man, Partly thought, then turned to go back to Tracy's table, almost running into Nick as she did so.

"Why is Tracy here?"

"What is it with you men? First Vachon and now you. You're here aren't you? Why shouldn't Tracy? This is an all faction party."

"Tracy shouldn't have a faction. She should be kept out of this."

"Oh, yeah, right. Ignoring the problem won't make it go away, Knight." Partly raised her voice slightly. "You must know how most of the list feels about her. Do you really think that they would all keep her out of this? Do you really think she'd be better off without someone to watch over her?"

Nick just stared at her, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right." His voice was a good deal lower that it had been before. "But I'm holding you responsible for her welfare while at this party."

"You know, for a guy who's spent the last 400 years waffling about whether or not he wants to be a vampire and niftily side-stepping responsibility, you sure know how to dole it out."

Nick merely smiled and leaned closer. "Remember what I said." He walked away.

"Remember? How could I forget?" Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating. Did he know the kind of vibes he gave off when he did that? Partly suddenly turned around and set her drink on the bar. Of course he did. She had better switch to drinking water before she did something really stupid.

Partly made her way back to the table, but Tracy was gone. Partly sat down and tried to calm her nerves. Maybe vampires had some sort of pheromones that they gave off. It would explain how easily they got people to fall for them.

A voice from behind her broke her out of her thoughts. "Beck, beck, beck, beck, beckbeckbeckbeck." Partly turned around. "Hi, Jennie. I was wondering when you would get here."

The Natpacker danced in front of her. "What to dance?"

"No thanks, Jennie. Maybe later. How's the war going?"

"Oh, what pretty, blue antennae you have. Do all of the people from Pluto have them?" Jennie reached above Partly's head, as if to touch something.

"Are you feeling OK?" Partly didn't like the look in Jennie's eyes. It was much to distant.

"Well, of course I am." Jennie suddenly pulled Partly to her feet. "And you're a coatrack. Have some caffeine." She pushed a glass into Partly's hand then danced away.

Partly smelled the drink, then shrugged. It smelled like plain soda. Maybe the lack of sleep was just getting to Jennie.

Just then Tracy returned. "I think I'm about ready to go, Tracy. How about you? We can find a quiet place and have some coffee."

Tracy nodded. "Do you know that this place is in the middle of a ownership dispute? I was asked to help and make sure that there was no problems. I met the guy who says he owns it. Very imposing man."

"You met..." Partly frowned. She couldn't be talking about LaCroix, could she. "What was his name?"

"LaCroix." Tracy pointed across the room. "I believe your friend is talking to him right now."

Partly saw LaCroix standing against the wall, Jennie and another woman facing him. This was definitely bizarre. "Wait a minute, Tracy. I don't think we should leave just yet." Partly wasn't sure what was going on, but she was going to stick around and find out.

As Sharon parked the rented minivan near the Raven, she had the uneasy feeling that something was very, very wrong. She wasn't exactly sure why she was having this feeling, but it might have had something to do with either the whispering that had been coming from the back seat of the minivan on the drive over--or the current behavior of those same Natpackers currently piling out of the car.

Valerie was looking a bit more manic than usual and was muttering something about utensils. Kim appeared to be having a conversation with her shoe. Leslie, who had spent most of the drive breathing on the windows and drawing obscene stick figures in the mist, had started yodeling. Betsy was holding an imaginary sword, talking with an incredibly strange accent, and fencing with a lamp post. Jill had fallen out of the van and was lying on the sidewalk, waving at the guests as they arrived, and asking them if they had seen Fox Mulder lately. GT, Jennie and Amparo were dancing around her, singing "Ring Around the Rosy." And, of course, they still didn't know what Amy was up to. The phone call they'd gotten from the Ravenettes was decidedly weird.

Sharon knew that War was hell, but this was ridiculous.

With some difficulty, Sharon herded everyone into the club. Inside, the Raven was packed, with people from every faction enjoying the redecoration of their favorite night spot. Sharon turned to ask GT something and found that most of the Pack had scattered with frightening speed. Only Leslie was still standing beside her.

"Look!" chirped Leslie, a glazed look in her eyes. "How nice of the Die-Hards to invite all these Barney impersonators to their party!"

Sharon grabbed Leslie's shoulders and directed her to a chair near Jill Bradley and Sheryl Bottner. "Can you keep an eye on her for a minute?" she asked, breathlessly. "I have to round up the others."

Sheryl eyed Leslie, who was singing the infernal Barney song in a low voice. "I guess so," she said dubiously. "What's wrong with her?"

Jill Bradley looked around the room, taking a long draw from her cigarette. Several Natpackers were already terrorizing the dance floor. "What's wrong with all of them?"

"I have no idea," said Sharon grimly, "but I'm going to find out."

Kim was sliding across the dance floor in her socks, shoes in one hand, running into groups of dancers. "Whoops!" she giggled. " 'Scuse me!"

Valerie was stalking around the room, ignoring the people greeting her. "Spoons!" she muttered under her breath. "Where in freaking hell are the spoons?"

"Valerie? Hi!" Tara approached her--then stopped short. Valerie did not look quite like herself tonight.

Valerie took a deep breath and advanced on Tara, her face dark and angry. "Get out of my way! Why is a giant phosphorescent pink squid blocking my way? I'm looking for the spoons! Does understand? Spoons!"

Tara, always one to recognize a truly impossible situation, got the hell out of her way and went to look for a cigarette. Being called a pink squid always made her crave nicotine. No cigarettes appeared to be forthcoming, however, so she tried to find a nice, quiet, out of the way bar stool she could sip her drink at.

Jill had spotted Miklos and was skipping towards him with a purposeful gleam in her eye. Kim, even in the midst of running smack into Christine Hunt, realized something was wrong. Kim tried to stop Jill, but was distracted by the glowing purple centipede emerging from the floor directly behind Christine. "Look!" she called to GT, who was pouring a drink on Sharon Scott's head while reciting the Hippocratic oath. "It's a giant bug!"

"Funny," said GT, tossing the glass aside and ignoring the shrieks of partygoers as they avoided the splintering glass. "Looks like a day glo Peter Caine to me." They stared at the floor, fascinated.

"You!" said Jill imperiously, pointing at Miklos, who was talking intensely to Susan Garrett about the incredible amount of gin that was being consumed. He looked surprised, and set down his goblet. "Yes, you. The swarthy one. Come here."

Miklos approached her uneasily. "Is there something wrong?" He'd never seen this woman before, but surely that gleam in her brown eyes wasn't normal (and who was she calling swarthy?).

"Nothing, dahlink," Jill purred in a barely passable imitation of Eva Gabor. "But I feel the need to... TANGO!" Before he could object, she grabbed him and they set off across the dance floor.

"You know, the tango is a Spanish dance," said Miklos, gracefully executing a turn and feeling vaguely relieved that Janette had taught him to dance years ago. "I'm Hungarian."

"Yo se," said Jill, recklessly wrapping one leg around Miklos (after all, she was short, but Miklos was no Abraham Lincoln) and going into full tango mode as they crossed the floor. "Pero no me importa."

Sharon was totally exhausted. Spending the night chasing a bunch of whacked-out Natpackers around was not her idea of a fun party evening; she just wanted to have a beer and sit down. Leslie was about the only one who hadn't moved. The other ones were acting like Mexican jumping beans, and Sharon was not in the mood.

Finally, Susan approached Sharon, who was watching Kim and GT heading towards the sound booth. "What is going on?" she asked in a low voice. "With a few exceptions, the Natpack is usually...if not normal, at least less bizarre than this. It's like they're on drugs or something."

Sharon shook her head. "They've been like this since late this afternoon." Her eyes widened. "Oh, God!" Sharon spotted Valerie and Jennie, who had just cornered LaCroix.

"What is he doing here?" grumbled Susan. "Party crasher." She'd better make sure Jill Bradley didn't catch sight of LaCroix... Not to mention Jill Kirby, but she was Sharon's problem.

GT and Kim, avoiding numerous apparitions along the way (including one that looked like Schanke and smelled like souvlaki, oddly enough), had made it to the empty sound booth. Quickly, they went inside, shut and locked the door behind them, and started working on the machines. The only sound that anyone heard before the door shut was GT saying brightly, "Karaoke is fun!" Sharon barely caught sight of this, and wavered, trying to decide whether to go after Valerie and Jennie or Kim and GT first.

Jennie and Valerie stood on either side of LaCroix, taking turns shouting at him.

"You CHEAT!"

"Lying, sneaking cheat!"

"You drugged her! You couldn't get her under any other way, so you CHEATED!"

"Meddling, lying, sneaking cheat!"

"You said most of that already," Valerie told Jennie, almost calmly. Then she returned her somewhat manic attention to LaCroix. "But she's right about the meddling! Why did you have to stick your nose in? Always have to be in control of everyone else's lives, don't you?" The vampire simply shifted an amused gaze between the two women.

"And how long did you have to watch her to find out that much about her? How long were you following her around for? Huh! She figured out more about you in that one tiny conversation, WHICH SHE WAS DRUGGED DURING, than you did with all the time you spent watching her! Humph!" Jennie appeared to have found her way out of the conversational rut she'd gotten herself into earlier. LaCroix's eyes narrowed, but both women were too far gone to notice his reaction. Sharon decided that perhaps they were a far greater danger than GT and Kim, all things considered.

"And WHY were you doing this?" Valerie picked up the thread immediately. "Did you have a reason? Doesn't look like it to me. It appears that you did all this from spite. Just because you could. Because you were so sure the little mortal woman couldn't possibly be a match for you and you wanted to feel superior. Well you know what? YOU picked the fight, YOU picked the location, and YOU picked the weapons, and she still whipped your a**."

Sharon reached the group around LaCroix just in time to grab Valerie's arm. Valerie had apparently located the spoons, because she was aiming a wooden one at LaCroix's chest. "I'm going to cut your evil rotting heart out with this, Lu Boy!"

"I'll hold him down!" crowed Jennie, though she was momentarily distracted by the appearance of a row of glowing dancing girls on top of LaCroix's head. "Pretty, bright, shiny..." she mumbled, reaching one hand towards them.

LaCroix didn't look especially worried, though the unbalanced look in both Valerie and Jennie's eyes was somewhat disconcerting. He stepped back just out of Jennie's reach. "Have you come to take them back to their padded cells?" he asked Sharon, raising an eyebrow.

Sharon's eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could respond to this, Jennie burst into a seemingly unending series of sneezes, which Valerie decided would be fun to count. "One...two...three...nine...seven..."

LaCroix reached inside his jacket and, sneering, handed Jennie a handkerchief. She promptly stuck her finger in it and began to clean out her right ear.

LaCroix eyed Sharon coldly. "I rest my case."

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "Listen, you controlling maniac, don't talk about my friends like that!" She paused to draw breath, and realized exactly what she'd just said, and who she'd just said it to. But it was too late. She had LaCroix's full attention now, and he was looking directly at her with an air of anticipation. "Oh, and don't you try any of that hoodoo crap on me!" she said vehemently, waving a finger dangerously close to his nose. "Isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black," she observed sarcastically, rushing on before she lost her nerve. "If there's anyone in this room who should be locked up in a padded cell, a straitjacket, and Hannibal Lecter's face mask it's you, you psychopathic, vitriolic, obsessive, manipulative, amoral bastard>!"

She grinned. This was fun--in a demented, self-destructive kind of way. "I'm on a roll!" she bellowed. "Where's Nick! Tell Nick to get his sorry butt over here!"

Sharon stopped, suddenly, and looked around.

There wasn't a Natpacker in sight. Miklos was standing forlornly by the dance floor, alone, a rose in one hand. Leslie was no longer sitting with Sheryl and Jill Bradley. The sound booth's door was ajar, with no Kim or GT to be seen. She was, suddenly, completely alone.

She turned back to LaCroix, who simply raised one eyebrow. And smiled menacingly.

Just then, the introductory music to Phantom of the Opera began to waft through the Raven.

Perri checked drink levels at all Knightie tables, made sure Lillian was settling in okay, made sure Nick was as far away from LaCroix as possible, made sure no Cousins were within fifty feet, re-checked drink levels, then got the hell out of Dodge.

Away from the Knighties, anyway; there were other people around she needed to talk to without the usual audience. She started to head in Amy Hull's direction, remembered and changed course. The sight of Jennie Hayes and the rest of the NatPack produced an almost identical reaction, although she did stop to wonder why Valerie was muttering about spoons.

A familiar blond head poked into view; Perri headed for Dawn, her old war buddy, with something resembling glee. But as she got within hearing distance (no mean trick, considering the music and general noise level) she realized Dawn was carrying on a remarkably coherent conversation with Duncan Macleod. Too bad he wasn't there to hear it.

*<Expletive deleted>, she went and got herself messed up again. Suppose I should go see if I can help.* But as she started walking over, she experienced her first flashback. Images of thrown knives, buckets of grape juice, and angry vampires danced before her eyes in a dizzying whirl.

*The hell with that.* She headed in the opposite direction as fast as her legs could go.

She spotted a familiar and seemingly sober face at the bar. Never mind that it was a Knightie. She swung up to the stool next to Amy and ordered, "Two Amarettos."

"Thanks," Amy said. "You avoiding the rest of the mob, too?"

"Not strictly avoiding," Perri said. "Just...taking a break. Has everyone gone insane tonight?"

"You mean, more than usual?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe a bit." Amy Hull came by, muttering something in a French accent about unappreciative coroners and unfaithful vampires. Two pairs of eyes followed her. "Maybe more than a bit."

"Thought so. Dawn's drunk again. I should have her hallucinations."

"Fraser? Or Richie?"

"Better. Duncan."

"Mmmm. Good hallucination."

"Told you." Their drinks arrived; Perri downed hers in one gulp and held it out for a refill.

Amy watched her with amusement, sipping her own drink. "A rough war, isn't it?"

"Can't complain. Actually, I could, but I'm a volunteer, so I won't."

"That's never stopped you before."

Perri grinned. "So true." She took a little longer with her second drink. "How much trouble do you think the others can get into in ten minutes?"

At that moment, the strains of Phantom of the Opera began floating through the air. The two Knighties took one look at the scene before them and groaned. "The mind boggles. Let's go."

They left the bar; Perri made one detour back to toss off her drink, then headed into the fray.

Sharon had nearly completed her circuit of the main room of the Raven and was about to head for the sound booth, where she'd last seen GT and Kim. Nobody she'd asked had any idea where the rest of the Natpack had gone. She thought she could still feel LaCroix's eyes on the back of her neck, but she had far more important worries just now - what the 'pack might be up to. As the last few notes of the introductory music for Phantom of the Opera sounded, however, she heard a loud, low voice behind her intoning, "I am your angel of music, come to the angel of music."

Whirling about, she saw a figure in a black cloak (which looked suspiciously like one of Janette's) standing over near one of the chain curtains. On the far side of the curtain from that stood Valerie, wearing what appeared to be a white nightgown with a blue cloak over it. The music over the sound system swung into the Phantom title song, and Valerie began to sing Christine's part, concentrating to hit the low notes of the beginning steadily.