***Wednesday, November 1, 1995***

CALL AND RESPONSE (b)
by Michael Wayne Jackson

Time: 1:23am EST
Place: Michael's home

Tightening the bungee cord around the final bag was a struggle, but it
finally snapped into place and I went back inside to make sure I had not
forgotten any detail.  Maggie was asleep on the bed with food and water by
the door, the light timers were installed and the mail was being picked up
by Anna next door.  My boss knew that I was taking the rest of the week
off and someone was going to come by to housesit while I was away so Mags
wouldn't be lonely.  That seemed to be everything. 

I slipped on my jacket, zipped it up, and locked the door.  Walking to the
bike I noticed that the Samurai sword was sticking out a bit and adjusted
the bags to cover it more.  It was part of a two-day Initiation Ritual I
survived and I wanted it by my side. 

Straddling the bike and looking down, I smiled to myself, glad that the
loan had come through a few weeks ago and especially happy that the new
paint job had been finished in time.  I turned the key, pushed the start
button and felt the motor throb into life beneath me.  Tony had tuned it
to my specifications and it felt just right idling at a slow 975 r.p.m.'s. 
I clicked it into gear, eased out on the clutch, and rolled up the
driveway and onto the blacktop.  As I passed the BMW and the Mercedes that
lived across the street, I goosed the throttle a tad and was pleased to
hear their car alarms go off, triggered by the vibrations of 1340cc's of
pure Milwaukee metal. 

With no idea what I would find in Toronto, but feeling ready for anything,
I let the night enfold me in its soft embrace and headed for Canada. 

###

PHONE CALLS AND CONTEMPLATIONS
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 1:36 AM EST
Place: Jamie's home

Her fingers stabbed at the telephone touchpad, dialing a number she wasn't
supposed to have... 

Two rings, and the beginning of a third, before the 'click' of someone
answering. "Speak," said the voice at the other end, not pleasantly. 

"Okay," said Jamie, with her characteristic tact and grace, "what the f***
is going on?" 

"I beg your pardon?"  The words, combined with the so-very-proper accent,
might have been polite; she knew him well enough to know that they were
not.  "Would you care to repeat that last?" 

"Well, excuse me for being a person instead of a puppet," she snapped at
him, secure in the knowledge that several thousand meters of phone cord
and over ten hours' travel time separated them, and there wasn't a lot he
could do about her impertinence...at least, not at the moment. 

"I'm not getting any e-mail," she continued, "and I'm always getting
e-mail; there's got to be something wrong." 

He did not deny it.  "In your simplistic way, you've actually managed to
obtain a clue," he said, with mild sarcasm -- "mild" because it didn't
strip the puke-green paint from her bedroom walls, though it did sizzle
her eardrums some. 

She waited, and when no further explanation was forthcoming, she pressed,
"Don't f***ing keep me hanging, all right?  Is there a 'conflict'
occurring, or what?" 

"I would not consider that an inaccurate presumption," was his smooth
reply. 

"Jeez, what a d***head," Jamie muttered under her breath, forgetting about
vampiric hearing momentarily, then remembering and failing to care.  "Just
beat all the way around the bush while you're at it.  You know I'm slow on
the uptake; you just *love* tormenting me, don't'cha?" 

"I wouldn't consider that an inaccurate presumption, either.  You are
occasionally entertaining, despite your many flaws..." 

"So we're under attack," she said, just to be certain she was
understanding things correctly, and to cut him off before he could begin
enumerating her faults; she knew most of them, and didn't need them
listed.  "Am I correct?" 

"Oh, we are most definitely under attack," he responded grimly; she
contemplated asking for details, but decided against it.  With her memory,
she wouldn't remember half of it anyway. 

"Soooo..."  A slow grin spread across her face.  "Does that mean I can
play?" 

"Why bother asking?" was the instant response.  "You will do as you
please, regardless of anyone's advice..." 

"'Cause if we're at war, and someone's already started casting the first
stones," Jamie said promptly, "then I can justify a pre-emptive attack. 
If I get the wrong people, well, I can always make it up to 'em
afterwards...and besides, there's a couple ideas I've had running around
in my head for some time..." 

"Rationalization, justification," he said wearily, for it was a rehashing
of the same old argument they'd been having for ages, "why do you bother,
when in the end, you simply act according to your whims?  Why not simply
accept your nature, and be done with it?" 

"I do what I feel is right," said Jamie quietly. 

"Ah.  And how does your sense of 'right' and 'wrong' fit in with your
notion of a pre-emptive strike?" he wanted to know. 

Unseen by her auditor, she shrugged.  "Hey, the last three years, I've
gone through hell.  I'm entitled to have a little fun," she explained,
unworried by the inherent contradiction. 

"That is, without a doubt," he mused, "the most hypocritical statement I
have heard in many years -- and considering my longstanding association
with Nicholas, that is quite an achievement on your part.  You may have
more potential than I thought."  His contemplative tone shifted sharply
then, becoming businesslike and abrupt.  "I have no time for trivial
conversations." 

"Okay," Jamie said happily.  "I'm gonna go play now, Boss." 

A short burst of contemptuous laughter.  "'Boss,'" he repeated.  "You make
it sound as if you might actually accept my leadership." 

"As much as I would any other boss," she replied serenely, and hung up the
phone.  It was always a good idea to keep him off-balance...and it wasn't
as if he was going to come all the way south and east to New York to
discipline her, was it? 

Returning to her desk, she noticed that Elfy was having a marvelous time
on the bed, rolling around and batting at something and getting herself
and the covers all twisted up into a tangled heap.  "Melf-pelf," she said,
"whatcha doin'?" 

"Mrrhrraau," answered the cat indistinctly, around the greyish stick she
held clenched in her fanglets. 

Jamie retrieved the object and got swatted for her troubles; she held up
the item with distaste.  "You just looooove Q-tips, don't'cha?" she
crooned at the sleek black cat.  "Yeah, and the oockier the better.  Jeez. 
I'm gonna have to buy you a box all to yourself, just so I don't have to
keep finding these gross things in my bed."  The thought made her laugh. 
"So I'll find *clean* Q-tips in my bed, instead..." 

But for now, she had other things to think about.  Certain things that had
been tickling her fancy for, oh, a couple of days... 

Sitting down at her computer, she flexed her fingers once until the
knuckles cracked, then settled her hands at the keyboards and began to
work. 

###

OPENING GAMBIT
by Tara O'Shea

Time: 2am
Place: Tara's home

Tara was still humming "Urgos" as she headed up the stairs to her
apartment, fishing her keys out of her pocket.  She had managed to hug
three bandmembers total, but had for the second time managed to miss
Robin, and that only marginally bugged her.  She wasn't even sad that she
wasn't in San Francisco hearing Vats Laughing and Neil.  Boiled in Lead
was a perfect substitute, more than perfect. 

The lights were out and Deirdre and Nick were aleep, the heat turned up
too high perusual as she plopped down into her office chair without
bothering to wash off the white make-up or remove the half-eaten
pomegranite from her pocket as she dropped her fangs onto the desk and
booted up.  In the pale light from the screen, she reached for the pack of
Camels Deirdre had pawned off on her and froze. 

Candy.

"Not again..." Tara muttered, and clicked on the dining room light. She
only had one pack of those sugar cigatettes left after Dead of Winter, she
must have mixed them up when she was reorganising and moved her office
from her bedroom to the dining room.  Looking over her desk, lifting up
drafts of her Gargoyles story in progress and photos of her cousin's kids,
she muttered dark things as the cigarettes continued to elude her. 

Slipping off her boots, she crept into Deirdre's room and opened the
drawer where her sister kept her stash.  Deirdre rolled over and the dog
opened one eye to look at her curiously as she stood in the centre of the
room, calmly nick-fitting and contemplating murder. 

Half an hour later, having gone through every drawer, cupboard, and
pocket, Tara sat in the middle of her floor staring at the pile of sugar
sticks that had been substituted for her drug of choice. 

"I'm going to kill them," she said quietly, and glacing at her watch and
noting it was closer to 4am than she would have liked, she headed into the
bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed.  It wasn't like she *needed* a
cigarette.  She just wanted one.  And she'd had to go without before, it
was no big deal. 

Not really.

Dead.  When she found Amy and Jennie, they were going to be lifeless
corpses...they'd need *dental records* to figure out who the piles of
parts were... 

But aside from her body screaming for nicotine, another question plagued
her. 

Why?  Why go to all the trouble, and expense?  Why, when it was cheaper
just to ring her up and make disapproving noises, and then fill her
luggage with Pez and candy cigs next con? 

Tara did not sleep that night.

###

AN EVIL LITTLE IDEA 
by Cousin Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 2:06 am EST
Place: Jamie's home, Toronto airport

For the last couple of days, an idea had been drifting around Jamie's
mind, an evil little idea that was really quite unfair...actually, it
wasn't at all unfair.  Simply a...rectification of a wrong that had been
done. Which by extension made it the right thing to do. 

//Creative rationalization is a wonderful thing,// Jamie thought happily,
and began to work. 

After a few phone calls, some swift persuasion and outright bribery, and a
good deal of explaining, she managed to set the gears of her plan into
motion; finally, she sat back and took a long swig of cold cranberry juice
from her baby bottle, satisfied with her plan. 

Her only regret was that she wouldn't see the results first-hand... 

And no one could really fault her for it, could they?  No, they couldn't.
It wasn't as if she'd falsified any information -- all she'd done was tell
the truth, in certain ways and to certain people, in order to obtain the
desired effect. 

It was an elegant plan; she was sure Uncle would have approved, if she'd
bothered to consult him about it first. 

"Maairrh," said Elfy, and rubbed her head against Jamie's thigh to be
petted; and she swept the cat up into her cradling arms and kissed her
fuzzy little face, and waited to be informed of any changes. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon was at the Toronto airport, moving through the terminal in the
company of her fellow Natpackers, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Ms. Sharon Himmanen?" inquired a gruff voice. 

"Yes?" she said reflexively.

"You're under arrest," came the startling response.  "I'm afraid I'm going
to have to take you in." 

"WHAT?" screeched the Natpacker, flabbergasted.  "For what?!"

A hand reached into the pocket of her coat, drew out a cylindrical object.
"Conspiracy, theft, and transporting stolen objects over international
lines," said the voice ominously. 

"But...but..." she moaned.

"Come clean, Ms. Himmanen," said the stern voice.  "You stole this salt...
didn't you?" 

"But they didn't have any packets!" Sharon wailed.

"None of that.  Come with us, please."  And as the handcuffs were fastened
around her wrists, she cast plaintive glances back at her fellow
Natpackers, pleading for their assistance; but there was nothing any of
them could do. 

"The *(&#)#$ Burger King didn't have any salt packets!" could be heard
faintly, as the officer dragged her away... 

###

WHAT IS IT?
by Brian-Glenn Ander"sin"
re-vamped by Cousin Candice

Time: Before sunrise
Place: The Raven

I lifted my drink and glanced over at the other side of the table.  There,
the pale man who I had been talking to glanced back at me.  A cop, he
said.  But one that knows Toronto, and has a differeent slant on things
than the normal badge.  Something seemed more...piercing about his eyes
than the average bloke on the street that you'd meet in broad daylight. 
Of course, I'd never seen Nick in broad daylight.  Then again, I'd never
seen him before in my life.  Only heard his name in passing a few of those
other pale people in the bar. 

With a quick flick of my eyes, I noticed the lithe figure in the corner
start into the shadows, anxious on not being noticed.  Though he gave no
sign, I knew that Nick had noticed the stranger too.  I raised the glass
to my lips and drank, obscuring the scene in my vision and obscuring the
sounds of The Raven with a few verses of "Long Cool Woman (in a Black
Dress)" in his head.  I thought about my Rubik's Cube(tm) at home and ow I
had never been able to solve it in seven years.  Very cool decor if I
dared to say so myself (the roses were a bit much, but still...) When I
lowered the glass, the figure was gone.  Undoubtably closer. I scanned the
ever increasing crowd for Candi, but she was nowhere to be found.  She
said she'd be here...she's never late...best not to think on it, not with
the likes of Knight around...he was kinda creepy. 

"So," I began, "What exactly is this war?"

With a quick motion Nick hit the figure behind him.  It crumpled to the
floor.  Yeah, he was a regular weirdo. 

"Oh, just some kids causing trouble.  And call me Kojak, not Nick"

###

REVENGE IS SWEET
by Laura B. Waskey

Time: 3:00 a.m. EST
Place: Laura's home

Laura was sleeping soundly and was pleasantly dreaming of what had
occurred in the previous hours on Halloween night. Ravenette Sheryl and
she had gone out to Fell's Point in Baltimore, Maryland, just a few hours
ago, to do a little dancing, drinking and maybe, if they were lucky, find
a couple of cute guys to help them celebrate Halloween. Unfortunately, no
cute men had taken their fancy, so they had ended up drinking a lot of
beer and dancing to some old disco tunes in a bar that very much reminded
them of the old Raven in Toronto.  The Raven that Sheryl's friend, Janette
had owned, not the one that was currently under new management.  They had
left the bar around midnight, since nothing exciting was happening and
decided to drive back to their respective homes. Laura had arrived home
well after one o' clock, had crawled into bed, and with the sounds of The
Village People still ringing in her ears, she had fallen asleep. A deep,
peaceful, dream-filled sleep. 
   
In the dream, Laura was actually Donna Summer at Studio 54 in the late
1970's singing a very bad rendition of "Bad Girls" to a packed audience;
when suddenly in the middle of the chorus, the microphone started to ring. 
She tried to ignore the ringing and kept singing<"Bad girls, bad girls,
talking 'bout bad girls.">, but the noise wouldn't go away. Ring, ring.
So, one minute she was the Disco Queen, the next minute she was waking up
in her bed to the sound of that darn ringing.  Her dreams of disco glory
would have to wait. The ringing was her phone. 
 
"Who in the hell would call me at this ungodly hour?", she thought, as she
climbed out of bed and stumbled to get to the phone in the dark. 
  
As Laura picked up the phone and barked into the receiver a terse hello,
she quickly said: 
   
"This had better be an emergency, 'cause I had just fallen asleep after
drinking way too many beers...so you better make it good, bub!" 
   
"Good morning, ma petite, sorry to wake you," a deep, throaty voice said. 

No, it couldn't be. She must still be dreaming...like the shower scene in
Dallas, *yes* that was it.  Because it couldn't be him..he wouldn't call
her...no, she wasn't that lucky.  Well, it seemed her luck had changed.... 
  
"LaCroix?", she timidly asked, still not certain if it really was her
beloved Uncle. 
  
"Yes, it is me, LaCroix, your Master."

That voice, that tone. Yes, it really was her beloved LaCroix. Oh no, just
look at the way she had answered the phone. Boy, was she in big trouble
for talking to the master like that! 
  
"I'm *so* sorry, Uncle, for yelling at you, please forgive me, " she
groveled, knowing that it was not in one's best interests to rile Lucien
LaCroix. Apparently he forgave her because he brushed her apology aside
and said: 

"I need you in Toronto, now! Get on the first plane you can and come
directly to The Raven." 

Great, Toronto in November. Yuk! Laura hated cold weather, but she had
better not tell Uncle that, no telling what he might do...he might sick a
carouche on her cats or something. No, scratch that. She'd walk through
six feet high snow drifts for LaCroix. 

"I'll be there as soon as possible, what is going on?" 

"There's been a little problem here and I need your special kind of help
in correcting it, " he said. "It seems those Natpackers are at it again,
they came into The Raven last night and well, let's just say, they started
another war. But, they may have started this war, however we Cousins are
going to finish it. This time our way, the Cousinly way. 
  
"And when we are done, they'll be lucky if they remember their own names,
let alone Natalie Lambert's!" 

Laura shuddered at his silky, menacing tone. Boy, those Natpackers must
have really ticked him off, to get him to call her and request her help.
And she knew from the sound of Uncle's voice that he must have a wicked,
devious scheme to get back at those Natalie lovers, and she couldn't wait
to help him out. Uncle had called the right woman, because devious was her
middle name, which was one of the reasons she had been recruited to be a
Cousin. Plus, it was so much fun to annoy all those Knighties and
Natpackers out there. The main reason why she had joined the Cousins was
that she adored and worshipped LaCroix, besides he was really hot too. 
Not to mention that sexy voice...oops, she had lost her train of thought.
What had Uncle said? Toronto, yes, she must go to Toronto and help him. 
   
"I'll do anything you say, Uncle, you know that my devotion to you has no
bounds, " she said passionately. 

"Bon, I'll see you soon then, ma petite, " LaCroix said in return. "And by
the way, Laura?" 
   
"Yes?"

"I called you becuase I need you for a very special mission, you being a
former police officer and all. I'll explain more when you arrive, but know
this, I want to you hunt down and bring to me two particular Natpackers." 

Laura listened intently.

"These two troublemakers are on the top of my hitlist and I want them,
understood?" he hissed. 
   
"Yes, I'll find whoever you want, don't worry, mon oncle. What are their
names?" 

"They call themselves Leslie and Jill...."

###

CHARACTERISTIC ENTRANCE
by Christina L. Kamnikar

Time: 3:41 AM, EST
Place: Merc Central

"What time is it, what day is it... " Christina muttered as she let
herself into Merc Central with her brass key.  God, how she hated night
flights from DIA. Commute to Kansas to fly through O'Hare to get through
customs in Toronto! Whose good idea was THAT? 
        
She dumped her sleeping bag on the couch; as usual, space would be
limited, so she'd brought the essentials. Luckily she'd managed to get
enough comp time from the State to take a month's vacation.  A week of
straight gravel mine inspections in the wilds of Colorado had left her
exhausted but smug; extra money in the back, extra time on her hands,
extra possibilities to explore. 
        
Assuming ANY of her potential contracts had left confirming messages.
        
The place, was quiet, silent; obviously, Sara wasn't expecting her this
early. Her own fault. Chris had meant to take the 7AM flight, but too much
caffeine and impatience had spurred her into taking the connecting flights
through Chicago instead of flying in on schedule. A low "mwaor" got her
attention; a soft, long-haired cat was twining itself around her ankles.
"Are you George or Ramona? Or is that a rude question?" Chris sighed,
picked up the cat, sneezed, and smiled ruefully at the animal. "Not that
it matters. You're pretty, but you're not sleeping with me. Got it? I need
my..." yawwwwn "rest. And I wouldn't be breathing in the morning if we
shared the sleeping bag." 
        
No beeping light on the answering machine; no telegrams waiting; no Dianne
no Maureen no Lane... silence. Chris pouted for a minute, then yawned
again, shaking her head. The upcoming weirdness, and the late late hour
had her talking to herself in fits and starts. 

"Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have a battle, because Tweedledum
said Tweedledee had broke his nice new rattle..." 
 
"Cry Havoc, and let loose the  dogs of War..."

Well, it'd all start soon enough, and then she'd meet her compatriots in
commerce. Maybe they'd know what was going on. She fingered the obnoxious
little Chuck E. Cheese token that had been in her mailbox in Arvada,
wondering who on EARTH would send her something so silly.  And why. She
hadn't been to Chuck E. Cheese in years, certainly not voluntarily. 
        
Still pondering the question, she spread the sleeping bag out on the
couch, slipped into it without changing out of her jeans and sweater,
tried to work out whether it was really 4AM or 5AM, gave up, and conked
out without knowing the answer. 

###

ALFRED MERCS STRIKE--SHORT, BUT SOUR
by the Alfred Mercs

Time: 03:57 AM EST
Place: A small airport outside Toronto

*yawn*
     
Diana landed the plane in a small strip outside Toronto a few short hours
later, taxiing the mooney to the FBO.  She went into the rather relaxed
atmosphere of the Canadian small airport, and paid landing fees, aranged
to pick up the rental car she'd reserved earlier, ordered the plane to be
gassed up in the morning, and using her very legal Canadian Citizenship,
(isn't it wonderful to have a grandfather who had been in the Royal
Canadian Airforce? The Canadians don't wonder at your British accent)
cleared the plane and passegers through customs and immigration. 
      
They got Candi into the rental, which could be driven right out onto the
tarmac, with little trouble and some more ether.  Diana carefully checked
the tiedowns on the plane, and then locked it.  They all piled in the car,
Risha driving and Wyndi navigating.  Di rested, flying was tiring.  Wyndi
first lovingly strapped Candi into the car, tying off the seatbelt to not
give under pressure, as well as attaching the chains. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time: Dawn
Place: A statue in Toronto

In Toronto, with Candi still knocked out, the Mercs searched in the Museum
distrrict for a statue.  Finding their needs, they removed the bondage
gear, and loosely tied her back to back with some unknown Canadian war
hero, strapped her feet to the stirrups, and stuffed a note into her bra. 
They then ductaped a sign to the rear end of the horse: 

                                I'M A
                               COUSIN
                                AND
                                I'M
                             TICKLISH!!!!!

The mercs drove off, giggling, to join their various secondary factions,
but are all still for hire at their individual prices. 

###

SUNSET BOULEVARD... (a)
by Cousin Candice

Time: 6am EST
Place: Alfred, New York, USA
        
//Oh, hell..// Candice hit her forehead for being such a moron. No keys. 
The Mercs had kidnapped her *without* bringing her keys!  And of course
her roommate wasn't home.  No, she was probably at her boyfriend's place. 
Candice didn't have a roommate, she had someone that used her room for
storage space.  She groaned loudly and hit her head on the door to her
room.  //I should have had Uncle unlock the door ..or break it down or
something..// But nooOOooo, she had been too busy flirting with him, too
busy playing up the Blonde Ditz Role (tm) to notice she had no way of
getting into her room. //Damndamndamndamndamn!!//
        
//Okay, so it's 6 am, the cleaning lady isn't here yet, my RA (resident
assistant) will never forgive me for waking him up at this ungodly
hour,...might as well check my email.// So Candice trundled down to the
VAX room, silk shirt and all, switched on a terminal.  //Oh geez ...this
is bad, 200+ messages.// That could only mean one thing.  The War was on
in earnest.  Candice needed to send out a message to the Cousins. //Well,
here goes nothing..//

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Cousins (addresses edited for space and time ;)
Cc: Anderson, steff, brian
Subject: WAR: Evenin' kids...

Thought that might get your attention.....

I suppose some of you need an explanation so here it is:

[much snippage of actual message]

Post away, and remember -No toe stomping!

Yours,
Candice -obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, Cousin by choice
          Toreador by default

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And with that done, she logged off.  As she was leaving the VAX room, she
bumped into Flip, a lacrosse player that lived down the hall.  At first he
didn;t recognize her and just smiled.  Then he did a double-take. 
        
"Candi???  You're ...you're blonde!"
        
"Well, Flip, no one's ever accused you of being clueless, but please, I'd
rather forget about the hair." 
        
"Don't worry about it ...it's all good."  Flip smiled again and then
realized she was less than appropriately dressed. 
        
"What's with the shirt, Can?  Rough night?"  Flip grinned at her with one
of those looks that just reeked of sensuality. 
        
"Rougher than I care to admit, tough guy.  Umm..listen, can I borrow a
pair of jeans?  I'm locked out of my room again and I'm not going to wake
up Jon or Dan.  I've got class in an hour, so why bother, right?" 
        
"Uhh..sure thing, any particular color?  Wait, ..I'll go get you my black
ones."  Flip hurried back to his room and returned not 30 seconds later
with black jeans in hand as promised.  Candice grabbed them, thankful for
their bagginess, tight jeans just weren't her thing. 
        
"Thanks you *SO* much Flip.  You have no idea..."  Candice trailed off as
she adjusted the jeans and tucked in the silk shirt, trying not to wrinkle
it. 
        
"Hey, it's all good -just do me a favor?"
        
"Anything.."
        
"Stay blonde long enough for me to take you out to diner, but for now, I
must return to the woman in my bed, can't leave her there too long or
she'll come looking for me."  He winked and laughed and she punched his
shoulder lightly, turning from him and heading for the door. 

###

WAR? WHAT WAR?
by Perri Smith

Time: Sunrise
Place: Perri's home

Perri stumbled out of bed, muttering under her breath at the obscenely
cheerful DJ on the radio. Garth Brooks came on and she stopped; Garth
almost made up for having to get up early. She lugged her laptop across
the bedroom, plugged in the modem and dialed in. Work called, but e-mail
had a louder voice. 

At least, it would if the phone was working. Which it wasn't. "Oh great,"
she muttered. "Da-ad, the phone's dead!" 

***

Of course, the first thing she did when she got to work was dial into her
e-mail. And almost the first message was from Scottie. 

"Save me? Huh?" Perri read, and got on the phone only a second later.
"Scottie? You got bricked in? What the hell....? Someone's already there?
How long 'til they get you out? Okay, call me when you get out. I've got a
bad feeling about this." 

She hung up, and brought up the second message -- this one from Nick. She
couldn't help it, she started laughing helplessly, then got on the phone
again. "Nick, how the hell could they get it upside down?" 

"I'm supposed to know?" the frustrated vampire said. "Perri, you would not
*believe* what they did to my Caddie!" 

"Oh, I think I would," Perri said more seriously. "Scottie got bricked
into her house this morning, and my phone lines were dead this morning. I
have a bad feeling about this, Nick." 

"So do I," Nick said reluctantly.

Perri waited.

Finally, he sighed, and said, "When are you coming to Toronto and do you
want to stay at the loft?" 

"This morning and yes," Perri answered. "I'm going to call a couple of the
others." 

"Call the airlines and put the tickets on my card." He gave her the number.

Perri scribbled it down and grinned. "You're a prince, Nick."

"And every Knightie on the face of the Earth is poor," Nick returned. "I
know. How many of you are we talking about?" 

Perri mentally crossed her fingers. "I don't know. Depends on who can get
away." 

"All right. Call me with your flight number and I'll meet you."

Perri started to thank him again, then paused. "You know, for someone who
hates the idea of followers, you're taking this awfully well." 

Nick laughed a little ruefully. "From past experience, my disapproval
doesn't stop any of you from getting involved. If I can't stop you, I may
as well get you where I can keep an eye on you. And I need someone to help
clean up the apartment." 

Perri laughed. "So we're maids now. I'll call back when I get the
reservations." 

She hung up, and dialed one more time. This time, it was a sleepy Knightie
who answered the phone. "Wake up, college kid. We've got trouble." 

Amy Denton yawned. "Again?"

###

CLOTHES? CLASSES? HA!
by Cousin Candice

Time: An hour before dawn
Place: LaCroix's digs and Alfred, N.Y. briefly

LaCroix entered his apartment in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, weary
from all the in-person communication he'd had to do in order to get the
Cousins prepared.  He entered the bedroom to check on Candice.  He was
greeted by a very much awake and very aggitated woman dressed in one of
his black silk shirts.  She was pacing back and forth, he could see
thoughts coming and going across her face, running her hands through her
VERY blonde hair. 

"You know, you look very striking as a blonde...'LaCroix chuckled much to
Candice's aggigation.  She snarled in return and continued to pace back
anf forth at the foot of the four-poster bed. 

"Well I hope -you- had a pleasant evening.  I'm still trying to warm up. 
Don't you ever have the heat on in this place?  It took me two hours to
get the shower to run at a passable warmth!  Christ, would youlook at
this?"  she tugged at her hair "They even did my *ROOTS*!! And I've got no
clothes and no food and my head hurts and...and...and..."  Candice
exagerated her helplessness by holding out her arms -the sleeves came WAY
past her hands.  She glared at LaCroix, still annoyed, knowing full well
the repercussions of this argument should she take it any further. 

She'd be dead meat.  LaCroix merely rolled his eyes and muttered
"...mortals..." and turning on his heels, walked out the door. Candice
stormed out after him, trying to keep her temper in check.  She took a
deep breath and told herself to calm down.  She stood in the doorway,
refusing to move an inch until her pulse returned to normal. 

"And then there's the matter of this..." she held the obnoxiously bright
neon pink paper out to LaCroix to look at for himself.  She pursed her
lips tightly together, trying not to get upset.  Candice forgot often that
she was in the company of such a man so dangerous to her health. 

"A ransom note, how droll."  He tossed the paper onto the table.

"LaCroix!  They have the love of my life tied up and held hostage! Where
the gods only know and all you can say is 'How Droll'???  Don't you
understand?" she pleaded. 

"You might irk me less if you would remember our differences, Candice."
LaCroix then went to the table where he had set a brown paper bag, pushing
the thoughts of his own lost love into the back of his mind.  "Now eat,
before I change my mind and throw you out." 

"You brought me breakfast?"  Candice was floored.  He's been around -how
many- centuries?  She walked slowly towards the table, very much aware of
how hungry she was at that moment.  The mere smell of food was making her
stomach cramp. 

"Yes, I brought you food and something for your headache--aspirin I think
you call it.  I can't have you debilitated during this war, you need your
health, because if you haven't got your health...what have you got?" 

Candice had to smile at that last blatant Princess Bride reference.  <So
he'd remembered...> Candice thought, very much amused with her Uncle.  She
sat down and practically inhaled the omlette and coffee LaCroix had
brought to her from The Second Cup.  She popped a few aspirin with the
black coffee an paused to breathe. 

Almost immediately she started to feel better.  Never again would she
underestimate what a decent breakfast could do for her spirits.  She
smiled at LaCroix, almost delighted, even thought it was 5:00 am. "Okay,
I'm done now.  Can we go back to Alfred now?" 

"You're joking, right?  This is that warped sense of humor I've heard so
much about, right?"  LaCroix stared at Candice, amazed that she could be
so put together with a little food and a little coffee. 

"No, I'm *quite* serious.  Those bitches didn't take into account that I
have a critique today.  I can NOT miss it, and there's nothing in hell or
heaven that's gonna stop me from being there." 

Lacroix raised an questioning eyebrow.  "Ahh...a passionate artist...well
I suppose if you must, then I'll take you home..." 

Candice knew she was pushing her luck, but thought she'd ask anyway, "Will
you help me find Brian?"  LaCroix grinned a little and said softly "No my
dear, that's what you've got family for...." 

They took off into the cool pre-dawn sky and touched down in Alfred a half
hour before sunrise. 

**A mere half hour later, in Alfred, N.Y.**
**At Candi's dorm/apt room**

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?  I'll even let you bring me
across..." Candice teased LaCroix mercilessly and bared her neck to him,
laughing as she did so. 

"You, are most definitely a woman in need of sleep.  I'll expect you back
in Toronto by 9 p.m. tonight.  Understood?" 

"Yes, Lucien..." she whispered.

Candice couldn't tell if it was just the drugs wearing off making her see
things, or if LaCroix had really flinched what she'd said. 

###

WHY ME?
by Perri Smith

Time: Around sunrise
Place: Nick's loft

Nick slid open the elevator door and stepped into the loft, still choking
back chuckles. The look on Tracy's face as the computer had repeated, "I'm
a *good* cop," had been priceless. The station techies were still having
fits figuring out how to get it out, but everyone else (excluding Tracy)
had enjoyed it. 

Still, the prank had a familiar feel to it, he thought to himself. Very
familiar...after all these years, even he could recognize the opening
shots of a war. 

He shook his head. No, he was being paranoid. Surely one of the Knighties
-- who was leading them these days? Scottie? Sandra? No, Perri -- would
have told him if anything was up. If they'd known..... 

He shook his head again and stopped drifting long enough to actually look
at his apartment. And froze. Then, slowly, he reached for the light switch
and turned it on. 

His vampire vision hadn't been fooling him, after all. The place
was...indescribable.  There were bricks everywhere! Magnets, photographs
-- *framed* photographs -- a book on the couch with bricks on the covers.
And...even fingerpainted on the refrigerator. He turned around in dread --
yes, they were on the door, as well. A Christmas brick proudly decorated
the piano bench. 

"Merde!!!!!" he cursed, stomping further into the room. "Qui en
l'inferne.....merde!!!!" A horrible thought suddenly struck him. He *had*
put the Caddie in the garage last night, hadn't he? Yes, he had.Then why
had he seen it parked by the curb as he drove in? 

He literally flew out the window, landing a few feet from his beloved car. 

It was pink.

With ravens painted on the side.

This time, the cursing was much louder and in about five languages.

***

The rage took several minutes to burn off. Only the burning of the rising
sun forced him inside and away from the Caddie. He closed the shutters
behind him and started stalking back and forth through his maltreated
apartment. Something on the counter caught his eye, and he changed
directions. 

"What the...?" The carafe was completely full of blood - and upside down
on the counter. "How the devil did someone pull that off?" He started to
smash it aside, considered his carpet, and lowered his hand. This would
take some thought. In a moment; there was something he had to do first. 

It had just been a suspicion before, but this was too much. Something
*was* starting. And, like it or not, his followers - he winced at the word
-- had to be warned. 

He sat down at the computer, noting absently that he had left it on the
night before. Again. His e-mail provider came up and he typed in a quick
message to Perri. Lord knew it was the only way to reach the woman; she
moved around more than a vampire. After sending it, he went back to stare
at the pitcher. Maybe if he slid something under it... 

***

The phone rang and drops of blood spilled to the floor. Nick cursed yet
again, struggling with the paper and the carafe. The damn paper just would
*not* go under the lip. He gave it up for the moment and answered the
phone. 

"Nick? It's Perri."

"Perri. Good, you got my message."

"Yeah; had to get it from work, though, the phone was out at home. That's
where I am." 

"Your phone was out?"

"Yeah." Perri's voice was grim. "And I just got an emergency message from
Scottie. Someone *bricked* her into her house last night. Windows and
doors." 

"You should see what they did to *my* apartment."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"The whole apartment?"

"Yes. Bricks everywhere. And a carafe of blood *upside down* on my counter."

"Nick, how the hell could they get it upside down?"

"I'm supposed to know?" he asked, running an angry hand through his hair.
"Perri, you would not *believe* what they did to my Caddie!" 

"Oh, I think I would," Perri said more seriously. "Scottie got bricked
into her house this morning, and my phone lines were dead this morning. I
have a bad feeling about this, Nick." 

Nick didn't want to say it. He *really* didn't want to say it. "So do I."

She waited. He could *hear* her waiting. He fought himself and the
Knighties won. 

"When are you coming to Toronto and do you want to stay at the loft?"

"This morning and yes," she said, not hiding the triumph very well,or the
anger. "I'm going to call a couple of the others." 

"Call the airlines and put the tickets on my card."

"You're a prince, Nick."

"And every Knightie on the face of the Earth is poor," Nick returned. "I
know. How many of you are we talking about?" He asked hesitantly. 

"I don't know," she said after an almost infinitesimal pause. "Depends on
who can get away." 

"All right," he sighed, resigned. "Call me with your flight number and
I'll meet you." 

"You know, for someone who hates the idea of followers, you're taking this
awfully well," Perri sid, slightly suspiciously. 

Nick laughed a little ruefully. "From past experience, my disapproval
doesn't stop any of you from getting involved. If I can't stop you, I may
as well get you where I can keep an eye on you." 

Perri laughed. "So true. I'll call back when I get the reservations."

Perri hung up, presumably to make flight reservations, and Nick rubbed his
eyes, sighing. He still didn't like the idea of followers, never had. But
it made him feel slightly better to know he was going to have some people
at his back. Besides, they would be at risk anywhere, as Scottie and
Perri's early-morning problems had proved. At least in Toronto, he could
protect them. 

He got up and went back to work on the carafe, idly wondering how many
Knighties would be able to come. He didn't think many; there wasn't room
in the loft. 

Maybe if he found something stiffer to slide under it....

Was there a body shop that would pick up and deliver?

###

TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE'RE DOING THIS? (a)
by Amy Denton and Perri Smith

Time: After sunrise
Place: Dallas/Ft. Worth airport

Amy Denton was waiting for Perri at Dallas/Ft. Worth airport. "Where's
Scottie?" she asked, looking behind Perri. 

"She couldn't get the time off until tommorow, something about an
incompetant dictator at Baylor. She's going to meet us in Toronto tomorrow
morning, after the construction guys finish at her house." Perri dropped
her huge carry-on bag and started rooting around for her ticket. "Good
thing I finally got my driver's license so I didn't have to get a ride
here. The 'rents still have problems with this whole concept of trotting
off to Toronto because of my friend who happens to be a vampire. they're
still hacked off about the phone lines." 

"Did you talk to Nick?"

"Yeah, he's going to meet us at the airport."

"Toronto in the dead of winter; we're going to freeze! Who have you
called?" 

"At least there's nothing there to set your allergies off," Perri pointed
out, finally locating her ticket. "And I called *everyone*. Marina, Tim,
Dottie, Matt, Amy Potter and Karen Tobin are definitely coming. I don't
know about the others. Check my mail while I get my boarding pass?" 

Amy dug Perri's laptop out of the carrier and started it up, laughing as
usual at the gratuitous (and obsessive) X-Men displays. 

"Where do you get this stuff, Perri?" she asked herself, before settling
down to find the message. 

Perri reappeared after a few minutes. "What do you think?" she asked,
ignoring the chairs and sitting on the floor. 

"I think you're right. Trouble."

"Yeah. Fortunately, I have a Plan."

Amy heard the capital. "Oh, God." Then she shut up and listened.

****

"Happy Souvlaki Deli."

"Pam? This is Amy Denton. The Knightie."

"The loud one?"

"No, that's Perri. We need to ask a favor."

"Is this about the War?"

"Word travels fast. Can we meet at your place tonight?"

"Define we."

"Me, Perri, Torrey, Jennie Hayes and the FoDs."

"...Sure. what about?"

"We'll tell you when we get there."

*****

"Hi, Torrey? It's Perri."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I know what time it is? I do wear a
watch. And it can't be that late, I'm in Chicago and I started in Dallas." 

"Your point?"

"You're leading the Vaqueros, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're about to get more than you bargained for." Perri filled Torrey in
on the early morning present. "So it looks like we've got a war on our
hands. 

Torrey was now wide awake. "That explains those damn cows. Toronto. Sounds
like fun. Vachon...oh, my God." 

Perri laughed. "My sentiments exactly, but don't tell Nick, he'd have a
cow. All puns intended. Look, can you meet us at the..." She looked next
to her. Amy looked up from her own conversation to give her a thumbs up.
"...the Happy Souvlaki Deli tonight? We need to talk." 

Torrey thought. "Okay, if I can get up there in time. Address?"

Amy read it to Perri, who passed it on to the Vaquero before hanging up.

"Well?" Amy asked.

"She'll be there."

"Oh, God."

###

TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE ARE DOING THIS? (b)
by Torrey Harris

Time: After sunrise
Place: Torrey's home

Torrey puts the phone down and looks around the room, her eyes coming to
rest on the "mooer" on the floor. 

"I can't believe this, not now, so much for my vacation."

She starts to pack an odd assortment of clothing, tools, and books.
Lugging her two full bags and overfull backpack from the bedroom she
remembers Jesse's lying on the couch. 

"Ok, what am I going to do about you? Hmmm, I got it."

She picks up the phone and dials her brother Jeff to come and stay at her
house. It took some sweet talk and a promise that he could use her
dirtbike when she was away be he said he would do it. 

"Ok, I guess that's it. I better get going. I hope Perri realizes that
it will take me 4 1/2 hours to get to the darn airport."

****

Place: Toronto

After four plus hours on the road and twice that in the plane she finally
arrives in Toronto. Getting off the plane she shifts her backpack around
and a faint "mooo" comes from inside. The other passengers turn to look at
her and she curses herself for the tenth time for bringing the annoying
thing with her. 

After getting her bags from the pick up she heads for the doors to try and
find a cab. The doors swing open and she is left standing there with a
horrified look on her face. 

"Thissss is not cold, this is freezing!  I'm going to die out here, what
was I thinking?" 

Teeth chattering and lips turning blue she heads for the first cab she
sees. The driver puts her bags into the back and gets in. 

"Where can I drop you?"

Still shivering, Torrey answers. "The Happy Souvalaki Deli...oh, and can
you please turn the heat up before I freeze to death?" 

As the cab pulls away Torrey wonders if she should call some of her other
faction members. 

Nah...let's wait and see what Perri has to say before I drag them all up
here to freeze with me. 

###

UP, UP, AND AWAY!
by Catherine Boone

Time: After sunrise
Place: Catherine's home

The phone rang patiently several times before finally a voice answered.
"I'm sorry, you're just not important enough for us to talk to right now,
but if you go to the effort of leaving a message, we might deem you
entertaining enough to answer." <beep!>

"Catherine, it's Perri.  Pick up the phone, it's important.  You're gonna
love this." 

Catherine was sitting nearby, screening the call as usual.  She hated
answering the phone.  But she perked up at this.  Perri wasn't one to call
unless it was important.  She dived forward.  "Yo, Perri!  Where the heck
are you?  I tried to call you four times!  You won't believe what I found
on my doorstep this morning..." 

"Did you try my parents' line?"

"Uhhh...no.  Why?  What happened to you?"

There was a small pause.  "Well, you'd better sit down.  It's a long
story..." 

Ten minutes later Catherine was boiling.  "They did **what**?"

"You don't really want me to repeat all that, do you?"

"No, no!  Aww, man, the Cousins are so toast!  I assume you talked to
Nick, and he's expecting us?"  She grinned.  "I'm glad it wasn't me that
had to break it to him!  How'd he take it?" 

"Pretty well, actually.  I was impressed.  Just leave him mail saying what
you're flight number is and when it gets in, and he should meet you at the
airport." 

"Great!  I'll probably be spending the afternoon clearing all this with
administration down here, and then I'm on my way!  Frankly, they'll think
I'm insane to take an indefinite leave in the middle of the term, but hey,
when participating in a war, sanity is definitely optional." Catherine
grinned.  "With luck, I'll be there by tonight." 

"Perfect!  But don't be too late!  I think it's going to take all of us to
clean up the mess the Cousins made of everything." 

"Ah, sweet thoughts of revenge float through my brain."  She grinned.
"Don't worry, Perri, I'm on my way.  Oh, and Perri?"  She glanced around
at all her clothes in piles on the floor, and winced.  "Ya think Nick has
a washing machine I could use... ?" 

-=-=-=-=-

The ticket agent wore her most polite smile, but Catherine caught her
disapproving glance at her huge suitcase, trailing shirtsleeves, and her
bulging carry-ons.  Her polite smile faded noticeably.  "May I help you?" 

Catherine beamed.  "Yes.  I'd like a one-way ticket to Toronto, Canada,
please."  With a calm air she pulled out her American Express gold card,
"Nick Knight" emblazoned in small letters in the corner.  Simply amazing.
With Perri's help on Nick's end, the internet could positively work
wonders these days. 

Funny, the agent was only too eager to please after that...

###

Storm Building
by Erika S. Hanson

Time: Early morning
Place: UNM

Erika dragged a hand through her hair and yawned. *There should be a law
against having classes this early* she grumped. She staggered down to the
basement of UNM's Student Union Building, wishing desperately for a cup of
coffee. 
     
Luckily, the computer lab was empty when she got there. *Of course,* she
thought wryly, *No one else would be insane enough to get up this early.*
She slid into a seat in front of a terminal and logged in, flipping
through her Psych notes as the messages scrolled across the screen. 
     
Erika's eyes widened in surprise as she saw the last of the messages come
up, and what they pertained to. *War? What War?* She quickly called them
up, growing increasingly nervous as she read each one. *This is a bad
joke.*
     
But it wasn't a joke. She knew enough about Wars to know that things could
get out of hand if someone didn't do something soon. And this was a
potential time bomb...Erika shook her head. She would have to see for
herself what was *really* going on. 

She would have to go to Toronto.

But she had to make a few calls first.

Erika took the stairs to her apartment two at a time, face pale and eyes
flashing with fury. She'd decided to take the day off from school to
arrange for her pending 'vacation.' Running up the sidewalk to her
building, she decided to check the mail...get the bills in order, make
sure she wasn't going to be evicted... 

All thoughts of normality flew out of her head as she saw the package, one
of those plastic models of a heart used in anatomy classes. It was tied
with a pink bow, a fletched arrow stuck conspicuously in the middle. The
color drained from Erika's face. 

Things were much worse then she had thought.

************************

"Yes, Christine Hunt, Please...yes, I'll hold."

She drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently, waiting to be
transferred. Finally, a woman's accented voice was heard over the line. 

"This is Christine."

"Hi, Chris, this is Erika. We've got a *big* problem."

"Umm, are you sure this can't wait? I'm in the middle of teaching a class
right now."

"Yeah, I know. I would have waited until you were off work, but it's too
important to wait. We need to do something *now*.

"What's the problem," Christine asked, sounding concerned.

"Well, you know hostilities have been high on the list lately..."

"Yeah..."

"I just received a not-so-nice preasent in the mail today, A replica of a
human heart with an arrow stabbed through the center." 

Chris was shocked. "My God! who do you think sent it?"

Erika shook her head thoughtfully, as confused as her friend was. "I don't
know. It looks like the Cousins, but I haven't done anything to incur
their wrath...lately. I can't picture the Ravenettes doing anything like
this at all. They're so scattered now, with Janette gone..." She fell
silent, as a truly horrible thought occured to her. 

"What?" Christine was nervous now.

Erika's voice was flat. "The Immortal Beloveds."

"Oh, come on. Their faction's too small to really do anything..."

"Anybody can hire Mercs. And they have a motive. They'd jump at the chance
to keep Nick and Nat apart, and we're in their way." 

There was silence on the other end, then, "Okay, I have vacation time
coming up...I think we should stop this thing before it starts." 

Erika nodded. "I agree. I'm taking a flight out to Toronto tonight."
"Really?" Chris teased. "I thought you were a starving college student." 

"I am. But I talked to Perri earlier. I'm taking this flight curtesy of
the De Brabant Foundation--i.e. Nick's private credit card." 

Christine laughed. "All right. I'll see you tonight...I think I'll pick up
Judith Freudenthal on the way out of New York. She'll want to be in on
this." 

"Cool. The more, the merrier. See you later."

Erika hung up the phone and went to pack. The Nick&NatPackers were coming
to Toronto, and she had a feeling that the city would never be the same
again. 

###

SWABBIES MY BEEEEEP
by Cousin Linda

Linda rubbed at her eyes groggily, wondering what Arthur was barking at.
She cursed when the doorbell answered her question.  Stumbling to the
door, she threw it open to reveal a brown UPS shirt.  Her eyes travelled
up a broad chest to a pair of blue eyes.  "Just like Uncle's," she
thought.  Her stare was interrupted by a clipboard thrust into her hands. 
        
"Sign here."  The blue eyes glanced at her again, then he took back the
clipboard and shoved a small package into her hands.  She took it and
closed the door.  Her sleepy mind wondered who Fly-By-Night Publishers
were and why they had sent her a package. 
        
Setting it down on a table, she tore the wrapping off, then screamed and
fell back on the floor.  Q-tips exploded in all directions, they covered
the floor, showered Arthur, and blanketed the stunned Cousin.  She
grimaced as she untangled them from her curly hair, then stomped to the
phone. 
        
Her hands tremble in rage as she dialed a number she had memorized but
never used.  The phone rang only once before it was picked up.  Dead
silence greeted her. 
        
"Uncle?"
        
"Yes."  His annoyed statement made Linda wince.
        
"I've just been attacked."
        
"What did you expect during a War?  Candy and flowers?"
        
Linda bit back her own sarcastic response.  "What do you want me to do
about it?" 
        
"Make your way up here, of course."
        
"How?"
        
Lacroix chuckled, making Linda's back shiver.  "Be creative, my dear.  I
don't yet know which of those pesky factions are making nuisances of
themselves, so EVERYONE is fair game.  Remember, 'might makes right.'" 
        
Linda shivered again as he quoted her own recent post.  Then she heard a
click, and he was gone.  Everyone, he had said.  That certainly included
Vaqueras, innocent or not.  Linda called an off-list friend to dog-sit,
then dashed out the door, on her way to Deb Martin's house. 

**************************************************************

The house appeared dark as she walked up to it, having parked around the
corner.  Linda paused as she reached into a flower-pot for the key.  Deb
was her friend, after all.  Then her fingers closed on the small piece of
metal. 
 
Friends were only friends, and Uncle needed her.
        
"Deb?"  Heart pounding, Linda stepped into the house.  Silence.  She
glanced at the electronic equipment lining the walls.  TV, stereo, VCRs, a
computer - would all this bring enough at a pawn shop to pay for a trip to
Toronto?  Maybe, maybe not. 
        
A burning pain pierced her ankle and she nearly shrieked.  "Priscilla!"
Glaring as the furry streak disappeared behind the couch, Linda cursed at
cats in general.  They HAD to be Cousins at heart.  Where was Screed when
you needed him?  Dabbing at the drops of blood seeping out of the fine
lines across her ankle, she made her way into the bedroom, freezing at the
sight of clothes scattered everywhere.  "Did someone get here before me?" 
Then she spotted the notepad beside the phone.  American Airlines, Flight
341 to Toronto.  Glancing at her watch, Linda noted the departure time was
scheduled for not even an hour earlier.  "So," Linda said.  "Participating
in a little war, are we?" 
        
She grinned as she spotted the shiny piece of gold plastic peeping out
from under the notepad.  That solved the expense problem.  She picked up
the phone.  "Hi.  My name is Deb Martin and I'd like to charge a second
ticket from Austin to Toronto.  Yes, in Canada.  No, this one's for a
friend." 

###

KNIGHTIES, KNIGHTIES EVERYWHERE
by Catherine Boone

Time: After sunrise
Place: Toronto airport

Catherine got off the plane fairly disgustingly cheerful.  She was used to
sitting through long plane rides from LA to Alaska every time she went
home, so that part wasn't really anything to get her down.  And meeting
listfriends never failed to make her day.  But she'd better move fast if
she wanted to catch everyone.  She wandered off to a nice quiet corner of
the airport, and got her act together. 

She knew there were some other Knighties coming soon - they'd tried to
coordinate schedules such that Nick wasn't driving back and forth between
his loft and the airport all day.  But Judy and Maryann couldn't make it
till Monday, so she was supposed to remind Nick to pick them up then.  But
she was a little worried about getting to everyone since, in all
truthfulness, she had very little clue what the others looked like. Just
their origin points and a general arrival time.  She had tried to get to
Toronto before everyone else, but you never knew who was going to get a
tailwind or something. 

She unzipped her carry-on and pulled out a sign, the biggest she could fit
in, and her ever-present coke.  Never fails that the stewardesses give you
too little caffeine on those flights.  She rezipped her bag, and started
trolling the terminals, looking for Knighties.  Some people looked at her
strangely, but that was to be expected when you're wearing a hat that has
a pole attached to it, with a sign reading "Knighties" on it.  She'd be
afraid if people *weren't* staring.  She really wanted to make sure she
got everyone that was coming, so the obvious answer was to make a
spectacle of herself.  The most fun option, too. 

The first terminal she hit was from Houston.  She just kinda stood around
and sipped her coke, lookin' wierd, until a woman approached her.  She
pretty much fitted Susanne's description... "Susanne?  Hi!" 

"Hi...you must be Catherine."  She looked kinda spooked at the sign
towering above her, but only for a moment.  She smiled.  "Have you found
Nick yet?" 

"No, actually, I just got here myself.  I tell ya what.  I'll go split
over to terminal..." she scanned the arrivals screen nearby for incoming
Atlanta flights, "B5, to pick up Roni, while you go try to spot Nick. He
knows where we're coming from, so he can't be too far.  We'll wait for you
there." 

Susanne looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, "I have a better
idea.  Why don't you tell me what your suitcase looks like, then after I
find Nick, I can get your suitcase for you from baggage claim.  Then you
just send everyone you find down to us there.  That way our bags aren't
left hanging while we're waiting for people." 

She grinned.  "Even better!  Okay, I'll see you in baggage claim when
everyone's corraled up here." 

The two went their separate ways.  Again, Catherine lounged in the
terminal until someone cautiously approached her.  "Catherine...?  Hi! I'm
Roni!" 

"Hey, Roni!  How's it goin'?"

"I could use a ten-hour nap, but otherwise, fine!  So, what's the plan?"

"'Kay.  Nick and Susanne are hanging out in baggage claim, so just get
your bags, and hopefully they've found a nice obvious place to camp out.
Once I get Paula, Erika, and Marcia, we should be able to take off." 

Roni laughed.  "Ooh! Organization!"

"I know.  Startin' to scare me, too."

In a similar fashion, Catherine met Marcia, from her long black coat, and
Erika, whom she spotted by merely picking out the person who looked like
she was about to die laughing at Catherine's funky hat... 

Lastly was Paula, who was uncommonly sweet, and didn't seem to notice
anything strange at all about someone having a sign on their head.  They
chatted about the strange packages people had been getting, and what it
could all mean, on their way to the baggage claim.  They came to the
conclusion that it was undoubtedly Cousins harrassing everyone...again... 
"Jeez, do they ever do anything *else*?" 

Catherine snorted.  "No one knows.  Frankly, I doubt it."

Then they caught up with Nick and the others.  Suitcases were piled
everywhere, and Nick was looking awfully depressed.  "You're *all* staying
in the loft?" 

"Yep."  Catherine tried hard to cheer Nick up.  "Aww, don't look so blue,
Nick.  It's not that bad.  We're just going to eat you out of house and
home, run your credit card bill out of the solar system, and require
bailing out every once in a while.  It'll be fun, trust me!" 

She won a wry smile.  "Why am I not reassured?"  Nick sighed the sigh of
the long-suffering, and helped everyone carry out their bags to the van
he'd rented for just this purpose. 

Paula eyed it a moment, then asked gently, "Have you found anyone yet to
fix the caddy?" 

Do I even need to say Nick looked tremendously depressed?  'Cause he did. 
"They'll start tomorrow." 

Erika's eyebrows shot up.  "Wow.  Fast work."  Nick nodded.

They all shared a moment of silence, then Roni offered, "We'd better get
out to the loft and help Perri, Amy, and Karen clean up."  It seemed to at
least partially shake Nick out of his funk, and they made their way to the
loft. 

They took their luggage up through the garage, because the elevator was on
the fritz temporarily.  Each Knightie passed by the caddy like it was an
open casket.  Catherine just couldn't stop whispering to herself, "Oh, my
god...ohhh, my god..."  Nick walked straight past, looking neither right
nor left.  They all trailed after him. 

"Perri, this situation is totally ridiculous!  We have to do something!"
That was the first thing out of Maria's mouth.  Erika was right behind
her, "I agree.  We just can't stand by and let them walk all over us with
this." 

Perri looked about as murderous as they did.  "Guys, we're don't need
convincing.  What we need is a plan of attack." 

Catherine slung her carry-on to the floor, then smiled wryly, and waggled
her finger at all of them.  "Funny you should mention a plan..." 

###

SLEEP TAKES A BACK SEAT FOR THE IMMORTAL BELOVEDS 
By Felicia Bollin (Ari) and Catherine Siemann

Time: 6am EST
Place: Toronto

I practically fell off the bus in the chilly gray twilight, gathering my
cape around my shoulders with a flourish, which was completely spoiled by
the subsequent stumbling over my three bags.  I walked towards the dark
figure at the opposite end, hands on her hips.  Tall/ slim/ blonde must =
Catherine. 

"Took you long enough," Catherine said crossly.  She was wearing what she
said she'd be wearing, so together, she and I looked like a Betsey Johnson
convention. 

I took one look at her and started laughing.  "I should have known you
could only be one person, considering how much you *do* resemble Tracy." 

"You didn't mention how much you looked like Urs," sniped Catherine back
in true Ravenette fashion.  "Love the haircolor you picked out, Blondie." 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to start off like that," I apologized.  "Especially
since this is our first real in-person meeting.  It's just I guess I'm
really tired.  I didn't do a whole lot of sleeping, even though I had my
Walkman. What I mostly did was catch up on the mail."  Both Catherine and
I had never been in a war before, so it was a little alarming to both of
us.  But we were catching on fast.  We started dragging my luggage to the
rental car counter. 
 
"You'll have to do the renting.  Unless Toronto is different from New York
State, I can't rent a car until next year.  But I'll pay for it with my
new Amex, if you want.  Now, in ten minutes or less, what have we done?" 

"Well" Catherine began carefully, "I got in touch with Lane Lombardia and
he helped talk me through the stuff with the Metro Homicide division
computers. Thanks to my Tracy disguise, it was _tres facile_ .  He even
helped me add a little--extra fillip to things.  Anyway, Nick and the
other officers should be in for quite a surprise when they go to boot
up--sometime around the time tonight that we're due to serve papers on
LaCroix."  Catherine grinned evilly.  "I even ran it through into the
morgue computer.  When Nat goes to check her email--bingo!"  I clapped my
hands. 

"Oh, I love it," I squealed as we signed the forms for the only black
sportscar on the lot in a bow to Janette.  "That's a blow for the Immortal
Beloveds, and a sideswipe to Cousin Jamie, picture-extorter, while we're
at it.  Good job!" 

"What have you heard from Susan?"

"Well, we've found another home base to use while we're collecting
ourselves--the Revenant.  It's not home, but it's much."  Both Catherine
and myself observed a brief moment of silence for the Raven--the club we'd
never had the privilege to see in all its true glory.  It would soon be
ours again.  "Actually, it's not quite bad," Catherine continued.  "It's
got a certain--charm, all its own.  The owner must have been a friend of
Janette's or something--it's got a *baby* Wall of Chains over one of the
windows.  Cutest thing you ever saw." 

"And the *Ravenette* part of our plan?"

"Well, I was kinda waiting for you on that one."

"Weeeellllll..." I mused, enjoying my moment very much as we settled our
luggage into the car towards our next destination.  Unfolding the laptop,
I plugged it into the cigarette lighter and reported.  "Look at what came
to me from Larry Merlin...." 

Catherine paused before turning the key in the ignition, and was soon lost
in rapt contemplation of my message.  "Oh--oh!" 

"Wasn't that *kind* of him?"  I enthused, smoothing my crushed blue velvet
two-piece as best as I could.  Betsey Johnson made lovely colors, but her
stuff was low in the quality department at times.  "I mean, what a
coincidence, having this conference at U of T come pat to the moment."  We
were both temporarily lost in awe. 

"I myself am often surprised at life's little quirks," Catherine agreed
cheerfully, if not originally.  (Ten points to any Cousin who could
identify *that* quote.)

"This will take a little more planning.  I mean, we have to find out where
they're staying.  Wouldn't it be something if we all wound up in the same
hotel?" 

"I agree.  You know, I cannot, cannot imagine what Amy Hull is going to
have to say to this." 

"Humph.  Serves her right--after all, she and the Natpack *have* to be the
ones responsible for Heather Parks' abrupt wardrobe change.  Who else
would know to do that?  And they were really, really cruel to Tara too. 
Attacking with absolutely no provocation." 

"And the last part of our three-pronged mission?"  Catherine spoke
delicately.  No one in the previous wars had ever bugged a car, to the
best of our knowledge, but who knew? 

I waved a hand imperiously in a creditable imitation of Janette and took
an imaginary drag on the candy.  "Oh, the troublemakers are still stuck in
Brooklyn, no doubt.  They can wait.  After all, we've already kinda taken
a shot at their little red wagon." 

"And how!"  Catherine snickered.  "So okay, you might have been a little
inflammatory with your 'we're *right*' stance.  But you wouldn't have
tweaked them if the Nick&Natpack would skip tacking on their darn census
to the end of every other post.  Pity to think there are that many deluded
Romantics-with-a-capital-R out there, isn't it?" 

"_Oui, c'est ca, cherie_ ," we sighed at exactly the same moment.

***

Time: 6:30am EST
Place: Metro Homicide

Captain Reese sighed as he fell into his chair for the last time.  Those
little "chats" with Commissioner Vetter really took a lot out of a man. 
Not for the first time, he wondered why he didn't take his wife's advice
and try out for a shot on "Jeopardy."  He was great at that show. 

Leaning forward, he powered up his computer to check VICAP once more for
leads to their latest serial killer, one who was mysteriously smothering
his victims in frog legs.  His lips twitched. 

"What the dickens is this?"  He stood, staring down at the computer in
shock. Instead of the "Support Your Policeman's Benevolent Association"
screensaver he had installed, he saw an extraordinary picture.  It looked
like, yes it was, Detective Knight--and a woman with large round blue
eyes, hair like a raven's wing, and almost translucent skin.  The two of
them were on opposite sides of a wooden beam, shrouded in purple/mauve
light.  Combined with their body language--heads tilted towards each
other, the amused smile on her face as they looked towards something off
to their left with a companionable expression--Reese knew that this woman
was no stranger to Knight.  They had the look of longtime lovers.  Not
lovers at the moment, but the signs were all there. 

And here he had been, thinking that the boy must be all but celibate, if
he was nuts enough not to jump Natalie Lambert.  There was obviously
history between the two of them as well, a blind man would have known, but
from what Reese could see, she could do a lot better.  She needed someone
who could be there for her 24-7, the way she always was for everyone else. 
Reese knew a lot of the people in the division didn't think he was tuned
into human nature, but he noticed a lot more than they thought. 

Another picture of Knight and the mysterious vamp.  She *was* a knockout,
smooth cream poured into that black velvet dress molded to her body. 
Whoa, what was this?!  Now she had moved *behind* Knight!  The expression
on his face as he refused to look at her was still amused, but wary. 

*Holy cow*!  Now, she was *snuggled* into the small of Knight's back!  Her
mouth almost touched his ear.  He wasn't throwing her to the floor, true;
but he wasn't pushing her away, either.  He looked rather cute, actually,
Reese supposed, with that boyish, endearing grin. 

Another snuggle, but from a different viewpoint.  The young lady was giving
Nick an amused, knowing smile, while he was refusing even to meet her eyes.
 Yet another--the fifth so far.  And another--*whoa*!  That sent the
hormones zinging. 

This time, Knight had turned to face the lady, and he trailed a finger
down along her full bottom lip, looking at her with eyes at half-mast. 
Even from the profile angle, Reese could tell she didn't mind too much. 
When *had* he last seen Knight wear that black leather jacket? 

<**Oh my sainted aunt!>** Reese thought.  A closeup this time--and wow,
what a closeup.  Now, the woman was playing hard-to-get, and Knight was
staring, half into her eyes, half *at* her lips, eyelids almost completely
closed, no more than an inch of daylight between the two of them. 
Starting to feel uncomfortably like a voyeur, Reese looked up and wanted
to share with the first person in front of his door.  "Hey you!  Vetter!" 

Tracy backtracked, looking harassed.  Reese pointed at the computer. 
"Come here.  I want you to see something." 

"But, Captain," Tracy complained, wringing her hands, "my father wants me
to meet him for brunch in twenty minutes, and I was just finishing up some
paperwork--" 

Reese pointed a forefinger at her.  "You.  Here.  Now," as the picture
changed. 

Barely suppressing an eye roll, Tracy perched on the end of her superior
officer's desk.  "Okay, what is it?" 

Of course, her timing was impeccable.  Reese's eyes returned to the screen
at about the same time Tracy dropped both jaw and empty gun holster. 

"Land o' Grace!"  Tracy gasped as she stared at the screen.  "Omigod,
Captain, that's the woman in the picture I got from Nick's desk to give to
this girl who went to the same KISS concerts I did!" 

Reese decided he couldn't afford to ask.  Besides, the action on the
screen was too irresistible.  3-2-1-Contact!  The normally impeturbable
Detective Knight was now mingling breath with the sultry siren.  <Not bad
technique>, Reese mused. <Knight's been practicing>.  She looked composed,
but hesitant, as if she couldn't afford to believe this was happening. 
Knight, on the other hand, looked agonized, paralyzed with desire, all but
in pain. 

And the last picture, with Knight still gazing at her, temporarily
mesmerized, while the female's hooded gaze looked off into the distance,
smug and satisfied.  "The boy is whipped," Reese murmured.  Tracy stared
in fascination. 

"Oh--oh--look, Captain."  Tracy breathed in disbelief.  The pictures
started up again, but at a faster pace.  Now, they began to pull a Brady
Bunch, moving over and over and over again, all nine of them, to fill a
tick-tack-toe grid.  But wait, what was this? 

Their ears were almost instantaneously inflamed by--no, it couldn't be.

But it was.

"Sexual Healing."  Reese would know the late great Marvin Gaye anywhere.

Then, just as suddenly, it switched after the first chorus.

*The* *Bee* *Gees*!!!!!

"Night Fever," no less.

Reese screamed and jumped under the desk.  Tracy began to snap her fingers
and sing along in an extremely off-key voice as her commanding officer
writhed, hands over ears. 

All of a sudden, giggles flared out from inside the squadroom as the
blue-uniformed men on the day shift watched their computers go through the
same dance.  Reese screeched, "Vetter!  *Shut up*!" and opened up an email
form as the songs changed back and forth in an endless, demonic pairing
that could come only from all seven circles of hell. 

Tracy dropped to half volume, whimpering the lyrics softly, as Reese
composed an urgent letter to Dr. Lambert's morgue computer.  He'd get to
the bottom of this!  "If only Knight's old partner was here!  He'd know
who this woman was! Then I wouldn't have to bother Dr. Lambert!"  Reese
thought, not knowing what he was getting himself into. 

Of course, the men would think this just another example of Nick's status
as Joe Cool, and seeing him making time with such a snazzy-looking
specimen would do nothing but raise his stock in their estimation. 

But with that good ol' double standard, who knows what they would think of
the two women in this triangle? 

###

LOW FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES (Part 1)
by Cousine Celeste Hotaling-Lyons

Time: 6:30AM EST
Place: Everett, near Boston

"With the li-i-i-ight in your e-e-e-y-es, it's hard to see!"

The singer's crystal-clear, soprano voice blasted out of the Bose
clock-radio by Cousine Celeste's ear, and she sat up, dislodging two
plump, sleeping cats from their places, draped as they were over her
mid-section and left arm.  Her hand snaked out expertly, hitting the `off'
button and cutting off the alterna-rock artist in mid-wail.  The singer's
sentiment about the light *was* a simplistic one, but accurate--with even
the weak, 6:30AM New England light in one's eyes, it *was* demonstrably
difficult to see.  Once again, the non-morning-Cousine found herself
wishing in a vague fashion for Nick's automated, sun-proof window system
as she scratched blearily at her mid-section.  A third cat, Newt, joined
his step-brother cats on the bed, and they milled about in an oddly
Escherian in-out-over movement that confused the Cousine's sluggish brain
cells even more. 

"Max, are you here for your morning purrs?" Celeste said, rubbing his
pointed cat-face expertly.  The owl-eyed Indy Jones did a neat
shoulder-roll, coming to rest between her legs like a fat, shiny rainbow
trout served up on a platter, and she rubbed his belly, too; then pulled
herself free from the adoring gang 'o kitties, going to the door to see
what chaos All Hallow's Eve had wrought. 

"Halloween--haven't really enjoyed it since I was a kid," she muttered to
the cats as she opened the inner door and peered through the screen door
at the dreary, drizzly sky.  The felines were particularly frisky this
morning due to the fact that one did not allow one's cats to wander on
Halloween night in this neighborhood, and they had not been able to take
their evening's wander. Seeing the spattered eggs, shaving cream and, yes,
broken bottles that decorated the pavement and front walk, she was glad
she'd kept the meowers in. 
 
Sniffling at the mentholated smell of the shaving cream, she rubbed her
hand over her face and went to shut the door, then noticed something even
odder than broken eggs on one's sidewalk.  The mailbox.  It seemed to be
full of . . . cotton swabs? 

"That's a new one on me," Celeste muttered to herself.  She'd heard of
TP-ing a house, but he'd never heard Q-Tipping one.  Hmmm, perhaps it
wasn't the neighborhood hooligans, but one of her husband, Bob's, friends
playing a joke? Guy-buddies always seemed to be playing stupid tricks on
one another, insulting one another; heck, there was even a name for this
behavior--"male bonding." 

The phone was ringing.  Uh, oh; this could not be good, a call at dawn's
early light.  Perhaps it was Bob, he wasn't due back from Connecticut
until that evening, maybe he'd run into a few problems at the store? 

"Yeah?"

"Hi.  It's Deborah.  Cousin Deborah Menikoff."

A moment of silence as the Cousine's tattered brain cells rallied and
united to come up with: 

"Uh, Cousin Deborah?  Keeper-of-the-Vampire-Pig-Cousin-Deborah?"

"Yeah," there was a warmth to the voice at the other end at being so
noted. 

"Cool.  What gives?"

"How quickly can you get to Toronto?"  The warm tone turned brisk and
business-like. 

"Um, depends on 'why.'"

"Someone's being bad.  Check your mailbox--all the cousins have been
visited by a plague of cotton swabs in a pathetic attempt to belittle the
object of our devotion.  We Cousins must get together to formulate a plan. 
We're meeting at The Raven in a few minutes--when you get here, we can
apprise you of what's been decided." 

"Uh.  Don't count me out just yet.  I think I can make the meeting. 
Maybe. Gimme a bit." 

There was a moment of silence at the other end as Deborah digested this
fantastical bit of information.  But a mind that can take in the existence
of two-thousand-year-old vampires and rat-sucking carouches can push the
envelope a bit further and accept near-instantaneous, long-distance
travel, so she simply answered, "OK.  We really can't wait on you for too
long, but we'll try." 

"Great!  You're beautiful!"

"And powerful.  *And* without regret.  Remember that."

*click*

The Cousine slowly placed the receiver back into its cradle.  She knew
what she had to do.  She hated to do it, it *might* get her into trouble,
but it was the only way to get to Toronto quickly enough.  She'd worry
about paying for the privilege later.  She threw her clothes on, fed the
cats, tossed a change of clothing into a small case and, finally, went and
got the plastic bracelet from the back-bedroom bookshelves, blowing off
the inch-thick dust caked on it with a feeling of guilt lodged somewhere
around her pancreas. 

###

SLIPPING OUT EARLY
by Diane Echelbarger

Time: 6:30 am EST
Place: Toronto

Diane awoke at 6:30 AM, despite staying up until bar closing the night
before.  She had long since figured out that only total exhaustion could
keep her asleep until mid-morning, so she grabbed her clothes and slipped
into the adjoining bathroom without waking her roommate, Lorelei. 

<After the way last night worked out, I don't want to give her any *more*
reasons to be mad at me,> she thought morosely. 

Ten minutes later, she slipped out the door of their suite and down the
stairs.  Their landlady--a nice, grandmotherly woman who supplemented her
pension by renting out the third floor to paying guests--had given them
two keys to the front door, and Diane had made certain she got one of
them. 

She hit the nearest coffee shop--a local chain called The Second Cup--and
explored the quiet residential neighborhood as dawn crept over the city,
looking for more unusally nice Victorian houses to add to her growing
collection of photographs.  At seven exactly, she returned to the B&B for
breakfast, noted with gratitude that none of the others were up yet, ate
quickly, and left.  She was pretty sure her traveling companions would
still be mad at her when they woke up--not that she blamed them--and she
figured on giving them the whole day to calm down.  They'd agreed to one
day resting in Toronto, so there was no reason she shouldn't head out on
her own.... 

She climbed into her little rust-speckled car, tossed her camera bag on
the passenger seat, and headed to Niagara for the day. 

###

LOW FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES (Part 2)
by Cousine Celeste Hotaling-Lyons

Time: 6:45AM-ish
Place: Everett, near Boston

The bracelet was too big for her arm; clunky, a cheap, brown, plastic,
bottom-of-the-box-of-Cracker-Jacks-looking affair.  Looks can be
deceiving. But it had been so long since she'd last used it--would it
still work?  She slid it onto her wrist and pushed one of the buttons. 

"Um. . . hello, there?  In the ship?  Guys?  Uh, I mean 'chaps'? 
Liberator?" 

There was an obnoxious electronic noise, as if a computer had burped up a
fur ball, and a distant but totally recognizable voice blared forth: 

"Um, what?  Whozzat?  Whazzat?  Eh?"

The Cousine felt a sudden warm rush in her heart--yes, she had missed that
voice, and didn't even know it until just that moment.  She smiled. 

"Vila.  Vila Restal, how you doin'?"

A moment of silence.  "*Celeste*?"

"Yeah, it's me.  I missed you."

"Oh, I'll just *bet* you have," the bitterness of the voice of the Delta
thief, recognizable even over the distance the voice was traveling, shook
her to the core.  She might have expected as much from a certain Alpha
computer tech, but Vila?  Bitter and nasty?  It did not compute. 

"Vila?  Are you OK?"

"Oh, I'm *fine*.  We're all just bloody, blinking marvelous up here, thank
you so very much, a lot you care.  And how have *you* been since last
February, pray tell?" 

Yeah, he was pissed off, major league.  And, on reflection, the Cousine
really couldn't blame him.  She hadn't touched her unfinished Blake's 7
stories since the day Laurie Cohen Fenster had slipped her a few Forever
Knight tapes in the mail, last February.  She'd even almost missed putting
out D.S.V. 2, her Blake's 7 'zine, at MediaWest '95, so caught up had she
been in this new fandom, in this new medium of discussion--*the list*! 
The immediacy of fannish contact had seduced her, as surely as Nick had
been seduced some 800 years earlier, first by Janette, and then by LaCroix
and his promise of Eternal Life. 

"Oh, Vila, I'm so, so sorry.  I *did* write a B7 story about you on the FK
fiction list a few months ago, didn't I?" 

"Hmph.  That one started out as a FK story, written by James Kythe
Walkswithwind, if I'm not mistaken, did it not?  I believe a 'round-robin'
is what that was?--*not* your idea at all!"  The rebel thief's voice was
almost as arch as Avon's could be in times of stress. 

"Viiii-laaaaa," the Cousine's voice was low, seductive, and as sad as she
could make it.  Servalan had nothing on her.  "Vila, I need a big, old
favour."  She always talked in the British spelling when she was
Blake-Sevening. 

"Oh, don't try to get 'round me.  I was just up here, being in charge of
the flight deck of the Liberator whilst every one else is asleep, as is my
lot in life, and you come stomping back here, looking for favours.  Fair
makes a fellow's hair turn white.  *And* you let that girl compare *me* to
that rat-sucking Screed creature on the Spoiler list, thanks ever so
much."  He was beginning to whine, and she knew she had him.  She smiled,
much as Avon might have in similar circumstances (whilst manipulating Vila
to do as he wanted, I mean). 

"Oh, sweetie-darling!  Get over it!  You *know* Blake's 7 is my
best-and-first fandom, for all time!  But a need a little favoury-wavoury. 
I need you to teleport me to Toronto, just outside The Raven; oh, please,
please, please. Do it for me, willya?" 

A moment of white noise from the teleport bracelet as the little thief
thought a moment.  "What's in it for *me*?" was his response. 

"Vila!  You've been hanging around Avon for too long!  'What's in it for
me'?--I am *so* sure!" the Cousine thought a moment.  "I'll write a poem
about you for D.S.V. 3." 

"A poem?  A dirty one?"

"No!  A *funny* one!  You know I don't *do* 'dirty'!" she considered a 
moment.
 "I'll do a funny poem about how great you are, and I'll even make Avon
look foolish in it.  *And* I'll finish 'The Dickens You Say,' that story
Jon and I started over a year ago--you'll come off as a hero in it.  Deal? 
Will you teleport me to Toronto, toute-de-suite?" 

"Oh. . . OK.  But what if Avon finds out?  He's been slinging the word
'betrayal' around in conjunction with your name quite a bit lately, you
know." 

Urgh.  She *hadn't* known.  Oh, dear.  "Don't you worry about Avon. 
D.S.V. 3 is coming out for MediaWest '96.  He'll be pretty chirpy after he
sees some of the artwork I've got for it.  *Deal*?" 

"Deal!" came the irrepressibly cheery voice of the Delta thief over the
bracelet, and Celeste grabbed up her small suitcase quickly.  Her
back-bedroom, full of boxes of books and videotapes, disappeared around
her, to be replaced by a tidy Toronto street.  She turned her head to see
a door with the words "The Raven" above it--a mere six feet from her
position. 

"Aces, Vila!  You are *the best*!" the Cousine cried into her bracelet.

"Wish Soolin thought so," came the sad reply, then the white noise of a
cut-off connextion. 

The Cousine swung her little suitcase in a jaunty arc and turned to the
door, flung it open, stepped through. 

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" she caroled to the surprised faces of the many,
many Cousins congregating at The Raven already.  She *was* home, Blake's 7
fandom notwithstanding.  Now, to business. 

###

AND A GRACIOUS GOOD MORNIN' TO YOU, TOO
by Sharon Scott

Time: 6 A.M. CST
Place: Scottie's house

"Waking up with a cat licking your nose isn't the fun it's cracked up to
be. So STOP it already!" Scottie batted Pyper away, reached for her
glasses, looked at the clock, and groaned. "*6* a.m.? You woke me up at
*6* a.m.?" 

The tuxedo cat meowed and tried a head-butt. "Nothin' doing--you're on my
list, cat." Scottie sat up on the side of the bed, yawned, and looked
around the room. "Damn, it's dark in here. 'Sposed to be lighter in the
mornings since the time change. So why's it pitch black?" The cat
obviously had no idea, so Scottie addressed several furry objects on the
floor. "Up 'n at 'em, doggies. If I'm awake, you have to wake up, too."
The dogs looked confused. "It's not my fault--blame Pyper. She decided to
get us up early." Misha the Monster Peke growled; Daisy the Dingbat Mutt
just yawned and then wagged her tail. 

"Ya'll want outside?" Both dogs leaped from their beds and raced to the
back door. Scottie followed slowly, as she did everything in the mornings.
Not as bad as Sharon Himmanen before coffee, but slowly, nonetheless. 

She reached for the back door key, inserted it into the deadbolt lock, and
opened the door. The dogs looked puzzled. And so did Scottie. Maybe she'd
better go back to bed, and try waking up again, because she knew she must
be dreaming. 

Because she'd swear there was a brick wall blocking the back door.

Nah.

***

There *was* a brick wall blocking the back door. Looked like bricks; felt
like bricks; had mortar between them. Must be bricks. Mind you, she'd
never had anything against bricks--it's just that she hadn't expected them
to be filling her doorway. 

"Okay, mutts, somebody's played a Halloween trick on us. Let's go round to
the front door." The dogs took off at a run. They needed to go out *now*,
Mom. The cats followed at a leisurely pace, curious about the change in
routine. 

Nothing doin', Kemosabe. Front door blocked, too. She pulled the curtains
open--bricks blocking the windows in the living room. A dash to the
kitchen revealed the same thing there. And in the bedroom, and the
bathroom, and the guest bedroom. 

This was *way* too much trouble for Halloween tricksters to have gone to.
And you would have thought bricking up all the doors and windows in a
house would have made at least *some* noise. So why hadn't the dogs heard
it and barked? "So, O Great Watchdog, didn't you bark?" she asked the
Monster Peke. His only answer was a sort of groan, and she realized he was
in pain trying to hold...it...in. 

"Okay, okay, let me find some newspapers. You'll just have to make do.
Pretend you're camping in. It'll be fun." 

The dogs taken care of, she grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator,
poured it over ice, sat down at the kitchen table, and lit a cigarette. A
Coke and a smoke were guaranteed to make your brain work better, even at
6:20 in the morning. 

"I hate mornings." Pyper jumped up on the table, and for once Scottie
didn't chunk her off. "I particularly hate *this* morning." The cat yawned
and tried to get a slurp of Diet Coke. "Get your tongue *out* of my glass.
I've got enough trouble without getting a cat disease." 

***

Another Diet Coke and a couple of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups later (yeah,
so what do *you* have for breakfast on a crisis day?), Scottie decided to
go find out if there was *any* opening in her house that wasn't bricked
up. 

Nada, except for the old chimney in the wall, which opened up into the
attic, and since she wasn't Santa Claus and couldn't squeeze through any
opening, no matter how small, that was out. Maybe she could send one of
the cats out with a message. No, that wouldn't work--they'd get interested
in the mouse in the attic, or the leaves blowing around in the yard, or
the roadrunner across the road. They had never been outside, so it'd be a
whole new world full of playthings to them. And besides, who would they
take a message *to*? No other Knighties in China Spring, or in Waco, for
that matter, and even though she believed that cats had amazing powers,
she didn't think either one of hers would make it to Toronto in time.
She'd starve to death first. Only one RPBC left in the cookie jar, and
less than a pack of cigarettes left in her purse. 

The situation called for desperate measures.

The phone was still working, so she thumbed through the yellow pages
looking for brick removal services. Not a one. But she did find an entry
for Nick's Construction, decided that was a good omen, and called. And got
an answering machine, of course. She *hated* answering machines. But she
left a message, knowing that whoever heard it would think it was *really*
weird, but hoping that somebody would come, sooner or later. 

In the meantime, she got dressed and started searching the house for
anything she could use to knock the bricks out. 

After more than a few minutes of digging through hideously unorganized
closets, a light bulb went on over her head. The axe. Of *course*! Didn't
every female Texan have one, just in case she wanted to chop up her
husband and his friends? R-i-g-h-t. Thank God she hadn't been a French nun
in an earlier life, or she'd be tempted to take her little axe to Toronto
and work over a few Cousins. Because they *had* to be behind this. They
had been known to flood her mailbox with green things of all sizes and
makes. The Natpackers had, also, but at least a couple of them had been
nice enough to put a "No Fr*gs" sign on the door of the hotel room at the
Weekend With Ger. That had to count for something. 

Nope, had to be the Cousins. Only they were mean and nasty enough
to...wait a minute...how would the Cousins have done this so soundlessly
that they hadn't awakened the dogs? They couldn't have. It wasn't humanly
possible, and whatever else the Cousins might think they were, they *were*
still human. So somebody else had to have hoodooed the dogs, which meant
it had to have been a vampire. Nick? Fantasies of having him bricked up
inside the house with her aside, it wasn't his style. Vachon? Nah, he was
too busy doing nothing other than chasing Tracy. Urs? Never happen--she
was too busy looking pitiful and wanting to die. Screed? Yow, what a
creepy thought. But he wouldn't have done it unless somebody paid him a
major amount of dough, and she didn't think any of the Cousins had that
kind of money. 

That left...oh, shite, that left...LaCroix.

Shuddering, she rolled that idea around, and came up with a resounding
"Find the axe!" She scrambled to the utility closet and came up with a
crowbar, a T-square, assorted hammers, screwdrivers, a reciprocating saw,
a sharpshooter, and, glory of glories, the sledge hammer she'd bought to
pound fence posts into the almost solid rock of her yard. 

Okay, this stuff would have to do. She dragged the sledge to the front
door and gave the wall a whack. And another. And another. She stopped and
looked closely at the bricks. Yes! a crack in the mortar! Lifting the
hammer for another whack, she stopped in realization that she was going to
be a bit late for the plane. *If* they hadn't cancelled the damn thing
this time. 

Better call Perri and let her know what was going on.

That done, she started on the wall again. The crack widened, and she
grabbed the crowbar, fitted the end into the crack, and tried to get some
leverage. Not an easy task with bronchitis and pleurisy, and both dogs in
the way, barking like mad things. "Shut up! You *can't* go outside until I
get this wall knocked down. Do you understand me?" Apparently they didn't,
but maybe that was because barking was their favorite leisure-time
activity. The cats were perched on the back of the wicker rocking chair,
watching the goings-on with amazement. 

Okay. Another whack with the hammer, and another pull at the crowbar, and
she fell backward as a brick popped out. She heard it fall onto the front
porch and felt the warm and humid morning air from outside. "November 1,
and it's still 80 degrees out there. *Why* do I live in Texas? Would you
tell me that?" The animals just looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. 

"Hey, lady, you need some help?" Startled by the gruff voice, she looked
up and saw a workman's face staring through the hole at her. 

**********************************
Toronto, here I come.
**********************************

###

TATTOO YOU
by Jill Kirby and Leslie

Time: About 7:00 a.m.
Place: Cousin Jamie's home

"I don't like this!"

"Shh!"  Jill looked around nervously.  "I don't like it either, but we
don't have a <choice.>" 

Leslie shot her an exasperated look.  "I want to get out of here."

"Well, we can't," said Jill shortly.  "We're here, and we have a job to do."

"I know, but if we don't move soon my feet will be useless. I've cut off
any semblance of circulation in them squished in this corner." 

They were hiding in the end of a dimly lit hallway.  Jill and Leslie
checked their perfectly synchronized watches for the fifth time in as many
minutes. Just a little while longer...

Suddenly, a door at the other end of the hallway flew open.  A tall,
long-haired man, dressed entirely in leather and looking vaguely like a
better-built Steven Tyler (though a little less lippy), stumbled out.  He
made his way to the elevator carefully, hanging onto the walls as he went. 
 When the elevator door opened, he toppled into it with a muffled "Oooomph!"
and a string of curse words appropriate only for Darkangel's Adult list.

Jill waited a beat after the elevator door closed.  "I think we're all
clear," she said, stepping out of the shadows.  "Leather Boy should have
left the door unlocked." 

Leslie stopped, putting her hands on her hips.  "Now, that's not a very
politically correct statement, is it?" 

"No, it isn't.  Who said I have to be politically correct?" 

"Well, it doesn't hurt, does it?  'Boy' could be considered derogatory."

"Oh, please.  He had tight leather pants on, and you're saying that <boy>
is derogatory?"  Things were about to descend into a catfight when they
realized that a catfight was impossible for several reasons.  One, this
was not an episode of Forever Knight.  B, neither was wearing lingerie (at
least not visibly).  And III, both felt very strongly that catfights were
exploitative of women and just not that much fun to watch. 

Besides - they liked each other too much to descend into ratings-grabbing
behavior.  Especially when this wasn't a sweeps period. 

Giving up on the PC battle, they tiptoed down the hallway towards the door
the leather <man> had just exited.  Jill turned the doorknob quietly.
"Great-- it's open." 

They slipped inside.  Leslie pulled out a sketch from her pocket, peering
at it in the dim light.  "The living room is to the left." 

They turned and, walking into the spacious living room, beheld their first
victim. 

Jamie Melody Randel, sound asleep on the sofa, face down.

Leslie started to giggle.  "Actually, this is kind of fun," she said.
"Poetic justice." 

Jill walked over to the sofa and set her backpack down on the floor.  "I
do feel kind of bad.  She always says such nice things about my fiction. 
Plus, she's almost Natpack.  And we had to go to so much <trouble> getting
this guy over here last night, while she was already starting work on the
War...  I wonder if she's done anything..." 

"But she <isn't> Natpack," Leslie reminded her.  "She's a Cousin, with
Natpack <tendencies.> In a crunch, she's going to obey Uncle without a
second thought.  Blind obedience, you know.  We gotta do what we gotta
do." 

"I suppose you're right.  She's a Cousin, first and foremost."  Jill knelt
down and began taking items out of her pack.  "At least she isn't one of
those multi-factioned people.  They give me headaches.  Can't they pick
one and stick with it?  Or just admit they're Die-Hards?" 

Leslie was looking critically at Jamie like an artist looking at a new
canvas.  She ignored Jill's multi-factionalism rant; she'd heard it
before. Many times.  "We don't have a lot of location choices." 

"I know.  She's got almost every inch of skin covered."

Leslie touched Jamie's shoulder experimentally.  Jamie didn't move.  "What
<did> you put in that Vampire red wine you sent her?  She's totally out." 

Jill grinned.  "Halcion.  It's a wonderful thing.  Non-addictive, no
lasting aftereffects, and by the time she wakes up we'll be long gone.  I
just had to warn long-haired boy - er, man - not to drink too much of the
wine." 

"Good thing you know about Jamie's weakness for heavy-metal dudes."

"Yes - it s good for <us,> anyway."  They set up their equipment
carefully. "I'm glad you're artistic, Leslie, 'cause I'm certainly not."

"Well, it's a simple design."  Leslie carefully dipped a brush in the ink,
then paused and looked at Jill.  "This <is> semi-permanent, isn't it?" 

"Of course!"  Jill looked offended that Leslie would even ask such a
question.  "I'm Natpack - I wouldn't stick her with this <forever.> We
just want to warn the Cousins, after all.  Of course, I'm the only person
that has the formula to the solution that will get the ink off her..." 

Leslie shook her head and started working.  "You have truly evil ideas,
Jill." 

"It's a gift," said Jill, holding the ink bottle up so that Leslie could
reach it easily.  "Hurry up - I saw a really cool store around the corner
that had tons of earrings.  I think they had shoes, too.  Maybe they open
early." 

"Don't forget - we have one more job to do today." Leslie caught Jill's
crestfallen look. 

"Oh come on, just a peek." Jill said hopefully.

"OK, but we have to make it quick.  Eventually, the rest of the Natpack
will worry when we don't show up in Toronto." 

The two were done and out of the apartment in a very short time.

Behind them, they left the a picture of the Natmare, artistically
surrounded by Q-tips, sitting in the middle of Jamie's computer keyboard. 

And a large (semi-permanent) blood-red tattoo across Jamie's back that
read "Nick Rules!" 

###

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER RUDE AWAKENING
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 7:48 am EST
Place: Jamie's home

In her dreams, small strange fuzzy things were gyrating and walking upon
her, taunting her in Olde Latin (or something similarly indecipherable)...
she awoke, blinked, found herself staring up at the ceiling. 

Her eyes refused to focus; she tried to squint, found herself giggling
instead. 

What had happened?  She didn't *remember* doing anything odd...didn't
remember...it was almost as if she'd had one of her famous weird
reactions to medication; but she hadn't taken anything...had she? 

And why was there long dark hair on her pillow?

She tried to pick up a strand of the hair, missed and fell forward onto
her face, still giggling helplessly.  //Oooooh,// she discovered.  //I'm
stoned!  I'm really, really stoned...//

//This is a *good* thing,// she determined, although it was definitely
making it harder for her to perform her morning ritual of retrieving her
e-mail. 

Her back itched.

She fumbled for the mouse, managed to get her hand on top of it, sent the
cursor skittering across the screen (one of these days, she was gonna have
to clean out the mouse ball, either that or stop smoking at the keyboard)
and only then noticed that there was something perched atop the keyboard. 

Her vision was doing the yeah-you-can-see-it-but-you-can't-tell-what-it-is
thing that, when applied to red traffic signals, had led her to give up
driving; she managed to wrap one paw around it and fumble it closer (her
fingers felt as if they were wrapped with cotton wool) and stared at it
blearily until details began to form themselves. 

"It's..." she said aloud, "it's a cute weirdly thingie!" and giggled
again, because in her current altered state of mind, it seemed like the
most hysterical thing she'd ever seen in her life. 

Her back itched, really really badly.

She reached under the bed (which could have been a sofa, in the dim red
light) and dug out her "backscratcher," the eighteen-inch-long serrated
carving knife she'd appropriated for the purpose.  It had never been all
that functional as a knife, but it made a marvelous tool for getting rid
of those persistent itches...she ran it along her back until the feeling
began to subside. 

And stared at the blood-red stuff that adorned the blade.

//Naahhh... I didn't draw blood, did I?  Didn't scratch that hard...// She
twisted around, tried to see her back.  Failed, tried again.  Tried again,
and again, until she was doing a neat little
counterclockwise-circle-pirouette, looking for all the world like a puppy
chasing its tail. 

After some fifteen minutes of this, it occurred to her foggy little brain
that finding a mirror might be a plan, and she headed toward the bathroom
to check the one there. 

Addled as she was, it took her some time to figure out the intricacies of
reverse mirroring.  "'Mick Bole 8?" she muttered, perplexed.  That made no
sense whatsoever... 

A few more tries, and she'd figured it out -- "Nick Rules", which made
even less sense.  "Nick rules *what*?!" she said to her reflection. 
"Bovines and brickdom?  Jeeeez..." 

But at least the mystery was solved; and that was a *good* thing. 

She was back in her bedroom and face-down in her pillow before it occurred
to her to wonder why the words were emblazoned on her back in blood-red
ink... 

"Maairrh mraaugh mahrrh rrawhmraar," came the happy sound, and she turned
her head sideways to witness Elfy, her sleek little black cat, batting
Q-tips around her bed in ecstatic abandon.  She missed one, and her claws
raked into Jamie's thigh instead. 

"Urgharfwarhar," said Jamie indistinctly.  "Owwwww," and removed the claws
from her flesh. 

//Think, you f***ing moron,// she told her drug-addled brain sternly.
//Something strange is going on.  Something big and bad and strange...//

//...and I am sooooo stoned!// and she began giggling all over again...

---------------------------------------------------------------

A short time later, with a cup of hot caffeine sitting warmly in her belly
dispelling the nasty side-effects, she cradled the phone receiver in her
hand and made a few calls. 

"Keep her there," she said, to the first man she spoke to.  "At least
until tonight.  But make sure you feed her breakfast... I want to make a
point, not inflict cruel and unusual suffering!  Oh, and, ummm... don't
give her any Denny's sausage; and make sure she has plenty of salt
packets, eh?" 

"I don't *know* that she's behind this," she said, to the second person
who answered the phone in response to her call.  "But it does say Nick,
and that would be a Knightie thing...  What do I want done?  I was
thinking, something along the lines of a six-foot-tall animated Q-tip
showing up at her door?  Yeah, well, whatever.  Just as long as Sandra
realizes it's a token of Cousinly esteem, I'll be happy." 

"Oh, I'll leave a message at the beep, you f***ing machine," she muttered,
at the device which answered the phone the third time.  "It's me, Boss.
Thanks for seeing fit to warn me of your own accord that the crap was
hitting the fan!  I am now sitting here with temporary tattoo stuff
smeared all over my back.  And I wouldn't even mind that, I wouldn't even
care that I've got 'Nick Rules' painted on my back, after all, whoever did
it was awfully artistic about it; but the damn stuff itches, and I'm gonna
scratch my back raw trying to get it off!  I've got worse contact
allergies than you do to sunlight, in case you've forgotten...  I may be
your worst nightmare, but I'm still a Cousin, you hear me? I'm one of your
own, and you'd better do something about this before I go ballistic and
start tossing stakes at anything that moves!" 

She slammed down the receiver, winced at the noise, and (having
satisfactorily expended much of her annoyance, if not necessarily at the
right person) began to laugh. 

"Good one!" she said to herself appreciatively, twisting her head enough
to catch a vague sideways glimpse of the new artwork.  "Definitely a
devious and creative move in the game."  For everything was a game to
Jamie, especially real life... 

A question began to surface in her sluggishly-moving mind.  It seemed
obvious that this had been the work of the Knighties.  Too obvious.
Surely, the Knighties weren't dumb enough to leave such an obvious clue --
or were they?  They were Knighties, it was possible... 

...no; not even Nick was THAT clueless.

She began to reach for the phone to call off her attack on Sandra,
reconsidered.  "Everyone needs a six-foot-tall animated Q-tip in their
lives," she said philosophically, and left well enough alone. 

Instead, she reached for her backscratcher, and scrubbed at the itchy
expanse of skin again; with her free hand, she grabbed at her knapsack,
began tossing clothes into it.  "They're never gonna let me bring this
through airport security," she growled, clenching her fist around the
trusty serrated knife, "my back's gonna itch all the way to Canada, and
for THAT, if nothing else, they must pay..." 

And beside her on the bed, Elfy was blissfully surrounded with Q-tips, in
her very own little kitty heaven, busily batting them about and burying
them in the bedsheets. 

###

WHAT'S GOING ON? (b)
by Lane Lombardia

Time: 8 am EST
Place: New Canaan, CT, USA

The limosine taking the late night talk-show host to work had just left
when the produce company truck rolled up. My brother-in-law had assured me
that these men could pull of this little job for me, exactly as I had
dictated. The produce company's markings had been obscured with mud, so
the Isuzu trucks were as generic as possible. 

The two men in the truck followed their instructions to the letter,
setting up the infra-red heaters that their "guests" required to survive
in this climate. 

Minutes later, the hungry African Termites began to feast upon the
talk-show host's New Canaan house. 

As per their instructions, the two men returned and retrieved the heaters
at 3pm. The Termites began to die off, unaccustomed to the drizzly cold of
northern North America. 

The talk-show host returned to find his home riddled with insect bites and
covered in the bodies of thouands of dead termites. While the house
wouldn't collapse, it looked dreadful, and would cost tens of thousands to
repair. 

Hopefully that would teach him not to ridicule FK fans. Otherwise, I'd
have to get really unpleasant. 

###

O COUSINS, MY COUSINS
by Cousin Jamie

Time: 8am

Jamie here.  You would not believe what happened to me last night.

I was up typing, y'know, working on stories and stuff... and the next
thing I know, I wake up with a tattoo across my back.  Not a real one,
thank goodness -- it's supposed to say "Nick Rules," I think, but I've
been scratching at it pretty hard, and it's starting to wear off.  Not
fast enough, though. 

Worse yet, I think I was drugged.  Now, I can deal with a harmless little
prank, but what the perpetrator(s) didn't know is that I suffer, um, let's
say, *strange* reactions to many if not most pharmaceutical products; they
didn't just drug me, they could have KILLED me!  Mistake number one.
Secondly: the tattoo they've emblazoned on my back is not the problem, I
actually think that's kinda a cool gag and terribly appropriate, but I'm
allergic to many many things... mistake number two.  They haven't just
attacked me, they've placed my life at serious risk!  On the Jamie-Scale
of right and wrong, this is a BAD THING. 

Needless to say, I'm not pleased.

Now, I thought the Knighties were clueless, but if I'm correct in my
assumption that the thing in the photo they left as a calling card is in
fact a Natmare, the Knighties are going to have to do some swift defending
of their brickish title.  And if this was meant as a GAG, well, they've
gone 'way overboard.  I could have actually died from whatever it was they
gave me! 

Not that I'm afraid of death; it's more the inherent INSULT of it that
bothers me. 

In the immortal words of somebody-or-another: "That WILL be trouble." 

And the worst part of it is, my back is absolutely killing me, and I can
hardly walk, and I can't take a pain pill 'cause I'm afraid (and rightly
so) of a drug interaction.  Now that REALLY stinks. 

Hmmm.  I shouldn't have told them to feed Sharon breakfast...should have
made 'em withhold the salt... 

I'm on my way up North, as we all are or will be, I suspect; but will keep
in e-mail contact.  I need your assistance, my Cousins. 

Somebody's butt is going to HAVE to be nailed to the wall for this.

And I *still* want to know who the hell was sleeping in my bed last night
besides me and my cat... 

###

A DIE-HARD CHECKS IN
by Diane Echelbarger and Lillian Feden

Time: 8am EST
Place: Toronto

Lillian woke gradually, grumbling to herself, at about eight Wednesday
morning.  She slid out of bed, trying not to wake her roommate,
Vicki-the-Merc, and dressed quietly. 

Remembering that breakfast was served until 9:30, she took her time in the
bathroom, then walked down the two flights of stairs to the dining room. 
Mrs. McGillicuddy greeted her cheerily, and Lillian helped herself to
coffee, eggs and hash-browns.  Hash browns were a travel tradition for
her, since she never made them at home but loved them.  As she ate, she
chatted with their hostess, who informed her that Diane had eaten at seven
and left in her car for somewhere or other... 

Breakfast over, Lillian accepted the handy, plasticized fold-up map Mrs.
McGillicuddy offered and caught a trolley on Queen Street East, headed
downtown.  Being a city girl with no car in the city of Chicago, public
transportation was no obstacle for her.  She was amazed at the cleanliness
of the system. "Definitely not the Chicago transit system.  The windows
aren't covered with graffiti and the driver seemed friendly." she muttered
under her breath. 

Forty-five minutes later, she walked into the building that housed the
Die-Hard headquarters. 

"Excuse me," she said to the security guard.  "I'm looking for, um."  How
in the world was she going to explain that she was looking for the war
headquarters of a faction for a television show?  Yes, she'd done some
crazy things in her life, but Lillian was not prepared to be dragged away
in a strait jacket. 

"Names, names...come on, think, Lillian."  the guard looked at her, one
eyebrow cocked. 

"I'm looking for...Jane!  Yes, Jane Snyder."  She gave him an apologetic
grin, shrugging slightly. 

The security guard dialed a number, spoke softly and quickly into the
phone. He put his hand over the receiver and looked at Lillian
expectantly.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Lillian Feden." 

He repeated the name into the phone and hung up.  "Someone will be down to
get you." 

A few minutes later a short blond woman stepped up to Lillian and smiled.

"Lillian?"  she held out her hand in greeting, "I'm Jane.  Glad you could
make it.  We've got some plans brewing.  Come join the fray." 

"Thanks."  Lillian shook Jane's hand.  "I had a bit of a rough night, but
luckily I don't usually get hangovers." 

Lillian followed her to the elevators, feeling excited at the prospect of
actually participating in some of the mayhem. 

###

I'M ON MY WAY
by Lynn Stapleton

Time: Morning
Place: Lynn's home

Lynn woke up to the disturbing feeling that her e-mail account was going
to be bombarded with e-mail messages. This was not boding well, especially
as the flu was nipping at her, and mornings didn't go over too well with
her. 

She got up, and in a slightly dazed movement, scurried around for her
medication, clothing, and whatever else. 

"Damn, I'm gonna be late. I'll get a cup of tea at the university," she
said. By 8:30am, she was at the university, cell phone in pocket, and
headed directly for the computer science dept. After logging on to the
UNIX system, she was assaulted with TOO many messages, with the subject
"WAR". 

"Oh, boy," Lynn spoke lowly as she delved into the mail. After a couple of
hours of sifting through, she called home asking for any messages. The
response was: "There's a box here for you. It smells like blood. What do
you want me to do with it? And what the hell are you into?" All of a
sudden Lynn's mind kicked in. The Heart. 

Within minutes of checking the rest of her files, Lynn found her name had
been subscribed, permanently to the Home Shopping Network. She was
furious. 

A quick call was made to Chris Hunt.

"Chris, it's Lynn. What the hell is going on up there. I've got a heart
delivered to the house. My mother thinks I've got to be involved in some
cult or other. Now I find my account has been signed to the HSN. Who the
hell is doing this?" 

"Calm down, for a minute. It's happening to all of us. How quickly can you
get to Toronto?" 

"I can get a flight out tonight. Check back with you later tonight when I
get the connector flight. Damned Fredericton Airport doesn't have direct
flights to Toronto." After a second, she added, "So much for showing off
the Blooper Reel at tonight's local sci-fi gathering. They were counting
on it." 

After hanging up, and be assured that nothing more should go wrong between
now and tonight, she concluded her e-mailing and got ready to go home and
pack. 

"I'm gonna kill 'em. No, first I'm going to get those SOBs that sent the
heart and I'm gonna make 'em eat it. Then I'm gonna kill 'em. They'll
never tick off another Nick&NatPacker when I get there!" 

She tore out of the Computer Science Dept. and headed for home.

###

WEDNESDAY AND WAR
by Vicki Jean Merriman <vmerrima@INDIANA.EDU>

Time: 8:30 a.m.
Place: Toronto

Vicki rolled over, stretched, and buried her head back under the pillow.
It felt funny, firm instead of soft with feathers. 

<fx> yawn <do I have to wake up?>

Suddenly she remembered where she was and why she was here.  War.  There
was a War going on between the factions, and she had something very
important to do. 

She crawled out of bed, noticing that Lillian was already up and about.
After a shower and a mug of tea, she was starting to feel human enough to
wander downstairs for breakfast. 

<Better get going.  I've a lot to do today.  Well, I can always work
late.> Vicki noticed that Diane was gone, and had left a note to the
effect that she was spending the day at Niagara Falls. 

"Hmm.  Afraid we'll bite are you?"  Actually, Vicki thought Diane deserved
to know that a War had started.  <After all, she didn't push me last night
when she thought I spent 10 minutes in the bathroom.>

Instead, Vicki's contact had found her and filled her in on the details.
<War.  There's work to be done.  Money to be made.  Perhaps I should have
told everyone last night.>

Vicki left a note on Diane's pillow explaining the situation.  Then she
headed out the door. 

###

THUNDER & LIGHTNING. ENTER THREE WITCHES (Part 1)
by Maureen Wynn

Time: 9AM
Place:  Ann Arbor, MI

Maureen strode into the office, her open raincoat flapping behind her, and
barely nodded to the woman seated behind the reception desk before heading
toward her own office.  <I wonder where Betsy is? I didn't know she was
taking any time off...> she thought, momentarily distracted from her
anger, as she pulled off her wet coat and put it, along with her umbrella,
in the closet.  Then, as she bent to pick up her bag again, and noticed
the small objects that had fallen out of her pockets, she started to
seethe again. <*Somebody's* going to pay for this!> she thought angrily.
<I swear by all the demons in Scotland, someone's going to pay for this if
it's the *last* thing I do!> she continued as she bent down to pick up the
Q-tips(TM) from the floor. 

She entered her office, and tossed the Q-tips into the trash can.  She
turned on the computer, and while she waited for it to boot up, picked up
the phone and dialed a number. 

"Hi, it's Maureen.  Yeah, I've been out for a couple of days.  Don't ask!"
Maureen shuddered, something she'd gotten *very* good at lately.  "Did I
miss anything important?"  She listened to the man on the other end of the
line, making notes from time to time.  "OK, thanks, I'll let you know the
final figures for the October shows by tomorrow.  Or maybe Friday." 

Opening her e-mail, she was startled by the number of messages waiting in
her in-box. <I thought I'd set all the lists to digest...?> As she started
to scroll through the messages, she was shocked to realize she'd missed
something *very* important.  A War.  A War had started, and she'd been too
busy with the turmoil at work to notice.  *How* had this happened? 

Opening one of the earlier messages, she started to read...

**********

Some time later, bleary-eyed, she leaned back in her chair, and took a sip
of her Diet Coke.  She knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that she
*hadn't* imagined the whole horrible experience on Sunday night.  The face
that had sneered at her, that had made her doubt her own mind, that had
nearly driven her over that fine line to insanity, *hadn't* been a figment
of her over-worked, exhausted mind.  It *had* to be a part of the War. 

<This also explains the Q-tips!> she thought, thinking of the sight that
had met her eyes as she walked into her bathroom that morning.  She
shuddered again, remembering the sight of her bathtub piled high with the
horrible things, and her cat, Ophelia, half-buried in them, happy as a pig
in slop as she batted them this way and that.  The cat had turned her
little fang-face toward her companion, startled by the scream, but not
loosening her hold on the little white instuments of torture. 

Turning back to her e-mail, Maureen started to compose a message to her
Mercenary companions.  As she reached to hit the Return button to send it
off, she was interrupted by a sound from her computer. Startled, she
pulled back from the keyboard, and watched in horror as the screen give a
*twitch* before compressing into a single bright point in the middle of
the screen.  Maureen collapsed back in her chair, staring at the screen. 
<Why today?> she thought, surprisingly calm.  <I knew this was coming, the
way this &*^%$#@ technological instrument of torture has been acting up,
but why today?  Maybe it's a sign, a portent of things to come, an omen
from the Fates above...> She stared at her computer, the bright point on
the screen flickering like a candle flame, seeming to speak to her,
telling her what she must do... 

***************

"What do you mean, you're taking some time off?!  We have *four* shows
opening in November, you still haven't finished the reports for Hall--um,
I mean the concert on Sunday, and Financial Operations needs your final
deposits for the last two weeks..." 

"My flight leaves at 3PM today. I have comp-hours up the whazoo from all
the over-time I've put in over the last month."  She leaned closer to him,
and lowered her voice.  "Consider it mental-health time.  If I don't get
some time off now, I'll start strangling the customers - and that'll
*really* kill your budget!  And what do you think the Dean will say to
*that*, hmmmm?" 

*****************

The plane took off into the overcast sky, the flash of lightning and roll
of thunder not interrupting its smooth lift-off.  Maureen looked out the
window at the rolling gray clouds, and smiled.  It wasn't a pleasant
smile.  Not pleasant at all... 

###

ENTRE
by Cousin Julie

Time: 9:31 AM
Place: The Raven

"Would you please stop twitching?"
 
Julie was beyond being irritated, the man simply had no physical control
at all. 
     
"Eh, wot's the idear, kidnappin' me like that, where we goin anyway?"

"Toronto."
 
Julie paused, looked around herself.  Why did this truck seem a lot
smaller than it had three days ago when she left from South Texas to go to
Vancouver to pick up Screed (with the tape in hand, she hoped) and drive
across Canada to Toronto...'I must be going insane.'
 
"Nevermind, do you have it?"
 
"Ye' I gots it, not ike it's goin' to 'elp."

"He promised the rgular music would be on there."
 
"Eh, won't that."

Screed pointed and she shrugged, "I don't know, someone filled the bed of
my truck with cotton swabs...look, you would never understand." 
 
He sulked next to her as she turned into the city, FINALLY, headed for the
Raven, to take care of one problem, if not anything else. 
 
Screed looked at the club quizically,"You want me to go in there?"
 
"Get your butt inside before I sick Uncle on you and make you chopped
liver...oh, S*** nevermind, just give the tape to me." 
 
He handed it over and she wandered inside, the sounds of show tunes...just
as they had told her, oh sheesh, no wonder Deborah was in a fit when she
called. 
 
"I have arrived."
 
Everyone turned at once, and what was more, no one cared.
 
"LaCroix?  Anyone?"
 
"Yeah, the tall, balding guy?"
 
"Spare me, okay...where is he?"
 
The man nodded, "In the back I think..."
 
She wandered to the back room, okay, so technically I am a Cousin, but
meeting him for the first time was proving to be a little more than she
bargained for.  Should have brought Screed with me...erm...nevermind. She
opened the door, Deborah was there, Uncle was there and they both looked
pissed. 
 
"Where have you been?"
 
"Look I had to drive across the universe for this, so get over it and
don't mess with me, I'm exhausted!" 
 
Deborah moved forward to look at the tape she held in her hand, "Oh,
cool...let's put it on." 
 
They used Julie's brilliance in electronics to hack into the speaker
system and insert the necessary wires from the tape player to insert the
tape...the official Forever Knight CD, hot off the presses, and with the
correct Raven music, the sound of show tunes went out and everyone in the
room sighed as the "normal" music returned. 
 
"Now...I have a plan."
 
Both LaCroix and Deborah looked interested, but wary, after all, she was a
newbie to this stuff, wasn't she? 

"I have a truck."
 
"A truck?  Like a Mac truck?"
 
"Nononono, a regular XLT, but the bed is full of cotton swabs, long story,
anyway, it is my opinion that the NatPackers and the Nick/Nat Pack who
seem to have teamed up for this deserve...erm...a little of their own
medicine?" 
 
LaCroix raised an eyebrow,"Indeed?"
 
Julie nodded,"Mmmhum."
 
"And just what did you have in mind?"
 
Julie paused, thinking,"Well, I do have the Federal Express number of a
guy from California so we could overnite a bunch of stuff...and you
know...I do have all that GOO." 
 
"Excuse me, what is a GOO?"
 
"Forget it, I'll explain on the way, let's go."
 
LaCroix actually looked amused,"It's 9:00 in the morning."
 
"Oh, right...Deborah...coming?"

###

SEX KITTENS
by Leslie and Jill Kirby

Time: 10am EST

After Jill's rather expensive stop in NYC for earrings, she and Leslie
finally managed to get to the small, private airport and make the flight
to MD, the next stop on the Natmare tour. 

"Hurry up.  I don't want anyone to see us."  Jill looked around nervously.

"I'm doing the best I can.  I can't seem to find the right key."

"Here, let me try."  Jill grabbed the rather heavy set of keys Leslie had
been fumbling with for the last minute and a half.  "Jeez.  There are
enough keys on this thing, Leslie.  Where did you get them?" 

"When Laura went out of town, she left her keys with a housesitter.  I
convinced the housesitter to give them to me." 

"How'd you manage that? I thought she was staying with her mom this week."

"She was. It's a *long* story."

"I got it!" Jill squealed, clicking open the door lock.

"OK, let's go inside."  Leslie started through the door.

"Wait a minute, Leslie.  Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"The bag."  She waved one hand at the duffle sitting on the stoop.

"Oh."  Picking up the bag, Leslie followed Jill into Cousin Laura's
darkened apartment. 

There was a loud crunch.  "Ouch."

"Are you OK, Jill?"

"Yeah, we just need to find a light switch."

Leslie fumbled along the nearest wall until she found the nearest light
switch.  She flipped the switch, and the soft glow of a small table lamp
filled the room. "There we go." 

"Great, let's get started.  We have a lot of relabelling to do.  Let's
find her video collection." 

We couldn't help but giggle - just a little - as we walked up the stairs
to the second floor and the room with the goodies.  A large, gold-framed
oil portrait of Uncle (in his post-Q-Tip days) hung over the couch.  "Nice
decor," said Jill wryly. 

"At least there aren't candles burning underneath it," Leslie said with a
grin. 

It took them only a few minutes to find the instruments of torture.  The
*Video* collection.  "Wow!  I knew she had a lot of videos, but I had no
idea how many!  And I thought I was bad.  Where do you want to start,
Jill?" 

"Hey, this was your idea."  Jill, fascinated, was checking out the video
boxes.  "Look!  She has every episode of 'My Mother, the Car'! " 

Leslie ignored her.  "Let's start with the obvious.  All the FK tapes."
Pulling pens and labels out of the duffle bag, she handed them to Jill.
Then she entrenched herself on the floor and began to help her relabel the
entire Waskey collection of videos. 

"Now, how should I relabel these?" asked Jill, frowning.

"Just use your imagination.  I think we should use musicals and adult
titles." 

"We should start with *Chess*!"

"And then follow it with various *Sex Kitten Adventures*?"  Leslie smiled
wickedly. 

"And of course, 'The Sound of Music'..." said Jill.

"Oh, please, Jill - <don't> start singing or anything... I've had enough
of 'My Favorite Things' to last me *Nick's* lifetime." 

"Hey, I got an idea," Jill said quickly. "Let's make a really obnoxious
'Kick Me' sign and tape it to the Q-Tip over there." 

"Now that's really wicked, Jill. Remind me not to cross you." Leslie
smiled. 

"Hey, I haven't heard of this show." Jill held out a series of tapes.

"Cool! Those are insurance?" Leslie lit up like a Christmas tree. "She
would do just about anything to get these back. Let's take them with us." 

"OK." Jill stuffed the 'Moon Over Miami' tapes into the duffle.

It took a couple of hours, but they finished relabelling and reorganizing
all of Laura's videos before dawn. As they headed to the door, Jill placed
the "Kick Me,' signed with a Natmare, on the picture. Strike two. 

###

THERE IS NO JUSTICE
by  Cherri L. Munoz

Time: 10:40 am.

Last night, I, Cousin Cherri, found cotton swabs inside the hood of my
cape.  Since the hood is big enough to drown in, I didn't notice the swabs
were inside until it was too late.  As soon as I flipped the hood over my
head, the swabs went flying everywhere. <Grrrrrr>
   
I immediately called LaCroix to find out what was going on.  He said that
he was calling the cousins to meet him at the Raven.  I should be there
shortly.  It took a little longer to arrange a flight out because horrors of
horrors, it was foggy and rainy in LA. (This just doesn't happen here.)
However, during a brief break in the weather, my plane was able to leave.
I'll be there by noon.
   
This attack has got to stop.  I'm ready to help.
   
Whoever is holding the mail had best be careful, LC is NOT a patient man!

###

SEATTLE STRIKES BACK (Part 1)
By Berg Oswell

Time: 10:49 AM PST
Place: Berg's home

The Chuck E. Cheese tokens could have been a simple Halloween prank, but
then again, with all the rumblings of war among the Merc community, they
probably were a sign of something far more sinister. 

The first thought that crossed my mind was, "I need a job." All through
the last war, I was a Merc for hire, but nobody hired me. What I needed
was advertising.  THIS war would be different.  THIS war I was prepared. 
I dialed a special number, and let it ring three times. When the guy on
the other end picked up the phone, all I said was, "Entropy," and hung up. 
Things would get very interesting for all the factions soon, too bad I'd
be on the road and out of touch during the long drive to Toronto for
anyone to tell me how the attacks went. 

Before I left, I sent one email message to the list, then grabbed my
stuff, got into my car, and drove off. 

To: FKFIC-L
From: Berg@mail.eskimo.com
Subject: Merc for Hire

****************************************************************
* Merc for Hire.  Defenestrators defenestrated, havoc wreaked, *
* people pranked, bricks teased, ravens plucked, fish caught.  *
* Will work for chocolate.  Contact: berg@mail.eskimo.com      *
****************************************************************

###

ANOTHER NICK&NATPACKER TAKES FLIGHT
by Cindy L. Brewer

Time: Early morning
Place: Rockford,IL

Cindy Brewer impatiently sat in the small commuter plane at the Greater
Rockford airport.They were supposed to take off over a half hour ago,but
the piolt was still waiting for clearance from the tower. 

Cindy stiffled a yawn as she glanced out the dark sky. None of her friends
would believe that she of all people had gotten up before six am in order
to get on a plane. She hated flying,but she was dreading finding her way
around busy O'Hare airport even more. Oh well,all the anxiety was for a
good cause,she supposed.  Christine needed her in Toronto, the
Nick&Natpack had some serious planning to do. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen,sorry for the delay we should be taking off in about
ten minutes.We should arrive at O'Hare on scheduale." 

Cindy pulled out a paperback mystery novel as the plane began to move down
the runway.She knew she would arrive in Toronto early but she wanted to
get settled in the hotel and maybe squeeze in a little sightseeing before
meeting with Erica and Christine. This was a war after all.... 

###

A DEER CALL
by Crystal Guffey

Time: Morning
Place: Crystal's school

Crystal was coming down the hall with all of her mail. Her teacher's
mailbox had been filled to capacity once again. As she walked along, she
kept thinking that she heard a strange sound, but she passed it off as one
of the kids who had brought a toy to school. "That won't last long.
Someone will have that toy confiscated before too much longer," she
thought. 

As she dropped her load on her desk, her library helpers came over to help
her sort through the load and put the magazines where they belonged.
Suddenly, a package with her name on it fell to the floor and a low moooo
was heard. Crystal turned the package over and checked it out. She
wondered if this could be part of her ABC order that had been backordered,
or if one of her colleagues was playing some sort of joke. It could even
be last year's 8th graders sending her a deer call (because they knew she
hated to hear their stories of being great deer hunters) and the only
"deer" (dear) she wanted to call was on two legs!!! <gr> It was their old
joke together. 

She finally opened the package to discover a moo can inside. After all of
the Vachon jokes on the list, she wondered who could be playing such a
joke and if it was a list member. Surely, no one would waste their time
and money sending such a silly joke. But just in case, she would have to
talk to Nick or Vachon and find out if they knew anything about the can. 

She set the can on her desk, as a reminder to do just that when she had a
moment. Instead, a class came in and the moment didn't come. However, she
was driven crazy with every child asking her: "What is this? Why is it at
school? Where did you get it? Where can I get one? Can I have this one?
Please, please, please!" and most lastly...hearing "Moooooooo, Mooooooo,
Moooooooo" all day... 

That and *The Very Quiet Cricket* book by Eric Carle that doesn't ever
stay quiet! 

***Moo! Chirp! Moo! Chirp! Moo!***

###

NANCY DREW MAKES A MOOOOVE
by Crystal Guffey

Time: Morning
Place: Crystal's place

After Crystal got off from work, she finally had a chance to make a call
to Vachon to inquire if he knew anything about the moo can that she had
received in the mail. 

"I don't know anything about moo cans," he said. "But I do know that
someone came to the church and decorated it with a cow motif. I started to
have Nick come over and see if he could help me find out who did this, but
I decided that it would only make him hungry to see all of those cows," he
said with a laugh. 

"Seriously though, there is definitely something up around here," he
continued. "There have been a lot of strange mortal women and strange
activities going on at The Raven lately. Even LaCroix seems on edge...like
something's about to happen. Music from The Sound of Music is coming over
the speakers... Do you know how hard that is too dance too? I don't know
what's going on. I have even been feeling some strange vibes from a
strange vampire. Things are just too weird. I had thought about steering
clear of the club. But, in fact, it's been closed down after a police
raid! Is nothing sacred???? I remember, in the good old days..." 

"Vachon," Crystal interrupted, "you're getting off topic. Nobody knows me
around there and my nickname *is* Nancy Drew, maybe I could come on up
there and poke around a little and try to find out what is going on." 

Just then, Crystal's call waiting clicked and Crystal told Vachon that she
would get back with him soon. Vachon assured her that he would look into
the moo can mystery and have some answers for her. When she answered the
call, it was Sherri relaying a message from Torrey telling her that she
needed to get to Toronto ASAP! Crystal realized that something bad must be
going on, especially since there were rumors of war on the list. Sherri
also told her to meet the other Vaqueros at Vachon's place...the
church...and to dress warmly. 

Her curiosity was killing her. She had to go and find out what was going
on in Toronto. Besides, she had always wanted to go there, but in peace
times, not war. Crystal lined up a sub for the next couple of weeks. Lucky
thing she had that sick leave accrued. She packed up her jeans, a few
sweatshirts (she had to be comfortable when she was "detecting") and
grabbed her favorite tennis shoes. Next stop...Toronto. 

###

MARSHALING THE TROOPS
by Cousin Deborah

Time: Morning 
Place: The Raven

Having convinced Julie that rushing off, "GOO in hand," would have to wait
a bit, Deborah looked at the chaos around her silently. A dozen comments
came to mind but since Uncle didn't seem to want to talk about it, she
decided not to push her luck. Cousin Julie, who had arrived a short time
before, had brought very distressing news and of course, GOO. This cotton
swab thing could be a real blow to cousin morale. Deborah and Julie had
phoned around to various listmembers only to discover that the problem was
quite widespread and affected practically everyone. Weird things seemed to
be showing up everywhere. 

As Lacroix consulted with his staff about putting the club to rights,
Deborah and Julie tried to decide on a plan of action that might satisfy
their infuriated leader. 

"Maybe it's the Ravenettes," Julie said. "The club was their headquarters.
They loved the Raven and well...look what he's done to it." 

Deborah considered that for a moment and then shook her head. "No, they
wouldn't have done the bit with the rose and certainly not that music. I'm
not saying that they wouldn't go after Uncle, just that they'd do it
differently." After another moment, Deborah offered "Knighties? The rose
fits." 

"Knighties attacking *first*?" Julie scoffed

"Well they *might* provided that they keep it a secret from the
Defective." 

The two cousins laughed over the Screed-speak name for Nick but sobered
quickly enough when Uncle glared from across the room. 

Julie slapped the table "I've got it! Mercs. Why not the mercs? Things
have been slow. They could be drumming up business." 

"Too many possibilities." Deborah sighed. "We need more help. We're just
going to have to go after all of them until we torment the truth out of
them." 

"And then, *I* will take it from there." Lacroix was right behind them.

"Uncle!" Deborah gasped. "I didn't hear you come up. Umm...can we use the
club while you're, um...resting. I mean, the cousins need to gather
someplace so we can work this whole thing out and make plans. It would be
a lot easier." When Lacroix frowned, she tossed in "And it would be easier
to maintain that *closer supervision* you wanted if I'm here." 

"Very well, use the club." Lacroix looked thoughtful. "It has been quite a
while since I have seen a gathering of cousins. It will be interesting to
see how our ranks have held up since the last time." He turned his
attention back to the two pairs of eyes watching his anxiously. "All of my
resources are at your disposal. I will expect a full report when I awake."
As he turned to go, he cautioned Julie, "*You* are responsible for making
sure that Deborah doesn't get involved in any...unnecessary hijinks.
Understood?"  His eyes bored into hers. 

Julie gulped. "Yes," she croaked as he walked away. Once he was out of
earshot (well, with vampires that's a guess), Julie turned to Deborah and
demanded "*What* is he talking about?" 

"Oh, nothing." Deborah waved a dismissive hand. "He worries, that's all.
Let's get organized." 

###

AND VISIONS OF COTTON SWABS DANCED IN HER HEAD
by Jamie M.R. - The Illustrated Cousin

Time: Morning
Place:  The Gray House

Sandra awoke, feeling disoriented.  The awful things she remembered...had
it been a dream?  Or was it (no, please, no) real? 

The knock at her front door roused her from her uneasy thoughts, and she
went to answer it. 

She opened the door... and goggled at the creature that stood there.

Over six feet tall, and skinny, white and fuzzy...

"Salt!" it shrieked, in a high-pitched eerie whine.  "Saaaaaaalt!"  And it
burst past her and into the house, cackling gleefully, and scattering
handfuls of white powder wherever it went. 

"Nooooo!" Sandra cried.  And as suddenly as it had appeared, the Q-tip
apparition was gone. 

She'd have thought it was a dream, if not for the mounds of white
crystalline powder all over the floor. 

And a moment later, she began to doubt her sanity, for the piles of salt
were gone, too. 

Dazed, she stood stock-still in the middle of the room.

"What just happened?" she queried, but if anyone was listening, they
didn't bother to answer... 

###

SCREAMING MEANIES
by Sandra Gray

Time: Morning
Place: Sandra Gray's house

"What just happened?"  Sandra said aloud.  She looked around the room, but
it was the same as before.  There was no giant fuzzy Q-tip running around
screaming, "Salt!" and throwing what looked like salt all over the floor. 

She looked at the door and saw that the chain was off.  She peered out the
keyhole, but the hall outside the door was empty. When she turned the
knob, the door opened. 

*Funny.  I know the door was locked.* Sandra always locked the door after
Amanda left for school, for safety's sake if nothing else.  *Could I have
opened it in my sleep?* She hadn't done any type of "sleep-walking" since
that night she had dreamed that her grandmother came to stand at the foot
of her bed in a white gown unlike anything she'd ever seen her in and
then, smiling, floated upwards and disappeared.  She had bolted down the
stairs and woke to find herself trying to open the door.  The next morning
she'd found out her grandmother had died during the night.  Of course, she
had been in the hospital at the time so it wasn't unexpected that she... 

Sandra pushed those thoughts away.  That was years ago, before she had
even met Bruce.  She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then put
her glasses back on.  But since the episode with the "bricking" the other
night and then Bruce getting the blue envelope with the device that played
the "Jeopardy" theme over and over, she was a bit on edge.  She had found
out that Perri had been attacked and she had said that Nick had been
attacked too.  She knew that Perri and some of the others were making
plans to go to Toronto and wanted to go to, but it would require some
arrangements (and some convincing of Bruce) as Amanda
couldn't--shouldn't--be taken out of school.  Especially when such "war
conflicts" could go on for *weeks*. There would be no way she could keep
up with her homework.  She had more of it now that she was in the fourth
grade. 

It didn't help that she'd been up too late of late reading the list and
private email, trying to get a line on what had been done to others in the
current hostilities.  She'd been dozing when "Mr. Q-tip" showed up.  Then
again, maybe he *hadn't* been there and it *was* all a dream. 

Sandra opened the door and wandered into the hall and up the few steps to
the door of her apartment building.  She looked out across the lawn and
the parking lot to the buildings across the way.  The sun was shining and
a breeze was ruffling the just turning leaves on the trees.  Some had
started to fall already and were blowing around and under the cars in the
lot, catching on the bushes... She looked down at the bush under her
window--the one that pressed close to the steps that led down to the
sidewalk. 

A piece of white *something* clung to one of the branches.  Sandra walked
outside and pulled it off.  It was fuzzy and reminded her of... 

But the salt, the salt he'd tossed around was gone!

Sandra carried the piece of white fluff back into her apartment and shut
and locked the door.  She walked over to the dining table and sat down,
placing the fluff on the table.  She noticed her coffee cup still sat on
the table, with a little coffee left in it.  Sandra frowned.  Then she
picked up her coffee and sniffed it.  It didn't smell any different.  She
didn't remember that it had tasted different either.  But still... 

"Oh, this is nonsense!" she said out loud.  No one could have drugged her
coffee.  No one could know that she was the only one who drank coffee that
morning.  Bruce had had tea before leaving for work. And that piece of
fluff was probably just something that had blown into the bushes from a
bird's nest or something. 

There was no way it could have been real.  It was just too strange. "I
just need some more sleep," she said.  Of course, vampires knew how to
hypnotize and maybe knew magic too.  She looked at the sun streaming in
the picture window.  No, that was unlikely. 

But if it *had* somehow been real, that meant another attack by the
Cousins.  Sandra brushed back a lock of light red hair from her face and
looked at her coffee cup.  Maybe it wouldn't hurt to check it out anyway. 

###

POW-WOW AT THE RAVEN
by Cousin Deborah

Time: Late morning
Place: The Raven

Somewhere in the club, Lacroix slept like the...oh let's face it...he
can't help sleeping like the dead. Anyway, the point is that *as* he
slept, cousins trickled into the Raven. Some in response to his calls;
some because of calls from Deborah or Julie. Some came because they had to
go somewhere where they wouldn't keep finding Q-tips everywhere. They were
indignant and they were annoyed. It's not as if they had *done* anything
to anyone recently. It didn't seem to be retaliation for something. As
each new arrival told their tale, Deborah kept copious notes. <The man
wants a report, she thought, he's gonna have the best damned report he's
ever had!>

Taking a short break after 10 or so new cousins had arrived, Deborah went
over to talk to Celeste. "How's it going?" she asked as she sat down. 

"Ok, I guess. We should be able to target everyone and not take too long
doing it. Here." Celeste passed her legal pad over to Deborah as she
explained. "I have the list of everyone here as well as those who called
and I also have a roster of listmembers whose affiliations we know. I
figure we can divvy them up pretty easily. Whadda ya think?" 

"Better be careful that we don't end up duplicating." a voice chimed in
from behind them. It was Cousin Zillah. 

"What do you mean?" Deborah asked. "How? We can only be in one place at
one time." 

"What I meant was all these people with multiple affiliations. Ones who
are knightie/vaquero/natpackers or what have you. What if the knightie
strike force (sounds catchy doesn't it?) goes out to torment someone who
is a knightie/natpacker/vetter, only to discover that this person has
already been attacked by the Natpacker team?" 

Celeste and Deborah looked at each other and then at the roster of list
members. Zillah had a point. Many, many listmembers were liable to get hit
twice by the wrath of the cousins. It was a sobering thought. 

"Oh, so what." Deborah declared finally. "It'll be a character building
experience for them." 

Suddenly there were signs of a tussle at the door and voices were being
raised. Deborah rushed over, Celeste and Zillah right behind her, but
Julie got there first. 

"Keep it down will ya?" she instructed the newcomers. "You'll wake the
vampire. And when I tell you he isn't a morning person -- Sheesh!" 

The duo quieted down but one was struggling to get out of the grasp of the
other. "Let me *GO*. I'm a cousin. I'm supposed to be here." 

"Sure" said her captor. "That's why you were hanging out on the roof."

"I can explain..."

"Wait!" Deborah held up a hand. "First things first." She turned to the
male member of the pair. "Who are you?" 

"Cousin Craig. " When Deborah looked puzzled, he added, "I was the one who
had the q-tips put in all the pockets in all my clothes earlier." 

"Oh yes, of course. How terrible for you?"

Julie chimed in. "See, had to be the Ravenettes. They attacked his
clothes!" 

Celeste disagreed "Frankly, sweetie-darlings, I honestly think it is the
Vachon followers who are pulling this. crap. I mean 'because I can,' I ask
you!  It simply *smacks* of youthful energy and puppy-dog-like sassiness.
Kill them all, I say." 

Deborah frowned "Shh. We'll get to that soon." She turned to the prisoner.
"Who are you?" she demanded

"I'm Cousin Lisa."

"Nice try." Deborah sneered. "You can't be Cousin Lisa. You're sober."

"Not Lisa *McDavid*. Lisa Prince. I left a message with the bartender that
I would be by." 

From the bar, a small "oops" was heard and Deborah made a note to replace
the bartender as soon as possible with a cousin who cold be trusted. Not
that the guy wasn't a hoot but... 

"Let her go," Deborah said to Craig who did so, albeit reluctantly.

"Julie, could you take a head count and see how many people we have and
how many we are still expecting. I have to make a phone call. I'll be
right back." 

Julie looked at her suspiciously "Where are you going. There's a phone on
the bar." 

"Yeah, I know but it's getting sort of loud in here. Don't look at me like
that." 

"The man said..." Julie began.

"I told you..."

"Excuse me," a new voice interrupted. "This is the Raven isn't it?" The
young woman in the doorway looked wary. 

"Yes." Zillah informed her. "But the club's closed at the moment." 

"Oh...but, you see I'm a cousin and I..."

"Well then, that's different. Cousins are welcome anytime."

"Sure thing," Lisa said sarcastically, rubbing her shoulder.

The girl smiled suddenly and turned to yell out the door "Ok, you guys,
this is the place. Come on in." 

As Deborah and Julie stood to one side of the door and Celeste, Zillah and
the others watched from the dance floor, dozens of victims of q-tip
torment came through the entrance. Some carrying the objects of their
annoyance; some with cousins pins, some with tattoos, some short some
tall. Some they recognized and some they didn't. They went on and on. It
was an impressive sight. 

Julie turned to Deborah (who was shaking her head in amazement at the
ever-growing crowd of cousins). "I think your phone call had better wait.
It's time we get this meeting started. At this rate, by the time we finish
it'll be dinner time and I for one am anxious to get this revenge romp on
the road." 

###

SPECIAL PACKAGE
by Abby Albrecht

Time: Midday
Place: Toronto airport

The airport was noisy as Heck. *At least my suitcase made it,* Abby
thought as she grabbed her high school graduation gift off of the
carousel. *Geez, what did I pack??* The larger of the two cases hit the
floor with a thud, tipping over onto the leg of the man next to her. 

"Oops, sorry," Abby said as she regained control of it. Before he had a
chance to respond she wandered off, dragging her bags like unwilling
puppies behind. 

A bank of telephones caught her eye next to the Delta (tm) counter.
*Please let it take my card. Please let it take me card.* She looked at
the instructions plastered to the bottom of the phone, and breathed a sigh
of relief when she found the code she needed. 

"Hi, is Renate there?" Abby said in her sexiest voice. (It confused her
roommates, and that was the whole point of having roommates, wasn't it?)

"Uh, hello?" Renate's southern drawl made Abby giggle even 2,000 miles away.

"Hi 'Nate. It's Abby."

"Abby! What did you say to Eun Bee? She looks more confused than usual."
Abby snorted into the phone. "None of that... Remember, we agreed to try
to play nice." 

"I know, I know. Anyway... has anyone called for me?"

"Nope, but you did get a package...but it doesn't have a retun address,"
Renate said. "Do you want me to open it?" 

"O'tay."

"Cool, it's done up in pink wrapping paper and everything," Renate said
while tearing off the layers. "It's... Uh... Abby?" 

"What?"

"It's a coin from Chuck E. Cheese (tm)," she said flatly.

"I... I have to go...buh," Abby said quietly as she hung up. *A coin from
there??? Only a few people knew how she felt about that place. And none of
them wanted her to hurt them as much as she wanted to hurt people now.
Someone was going to pay for bringing back that painful childhood memory!*

Abby stared at the phone a while. There was so much to do, and so little
time... 

Her first priority was to find her hotel. Well, actually find a cab to
take her to the hotel. 

This Glorious Toronto Vacation (tm) wasn't sounding so glorious anymore.
Especially since she'd forgotten there was a war on! 

###

PHONE CALLS FROM MIDAIR 
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: Midday
Place: Airplane

"Hello?  Listen, don't interrupt, I'm calling from the plane, and it's
costing me a f***in' fortune, okay?  Something's going on..." 

"...yeah, I'm sure you have; but now *I'm* going to tell you about it.
D'you know what happened to me?  Do you have the slightest f***in' idea?" 

"Somebody almost *killed* me, that's what!  Well, they could of, anyhow...
I have so many weird drug reactions and allergies that anything's
possible. Well, they should've checked first..."

"Who?  I don't know who.  I'm of the opinion that it was either your merry
dimwits or the ravening hordes of the Natpathetics... but lemme tell you,
whoever it was is gonna writhe on a spike when I get a hold of 'em, you
can f***in' believe that..." 

"What's wrong with my language?  *You* try spending twenty-nine
consecutive years in New York F***in' City!  ...Yes, that IS the official
name of the place; it's in the City Charter..." 

"Look, I don't care who it was.  I don't care.  The only reason I'm
calling you, oh cute and clueless one, is that I am very seriously pissed
off about this; and you know just how ballistic I can get when I'm
seriously pissed off, you've SEEN the stuff I write when I'm in that kinda
mood... and since you're the great advocate of truth, justice and the
Canadian way, I'm coming to you first." 

"Oh, yeah?  Why should I?  I wouldn't drop everything and jump to his
rescue if he demanded it.  No, I wouldn't.  You know me better than that,
Blondie.  Remember, you've seen the stuff I write..." 

"Because I have my own standards and my own code of ethics, and I stand by
it no matter what happens, that's why; but lemme tell you, Nicky-boy, if
you wanna see me go majorly Cousinish to the exclusion of even the
faintest iota of rationality, just stand by and do nothing and watch me go
berserk over this.  Go ahead, I dare you..." 

"Yeah, you 'look into it'.  You just go ahead and do that.  But you'd
better do it quickly, 'cause I'll be landing at Pearson in a half-hour,
and I'll be spitting tacks...  Oh, and while you're at it, arrange for
someone to pick me up at the airport.  I don't care who....  Are you
*crazy*?  You know as well as I do that the average Cousin is more
reckless on the road than you are in mid-flashback..." 

"And tell 'em to bring some calamine lotion.  Solarcaine.  Anything to
stop this #*$^&()* itching!" 

She replaced the phone receiver in its hook, stared out the window of the
airplane for a moment, and thought. 

And then she made another call.

"Hello?  Tracy?  Hi!  You probably don't remember me, but we met at a KISS
concert in Rochester about five years ago... oh, you do?  Well, I guess I
am kind of hard to forget!"  She laughed merrily.  "So what's new with
you? Really?  A homicide detective; how exciting!  Listen, I'm calling
'cause I'm going to be 'passing through' Toronto for a couple of days... 
You read minds!  I'd love to get together... I brought the live radio
broadcast tape of KISS at the old Ritz in New York City, and a couple of
other things.  We can hang out!  Tell you what... the place I'll be
staying at doesn't have a phone, but I'll probably get my hands on a
cellular or something, and when I do, I'll give you the number.  Until
then, why don't we make plans to meet this evening?"  She listened,
nodded, although the party on the other end of the line couldn't see her. 
"Okay.  There's a coffee shop called The Second Cup -- of course you've
heard of it; there are franchises all over downtown Toronto.  I was
thinking of the one on Yonge Street, just south of Carlton?  Oh, you know
it!  Perfect.  Why don't we meet there, say, six-ish?  Cool.  I'll see you
then!" 

And she hung up, chuckling under her breath.  The grin that spread across
her face was, as Douglas Adams had described in the Hitchhiker's trilogy,
'enough to send a sane man screaming for the hills'; and in fact, the
businessman sitting in the seat beside her edged away nervously. 

The thing about following rock and roll bands around the country was, you
got to meet all sorts of interesting people... and every once in a while,
one of those connections proved inordinately useful. 

She had the feeling that this was going to be one of those times...

###

SUNSET BOULEVARD... (b)
by Cousin Candice

Time: Noon
Place: Alfred, New York, USA
        
Candice had just finished setting up her work for this afternoon's crit,
so she left Harder Hall and headed towards the campus center for lunch. 
As she walked down Academic Alley she heard someone calling her name. 
        
"Candi!  Hey Candi!"  The person calling her name caught up with her -it
turned out to be her roommate. 
        
"Hey, Stacy, what's shakin?"
        
"Oh, well I grabbed your keys for you when I went back to the room this
morning to change.  I figured I'd see you sooner or later and I knew you'd
be needing these."  Stacy handed Candi her keys and pulled out an i.d card
from her back pocket as she did so.  "I got your i.d. for you too.  Listen
I know things have been kinda hectic for you these past few days, and I
wanted to take you out to diner tonight if you have the time, do you? 
Whoa ..nice shirt..what's with the hair?" 
        
"Please I'd rather not think about it,..anyway, thank for the keys -you're
a peach."  Candice headed back to the Brick for a brief rest, and then it
was back to Toronto.. 

###

MERCS MEET'N'GREET
by Christina L. Kamnikar

Time: 12:47 pm EST
Place: Toronto, Merc HQ

Chris could hear music coming through the front windows of Merc Central as
she got back from lunch. Bored, and yes, a little lonely, she'd wandered
off on her own, trying to get the hang of Toronto. Face it, she'd never
been there before, and she'd have to have a better working knowledge of
the city if she was going to be *any* use at all in this War. Dianne had
been great, answering all her zillions of questions, and Maureen had been
kind enough to encourage her in writing their advertisements and
commercials, but she was still a novice. All of the implications of the
coming War were occasionally...intimidating. The thought that she might
actually meet Lacroix gave her nightmares; the thought that she might meet
Nick...was another story altogether. One suitable for Darkangel's list. 

But it appeared that she was no longer the only Merc in residence.

The music was Patrick Doyle's gorgeous soundtrack to "Henry V." When she
entered the rec room, she paused, watching what appeared to be a very odd
game of chess being played by a professorial woman with blondish/brownish
hair-colored-hair a couple shades lighter than her own, and a redhead with
her back to Christina.  They were arguing about the redhead's last move,
about whether or not it was actually legal--the professorial woman's voice
was familiar. 

"Sara?" Chris moved forward a little shyly, not wanting to interrupt. 
Looking up, the woman smiled. "We talked on the phone a day or two
ago--I'm Christina--you sent me the key and the map--" 

The redhead stood up, and up and up. Wow. A Valkyrie. Chris blinked.
"Christina?" asked the woman, cocking her head, and smiling warmly,
putting her at ease immediately. "It doesn't _look_ like you glow in the
dark," she kidded, mentioning the constant joke Chris had to hear about
the bomb factory where she worked for five years prior to her current job.
"But maybe it's just to early to tell." Chris made a face, but laughed
anyway. 
        
"Yup. You _must_ be Dianne. Oh, I love the shirt," Chris said, getting
distracted. It WAS a cool shirt; black, with the glowing X-FILES logo. The
back had had the words TRUST NO ONE emblazoned on it.  She, of course, was
wearing her collector's item DIANA TREMAYNE AND THE GUARDIANS T-shirt {not
available outside of WorldCon}; and her Sheriff's Star earrings, since
they made her feel a _little_ more ready-for-combat. But not much. 

"Well, if I must, I must," Dianne shot back, grinning. "I'm glad you got
here okay. Some of the others are a little late--Christine Scheibel's
sick, she may not make it 'til this weekend--and we haven't heard from the
Grand Poohbah yet. Maureen's in the middle of Show Business Hell, I'm
afraid. And Berg's en route...haven't heard from Abby yet. You didn't have
any problems getting away?" 

"Nah. I had enough comp time to take the vacation, and my Christmas fund
came due just in time for the plane ticket.  My parents have no idea I'm
here, of course, but then, I've got call-forwarding and I've forwarded my
e-mail, so hopefully they'll never know I left Colorado.  That is, if my
younger sister keeps her mouth shut, which she will, if she doesn't want a
couple of own her transgressions to come to light." 
        
Dianne nodded in approval. "Are you ready for...what's coming up?"
        
Chris swallowed, then nodded determinedly. "Yes. Definitely. I can't let
my contracts down, after all." 
        
"That's the right attitude." Dianne cocked her head. "Of course, it
doesn't matter as much if they don't know you've let them down." 

Just then the front door slammed, and footsteps were heard approaching the
room.  A young woman wearing an abstracted expression and tourist's
clothes walked in with the air of someone who'd misplaced her keys.  "Has
anyone seen my camera? I forgot it, and I can't remember where I put it." 

"Millie, this is Christina, aka Chaos." [Chris blushed at this, since she
was aspiring to this name, and hadn't actually earned it yet. She hated to
blush. It showed up too damn well on her pale skin] "Chris, this is
Mildred, aka Millie," said Sara, "another tyro who just drove in today.
She's still looking for work." 

"Nice to meet you," Millie said, turning around in a circle, her eyes
closed, concentrating. "I had it when I was in the storeroom...and when I
was in the kitchen... Computer room! That's where I left it." She smiled
at Chris. "Have you seen the Control Room yet?" 

"Nope. I was too bushed to explore when I got here--I just collapsed on
the couch." 
        
"I meant to mention that--we DO have some beds left, but they're going
fast. Better grab one before the others show up. I hate futons myself. 
C'mon, I'll show you around," Sara said, getting up. "Dianne was winning
anyway. I _still_ say that move is only legal for chess, not senet." 
        
"Whine, whine, whine," Dianne said, trailing behind the other three as
they went downstairs. "Just because you say it's so doesn't make it so.
That only happens when _I_ say something." She picked up Ramona, one of
the Merc mascot cats, and stroked her absently as they trooped towards the
technological center of the Merc Command Station. 

The phone was ringing as they entered the room; Dianne picked it up and
put down Ramona, as Sara called up Central's E-mail on the main computer.
The room was...awesome. Chris had worked with some nice computer labs
before, but this was definitely state-of-the-art. Video surveillance of
the house, of course; a couple dozen editing machines; several Pentium
processors, HP Laserjets, extra laptops, some Bernoulli tapes... "Now I
know where most of my Guild dues went," Christina commented. 
        
"It's great, isn't it?" Millie sighed, looking around wistfully. "I'd LOVE
to work with this stuff all the time. My software job is much more
mainstream." 
        
Dianne's voice was rising as she talked on the phone. "I--Lane, calm down.
You don't have any--what? You already--Lane!!!" she hit the intercom
button and motioned to Sara, who raised her eyebrows questioningly. "He
destroyed David Letterman's home." 
        
Chris's jaw dropped. "He did what???"
        
"He sent me a Chuck E. Cheese token," a menacing male voice said from the
intercom. "And he was being incredibly insulting about the show. He got
what he deserved." 
        
"Lane, ALL the Mercs got those tokens!" Sara said in exasperation.
"Haven't you read your E-mail?" 
        
"Uhhh..." The voice sounded a lot less sure. "No. Why?"
        
"The War started last night. Random mayhem has begun in Toronto. The Raven
was trashed, I've seen half-a-dozen Cousins roaming the streets, and the
Happy Souvlaki is doing booming business. You should be here." 
        
"Should be, but I'm not." Lane sighed, an electronic hiss over the wires. 
"How the he** am I going to get there? I'm still semi-broke--" 
        
"We could make an exception... Merc Emergency Loan Fund," Dianne pointed
out. 
        
"At what interest rate?" Lane asked warily.
        
"The usual." Dianne smiled angellically. "Since we're not going to tell
Letterman who was responsible for the damage to his house." 
        
Silence, then, "I just KNOW I'm going to regret this. But FedEx me the
money as soon as possible, and I'll be on the next flight." 
        
"See you soon, Lane," Chris said, and Mildred called "Bye" as he cut the
connection. 
        
Sara sighed and turned back to the computer screen. "Yikes. Look at this,
Dianne." The redheaded Merc leaned over Sara's shoulder and pursed her
lips in a soundless whistle. "Busy, busy little Cousins and Ravens and..
yeesh. We've GOT to get moving. The rest of the factions are going to
forget we're here--" Dianne snorted at the possibility, and Sara pointed
at her, "--or blame us for the whole thing." 
        
"That would bite," Chris murmurred, perching on one of the counters.
       
"So what? It's not like they wouldn't still pay us to go after each
other," Dianne said philosophically. 
        
"But they might gang up on us, and even if we're getting more and more
members, the numbers of the Knighties alone--" Sara let the thought trail
off, shaking her head. 
        
"Or the Cousins." Dianne frowned, looking away.
        
"Who WOULD start the War? And why?" Millie wondered, tapping the
computer screen thoughtfully.
        
The phone rang again, and Sara picked it up. "Oh, hi...they what?
Ohmigawd, that's sooo sick!...yes...yes...no problem. See you soon. What?
Yeah, she's here." Sara held out the phone to Dianne, mouthing "Maureen"
to her. Dianne waved her hands in front of her, shaking her head, and Sara
rolled her eyes and tucked it back onto her shoulder. "She just
left...yes. No, she hasn't done anything yet...don't worry so much, okay?
Take a taxi when you get to the airport, we'll leave dinner for you if
we're not in the middle of stuff."  Settin the phone down, Sara said
"Maureen's coming in tonight, and we can compare notes." 
        
"It doesn't really matter who started it, or why," Dianne said, standing
up. "We're going to finish it. After all, we're professionals." 
        
"Right." Chris and Millie said, then grinned at each other when it came
out in stereo. "I wonder what MacGyver would do in this situation,"
Christina said aloud. 
        
"Have fun, of course." Dianne grinned, and Chris caught a slightly nutso
gleam in her eyes.  "It's the second-best reason to do anything, after
getting paid." 

###

ABSENCE MAKES THE NOSE GROW LONGER
by Amy Hull and the NatPack

Time: 1pm EST
Place: Nick's building

"I can't do this," Nat whispered.

"Yes, you can,"  Sharon hissed, pulling the elevator door closed.  "You
have to." 

"But it's *lying*," Nat hissed back.

"And he hasn't done his share!?!!" Sharon demanded.

Jill shot a glare at Sharon.  "Just think of it this way:  you want him to
worry, to be on his guard.  If you tell him you know all about what's
going on, he'll relax--" 

"And assume that you'll take care of it all for him!" Sharon interjected. 

Jill glared at Sharon again, but Natalie had begun to look thoughtful.
"Anyway,"  Jill persuaded, "you don't have to *lie*...just choose your
words carefully.  And remember, you *don't* know where Sydney is.  *I*
don't know where Sydney is.  I'm just glad he's out of the apartment;
Jennie and Leslie and I are breathing much more easily with the allergens
reduced after that cleaning spree Amy led Elaine on." 

The elevator stopped and the door opened.  Sharon grinned at the
finger-painted brick still on the door then followed Natalie, who was
looking more and more nervous by the second. 

"Nat?"  Nick looked up from what looked like a Knightie pow-wow in the
middle of the main room. 

"Nick, do you know what's going on?" Nat asked, glancing quickly at Jill
and Sharon.  Jill looked at her sternly and Nat turned back to Nick. 
Several of the Knighties had stood up and moved closer to Nick, listening
with apparent interest. 

"I have no idea.  Everyone here has their own theory, but we don't know
anything for sure, except that there's strange stuff happening everywhere. 
 You should see my car."

Nat cringed.  "I have no idea where Sydney is.  I got home and he wasn't
there, but where his food dishes used to be, I found this.  Nat held out
her hand and Nick took the item to inspect it more closely. 

It was a little plastic box, coffin-shaped, and when he opened it, he
laughed out loud at the skeleton-shaped candy inside.  One of the
Knighties took it from him and they began to pass it around until the
whole room was full of soft giggles.  Sharon rolled her eyes and edged
toward the kitchen. 

Nick got the coffin back and handed it to Natalie.  "With all of us it was
bricks.  There were bricks everywhere." 

"Yeah," Jill interjected.  "We saw the one by the elevator."

There was a murmuring amongst the Knighties and one, who apparently had
been assigned to clean up the brick evidence, was swatted on the arm by
several other faction members. 

Natalie had begun to fidget and was looking steadfastly at the floor.

"Nat," Nick said, gently touching her arm.  "I'm sure Sydney is fine. 
These kind of pranks never involve any real harm; when the fun is over,
he'll be returned, probably spoiled rotten." 

Nat smiled weakly.  "Yeah.  You're probably right.  I just stopped by to,
um, see what you knew.  I'd, um, better head back to work." 

Nick frowned.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah.  I'm, um, fine.  I'd just better get back to the office."  Nat
smiled again briefly, then skittered toward the door.  Jill and Sharon
moved to join her. 

"Let me know if you hear anything?" she asked, turning back to the
assembled group again. 

"Of course."  Nick still looked quite worried, but didn't try to stop them
from leaving. 

Several minutes later, when they had closed the car doors and begun to
move, Sharon began laughing. 

Jill turned and looked at her like she was nuts.

"He failed!" Sharon declared triumphantly.

"What?" Nat asked distractedly, still clearly worried about having
basically lied to Nick and the assembled Knighties. 

"The Intelligence Test--he failed! He cleaned most of the mess up, but
there's still a little dried blood he missed on the edge of that section
of counter."  Sharon's grin was almost silly it was so broad. 

"Yessss!" Jill crowed.  Then she looked at Sharon.  "We are a little
scary, huh?" 

"I'd say 'a little' would be understating it slightly," Nat commented
wryly, heading the car back for her apartment. 

###

STRANGER IN A BATTLEZONE (Part 2)
by Mildred Cady

Time: 1:30 pm EST
Place: Merc Central

{Oh, Goddess... look at all these computers..} Mildred was awestruck with
the computer room off Merc Central.  Her lab aide/computer software
assistant job back in Troy was nothing compared to running these machines
(after all the bugs are fixed). 
        
After her fellow Mercs had left, Mildred posted a phone number on a sticky
note for her cell phone, along with the message :Contact me if someone
requests a contract -Yours Forever, Mildred:. 
        
Going back to where she stashed her stuff, she opened her suitcase to grab
the phone and found the camera right next to it. "Douh!  It would have
bitten me if..." 
        
The she thought for a second.  {Maybe I shouldn't say that with all these
vampires aroound...}
        
Shrugging, the blonde stood up and placed both camera and phone into her
bag.  The sleek black leather busniess case went smoothly over her
shoulder.  She then grabbed the sleeping bag and suitcase and went
upstairs and claimed a bed. 

{Time to take a look around, and this time I mean it.  I need to find out
where stuff is.} Images of the Raven, the division house, and other key
places in Toronto and FK history flashed in her mind. 

{And thank goodness I remembered the phone.}

###

GETTING THERE IS HALF THE FUN (a)
by PartlyK

Time: 2:00 pm.  
Place: Central Wisconsin
        
PartlyK stood in line at the gas station, holding her crying two year old
daughter and wondering just what she had done to deserve the bad day she
was having.  She had stayed up way too late last night reading the list
and trying to decipher the rumblings of war that were out there. Finally
giving up, she had spent the next several hours fruitlessly trying to
write, finally getting to bed around 2:00.  Three short hours of sleep
later she had awoke to a steel grey dawn and a very cold mixture of sleet
and snow that was falling in central Wisconsin.  Unable to go back to
sleep, she got up, made herself some coffee, and listened to the DJs
complain about the weather on the radio.  She didn't share their
disapproval.  She didn't have anywhere to go today and cold weather was
perfect for sipping hot toddies and working on the computer or sewing.
Despite the cold, wet, tired start to her day, she wouldn't let it get her
down.  All it took to change a bad day into a good one was the right
attitude.  It wasn't until she looked out the front window to check on the
status of the bird feeders, that she realized how wrong she was. 

Someone had done something to her car.  A quick survey showed that it
wasn't just her car, it was all the cars.  Little pink buttons filled the
interiors and a dual coat of contact paper was wrapped around them. All
they would have needed were bows to make the picture complete.  She
couldn't believe that Jennie didn't think of it.  And it was Jennie's
doing.  That she was sure of.  Jennie and the Natpack.  The war must have
started overnight, and Jennie was the only one who knew Partly had decided
to be a Perkulator and she was *definitely* the only one would have used
contact paper.  It was just like Jennie to do this.  And here was Partly
with no way to get involved with the war.  They just didn't have the money
to make a trip to Toronto. 

Partly surveyed the damage again.  Her folks were going to kill her if
they saw this.  Thank God the vandal had enough sense to leave her
father's new Goldwing alone.  She had to fix this before anyone else saw
it.  They would never understand.  Surprisingly, it only took a little
over hour to repair the damage done to the three automobiles at her house.
Contact paper doesn't stick well to cold wet metal or glass and whoever
had done this had done this had supplemented the contact with glue that
was laying about the garage -- laying out there because it simply vanished
as it dried leaving no trace that it ever existed.  She had been meaning
to take it to the dump.  The buttons had proven harder to clean up, she
finally resorted to the large shop vac in the workshop to get the
remaining buttons out of the cars.  The contact paper she just tossed in
the trash, but she had no idea what she was going to do with 75 garbage
bags full of small pink buttons. 

Now four hours later nothing had improved much.  Partly had to go shopping
because she had so gracefully dropped the last gallon of milk and it
exploded over the kitchen floor, and while she was cleaning that up she
managed to burn the batch of bread that she was making, filling the house
with think black smoke and setting off the smoke detector.  She tried to
find a way to blame the Natpack for that, but she couldn't think of a way.
Now her daughter, long overdue for her nap was sobbing into her shoulder
as they waited to pay for the gas that needed.  "Oh, don't cry.  Here I'll
buy you a book." Partly tossed a colorful magazine on to the counter. 

"$12.50, please," the girl behind the counter said.

Partly pulled out her check card and handed it to the attendant. Then
picked up the magazine and presented it to her daughter, as she did so a
piece of paper fluttered to the ground.  Setting her child down, Partly
picked up the paper.  It was a twenty.  Partly looked around, but no one
else was in the store.  The clerk handed her the receipt.  "Your not going
to believe this," Partly said.  "But I think this twenty just fell out of
that magazine." 

The girl looked at the twenty and shrugged, as if finding money was an
everyday occurance.  "Must be your lucky day.  You should buy a lottery
ticket." 

Partly looked back at the twenty.  It was crisp and new except for several
pink dots of ink that were spattered on it.  She suddenly grinned. "Do you
have any tickets with pink on them?  And if you do give me $20 worth." Her
luck might be changing.  The clerk handed her five tickets, and Partly dug
in her pockets for something to use to scratch off the tickets. She pulled
out one of the obnoxious pink buttons.  This was definitely a good sign. 

###

DIAL M FOR MERC
or: ELIZABETH GETS A CALL
by Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Time: 3:00PM, CST
Place: Elizabeth's home

Elizabeth was staring desolately at the blank space on her desk where her
beloved computer usually sat.  Here she was, a Merc in need of a job, the
War just begun, and UCLA's new email system was making her computer so
crazy that she had to take it in to be worked on.  Somehow, that seemed
like the worst kind of rotten luck. 

Lost in her gloomy thoughts, she jumped a mile when the phone rang. 
Pushing her long light brown hair away from her ear, she grabbed the
receiver and said "Hello?" eagerly.  Maybe it was the tech support saying
they had her Mac fixed already... 

"Hello, is Elizabeth Ann Lewis there?" an unfamiliar voice said.

"Yes, that's me."

"Hi, this is Dianne."

A few seconds went by before it clicked.  Dianne, a fellow Merc, one of
the first to help her when she had posted to the list begging for help. 

"Hi.  It's nice to hear your voice.  How are you?"

"I'm fine.  How are *you*?"

"Oh, pretty much the same.  I'm tired, have too many papers to write, and
broke --haven't got a red cent.  Oh, wait," Elizabeth laughed, picking up
the Chuck E. Cheese token she had dropped on her dresser.  "I can at least
play one free game at a kid's pizza parlor." 

"You mean you got one too?"

"Got what?"

"A Chuck E. Cheese token," Dianne said urgently.

Slowly, Elizabeth sat down on her bed.  "You mean... I wasn't the only
one?" 

"Elizabeth, has anything else happened to you?"

Elizabeth's eyes strayed to the empty spot on her desk.  "Well, my
computer is in the shop.  Some of the programs got corrupted.  You don't
think...?" 

"Well, you're new, and you haven't done anything to anyone yet.  But, I'd
be careful if I were you.  Here's where you can reach me, or another Merc
if you need us.  I'll be out for most of tonight."  Dianne rattled off a
number. "Have you got a job yet?" 

"No, not yet, but I can't read all my email, so I don't know."

"Well, take care.  Be careful--you don't know *who* will come after you."

"Thanks, Dianne, you too."

Elizabeth hung up the phone, and sat staring into space.  It was a good
thing that she didn't really believe in vampires...she would be seriously
scared. 

###

BACK IN A FLASH
by Cousin Deborah

TIME: Afternoon

Deborah cast a wary glance in Julie's direction over the heads of the
cousins that had gathered for the meeting. She had no idea that Julie
would take Uncle's directions to keep an eye on her so seriously. "Oh
well," Deborah thought to herself, "with all these cousins in the place,
she won't notice if I'm gone only for a minute." 

Creeping along the wall of the club, Deborah found herself right where she
wanted to be - the door to the office. Luckily Uncle had given her a set
of keys since he expected her to stay and look after the Raven while
everyone else was out "warring" "Yeah, as if," she laughed silently. 

Once in the office, Deborah waited a moment to see if anyone had followed
her. When it became apparent that no one had, she dialed the number. 

"Leave your message at the tone," the voice that answered said.

Sigh. "Hi, it's Deb. I'm at the Raven with more cousins than I ever
imagined existed. Listen I need to know something. Did anyone in your
faction receive anything...um funny recently? Don't call me back here.
Leave a message for me at home and I'll check my machine. And hey, As soon
as you get here, we'll hook up. After tonight, I will have seen quite
enough of this particular interior for a few days. I'll be and out
tomorrow during the day. I haven't been to Toronto in a while but I'll
check back with you to see what's up." 

Deborah hung up the phone and took a deep breath. "OK, Deb, get back out
there and find out what going on." 

###

NICK&NATPACK KNIGHTMARE
by Christine Hunt

Time: Afternoon
Place: The Hunt Home, Brooklyn, NY

The dream came more often now.
     
Nightly, the awful spectacle would unfold, and Christine Hunt would awaken
in a cold sweat, unsure of reality. Even as she fell into a deep afternoon
sleep, exhausted from a restless night, the images danced before her once
more, haunting her.... 
     
The e-mail from JP.... "I'm sorry, but we've decided to abandon the
Nick&Nat thing...they're too old, you see, and so are you...we want to
attract that *younger crowd*...." 
     
"I'm only thirty-two!" she would cry each night. "Don't you care about
what *I* want?!" 
     
Then Sharon Himmanen would appear before her, a beer in one hand, a spicy
tuny hand-roll in the other. "Nat's better off without him!" 
     
It was too much to bear. And then it would truly reach the pinnacle of
horror as LaCroix locked her into a room, forcing her to watch "Crazy
Love" over and over... 
     
"She remembers! You failed!" she would scream at her laughing tormentor.
     
And then Sandra Gray would appear, a wicked grin on her face as she
taunted, "Nick never made any commitment to her in BMV..." over and
over.... 
     
"You just hate me because I have Nick's silk PJs!" Christine would retort,
as Sandra switched the tape to BlackWing....

And then she would awaken, needing to read her own fiction for a reality
check.... 
     
Today was no better. And she sighed in relief as the doorbell rang, waking
her before Nick could button up his shirt.... 
     
"Federal Express."
     
She took the package with curiosity, tipping the young man and sitting
down to rip open the tightly sealed box. 
     
Her mouth opened wide in shock as she saw its contents. A putrid smell
filled her nostrils as she stared in disbelief at the human heart, pierced
with an arrow.... 

###

GETTING THERE IS HALF THE FUN (b)
by PartlyK

Time: 10 pm. EST 
Place: Chicago.

Partly sat in O'Hare, waiting for here connecting flight to Buffalo.  She
couldn't get a direct flight to Toronto, and it had been more economic
this way.  She had won $565 with the scratch off tickets (not counting the
original $20 that she had asked for), she left $100 with her husband,
thought of a clever cover story as to why she had to go to Toronto,
arranged for someone the watch her daughter, then bought the plane ticket. 
That left her just over $200.  It would be a tight budget, she supposed,
but she had been to enough cons to know how to live cheap. Besides she did
have her credit cards. 

She now had a four hour layover to deal with, getting her to Buffalo
around 4:00 am, taking into account the time change.  Then rent a car and
drive to Toronto.  She only had two things to do.  First, she had to call
Tracy.  She had met Tracy on an AOL list discussing the Quebec vote, and
almost had a heart attact when she realized that she was talking to *the*
Tracy Vetter.  Of course, it was a relationship that she cultivated.  She
walked over to the phones and rang through to the station. "Tracy Vetter
please."  They transfered her.  "Hello Tracy?  This is Partly. Guess what? 
I'm going to be in Toronto for a while.  Well, it's a long story.  How
'bout we have breakfast tomarrow and I will tell you all about it?  Seven
O'clock?  At your job?  I'd love to."  She hung up and dialed again. 

One last thing -- a little warning for the Natpack.  She finally managed
to connect to an all night delivery service in Toronto.  After hanging up
she spotted a paper laying next to the phone.  It was a racing forum for
the late night horse races.  Someone had circled Fire Eater in the second
race, but it was the horse below that caught her eye -- Button Down.  The
filly was set to go at 35 to 1.  Partly glance at a clock.  She had 30
minutes to get to a place to bet, and then another 2 hours before she had
to worry about missing her plane.  Maybe she wouldn't have to skimp so
much after all. 

Place: Toronto

Natalie stared at the package that had just been delivered to her. It was
addressed to Natalie Lambert and Friends and with the war going on she
knew better than to think that "Friends" meant anything other than
Natpack.  After a moment's hesitation she opened it.  Nothing jumped out
at her, and it didn't seem to be ticking.  Reaching in she pulled out a
large card that had a bright yellow smiley face on it.  Inside it said: 
Have a *nice* day.  Setting it down she reached inside once more and
pulled out an old style coffee maker, it also had an obnoxious yellow
smiley face on it. She set it down on her desk, and looked in the box. 
Nothing more. Suddenly the knob on the pot began to blink.  Natalie backed
away, wondering if it was going to explode.  It didn't.  Instead high,
tinny notes filled the room.  It took Nat a moment to recognize the tune. 
It was "It's a small world after all."  Nat almost wished it would have
exploded. 

###

N&NPACK--WHO HATES US?
by Christine Hunt

Time: Afternoon
Place: the Hunt Home, Brooklyn

Christine stared at the heart, blood still not fully dried where the arrow
had pierced it, for a full minute before closing the box in disgust. Her
pomeranian followed her down the hallway as she dumped the unwanted gift
into the garbage incinerator. "So, Little Bear, Erika isn't the only one
who got a present in the mail today..." 
     
The pom just looked at her with a quizzical expression, the same one
Nick usually gave Natalie when he hadn't a clue. Christine reached for the
phone.
      
"Erika? It's me, Chris. Guess what I just got."
      
"I told you--it's the Immortal Beloveds. It has to be. We're in their
way," her friend replied with certainty. 
      
Erika couldn't see her shake her head. "I'm not so sure. They're a small
group. I mean, who really wants to see Nick get back with Janette?" 
      
Erika couldn't think of more than three or four people, compared to the
Nick&NatPackers, who numbered over forty and were growing daily. 
      
"Let's think about this, Erika. What about the Ravenettes? Susan Garrett
is the one who came up with our logo in the first place--the ekg with the
heart." 
      
"Oh, my God," responded Erika suddenly. "Tara O'Shea. I've got a Ravenette
right here at school with me! Do you think they're responsible?" 
      
Christine thought long and hard, before replying, "No, probably not. I
mean, Janette herself seemed okay with Nick and Natalie. Look at how she
saved Nat from that creep, Spark.  And according to Cousin Jamie, the
whole reason Janette left was because she knew that Nick was in love with
Nat." 
     
"I don't know--it could still be some renegade Raven or Ravenette. Janette
can't control them all, and neither can Susan. I mean, as a practice, we
never speak out against Janette. But someone could be really bitter about
her leaving, and blame Nat." 
     
A sudden thought struck Christine. "What about a renegade Knightie or
NatPacker?" 
     
"Our *own* kind?" Erika asked incredulously. "But why?"
      
"Just because *we're* both Knighties and NatPackers doesn't mean all of
*them* want to see Nick and Nat together," Christine reminded her. "Look
at Sharon--she thinks Nick's a pig, and Nat would be better off with
someone else." 
      
"Do you think she could have done it?"
      
"I dunno. Maybe. Or, it could be a Knightie who doesn't like him with
Nat." 
      
"Sandra Gray!" Erika exclaimed. "She thinks Nick can do no wrong, and she
calls Nat a b--" 
      
"Don't even say it," Christine warned. She thought a moment, then grinned
slyly. "I don't know if it could be Sandra. She doesn't hate us. She just
denies our existence as a viable affiliation." 
      
"The Perkulators?"
      
"The *who*?"
      
"Faithful followers of Tracy."
      
"Oh, that *one* poor misled girl? I don't know. Could she do it alone?"
      
"Maybe Tracy helped. I mean, she does want Nat out of the way--look how
she's in the center of the new cast picture--" 
      
"Ugh--I've been meaning to write to Tristar about that," Christine replied
in disgust. "Yeah, I guess it's possible. After all, if Nick and Nat were
kaput, Traaacy and Cowsie would take center stage--" 
     
"Nah," Erika said on second thought. "Tracy's not smart enough to have
come up with this." 
     
"Yeah," Chrisitne laughed. "A human heart. I mean, Buttons would have
fainted dead away over that..." 
     
"What do you mean, a human heart? Mine was rubber...."
     
"Are you serious?" Christine asked, perplexed. "What could that mean? Is
it because I'm defender of the Pack?" 
     
Erika sighed. "I don't know. As far as I'm concerned, it still points to
the Immortal Beloveds. They're the most likely." 
     
"Then we'll have to pay them back. They think they're *right*. You saw
Felicia's post. If they're so right, how come Nick didn't follow Janette,
and stayed in Toronto--*with Nat*?" 
     
Erika laughed, then sobered as she said, "All I know is that we have to
get up to Toronto. Make sure Nick and Nat are okay--and maybe get them to
talk a little about their relationship." 
     
"Sure is overdue. Besides," Chris said with a grin, "I'm dying to ask Nat
what Nick wrote in that card!" 

###

ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK--OOPS! MAKE THAT "TORONTO"! (a)
By Diane Echelbarger

Time: Afternoon
Place: Toronto

When Diane returned to Toronto midafternoon, she decided to do a little
shopping.  There were some things she *really* liked that you couldn't get
in the States--BC Cider, for example--so she parked her car in a ramp near
Eaton Centre and spent the next several hours in the megamall. Leaving it
in search of dinner, she passed the half-price ticket kiosk and ran her
eye idly over the offerings.  One caught her attention, and she stopped
for a better look. 

"Hmm--The Factory Theatre's doing a revival of Chess, huh?" she mumbled to
herself.  "Jennie was raving about that musical the last time I visited." 
She checked the showtimes, decided she could squeeze in dinner before the
curtain went up, and joined the queue at the sales window. 

###

WHEN WE HAVE YOU ARRESTED, WE USUALLY FEED YOU
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: Roughly Midafternoon
Place: Sharon's jail cell

"Having fun?" Jamie inquired casually, leaning against the wall.

Sharon was sitting morosely on the bench in her cell; she glared up at the
visiting Cousin.  "They took my shoelaces," she spat. 

"Well, they wouldn't want you to commit suicide or anything.  After all,
theft of salt is a very serious charge."  And Jamie didn't even try to
hide her smirk. 

The Natpacker's eyes narrowed.  "Why?" she wanted to know.

"It was there," said Jamie simply, and grinned.  "Are you hungry, as if I
didn't already know?  'Cause I brought you something from Burger King.
With plenty of salt." 

"There is *never* enough salt," Sharon said savagely, reached through the
bars and snatched the takeout bag. 

While she was rummaging through the paper sack, Jamie produced another
object from her bag.  "I did feel kinda bad about the inconvenience," she
said, not sounding at all repentant, "even though, y'know, since you were
already in

Toronto and such, I know you HAD to have had something to do with this
whole mess, but let's not discuss that now... anyway, I didn't want you to
get caught short, without communications, so I brought you this," and she
slid the item through the bars. 

Sharon took it warily.  Perfectly normal-looking in every way (although
that was of course no indication of anything), just your standard,
everyday laptop computer... 

"I have no illusions that you'll be here for long," Jamie offered,
unperturbed. "The charges are true, so that'll take you and your cohorts
at least a little while to work out, but I know better than to think it'll
stop you for long... I just figure, while you're here, there's no reason
for you to be bored, right?" She shrugged.  "I loaded up some games for
you, and there's a wireless satellite modem attached so's you can get your
e-mail." 

"Why?" Sharon said curiously, daring to power up the machine... it didn't
sing any songs at her, or display any bizarre graphics, or explode, and
she let out a long-held breath. 

Another shrug.  "It was there," said Cousin Jamie.  "Anyway, until we meet
again..." and she turned to go. 

"I'd be very worried about that time, if I were you," Sharon said quietly,
to her retreating back. 

Jamie just laughed, and departed.

Alone in her cell, Sharon tore open another packet of salt and sprinkled
it on her food, and keyed in via long-distance to her internet server. 
The machine logged on obediently, giving no sign of trouble, and gradually
she began to relax.  Jamie might be a Cousin, but maybe, just *maybe*, she
wasn't all that bad... 

As her connection was established, the start-up screen brought up
Netscape, and began loading a web page... Sharon watched in fascination,
for the i.d. at the top was her own, /~romana/, and that was impossible,
because she didn't *have* a web page on that server yet... 

And then she groaned, as the graphics began to load.

Chimps.  Monkeys.  Primates.  Which wouldn't have been at all bad, except
for the fact that they were all (deliberately, it seemed) mislabeled by
category and species... which was as grating as fingernails screeching
against a blackboard. 

And right in the center of the layout, a huge plastic saltshaker...

She was just about to break into a tirade of creative obscenities when she
noticed the little block of text underneath the graphics.  "Now that I've
got your attention," it began. 

Sharon read it, scrolled down and read some more, and very gradually
started to smile... 

###

A MATTER OF TASTE
by Amy Hull and the NatPack

Time: Afternoon
Place: Candice's apartment

Candice hurried out of her art class and toward her apartment at The Brick.

This was a *bad* day for the prof to decide that class should be twice as
long as normal.  The war rumblings had indicated today as the start of the
war and Candice wanted to make sure she was ready for the beginning and
could respond as quickly as it began.  This was doubly important to her
since the poster in charge of the war had contacted her and dropped
oblique hints to pique her curiosity.  If she was lucky, she'd be able to
enter the war before the planners got too far with their work. 

Candice stepped through the door and was putting her keys away when
something she had only partially noticed began to register.  Her apartment
looked wrong.  Candice slowly looked up and around.  Every item she had
place in her home for decoration was missing.  Pictures, knickknacks,
throw rugs, curtains...all of the items that helped with the aesthetics of
the place were gone. 

It could have been tolerable, but the walls were now covered, floor to
ceiling, with replicas of very bad art--the kind you'd find hanging in
McDonalds or as the insert in a frame you would buy at a discount store.
One set looked like the unstructured scribbling of a pre-school child,
while another seemed to most resemble the nature pastels one sees in a
dentist's office--the kind that are psychologically constructed to produce
calmness rather than to have artistic value. 

Candice's lip curled in disgust.  As she headed for the computer to launch
a counter attack, she noticed a photo on a table.  It was propped up on a
stand that, on closer inspection, turned out to be constructed of Q-tips. 
The photograph itself displayed a construction-orange, yellow-bellied
dragon with white spikey hair.  The back of the photo read, very neatly,
"Courtesy of Susan Garrett." 

"Well, if they wanted war, they've got it," Candice murmured.  "We Cousins
know how to deal with people like this."  She smiled wickedly to herself,
set the photo down, and headed for the computer to check other
developments. 

###

SUNSET BOULEVARD (c)
by Cousin Candice

Time: 4pm EST
Place: Alfred, New York, USA and Toronto, CAN
        
The afternoon's crit wasn't as bad as she'd expected, infact, it she
almost got a great critique.  Too bad her hair got more attention than her
work.  She sighed and hiked through the falling snow (about an inch on the
ground now) back to her room in The Brick. 
        
It was one of the more interesting buildings on campus.  It used to be a
hospital and was in the shape of a cross.  The basement used to be a
morgue.  When they renovated the building, they made a kitchen and eating
area there. Go figure.  Candice climed up the stairs to her room, thankful
that her roomie got her keys for her.  The keys jangled loudly as she went
to unlock her door, but it was already open.  //Odd, Stacy *never* leaves
the door unlocked.  Never.//
        
On alert mode, Candice slowly opened the door, and crept into the room. 
//Hmm..no one's here, okay.// She smiled and plopped her bookbag on the
floor and turned on the t.v.  Candice threw her keys on her cluttered desk
and then looked up.  Correction, her -formerly- cluttered desk was wiped
clean! 
        
"Ohmygoddess..."  All of her things were missing!  Her rugs, the celestial
blue curtains she'd hung, the posters from SVA and CBGB's, her blue,
white, and black candles -infact ALL her candles!  The framed pictures of
Brian and herself were gone.  Her photo albums, art books, cards on the
wall --all gone.  Instead there were all these tacky pictures on the
walls.  Thank goodness they'd left her roommates things alone -no telling
how Stac would react to that.  Bringing another question to mind -who
would *do* such a thing?  She went to her desk to get a closer look at the
utter neatness of it all.  She picked up what seemed to be a stray Q-Tip
(tm) and threw it into the trash.  Then a photo caught her eye.  It wasn't
one of *her's*, that was for damn sure.  Framed in Q-Tips, an image of a
yellow bellied, orange skinned dragon with white spikey hair. Candice
flipped the photo over and on the back was written very neatly "Courtsey
of Susan Garrett." 
        
"Well if they wanted war, they've got it," Candice murmured.  "We Cousins
know how to deal with people like this."  She smiled wickedly to herself
and headed for the door to the VAX lab to check other developments. At
first she'd thought this was just another of the Alfred Merc's ideas of a
funny joke.  Now it seemed she'd have to deal with the Rais..er Ravenettes
as well.  Candice thought better of logging on to the computer and started
throwing things in her backpack.  She'd be able to iron things once she
got back to Toronto, so wrinkles didn't matter.  Candice grabbed her
garmet bag just because she didn't know how much time she'd have to iron. 
Wars tended to take up alot of time.  You had to be in a million places a
night and you had to keep up before someone runs you over. It was gonna be
a long day.  Candice picked up her phone and began to dial LaCroix's cell
phone and then thought better of it.  //It's 4:15, how would *you* feel if
someone woke you up in the middle of the night? ..or day, as it were.//
Once packed with essentials, Candice left a message for Stacy telling her
to tell anyone that called that Candice was currently bed-ridden with
strep-throat and couldn't talk, locked the door, and ran down to the VAX
room.  On the off chance Uncle was on the 'net, she logged on to the IRC
channel #WarChannel..  Candice sent a message to Rosebud ( ..oddly
romantic, wouldn't you say, Uncle dear?..):: 

/msg Rosebud Hey there, on the off chance, would you happen to have any
transportational aquaintances around Alfred? 

Candice waited for a moment before recieving anything back...god how she
hated lag.. 

*Rosebud*  Of course, Candice, though I could just come and get you...

Candice visably shuddered and looked out the window at the ever increasing
snow piles. 

/msg Rosebud No thanks, one flight a day is good enought for me, besides,
it's snowing here,...wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything...;)

*Rosebud* Alright, have it your way.  I'll call a car for you, any
objections to a limo?  It should be there in about 20 minutes. 

/msg Rosebud Heh, nope -as long as I can stretch out in the back seat for
a few hours, I'll be okay :)

*Rosebud* Nice nick, you'll have to explain it to me later ...how did you
know I'd be awake anyway? 

She snickered as the keyboard clicked and clacked rapidly.

/msg Rosebud If I was -half- the insomniac I think you are, I'd be
surprised...let's just call it Woman's Intuition?  ..aye, and you'll have
to explain yours as well ;)

*Rosebud* Well then Candice, I'll see you at 8.

/msg Rosebud ..Till then Lucien,...

Candice logged off and ran down to the Express Mart.  She purchased a box
of L'Oreal reddish/brown hair coloring, and then returned to The Brick.
She waited, if a little jittery, for her ride.  "Ready or not, here I
come.." she mumbled under her breath. 

###

TIME TO STOP HORSING AROUND
by Lisa Wolters

Time: Late afternoon
Place:  hilltop overlooking yuppie suburbia, San Francisco Bay Area, CA

Halfway up the steep dirt trail, Nick&NatPacker Lisa Wolters slowed her
horse, Jasper, from an eager gallop to a walk as she spied a mountain
biker heading down the trail towards them.  The cyclist saw them and
stopped.  He took a slug from his water bottle and pulled off his helmet,
shaking his tousled blonde hair and smiling with baby blue eyes at Lisa. 
     
"Thanks for stopping!" she grinned with sincerity.  Oh, how he looked like
a certain blonde vampire... 
    
"No problem," He winked at her, and then, when Lisa and Jasper were safely
past, took off back down the trail. 
     
Lisa sighed, happily lost in a Nick&Nat fantasy.  Why was it that the only
place she ever met cute men, if only in passing, was when she was out
riding?  *Probably because you spend almost every free minute you get on
the back of a horse* the 27-year-old told herself.  *That's almost as bad
for Ye Olde Social Life as working the night shift in a morgue.*
     
Just then, the cell phone she always carried in her fanny pack rang. This
could only be bad news....the one person who knew her cellular number was
her mother, with whom she'd been living for the past few months.  If
anything had happened to her... 
     
She halted Jasper so she could reach for the phone.
     
"Mom?"
    
"Oh, thank God I reached you.  I wasn't sure I could get you if you were
in a valley, or behind a hill, or..." 
     
"Mom."  Lisa said calmly, although her heart pounded, and Jasper pawed
impatiently.  "What's wrong.  Talk to me." 
     
"A package--a strange and horrible package--"
     
"QVC delivered the wrong gizmo?" Lisa asked in confusion.  Her
sixtysomething mom was always ordering thingys from that d***ed home
shopping station. 
     
"No," her mother gasped, "it came for you--"
    
"Mom, something came for me, and you _opened_ it?"  Not again...  Lisa
turned bright red from embarrassment, something she did often and well
with her pale complexion.  She pulled off her sun visor and ran a hand
through her shoulder-length red hair. 
     
"I wasn't going to, but it was so oddly shaped, and didn't have a return
address--" 
     
"Mom, what IS it?"
     
"A replica of a human heart.  With an arrow stuck through it."
     
"That," Lisa said slowly, "is _weird_."
     
She didn't have any psychotic ex-boyfriends, as far as she knew.  Was it
some FK listmember's idea of a joke?  Retaliation for that bit o' fluff
she'd written about the Caddy being Nick's one true love?  Jeez, had
_everyone_ lost their sense of irony lately?  "I'll be right there, just
as soon as I can get Jasper back to his stall."  She turned the perturbed
horse around and headed back to the barn. 
     
After Jasper had been bathed, rinsed, dried, brushed, blanketed, and fed
his daily grain ration, she hopped into her NatMobile (a Jeep Cherokee,
named following a brief list discussion about what kind of car Natalie
should drive when TPTB replaced her blown-up one) and drove home. 
     
She pulled up to the curb in front of the house, tires squealing, and
leaped from the NatMobile.  Her mother met her at the door, The Thing in
hand. 
     
When she saw it, with her Nick&NatPacker instincts, Lisa knew.  This must
be an act of War.  Well then, War it was.  But by whom, and for what?  A
human heart...sent by someone who didn't want Nick to recover his
humanity, who didn't think his heart belonged to Natalie?  Lisa got that
determined look that was so typical of her heroine. 
    
Lisa had plenty to offer the Nick&NatPack:  nerves of steel that would
allow her to face the nastiest of rank horses or the evilest of ancient
vampires; access to the research facilities of the University of
California, Davis, one of the nation's leading veterinary colleges, where
Litovuterine-C was currently being tested (it could happen--ed.); a car
with four-wheel drive that could hold five legally (or up to a dozen in a
pinch); and enough leftover Halloween candy to keep them on a sugar high
to the not-so-bitter, Nick&Nat Together-At-Last end. 
     
She had to reach Christine Hunt immediately...  What time was it on the
East Coast, anyway? 

###

GETTIN' RILED, GETTIN' READY
by Cousin Deborah with Cherri Munoz and Lisa Prince

Time: Almost sundown
Place: The Raven

There were Cousins everywhere. In the booths, at tables, sitting at the
bar, sitting on the bar or just milling about. Everyone, it seemed, had a
story about what had brought them there. There was Cousin Shirl, who'd
found q-tips glued in snowflake patterns on her windows; Cousin Tamatha
who had been a little more than a *bit* surprised to find that when she
went to put the laundry in the dryer, it was filled with q-tips. Poor
Cherri, who had made a very long trip to get there, had found cotton swabs
inside the hood of her cape. 

"Since the hood is big enough to drown in," she wailed "I didn't notice
the swabs were inside until it was too late.  As soon as I flipped the
hood over my head, the swabs were flying everywhere. After that I
immediately called here to find out what was going on.  Uncle answered and
said that the Cousins were to meet him at the Raven. So here I am." 

"At last." piped up a voice in the back.

"Hey," Cherri shot back indignantly, "it took a little longer to arrange a
flight out because it was foggy and rainy in LA. Yeah I know, that never
happens there but, during a brief break in the weather, my plane was able
to leave. Someone obviously didn't want me here." 

"Not that we're any safer once we get here." Cousin Lisa (not McDavid)
declared. "Wednesday night, after grabbing the first flight out of Kennedy
to get to Toronto in order to see exactly what was going on, I was hanging
out around the corner from here, just waiting and watching to see who
would be showing up.  And to see if I could catch one of these pranksters
in the act.  When out of the sky, an avalanche of cotton swabs began
raining down on me.  Well, of course I couldn't believe that anyone would
have the unbelievable gall to hang out on Uncle's roof just so they could
throw cotton swabs at people.  So, I raced up to the roof to investigate
and whoever had done it was long gone.  To prevent this from happening
again and maybe catching the culprit if they tried it again, I decided to
hang out on the roof for a while. That's when *Commando* Craig over there
decided that I was threat to life and limb and dragged me inside." 

"I was wondering what you were doing up there," Cousin Celeste mused

"OK, look everyone," Julie interrupted impatiently, "We *all* had
something happen. The question now is WHO." 

"What about why?" asked Shirl.

Julie laughed derisively. "Do you really care *why*? Isn't it annoying
enough that you're going to have q-tip Christmas decorations on your
windows from now to kingdom come. You want to discuss their motivations
for doing it too?" 

"Um, no, I don't. I want to know who did it and I want them to take care
of it." 

The crowd cheered.

Deborah shouted over the din. "OK, settle, people, settle. Here's the
thing. It could be anyone." 

"The Ravenettes," Julie insisted. "It's all about the club." 

"The knighties maybe?" offered a tall thin girl in black.

"Not unless they kept it secret from the Brick," the denim-clad man next
to her said. "You know how he is.  He likes to think that they don't
attack, only defend." 

"No," countered another Cousin "it's the Mercs. They're drumming up
business." 

"The Natpackers. Could they be doing it?" Cherri asked and then shook her
head. "Never mind. I mean, what could we have done to upset them?" 

Deborah shrugged. "Could be anything but we'd have to guess what it was.
They'd never come right out and say it. Big problems with communicating
feelings in that faction. Nat must be rubbing off on them.  Anyway, you
can all see my point. We, the Cousins I mean, have managed at one time or
another to get every faction and Uncle at one time or another has bested
almost everyone. We have a lot of suspects. I think that the best thing is
to split up and torment the heck out of the other factions (yes, even the
new ones) until *someone* confesses." 

The crowd applauded this idea and the Raven was soon filled with the sound
of nefarious plans being made. And none too soon because it was almost
sundown and that's when things really start happening in Toronto. 

###

WAR
by Jackie Wagner

Time: 5:10pm
Place: Jackie's home

This was war, indeed.  Cousin Jackie was a stern but patient soul. Years
spent dealing with John Q. Public had moulded her public persona into a
kindly but firm combination of June Cleaver-with-an-attitude mixed with
the wit and sarcasm of Murphy Brown, and a liberal dash of Kat Hepburn. 
Dealing with people renewing license plates and grumbling about awful
driver's license photos and the cost of parking tickets made it an on job
necessity. She was able to take on a horde of brand new 16 year olds
clutching their 'exams passed' papers without turning a hair, laugh at the
looneytoon rushing out screaming into traffic yelling "Hit me, I have no
insurance and they won't sell me plates!" and co-workers accusing everyone
of stealing their cookies by consoling herself with the knowledge that she
was off at five and heading for the hot tub and a good cup of coffee,
preferably at the same time. 

Turning into her street at 5:10, she hummed happily along with the
soundtrack of IWTV blasting "Sympathy for the Devil" the beige 93 Tempo
heading unerringly for home and its nice, roomy two car garage.  The first
indication of trouble was a rather large, very ugly car parked smack in
the middle of the driveway, effectively blocking the Ford from its berth. 
Grumbling under her breath, she hefted the two large bags of groceries
she'd picked up on her lunch hour and trudged up the hill. Probably one of
her mother-in-law's fortune telling clients that were too old to drive,
drove overlarge tanks they could barely see over the steering wheel, and
never had enough common sense to park in the street... 

The first cup of coffee poured, the food put away and visions of soaking
her aching bones in the hot tub dancing pleasantly in her mind, she ran to
don her suit and took the first, heavenly cup of coffee since seven
a.m....and immediatley spit it out.  "Decaf!" She roared, her tone
murderous. 

"Who in the h*ll made decaf. More to the point, who would even buy decaf?"
She stared accusingly at the cat, who yawned, the husband, who shrugged,
and the little old lady cowering in the living room, listening with wide
eyes as her fortune was told by the mother-in-law holding court in her
stratolounger.  Muttering to herself, she restarted the Bunn with real
coffee, poured the offending brew out, and hands shaking, reached for a
packet of equal to dump in the newly made coffee, and stared in disbelief
at what she held...salt.  More specifically, small individual salt packets
from Micky D's. 

Growling under her breath, she dug into the emergency stash of SweetnLow
in the change pocket of her purse, and vowing to not let all the petty
annoyances to spoil her night off, strode out onto the deck. Setting the
precious cup of coffee carefully on the patio table, she whipped the cover
off the spa and waited for the first heavenly waft of steam to hit her as
she shivered in the light chill of the early November evening...then let
out a shriek of horror. 

...They were...floating.  On the surface of the water, roiling as the jets
moved them in little whirlpools of wadded, white masses, tumbling like
drunken pick-up sticks scattered by a careless hand, thousands upon
thousands of ultra -long single tipped swabs...these were not the usual,
only in the office of doctors and hospitals... "Natpackers!"  she gasped.
The war, of course...so silly to think she was immune; she was a Cousin,
after all. 

Muttering imprecations, she left the sorry looking sea of steamy white,
and ran inside to make emergency travel arrangements. 

###

ORGANIZING THE N&NPACK
by Christine Hunt

Time: 6pm
Place: JFK Airport, NYC

It hadn't been easy to get away so quickly. Christine's husband Jeff had
been as willing to let her take an immediate trip to Toronto as he had
been to let her spend $580 on used black silk pjs... It had been cake once
she'd promised to find the money for him to fly down to Miami to see the
Dolphins play. Jeff and football. She laughed to herself. Kind of like her
friend Sharon and beer. 
     
Christine whipped out her cell phone as she waited impatiently for the
attendant to call her flight. She hadn't had time to contact all the
Nick&NatPackers before leaving, but she knew that at least Judy
Freudenthal and Maryann Jorgensen had received similar gifts in the mail
as Erika--the rubber hearts. Her suspicion that there were two forces at
work here were confirmed when Christine received her own rubber heart--not
really a scary sight compared to the human one that had arrived a half
hour earlier. She waited impatienly as she rang Lisa Wolter's cell phone
number. Contacting her at home was a waste of time--she'd probably be out
on her horse (wasn't she always?)
     
A ring, then a nervous voice. "Hello?"
     
"Lisa, it's me, Christine. Did you get anything funny in the mail today?" 
     
"I don't think funny is the right word, but I got a rubber heart with an
arrow through it." 
     
"I got the same model," she replied grimly. "Not to mention the human one
it was patterned after." 
    
Lisa was silent for a moment before asking, "It's War, isn't it?"
    
"Uh-huh. I'm on my way up to Toronto. We're staying at the Hilton
downtown." She'd stressed the "we" with a grin, knowing Lisa's excitement
for adventure. 
    
"I'll be out on the first flight!" Lisa said enthusiastically.
     
"I'll put your name on the register. Cindy Brewer should be coming in
tonight too. I'm still waiting to hear back form Mary Margaret Lowe and
Marie Savill. Judy and Maryann can't make it in until Monday, but they'll
be staying at the loft with the Knighties." She could hear Lisa's envious
sigh. "Yeah, I know. But remember, he's Nat's, so don't even think about
it!" 
     
"What about Erika Hanson and Paula Hurley?" Lisa asked, snapping out of
her blond knight fantasy. 
     
"Erika should be there already, also staying at the loft--"
     
"Maan--"
     
"And Paula's coming in tonight from Newfoundland. We've got a suite, so
there's plenty of room--" 
     
"And jsut who's paying?" Lisa asked with more than a bit of curiosity.
"That's a four or five star hotel..." 
     
Christine grinned. "Nick, of course. Perri told me to put it on my Amex,
and he'll take care of the bill." 
     
"Does Nick know this?"
     
"Knowing Perri, he will sooner or later."
     
They laughed, a brief respite despite the underlying tension. When she
sobered, Lisa asked, "Any idea who could have done this?" 
    
"The more I think about it, it's probably the Immortal Beloveds.  Perri's
called a War Conference to create an alliance between us, the Natpack,
Knighties, FoDs and Vaqueros. I'm heading over there at 9, and should be
back to the hotel soon afterwards." 
     
Lisa digested this, then asked, "So if it is the IB, what do we do?"
     
Christine patted her pocketbook. "Don't worry. I've got a plan. And
supplies. you'll be rolling on the floor when I tell you. But I need you
to bring something, too. While we're up there, we've got to work on our
main goal--getting Nick and Nat to communicate...." 
     
She could imagine Lisa rolling her eyes as she replied, "Oh, sure, real
simple..." 
     
"It will be, if you bring that little serum you told me they've been
working on at UC Davis, at eh Veterinary school...." 
     
Lisa could hardly gasp out the words. "You want me to get a hold of...and
bring up...and use...and inject Nick...." 
     
"Yep. The leitovuterine-C...."

###

IN THE MOOOOD FOR ADVENTURE
by Lisa Wolters

Time: 3pm PST
Place: California

Lisa said goodbye to Christine and set her cell phone down in shock.  It
*was* War.  And now she had to get the leitovuterine-C and get to
Toronto--fast. Nick and Nat's future as a couple--and the honor of the
Nick&NatPack--depended on it.  When her friend Paul, a researcher at UC
Davis, had told her about the new leitovuterine-C studies, she naturally
been interested, but she never dreamed that it would come to this. 
     
The blaring theme music of the Ricki Lake show from the den told her that
her mother would be occupied for the next hour.  That would give her time
to make the necessary arrangements and get out before she had to answer
some very difficult questions.  She prayed she'd still be welcome at Hotel
Mom when she got back; she left a short note of apology, promising to
explain everything when she got to Toronto. 
     
She pulled clothes from her closet in haste as her chubby grey and white
tabby cat, Trouble Cat, watched unhappily.  "Sorry, T.C.  Mama's got to go
away for a while.  Take care of grandma for me."  She rumaged for other
necessary supplies: her daily planner, her own pillow, several bags of
Halloween candy...  Then she started making calls.  She booked an evening
flight out of Sacramento Metro Airport--not as easy to get to Toronto from
as SFO would have been, but Metro was closer to UC Davis.  When the
airline rep asked her how she wanted to pay, she considered the U.S.
government credit card in her hand, one of the perks of the job she would
soon be laid off from due to Budget Cuts. Could she justify taking this
trip at taxpayer expense?  Sure she could.  And she'd have the de Brabant
Foundation pay off the Feds after the War.  Her final call was to her
friend Paul, asking for a very special favor. 
     
Just before the Ricki Lake Show ended, she snuck out the front door,
hopped into the NatMobile, and sped off to Davis--the land o' cows and the
city that gave the world the square tomato.  Soon, it might also give the
world its first rehumanized vampire. 
     
Less than 45 minutes later, thanks to creative freeway driving, Lisa
pulled into the back lot of the Beef Barns west of the UC Davis campus. 
In jeans and her faded UCD sweatshirt, with no makeup and with her hair in
a ponytail, she would look like any other ag student to unwanted
observers.  She slung her old college backpack over her shoulder and
walked past the paddocks full of leitovuterine-enhanced cattle.  She met
her friend under a pool of dim light at the corner of the main barn. 
     
"Did you bring the stuff?" she whispered.
     
Paul looked around nervously.  "Yes.  But Lisa, you've never done anything
illegal or immoral in your life, and now you're gonna start by smuggling
drugs over the Canadian border?" 
     
"Not drugs," she said with a conviction that startled her.  "Nick and
Nat's chance at happiness." 
     
"Yeah...whatever."  Paul had watched the show a few times himself, but was
mystified by the passion with which his normally practical friend regarded
it. He handed her the leitovuterine, which he'd cleverly hidden inside a
harmless-looking box of chocolates, hugged Lisa hard, then watched her
disappear into the twilight.  Aboard her plane, Lisa stared pensively out
the window, wondering how her life could have changed so suddenly.  War
did funny things to people, indeed. She held the box of "chocolates" in
her lap.  Many hours, numerous stops, and one change of airlines at JFK
later, she got off the plane and walked into the Toronto night.  She
rented a car, got herself a map of downtown, and drove to the Hilton,
where she would meet up with Chris and the rest of the 'Pack.  Her body
craved sleep, but she was far too wound up to care.  *This* she smiled to
herself *was _real_.* And she knew that all of the Nick&NatPack would just
as ready for action as she was. 

###

BIMBO? NO! SHE'S SECRETLY... A HEADBANGER!
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 6pm EST, fading into evening

It was cold, swiftly darkening, a stiff breeze blowing fiercely down Yonge
Street, but the alcove that held the outdoor plastic tables was somewhat
sheltered, and their cups of cappucino sent reassuring little puffs of
steam into the cool air...  Tracy's head was bent over the Walkman, her
eyes shut tightly, hands pressing the headphones more tightly against her
ears as her whole body made little movements as if she longed to dance. 
The music blared from the tiny earphone-speakers, loud enough to be heard
clearly: hard rock, heavy metal, and the loud cheers of the live audience
who'd witnessed the show. And it was clear from her body language that
Tracy was deeply immersed in the tape, was unconsciously trying to invoke
the spirit of that concert, to relive it as if she'd been there. 

On the other side of the table, Cousin Jamie watched her intently, and
waited. 

"That must've been a good show," she yelled, forgetting that she wore the
headphones; Jamie reached over and tugged them off, and Tracy repeated the
statement more quietly.  "I wish I could've made it there," the young
detective concluded wistfully. 

"I was really hoping you would," Jamie recalled the long-ago concert, the
invited guest who at the last moment hadn't been able to make it south for
the show.  "I bought you a ticket and everything." 

"KISS at the Ritz," Tracy mused.  "A little nightclub..."

"Not so little," Jamie qualified.  "Usedta hold about a thousand people...
that night, I could swear it was more like three thou." 

"Even so...  I remember my father taking me and my brothers to see KISS,
when I was a little girl.  All the makeup, and the special effects; it was
incredible..." 

"They stopped doing the Kabuki makeup years before the Ritz gig."

"Even so," Tracy insisted stubbornly.  "I would've given anything to see
the band again... *especially* without the makeup.  I used to have such a
crush on Paul Stanley..."  Abruptly, her eyes widened.  "THAT'S who he
reminds me of!" 

"Who?" Jamie asked innocently, though of course she knew; hadn't she
noticed the resemblance herself?  That ocular likeness between Paul "The
Guppy" Stanley and Javier "Guppy-Boy" Vachon was what had led her to
rummage through her old boxes of paperwork and correspondence, and
retrieve the address and phone number of a half-remembered acquaintance
from her days of being 'with the band'...  Tracy had moved out of her
parents' house since then, of course, but Jamie hadn't had any trouble
charming the new data out of Missus Vedder. She had, after all, been a
secretary; and secretaries, even disabled ones, had a gift for telephone
chicanery -- everyone knew that. 

"Never mind.  Nothing."  Tracy shook her head, as if to dismiss the
thought. "I don't suppose," she asked hesitantly, "you would make a copy
of the tape for me?" 

Now THIS was the tricky part.  "I have an extra copy right here," said
Jamie, patting her knapsack/purse.  "Y'wanna trade?" 

"Sure," Tracy said eagerly, professional poise falling away, leaving only
a fresh-faced young girl anxious for a bootleg tape of her favorite band. 

"Well," Jamie began carefully, "it's kind of weird.  I've got this sort of
scavenger hunt thing going on... and I'm missing one piece of the puzzle;
I was hoping you could help me," and she outlined her needs. 

Tracy was puzzled, at first.  "But why not just take a page out of a
fashion magazine?" 

"It has to be a photograph," Jamie said.  "And it has to be autographed."

"Hmm.  I don't... wait a moment."  The mischievous glint in Tracy's eyes
signified that she'd had exactly the flash of inspiration Jamie had hoped
for. "My partner... on his desk, or actually, in the top drawer, he's got
this framed picture of, well, I guess she's an old girlfriend or
something.  And I'm kind of close with his new girlfriend, well, they're
not actually going together, but there's definitely something going on...
and I'll bet Nat would be pleased if that picture, y'know, disappeared..." 
She chuckled wickedly, leaned forward confidentially.  "A woman in a
bikini on the beach in the moonlight; it's exactly what you need." 

"Oh, yes," Jamie nodded in agreement, carefully keeping the exultation
from her voice.  "It's exactly what I need." 

------------------------------------------------------

A short time later, Tracy handed her a rectangular object in a plastic
shopping bag, took her tape and popped it into her Walkman, and danced
back into the precinct building, shaking her "thang" to the hard-driving
beat of KISS' heavy-metal tunes; and Jamie got the hell out of there as
quickly as her tired feet and aching back would allow.  It was fully dark
now, and the vampires would be coming out to play... 

When she'd placed a safe distance between herself and Nick's place of
work, she dug into the plastic bag and pulled out the manila folder
inside, opened it and withdrew the coveted photo.  She had to admit, the
composition was perfect; the snap had definitely been taken by an
expert... although the appeal of the shot was wholly due to the exquisite
beauty of the photographer's model. 

The look of smoldering passion mingled with tenderness in the woman's dark
eyes suggested a certain... intimacy with the photographer; Jamie could
guess who'd been wielding the camera that day. 

The inscription: elegant penmanship, forming only a name, "Janette," and
nothing more. 

Such a small thing, such an innocuous thing over which to go to such
lengths. But this photograph -- legitimately obtained, by Jamie's code of
ethics: she'd traded for it fairly, and any negative repercussions would
be on Tracy's karma for having swiped it from Nick's desk -- this picture
was the commodity by which she could obtain a retribution she'd been
looking forward to for quite awhile.  This picture would set into motion a
chain of events that would lead to the perfect revenge for a transgression
she'd ignored...but not forgotten. 

//Revenge is a dish best served cold,// she mused.  //And wherever
possible, in full, blazing color...//

Giggling wickedly to herself, she continued on her way, limping confidently
down the dark Toronto street.

###

SUN LIGHT, SUN *BRIGHT*!
by Amy Hull and the NatPack

Time: Evening
Place: Heather Parks' residence

Heather Parks headed home to get to her computer and the various
developments in the war that was scheduled to have started. 

Her first goal, however, was to change clothes.  Clothes were, of course,
a serious issue with Heather, as a Ravenette.  She kicked off her shoes on
the way across her room and opened her closet, simultaneously struggling
out of the clothes she'd worn all day. 

Heather dropped her shirt to the floor and looked up.  She blinked.  And
blinked again.  What she saw before her had to be some kind of nightmare
or hallucination.  Her entire, tasteful wardrobe was missing and her
closet was full of bright, day-glo clothes, mostly of the workout variety. 
Heather rushed to her dresser and pulled the drawers open, one after
another.  They were also full of the same type of fluorescent orange,
green, and pink attire.  Even her underwear had been taken and traded. 

Heather looked around her room, debating whether to wear the same clothes
into the evening or to change into some of the clothing now in her
possession--and risk perhaps getting see in it and stripped of her
affiliation. 

The war had definitely begun.

###

IMLATEIMLATEIMLATE...
by erica and Bianca Hall

Time: 4:00 pm PST

Bianca shook her head at the sight... erica was scrambling about so fast,
Bianca was surprised she didn't slip on the polished foyer tile and crack
her head open. A nice image, that was, and one that she'd *always* heard
mumbled by her big sister, who was convinced that younger sisses couldn't
be trusted to run about, lest they injure themselves let alone get their
driver's licenses because Bianca was, after all, 16 now and d*mn proud of
it... But then, she was mentally babbling. Must be the after effects of
watching erica tear about the house like June Cleaver on Speed. Bianca
leaned against the front door and watched the show. 

"i'm late we're late i can't believe this it's my lot in life to go
running from one place to another i was born late i was chronically tardy
in high school i'll end up taking centuries to die but that's if i'm lucky
and that's another thing i never have the right kind of luck..." The last
few words came out as creaking squeaks. 

"Whoa there, bucko. Try breathing now and again. And using punctuation.
Some of us would like to know what you're saying," Bianca said with a
typically smug little sister expression. 

erica stood still and took a deep breath, her face nearly beet red from
the exertion of straightening the house and throwing their travel bags
together for the trip to Toronto. Clothes - clean and dirty - hung from
her arms, she was kicking a laundry basket across the floor, and her hair
threatened to fall out of its tangled bun and blind her. She turned to
glare at Bianca. 

"*We* are an entire day late. You never notice these things, 'cause i
always do the posting for us on the list, but are you aware that there's a
time difference between us and, well, i guess they're all over in Toronto,
now, oh my god we're going to be so LATE! ARGH!!!" 

The windows rattled in their frames at her theatrical cry of anguish and
frustration and all the typical suburban California day noises - light
traffic, birds, the occasional school-yard yell - immediately stopped
around the Hall abode. erica, employing Taichi, MahJong or maybe MaeWest
mental relaxation technique, picked up from watching bits of Kung Fu: The
Legend Continues which could never hold her attention like the original
series could (helped by the fact that David Carradine looked progressively
less Chinese and more creepy, especially when he smiled, with every year
that passed), calmed herself and began again. 

"Listen, Uncle's having a hissy fit over what happened. People - ours and
the suspect others - have been making contact and getting organized (well,
those who have recovered from their shock)... i don't care if i break both
legs. Just so long as we get to Cousin Central tonight!" 

"Okay, okay. I'm all ready to go and i can help so there's no problem."
Bianca put her own bag down to reach for the load in erica's arms. A tiny
black nose, nested in white fur, poked out from the half-zipped duffel bag
as it hit the floor.Bianca saw it and tipped the bag over, obscuring the
opening. But not before the button nose caught erica's eye. 

"What's that?"

Bianca looked up innocently. "What's what?"

"That thing you just tried to hide."

"What thing I just tried to hide?"

"Erg! Do you want to die? Do you have a death wish? Tell me. i want to
know. And do not give me that innocent look... Ooor start getting
defensive in that bizarre Italian accent thing you do. i can't type that
out. Don't do that. Everybody's having a hard enough time trying to figure
out what we're talking about anyway." 

"Oop, you're doing that no breather thing again, Erica." At her big
sister's dangerous look, Bianca wisely hushed up. 

erica dumped her stack of laundry on top of Bianca and pounced on the
duffel bag. She started pulling things out, one by one. "Sarah bear? We're
Cousins, for goodness' sake, Bonka. You're not bringing that bear. And,
how did you fit all this stuff...?" Her eyes boggled as she placed into
the reject pile (marked by Sarah bear): cassette tapes, walkman with two
weeks' worth of batteries, handheld video games, all her latest unfinished
letters, family photos, friend photos, publicity photos for LaCroix to
sign, photos of Bianca and erica taking photos of each other, candy bars,
bottled water, rocks, balls of string, gum, White-Out... "White-Out? What
do you need White-Out for?" 

"You never know what we'll need. I want to be prepared. They could spell
our names wrong on the little name tags at the Cousin meeting. You know
how much you hate that - when people spell your name wrong." 

"Name tags? In what universe? i doubt they'll even be sober..." 

"Really?" Bianca asked eagerly. She and the nerdy group she hung out with
were notorious for being good kids. Lotsa nonexistent action there. This
sounded interesting. And she thought that adults were boring. 

"Well, no. But if the Cousins are anything like what i keep hearing
Knighties talk about on-list, it should be one big control-hungry,
arrogant, chaotic mob." 

"Then we have found others of our kind." 

erica sighed contentedly. "Yeah... <ahem> But we have to get there first.
Thank god we don't have cats or children to worry about. Just parents, who
are happily away on a Korean vacation, and school which is completely
covered by Jen, who owes me after forgetting about my birthday, and Ali,
who graduated with a bachelor's in genetics and now has lots of free time
to help us out." 

The two made their way upstairs to organize and put aside the clothes,
turn on the answering machines - with erica periodically checking a
hand-written list - and make one last gathering-up of stuff they needed
for the War. 

"Do we even know what's going on? With us listmembers, I mean," Bianca
queried, in operative diction she never used before. 

"Oh, i've heard terrible things about Q-tips, tattoos, obscene brick
additions to Knighties' homes..." 

"Really? Oh, that'll ruin the property value, what a shame..." 

"Yeah, isn't it wonderful? Especially since we got out of it. Lucky for
us, we're easily forgettable. We're just kids, anyway." 

"Yeah. Don't you hate it when they underappreciate us?" Bianca tucked the
last items into erica's suitcase. 

"Nope." 

"Me neither."  The two worked their ay back downstairs, checking to make
sure all appliances were turned off and all windows were locked. "They'll
be pretty surprised once we act, huh?" Bianca asked. 

"Yup." erica programmed the light and sprinkler timers.

"I like being a kid." Bianca hefted up their bags and headed outside, to
their waiting car. 

erica gave the interior a final once-over before locking the door behind
her. "Me too." 

"You're 22."

"Hush up. No one'll be able to tell. People always think i'm younger than
i am. Let them slip up in that false bit security. i mean, look at me. Do
i look mature?" She stood there, oversized sweater hanging off her arms
sloppily, loose jeans spilling onto and over her worn, black Converse
sneakers... 

Vachon would be proud, Bianca thought, wisely keeping such an offensive
compliment to herself. "You're the picture of irresponsibility and
apathy," she declared. 

"Thank you. Now, what were we talking about?"

"About escaping War pranks, ear-cleansers, and the like."

"Right. So, like i said, just stick with me and we'll get out of this
unscathed..." erica glanced at her watch. "Ah! But terribly late! Come on
- we've got an hour to get to LAX and i have no idea what the traffic'll
be like in this weather." 

Both Cousins threw their bags into the trunk of erica's black Honda
and scrambled into the car. erica turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

She tried again.

Sput, sput. Poof, poof. Nothing.

"What a cheap piece of alumninum... Thing's brand new, too... i'm going to
give that service center such a work out..." erica muttered, popping open
the hood and getting out of the car. 

Bianca waited in the passenger's seat, twiddling her thumbs, then
rearranging the carefully organized booklets, notepads, and napkins in
erica's glove compartment until a bump - which sounded much like a head
knocking into metal - a bit of swearing and then a shocked gasp made the
young Cousin stop messing around with erica's "stuff" and come out to the
front of the car. There, sticking up from various compartments that erica
had unscrewed, trying to find the problem, were bunches and bunches of
Q-tips. 

erica said very softly but in a strained voice, because, after all, they
were late enough as it was, "Please tell me you remember everything you
learned about automotive repair in Driver's Ed, Bonk." 

++++++++        +++++++++++        ++++++++++          +++++++++++

Don't get comfortable. erica and Bianca made it, barreling through the
corridors of LAX, waving their tickets, and roaring at the gate clerks,
just in time for their flight. 

Oh, and they have a laptop, legitimate credit cards (never call us
moochers, Uncle!), signifigant contacts, and alot of vengence in tow. 

To-o-ron-to here we come...

###

ANOTHER DIEHARD JOINS THE FRAY
by Laura Ruggiero

Time: 7:00 pm
Place: Amtrak: The International, Coach

Yet another train ride.  Good thing I packed so much food with me, train
food is overpriced and nasty. 
  
**checking the schedule, again**

I should arrive in Toronto at 10:41 pm, not too much longer. I've only
been on the train since yesterday, no wait, that was *this* morning.  What
I won't do for some fun and a chance to meet all sorts of intresting
"people."  I even braved The Strip, on Halloween night no less. I'm lucky
the police didn't spray me with mace while I was grabbing my stuff from
the Taxi. At least the City of New Orleans left, on time at 3:25 am, from
Carbondale, IL. 

At least it wasn't to hard to convince Lee, my boss and Chair of my thesis
committe that I had to go to Toronto to help some friends.  Of course, I
didn't bother to tell her that I had never actually <met> any of them, and
that the thing they needed help with was a WAR. 

At least the Die-Hards have a wonderful, secure headquarters to stay at.
This may be my first war, but I've read all the previous 4 wars, so I
*think* I am ready. 

I know that strange letter I got in the mail has to be related to the
recently declared war, but why the Jeopardy theme?  I am not trying to
come to an answer, I have it.  I am a die-hard because I love the show as
a whole and the interaction between chatacters, not because I can't pick
one character to like above all others.  And to think I only declared my
faction a couple of weeks ago, in my first post to the FORKNI-L.  People
really pay attention to such things I guess. 

At least I have my parents' powerbook with me, so I can (as I promiced)
work on my thesis and keep up with all the mailing lists and e-mail pals. 

I hope the others got my message, and will be at the train station to pick
me up. 

Just a few more hours.

At least the Dramamine I took for the motion sickness makes it easy
to sleep. 

###

COUSINS STRIKE BACK!!!
by Cousin Julie

Time:  8:12 pm EST
Place: The Raven

"Okay, time for this meeting to be OVER...let's roll."
 
The sun was rapidly setting and Cousin Deborah looked toward the cellar
with half-excitement and half-fear.
 
"Oh, sure, you're nervous," cousin Julie piped up."He made ME responsible
for you.  Well, tell him I haven't the time, I have other things to do,
people to see...places to go. Listen up everyone...HEYYYYYYY SHADDUP!!!!" 
 
With so many people silence was impossible, but it did simmer down a bit.
"I have a plan, I have a truck, I have lots of gizmos, who's coming with
me, I need about...erm...10 people? If you wanna come...LET'S GO!!!" 

Shake a leg, don't lag behind, move it!

###

DIANE LOOKS FOR WORK
by Diane Trap

Time: 8:15pm EST
Place: The Raven

Diane watched as Cousin Julie hand-picked her ten volunteers. Around the
Raven, other groups of Cousins were milling about, planning their deadly
work for the glory of Uncle. 

She raised her hand.  "Hey!  I'll tend bar!"

A few Cousins looked over their shoulders.  "Who are you?" one asked. 

"Diane Trap," Diane said.  "The other Diane.  I haven't posted much to the
list since I put myself on digest and couldn't figure out how to get off." 

"Oh," the Cousin said.

Diane smiled at her happily.  She'd come out quite well in the War so
far--her gift q-tips had been dumped on her desk, like anyone would notice
the mess on it getting any worse--and it had hardly been the work of an
hour to fake a deadly illness to claim sick time at work, board her cat
and throw a couple of necessary reference books in a bag.  A shortish
flight up from Georgia and here she was, right in Cousin Central. If only
it could have been Miklos behind the bar--she wouldn't have minded
brushing up against him while reaching into a beer cooler, no, not at all. 

This new bartender, though, looked like the kind of guy who sincerely
believed professional wrestling was a sport.  His eyebrows knotted in
suspicion as Diane stepped behind the bar. 

"I'm working here now," Diane told him happily.

The bartender grunted.  "You don't look like a bartender," he said.  "You
look like a librarian or something." 

"Well..." Diane hesitated.  "Let's not get into that now. Mind if I look
around, just to see where everything is?" 

The bartender thought for a moment, then shrugged.  With a cheerful "Thank
you!" Diane started to poke around.  It had been awhile since she'd last
been behind a bar--there were the bottles of the good stuff, there were
the beer taps, there was the cash register--there had to be a price list
somewhere...she found a clipboard on a shelf and pulled it out. 

"Hey!" the bartender said.  Diane turned.  He pointed to one of the
coolers.  "Don't *ever* go in that one, okay?" 

Ha.  So that was where the 'house special' was kept.  Diane nodded and
looked down at the clipboard she had found. 

It wasn't a price list.  It was something...better.  It was a sign-up
sheet for Amateur Night. 

Diane deplored what was happening to the Raven, truly she did.  And she
certainly didn't approve of any sort of fleshy exploitation.  On the other
hand, this was *War*, and there was one name at least that had to be
written down...she scrambled through a cluttered pile of bottle openers
and coasters to find a pen. 

"Hey!" she asked the bartender.  "How do you spell 'Defective'?" 

###

ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK--OOPS! MAKE THAT "TORONTO"! (b)
By Diane Echelbarger

Time: After sunset
Place: Toronto

As she stepped out of the cab that had carried her back to Yonge Street
from the theatre, Diane patted the new "Chess" CD in her pocket and hummed
along with the tune running through her head. 

  "One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble,
   Can't be too careful with your company.
   I can feel the devil walking next to me."

At that moment, a burly punk in a leather jacket barged into her, sending
Diane staggering into the tall man on her right.  She stumbled and
clutched the lapels of his black leather trenchcoat to keep from falling,
automatically beginning to apologize as she raised her eyes to his face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, excuse--*me*!"  The last word came out as a high-pitched
squeak, as she recognized the face looking down at her.  Long, pale jaw,
short, light brown hair, piercing icy-blue eyes-- <Ohmigod! It's *him*!
LaCroix!  I'm dead, I'm definitely dead, right now...> She felt her
stomach knot in panic as his hand--strong, thin and very, very
cold--clutched her elbow and moved her firmly away from his chest. 

"Are you quite all right?" LaCroix inquired cooly, one eyebrow arching
upward. 

She realized she was doing a deer-in-the-headlight imitation, and tried
desperately to think of something, *anything* that would get her out of
this alive.  "Umm-- Ah--" At the last minute, inspiration struck, and she
hastily summoned up her best "dumb brunette" impression.  "Are you--you
*are*!" Diane gushed, panic giving a very authentic breathlessness to her
voice. "You're *Nigel Bennet*! The actor!  I'm, like, your *biggest* fan,
Mr. Bennet!"  She smiled her biggest, broadest, blankest smile and clasped
both hands under her chin in apparent ecstasy. 

The master vampire looked momentarily nonplused, and a crowd had begun to
gather, attracted by Diane's high-volume babble.  Encouraged, she rushed
on, praying to Anyone Who was listening that LaCroix would just *go away*. 

"Honestly, Mr. Bennet, I watch *everything* you're in!  That "Cagney &
Lacey" movie last week, for instance.  I know it was just a bit part, but
you were--" 

LaCroix interrupted her firmly.  "You are mistaken.  I am *not* Nigel
Bennet." 

"You aren't?"  Diane summoned up a puzzled pout.  "But you look *just*
like him..." 

"I repeat," LaCroix grated, glancing in annoyance at the watching mortals,
"you have made a mistake.  *Good* night."  He turned and disappeared down
a side street with slightly-more-than-human speed. 

Diane breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and managed to keep her knees
from collapsing and her face disappointed-looking until she was around the
corner, inside the parking garage.  Then she collapsed to the concrete,
leaning against the wall, and broke into hysterical, fear-induced
laughter, liberally mixed with tears. 

Ten minutes later, her legs agreed to support her again, and she scrubbed
her face with a Kleenex, wiping the tear-stains off her glasses. 
Retracing her way to the car, she snagged two antacids from the glovebox
and began the long drive back to her B&B and bed. 

<Hope the guys have forgiven me for being wrong about the War starting,>
she thought.  <No way am I up for *another* confrontation tonight...>

###

THE FEW, THE PROUD, THE SCATTERED--*NOT*!!
by Felicia Bollin

Time: 9 pm EST
Place: Felicia's home

I took the stairs two at a time when I returned from work. Suddenly, I
stumbled as I neared the door.  **Damn modem cord,** I thought, leaning
down reflexively to push it away.  Then I jumped back guiltily, looking
around for my family members. 

**What the heck is this?  It looks like...a CARTON of Camel Lights!  And
they're 100s too!  Oh no, I have to get this inside before someone sees
it!**

I opened the door and threw it in, wiping my brow.  Whew.  Wait a--how did
anyone know I used to smoke?  It's a sure thing my family, the original
Calvinists, aren't likely to have sent me such a present.  Only my friends
from Sarah Lawrence would do such a thing. 

Or so I thought.

Instead of the sweet-pungent smell of fine tobacco my senses now craved,
out slid <twenty> packs, not ten, of <extremely> fake <<candy>>
cigarettes. 

"That's it!  I've had it!"  I leaped to boot up the computer.  "It's those
Natpackers' doing, I just know it!  This is just their style.  Sweet on
the outside, ruthless core of steel on the inside!"  Watching the
now-familiar procession of messages slide across my screen, I plotted my
escape. 

I slipped noiselessly out the front door, snagging the keys to the heap
and attempting valiantly to drag three pieces of luggage out into the car. 
Just my luck to join the first war where Janette was God-knows-where--no
free clothing sprees for me.  If I wanted to Ravenette in style, I had to
do it on my own.  Maybe Urs would let me borrow some clothes, if I
promised to help her get her own back.  Or we could always raid the nooks
and crannies for any old castoffs (read:  been worn twice) that Janette
would have left behind. 

The cloak was the bulkiest, so I wore it.  I coasted out of the driveway
and rolled down the lane, fervently wishing for the ability of vampiric
flight. Well, at least I have half a moon to travel by.

At the Greyhound station, I parked the wreck and bought a ticket
immediately. Damn--no cigarette machines.  I hauled resentfully at one of
the candy substitutes.  No time to go anywhere--besides, the last time I
rolled into the downtown Syracuse station, the driver told the passengers
getting off for their changeover to stay close to the terminal, because
the area was "worse than Port Authority".  No, I'd just wait until
Toronto. 

Hugging the laptop furtively, I chose a seat and read the messages I'd
downloaded before I left.  With any luck, I should be in Toronto by dawn,
so I'll have plenty of time.  **Hopefully I'll still have a job when I
come back. 

Pretty much standard, man these people are prolific.** But
wait...something different. 

A message from Erika and Christine.

At first, my brow wrinkled.

Then, I chuckled blissfully.

Then, my eyes grew wide.

"Those--those--Nick and Natpack people!"  I cried, mind working furiously
as I amused the dozen or so people around me with my passionate rant. 
"The Ravenettes 'scattered'!  Immortal Beloveds '*Too small to do
anything!*'" I exclaimed indignantly.  "Humph!  'Three or four'!  Shows
how much *they* know.  Besides, every time the listmembers turn around
Christine and Erika are bragging on how many members they have.  Do any of
the other factions feel the need to do that?  No!  I always knew that Nat
suffered from a serious case of fang envy, and these overcompensating
Nick&Natpackers just prove the theory.  They had thousands of people at
*Jonestown*, that doesn't mean that might makes right.  And what specious
logic.  Just because Janette didn't want Nat to be an appetizer for Spark,
that automatically means she wants to see her doing the nasty with Nick? 
Come ON, peoples!!  So Janette likes Nat, big deal.  *I* like Nat--just
not with Nick.  Oh no, this is too, too much..."  As I cooled down and
re-read the missive, I smiled slyly. 


"So the Nick&Natpack didn't like their surprise present, boo hoo.... I
wonder what else could make them quake in their shoes."  I opened up a
letter and wrote furiously.  "Hi, Catherine!  It's me.  I need you.  You
know all those neat little computer things Lane started teaching you last
month?  Yes, I know that was in peacetime, but hey, advice from a Merc
beforehand is free." 

###

MEDITATION TIME
by Dawn Steele

Time: Evening
Place: Die Hard Headquarters

Dawn stared at the ceiling. She was lying on top of a bed in the new Die-
Hard headquarters. 

Trying to meditate.

//I'll never get the hang of this.// With a sigh, she sat up and peered
out into the other room where the other Die Hards had gathered. //Probably
talking about how many tapes of the Jeopardy theme song they'd gotten in
the mail.//

It had taken her five hours to separate all the blue envelopes full of
tapes from the other mail. She'd ended up with three, roughly equally
sized, piles of mail. 

The first contained ordinary, everyday junk mail that she was used to
getting. After staring at it for a minute she'd done the only thing <to>
do. Dawn had pulled out a large black marker and started writing
"DECEASED" on the front. The junk mail companies usually got the hint. Not
always of course, but usually. 

The next pile... A happy smile of rememberance lit her face. Dawn loved
getting responses to her fiction. She'd carefully wrapped elastic bands
around groups of twenty letters each for later response and then hid them
in her closet. Her room-mate didn't appreciate Dawn getting mail when none
of the pile was addressed to her. //I'm glad Steve will be back from
England in a week. He'll certainly cheer her up. Heather really misses
him.//

The third pile had caused some consternation. What do you do with over 300
envelopes with spring activated mechanisms playing "Jeopardy" over and
over again? 

Make a profit of course.

Dawn smiled and pulled out her wallet, eyeing the nicely coloured Canadian
money within. //I'm lucky I have connections at the flea market. They get
'blank' tapes to sell cheap, the spring mechanisms go to the surplus store
down the street, and <I> get a handy profit.//

Dawn relaxed on the bed, and eyed the paintings on the wall. She heard her
name called from the other room, and decided to join the other Die-Hards. 

//Maybe I can convince them to forward the rest of the "Jeopardy"
envelopes to my Fredericton address? I wouldn't mind a little extra
money.//

###

ON THE ASTRAL PLANE
by Dawn Steele

Time: Evening
Place: Die Hard HQ

Dawn was still meditating. Her consciousness floated into the astral
plane. Past events were there for all to see, but the future was still
murky. 

Thanking all the practice she'd gotten in managing to act while working on
less than full cylinders (see War #3, and #4) she quickly scooted over to
a what appeared as the equivalent of a giant neon sign. Something
important had started at ... Nick's loft? 

//Knighties? The Knighties attacked us? No... Wait a minute. Perri isn't
there, and they seem to be <trashing> the loft. Definitely not the
Knighties.//

She floated closer, the figures were dim and hard to make out, but they
were <definitely> doing something to the caddy. 

//If only I could see someone I recognized.//

With a start, Dawn thought she spotted Janette. //Can't be... The clothes
are definitely worth less than a couple of thousand bucks.//

Dawn practiced her Al-like hologram manuevers and walked through Nick's
piano. //I should be able to recognize someone!//

And then she did. The business suit. The long curly hair. The faint odour
of formaldehyde... 

//Natalie Lambert.//

Dawn opened her eyes and she was back in Die Hard headquarters. //Wow!
That was neat!// Her face turned glum. //I'll probably never be able to do
it again either. But if the NatPack attacked Nick's loft then they were
probably in charge of sending the Jeopardy tapes too.//

She went out into the main room to tell the other Die Hards. She'd
practice meditating again later. //Right now, I think they have a right to
know who it was that caused such pain and suffering to our fragile
psyches.//

###

DID WE FORGET TO MENTION...?
by Perri Smith

Time: 8:30 pm EST
Place: Nick's loft

Perri and Amy heard the Knighties coming long before the elevator stared
moving. That might have had something to do with the "Oh, my Gods,"
floating up from the garage. It might also have had something to do with
the sheer numbers approaching. 

They exchanged glances. "You're dead," Amy pointed out.

"You helped. So are you," Perri defended.

Before the debate could go any further, the elevator opened and Nick came
out. He threw the two women a glare that should have killed them both on
the spot. They wilted, but before he could actually say anything,
Knighties came pouring out of the elevator, carrying mounds of luggage.
Two of them were yelling as they came in. 

"Perri, this situation is totally ridiculous!  We have to do something!"
Marina shouted. 

Erika was right behind her, "I agree.  We just can't stand by and let them
walk all over us with this." 

Perri forgot about Nick's revenge and was abruptly reminded of plans for
her own..  "Guys, we're don't need convincing.  What we need is a plan of
attack, on whoever 'them' is." 

Catherine slung her carry-on to the floor, then smiled wryly, and waggled
her finger at all of them.  "Funny you should mention a plan..." 

"Hang on," Perri held up a hand, her eyes still burning. "I'm all for
plans, but it'll have to wait for a bit. "Amy Denton and I are,um, going
to a meeting with a few of the other faction heads. Give us a few hours,
and then heads will roll. Okay?" 

"I don't want to hear about heads rolling," Nick groaned.

Catherine smiled comfortingly at him. "Nothing permanent, Nick. We
promise." 

Perri hid a smile. "Nick, aren't you even a little glad we're here?"

Nick looked around at various smiling, cheerful, pissed-off, helpless
faces and groaned again, this time silently. "You're all welcome here," he
said, only alittle reluctantly. "You can stay here for as long as you want
to...although I do think a hotel might be..." he intercepted a glare from
Perri and hurried on. "Anyway, I am grateful to you for coming..all of
you," he added hurredley -- the glare was from Amy Denton this time. 

Perri grinned. "That's the spirit, Nick." She hugged him, then turned to
Amy and Roni. 

"We'd better get moving," Amy said. "If there are any emergencies, we'll
be at the Happy Souvlaki Deli." 

Nick watched them go with something like desperation. All the rest of the
Knighties had taken their cue, and lined up for hugs. 

Catherine just smiled. Perri didn't like the look of it. "Be good, Cath,"
she warned in a low voice. "And if you can't be good, for God's sake, be
careful!" 

"Bet on it," Cath answered as the other three left.

###

A SNIP HERE, A SNIP THERE... (a)
by Catherine Boone

Time: 8:45pm EST
Place: Nick's loft

(++ ++ = lyrics) (** ** = scene change)

Catherine continued to smile sweetly, her hands clasped behind her back,
while Perri and Amy left for the Happy Souvlaki Deli.  She didn't think
Perri was fooled, but that really didn't slow her down too much.  If she
did it stylishly enough, she was fairly sure she could get away with just
about anything. 

As soon as the door closed behind them, Catherine turned to her fellow
Knighties.  A few could already tell when she had something lurking in her
mind, and the others were learning fast.  She efficiently cracked her
knuckles and got down to business.  "Okay, Perri and Amy won't be gone
that long, so we need to move fast if we're going to do anything before
they get back." 

Nick raised his eyes heavenward.  "I don't think I want to hear this. I'm
off to work." 

"Dearie, I *know* you don't want to hear this."  She called out to his
receding back, "Have fun at the office!  Dinner'll be ready at seven!" He
gave her a sour glance as the door closed.  She returned her attention to
the matter at hand.  "Okay, this is what we're going to do..." 

Suddenly Scottie held up her hands in surrender.  "Waitaminnit,
waitaminnit.  I only just got here not long ago.  I'm dead tired, and I'm
not going to be conscious till sometime tomorrow.  So y'all can go on
without me."  Erika and Marcia were murmuring general agreement. 

Catherine looked doubtful.  "Are you sure?  It's gonna be fun..."

"Nah, we'll catch the next one.  For now, we'll just go and rent a movie
or something." 

** **

While driving to the Raven, Marina shivered against the cold and muttered
curses to herself.  She'd bought extra heavy clothes in preparation for
the climate change from South Africa, but nothing could have prepared her
for this.  "I *still* can't believe you guys forgot to get me at the
airport last night." 

Catherine winced.  "I'm really sorry about that.  But hey, it worked out
perfectly in the end.  Now we have a rental to use, so we don't have to
pilfer the caddy every night, and Nick felt so bad about the whole thing,
that he agreed to pay for the gas and rental charges!  It just don't get
much better than this." 

Marina parked her rental a few blocks from the Raven, and peered through
the foggy windshield at all the random Cousins and Ravenettes milling
about.  From the looks of it, the Cousins were out, and the Ravenettes
were in.  Catherine whistled.  "Well I'll be damned.  Looks like poor LC
is already in the poopers." 

Marina hauled the cart out of the trunk and glanced Catherine's way.  "So,
are you one of those people against kicking someone when their down?" 

She got a scornful look for her trouble.  "Tch!  We're talking about
Lacroix, here.  Nothing's too good for the Cotton Wonder!" 

Marina chuckled.  "Just checking."

The two of them mingled with the Cousins (not too hard at the moment, just
wander and look dejected - simplicity itself for Knighties), keeping their
eyes peeled for anything looking like their target.  Finally, Catherine
nudged Marina, and looked pointedly at some circular metal cases lying
right next to the door in open boxes.  That looked about right. They
unobtrusively put the boxes on their cart, and moved with the flow of
Cousins carting their stuff out to CERK. 

As the two dumped their loot into the trunk, Marina asked, "Do you think
they'll ever notice they're gone?" 

"Lacroix's old tapes?  Are you kidding?  Not in a million years, even
should he live so long!"  The last case was tossed into the trunk, and
they noticed something written very neatly on the label.  It read
"11-2-95."  Marina looked at Catherine.  Catherine looked at Marina.  "If
we can get this back before he finds out..."  They both had the same
thought, neither one knew who spoke.  They only knew that they had to book
back to the loft, and hope the rest of the gang had gotten the supplied
they'd need by the time they got there.  They tore around the car, and
sped off into the night. 

###

THE DIE HARDS ACT
by Jane Snyder

Time: 9:00 p.m. EST
Place: Die Hard Headquarters

The yelling had finally stopped.  The jeopardy soundtrack cards had been
taken downstairs and left in the dumpster.  Dinner had been served.
Munching and slurping were the only sounds in Die Hard headquarters. 

Jane picked at her food, pushing it around on her plate with the fork.
Whoever had done the cooking did a great job.  /Wonder if they had FoDly
leanings?/ But it was just impossible to eat right now.  Vague ideas for
revenge were spinning idly through her mind. What she needed was some time
to concentrate.  She moved over the corner of the room where Jennifer sat
with the computers, watched the security screens for a while, and then
began to smile. 

A few minutes of digging later, she had the list in hand.  That wonderful
list of faction members and e-mail addresses that Jennifer Sangiovanni had
put together.  Quickly, she scribbled something down, grabbed a bottle
from the armory and went to talk to Dawn, who was still meditating in the
bedroom. 

"I've got an idea.  I know you made money off those jeopardy cards, but
I'd still like to get back at whoever sent them." 

Dawn sat up.  "Tell me.  I agree that we can't let something like that go
without a response even if we <are> Die Hards." 

"Well...actually it's a two part plan."  Jane paused, fighting down a
sudden attack of nerves.  "We know that it was the Natpack who sent them,
right?  And this faction list gives us all their e-mail addresses.  So, I
thought maybe we could add all of them to the Home Shopping Network's
internet mailing list.  Every single one of them will receive a copy of
HSN's catalogue every other day for the rest of their lives."  A malicious
grin spread over Jane's face.  "Plus, about five minutes after they are
added to their list, the HSN computer will automatically provide the
Natpackers' e-mail addresses to every other company that advertises on the
'net.  In no time at all, their mailboxes will be stuffed with catalogues,
advertisements and all other forms of virtual junk mail." 

"Not bad.  Not bad at all.  And getting off those junk mailing lists is
absolutely impossible."  An evil grin began to creep across Dawn's face.
"Let's get Jennifer to do that, then you can fill me in on the rest of
your plan." 

The two Die Hards left the room and whispered in Jennifer's ear.  Finally
something to do while she was waited for her package of computer support
hard and software to arrive.  Grinning maniacally, she started tapping the
keyboard.  Soon, the sounds of a modem connecting filled the room, causing
everyone to look up.  In less than ten minutes, every single Natpacker was
signed up with the HSN mailing list.  Then, just to be absolutely sure she
didn't miss anyone, Jennifer added the Nick&Natpackers to the list as
well. 

###

HELP!
by Kimberley Low

Time: 8:00pm CST
Place: Brandon, Mb bet. Branon U and 10th str.

*Oh, great!*

Well, actually it was something else but PG-13 holds sway.  The war had
started and I was still listed as a Natpacker with Cousinly tendancies. 
I'd found a bottle of half and half by my door this morning.  Confused but
relieved since I'd also run out of milk I came to school and checked out
my e-mail.  The list was full of confused people who had received all
sorts of related gifts.  The connection with the half and half seemed to
be with those who were affiliated with more than one person. 

*But I've changed my mind!*

*But you didn't tell anyone.*

*Did I have to!?  The Raven!  The limericks!*

*You still didn't tell anyone.*

*But my tendancies were really only named by people who weren't on the
list let alone the fiction list!  I'm a pretty normal Natpacker!*

*So?*

*Hmph.  I thought the benefit of talking to yourself was always getting
the answer you wanted.*

*Nice try.*

I let out a heartfelt sigh.

*Well, I'll figure this out tomorrow.  Meanwhile, it's getting late and I
have to go rescue Angus from hunger, boredom, whatever is knawing at him
the most.*

Leaving the computer lab I realized just how cold and dark it was getting
this time of year. 

<WOOSH>

*Uh oh.*

"Ms. Low, I believe we need to talk."

"Yes.  Right.  You must be M. LaCroix."

"Lacroix.  Or Uncle"

"Sure, whatever you say."

*OK, Kim, think!  How are you going to get yourself out of this one?*

"Uh, would you mind if we kept walking?  This snow and cold came on pretty
quickly here and I'd rather keep moving." 

"Certainly.  I wish to discuss your affiliation.  You are listed as a
Natpacker with Cousinly tendancies.  How strong are those tendancies?" 

"Well, it would depend on who you asked."

The place I was looking for was still a couple of blocks away.  I had to
start stalling.  The question was:  How does one stall a vampire? 

"Why did you come all the way out here just to speak to me?"

"You are changing the subject but I'll humor you this one time.  You are
relatively unknown, anything you've sent to the list so far has had to do
with non-FK sightings or side-issue facts.  You are also listed as a
Natpacker and I've beun to have certain suspicions regarding their
behavior during this war.  I need a spy and you would make an admirable
one." 

We'd reached the peach house.  The front fence was coming up very soon.
Time to make my exit. 

"Well, I appreciate the offer but I'm going to have to turn it down.  I'm
a complete Natpacker, sorry." 

"Do you realize how dangerous it is to cross me?"

"Well, yes.  That's why I'm going to hide out on the other side of this 
fence."

LaCroix might be ancient and strong but even he was no match for this
piece of handiwork.  White chain-link with a peach, wooden rail, every
second panel was decorated with an unornamented, peach cross. 

"And how long do you think you can hide out there?"

"Oh, long enough.  It's only -5C and its not as if there was a windchill. 
My parents are from Manitoba, I'm from Nova Scotia.  I've inherited quite
the ability to withstand weather." 

I guess he had better things to do because he took off.  I waited a half
an hour just in case and ran the rest of the way back to the University. 
Back in the computer lab I composed a note to the Natpack. 

************************************************************************

To: Finabair@aol.com
From: $lowkd@mail.BrandonU.ca
Subject: HELP!

Hi!  I'm a full Natpacker who was listed as having Cousinly leanings.  I
just got a visit from LaCroix who made a proposition which I turned down.
I'd feel a great deal safer in Toronto if you'd have me. 

Bye
Kimberley (Natpacker)
$lowkd@mail.BrandonU.ca

*************************************************************************

Then I searched out my roommate in the Music building (I must have been
scared to go there! :) ) and stuck close the entire way home.  All I could
do was wait for a reply and see about finding a way to Toronto. 

###

A COUNCIL OF WAR
by Perri Smith, with contributions from almost everyone

Time: 9pm EST

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here tonight," Perri
started out predictably enough. 

"All I'm wondering is when we can dig into that food, and whether Nick's
going to smell the garlic on our breath," Amy Denton said. 

Perri aimed a glare at her cohort. "Can you keep your mind off your
stomach for five minutes, Amy?" 

"Maybe. No guarantees. Anyone else feel like we're in a Scorcesi movie?"

Perri sighed heavily. The others present concealed smiles of amusement and
scowls of hunger. The Happy Souvlaki Deli did actually resemble any number
of gangster movies, right down to the eight serious faces sitting around a
table in the back corner. The store was closed for the night; the only
lights came from the kitchen and their corner. 

"If you two are finished...." Jennie Hayes prompted.

"We're finished," Perri and Amy said simultaneously. "*Anyway,*" Perri
tried to continue, daring Amy to cut in again, "I asked you all to come
here because, quite frankly, I'm getting tired of the Cousins and the
Ravenettes pulling their 'divide and conquer' routine every war - and,
even worse, our factions pulling it for them." 

"Hey," Torrey objected from one corner, shaking her long reddish hair out
of her face as she looked away from the kitchen. The smell of souvlaki was
becoming irresistable even to non-FoDs. "The Vaquero's weren't even in on
the last wars." 

"Neither was the Nick&Natpack," Christine Hunt added.

"Some parties excluded," Perri amended. "But the Knighties, the FoDs and
the Natpack have been working at cross-purposes for way too long. I'd like
to propose an alliance for the duration of this war. And judging by how
thoroughly all of us..." she paused for second,t rying to nail down a
thought, then went on, "have been attacked, this is indeed a war." 

"What's this alliance going to consist of?" Pam Rush asked, poking her
head from the kitchen. Delicious smells trailed out from behind the FoD.
Sher came out behind her with a pitcher of something that Perri fervently
hoped was alcoholic. Pam hadn't seemed nearly as upset about the plastic
food as she should have, and everyone else was pleased with the chocolate. 

In the general chorus of "Ummmmmm"s and moans of hunger, Perri lost her
train of thought again. "Um, you have to feed everyone. No, wait." She
tracked the thought down and got back to the subject. "Mostly it's
watching each other's backs and keeping each other informed of what's
going on. If the Knighties find out the Cousins or a merc are going after
the NatPack, we warn y'all and vice versa. If the Ravenette's attack the
FoD's, they can ask for help in retaliation from the Vaqueros and the
Nick&Natpack. The important thing is that we stay in communication, so
that the Cousins et al can't play us off against each other." 

"I can't believe you said et al."

"Pipe down, Amy."

"Sounds good," Christine Hawkins said, ignoring the bickering Knighties as
she followed her fellow FoD out of the kitchen, bringing on another wave
of moans. She shoved her glasses up with one hand and juggled a tray with
the other. "But are you going to expect us to follow Knightie rules?" 

"Dream on," Torrey muttered.

"What, you mean no attacks, only retaliation?" Perri shrugged, ignoring
Torrey. "Not hardly. All bets are off, for y'all anyway.  In fact, I'm
pretty sure an attack on our allies is going to be construed as an attack
on the Knighties -- I suspect many of our members will be quite happy to
help y'all retaliate." 

"You included?" Jennie asked with a knowing smile. Perri shrugged again,
not quite hiding a grin of her own. *Sometimes, Jennie knows me too well.
What a smug smile....* she thought. "Thought so. And when we're not in the
middle of attacking and being attacked, we can share information and try
to actually solve this mystery we've been handed, and find out what's
behind the attacks," Jennie added pointedly, with another smug smile. 

Perri winced. "Yeah, that too. Trust the Natpack to stick to business."

Jennie didn't comment on that.

"So, who's in?" Amy asked the table at large.

The FoD's held a hasty discussion, then Pam answered, "We're in."

Torrey shrugged. "The Vaqueros are in; I bet the RatPack will be, too."

Perri smiled wickedly. "And isn't it going to be fun explaining to Vachon
about the factions." 

Torrey returned the grin. "I can't wait."

"I'll have to confirm with the rest of the NatPack, but I'm pretty sure
we're in," Jennie said, still smiling. 

"If there was any doubt, the Nick&NatPack is in," Christine Hunt finished
the roll call. Someone sent us *hearts!*

"All right!" Amy said enthusiastically. "Can we eat now?"

Perri immediately lunged for her lieutenant's throat; Amy was laughing too
hard to duck. Jennie caught Perri before she made it across the table and
further hostilities ceased as the FoD's ducked back into the kitchen and
returned with huge trays of food. The newly-allied faction leaders jumped
in, barely remembering things like silverware and napkins. 

"Waitaminute!" Jennie said before anyone got food to their mouths. "I
can't stand this!" 

Almost anyone. "What?" Perri asked through a mouthful of souvlaki, having
barely beaten Amy to the tray. Her glass was already full of something she
was delighted to discover was indeed alcoholic. 

"And you had the nerve to complain about my appetite," Amy muttered.

Again, the Knighties got ignored. Jennie held up her glass. "We can't eat
without a toast -- to those no longer with us." 

Amy nodded and raised her glass. "To Captain Cohen."

"To Cohen," the others echoed, the glasses tinkling.

Christine Hawkins, dressed entirely in black for mourning, raised her
glass next. "To Don Schanke. Rest in Peace, Donnie." Her voice almost
broke. 

"To Schank," came the echo, accompanied by various sniffs and a few
cleared throats. 

As the glasses chimed this time, the lights flickered, leaving the room in
darkness for a moment before coming back on. 

"Whoa," Torrey said. "Weather must be getting bad again."

"Yeah," Christine Hunt echoed uneasily. "Must be."

Christine Hawkins started to speak, stopped, then started again. "Does
anyone smell... cologne?" 

"Um, yeah," Perri said reluctantly. "The guy who used this booth last must
have bathed in it." 

"It smells like...Schanke's," Pam said.

"Can't be," Jennie said automatically.

"Can it?" Roni asked.

The eight leaders exchanged looks. "Guys..." Jennie started, "Whatever
you're thinking, it's impossible." 

"Is it?" Pam asked, starting to look excited. "Maybe it's not impossible.
Maybe it's...maybe it's Schanke!" 

###

SEANCE
Posted by Christine Hawkins.

Time: 9pm
Place: The Happy Souvlaki Deli,

"There's one way of finding out," Christine Hawkins said.  She reached
down and started rummaging in the capacious blue bag at her feet.  "I
*know* I've got it somewhere."  Christine began to pile a strange
assortment of books on the table - "Vampires, Burial and Death", the
latest Patricia Cornwell, a book simply titled "Grunge", "Recipes for
Crime" and "How to Get a Date With a Vampire".  As each book was added to
the pile in turn Christine saw the Knighties, Natpackers, Vaqueros and
Nick&Natpackers exchanged meaningful glances amongst themselves. 

"Research," she explained succintly.  "Besides, I had to read *something*
on that long flight over the Pacific!"  She retrieved one final item.
"Here it is!" 

It was a book with the title: "Why Not Hold a Seance?"

Christine grinned as she waved the book in triumph.  "Well, why not?"

Pam murrmurred softly in her best Dr. Watson voice, "By jove, I think
she's got it!" 

Just then the lights went down again and the smell of cologne returned,
stronger than before.  "And I think Don approves too!" 

"Oh, come *on*," Torrey muttered skeptically.

"Well what have we got to lose?"

There was a general murmur of agreement around the table.  "It's got one
thing going for it," Jennie added practically.  "With something
supernatural like a ghost on our side we'll have an edge over the
Ravenettes and the Cousins." 

Perri glared at her.  "Have you forgotten that we have a vampire on our
side?" 

"*Two* vampires," Torrey added.

Pam stared down into her glass and mumbled something that sounded like
"bricks."  Three Knighties and a Vaquero glared at her viciously.  A first
class brawl seemed about to errupt when Christine Hunt intervened. 

"Ahem!" she exclaimed.  "Isn't this supposed to be an alliance?"  Then
when things had quietened down she smiled.  "That's better.  Now to the
business at hand.  As the only Nick&NatPacker present I vote 'yes' to the
seance." 

"Me too!" Roni Power seconded enthusiasticly. "Speaking as a Knightie with
FoDly tendancies," she added with a grin. 

"Let's have a show of hands," suggested Christine Hawkins.  "One, two,
three, four, five, six, seven," she counted.  "Torrey?  What about you?" 

"Oh, I think it's a stupid idea, but I'll go along with it if everyone
else does," she grumbled.  "Count me in.  Eight." 

"Well," said Amy looking at the remains of dinner.  "We'd better clear
this away.  Dessert afterwards?" 

"No, no!" Christine objected as Amy reached for a plate.  "Leave the
souvlaki.  It can be our burnt offering!" 

Pam looked long and hard at her fellow A-negative FoD.  "Burnt offerings?? 
The Happy Souvlaki Delii *never* serves burnt food!" 

"For the dead," said Christine, who had studied anthropology before
realising she needed a real job and becoming a librarian.  "They, uh, eat
the smell." 

Amy replaced the souvlaki ceremoniously at the centre of the table.  The
rest of the gathering began clearing their plates and glasses as Christine
consulted "Why Not Hold a Seance?"  "It says here we have to turn off all
the lights and hold hands around the table." 

"Umph!" said Torrey cynically.

"To focus the energies," Christine explained.  "Then we all fall into a
trance and wait for the ghost to speak through the medium - lights
anyone?" 

There was some shuffling and a few giggles as everyone settled down.

"It's getting cold again," said Roni after a few minutes.

"Ssshhh!" came half a dozen voices.  "Ouch!" "Stop doing that!" "Who's
doing that?"  "Not me."  "Nor me."  "Well, it isn't me!"  And then a gasp:
"Oh, my God!" 

The souvlaki plate had levitated half an inch off the table and was
glowing in an eerie phosphorent light.  It began rotating, faster and
faster, until it was spinning like an out-of-control top.  The table
lifted off the floor and fell with a thump. 

"Oh, *great*," said Perri sarcastically.  "We're being attacked by killer
souvlaki!" 

The FoDs had dropped the hands of the people next to them and had risen
from their chairs.  They were staring, mouths agape, at a clear space on
the Happy Souvlaki Deli floor. 

"I thought I saw something - " Jennie gasped.  "What *is* it?"

"I - I don't know," said Perri hesitantly.  "There's some sort of foggy
thing -" 

"About the size of a man," Amy added.

"What?  I don't see anything," said Torrey firmly.  "This is the
silliest--" 

But the FoDs had broad, happy grins on their faces.  Indeed, Christine
Hawkins was dancing on the spot with joy.  "Can't you *see*?" she demanded
excitedly. 

Pam Rush beamed and held out her arms to the empty air.  "Welcome back,
Donny!" she cried. 

###

SHERRI, HELP!!!
by Torrey Harris
Edited by: Sherri Campbell

Time:   Right after the seance
Place: Happy Souvlaki Deli

<Torrey grabs Perri and pulls her to the side>

"Perri, I need to find a phone!"

<Perri, still staring at the empty space in the deli...> "Huh...what?"

"I said, I need to find a phone... Now!" 

"Ok...ummm there is one in the kitchen." 

"Ok, I will be right back..." <Torrey looking around> "...don't do
anything strange until I get back, ok?" 

*****

"Augh, there is the phone...how do they find anything in here with all of
this food lying around?" <pushing a platter of garlic bread out of the
way> "...Ok, Thank God for calling cards...here we go, Sherri's number." 

<Phone rings.>

"Hello?"

"Sherri. It's Torrey."

"Hey, Torrey, I was going to call you...you know I got the strangest thing
in the mail the other day..." 

"Let me guess...it mooed."

"Hey...how did you know that?"

"I got one too. Now I know something is definitely up. Listen I need your
help." 

"...Ok...sure...but what about the mooing mail?

"Never mind the mail right now. I have a bigger problem."

"Ok...what do you need?"

"I need you to get in touch with the other Vaqueros NOW."

"Where are you?"

"Canada..."

"Excuse me!  Did you say Canada!??"

"Yeah...that is why you need to do this for me."

"Oh...Ok, I will...what do you want me to tell them?"

"I need you all here...ASAP!"

"EXCUSE ME!?? You want us all in Canada???"

"Yep...hey you knew the job of Teniete was going to be a hard one when you
took it.  You need to get everyone up here, and over to Nick's place as
soon as you can." 

"Yes...right...no problem...who am I calling?"

"Ok...let's see,  call Deborah, Cindy, Crystal, Karen, and Alica. That
should do for now.  You will have to get to Toronto first and wait for
everyone to show up...ok??"

"Yes, ok. Anything else?"

"Hmmm...yeah.  Tell Alicia to bring something warm to wear, it is cold as
h*** here. OOoo, one more thing tell Karen to bring some of that Voodoo
stuff with her..by the look of things tonight we may need it." 

###

THE COUSINS STRIKE (a)
by Cousin Julie

Time: 9:01pm EST
Place: The Raven

Having garnered all the support needed for the strike, Julie and clan went
out to the truck.  It was dark now, so they stuck Screed in the back with
Zillah, Candice, Jaime and several others as Deb stood in the door shaking
her head. 
 
"You guys can't possibly think this will work..."
 
Julie leaned out the window. "Of Course it will...after all, I am ME."
 
"Uncle is going to be pissed."
 
"Nah, give him a valium, back in a jiffy, really, how far can it be?"
 
She squealed away into the night, headed for Nick's loft.
 
"Anyone know where I'm going?" she shouted into the back of the truck,
almost hitting a pedestrian who screamed profanities at her. 
 
"Will you watch where you're going?"
 
"Yeah, yeah...drive in Texas sometime, buddy."

"Next left, on the right side of the street."
 
Julie paused, in Forever Knight heaven for a moment before remembering the
task at hand. 
   
"Okay, you take this, you take this, and I'll pick the lock...are we
 
"Do you seriously think the Knighties are dumb enough to hide out at
 
Julie raised a questioning eyebrow.
 
"Okay, you have a point," Zillah intoned, "so be quiet."
 
"I am the shadow that walks in the night..."
 
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, pick the lock and hurry will you before his alarm
goes off." 
 
The lock picked and the group fully loaded with their paraphanelia, Julie
silently opened the door; all was quiet, all was perfect... 
 
"Okay, put the tape in the VCR...take these wires and pull out the
motherboard on the inside of the computer...no, no, turn it over, yep,
right there, now put in a question like 'What's the meaning of life?' or
something.  Bring me that cable and the electric tape...no, it won't
matter if he sees it, or them for that matter, it's the effect that
counts; besides, they can't turn it off anyway, they have to wait for him
to get back." 
 
"Fine...is that it, can we go?"

"Let's boogie, back to headquarters, people."

###

THE DIE-HARDS GET SOME MUSCLE

Time: After 9pm EST
Place: Toronto, Die Hard Headquarters

The confirmation arrived that, yes, indeed, all the Natpackers and the
Nic&NatPackers would be getting their own copies of the HSN catalogue for
as long as HSN existed on the telly.  "Gee, I knew compiling that Email
list of an the FORKNI-Lers would come in handy one day!" Jennifer said to
herself as she admired her handiwork. 

Just then the phone rang.  Lana answered it.  "Put it on speaker!"
suggested Jane and Lana did so. 

"Hello?" Lana asked more than greeted.

"Lana?" a man's silken tones inquired.  For a split second she thought it
was Uncle but the voice was not as deep as LaCroix's. 

"Yes, it's me.  Who is this?"

"Ron.  One of the Die-Hards Old Guard.  Been with you all since War 2. 
I've been contacted by one of our faction's defectors that there was a War
on so I'm coming up to help." 

"Defectors?  Who's left our ranks?"

"Deb Martin.  She's joined Vacant, uh, I mean Vachon's team," he told her,
then added, "Well, I can understand, sort of, the appeal.  He's not hard
to look at.  At least she isn't with the Perkulators.  THAT Is one sin I
would NOT forgive!" 

"Where are you?" Jane asked, her inquiry being picked up by the speaker.

"En route.  If you can open a window, it will be easier for me to find you
by

homing in on the sound of your voices."

"You are FLYING?"

"Yes, but I didn't fly up myself all of the way.  Took a normal flight up
to Toronto.  Only decided to wing it myself once I hit town.  A map only
really makes sense if you can see the layout from above..." 

"Did you get all that Jeopardy stuff?"  Jennifer asked.

"The cards?  Yes, I have them and on my answering machine was an unending
loop of that obnoxious theme song.  You know we *really* must do something
to get even with the Natpackers.  Something *sneaky*!" 

"Don't worry about that!" Jennifer exuded.  "I've got something already in
the works!" 

"Good," he said sounding very pleased.  "I have a fix on you - I know it's
a bit chilly but open the window.  Please?" 

Jane opened the window and stood back waiting.  She felt a little like
Lois Lane must when she stood on her balcony awaiting a visit for her
red-caped hero. "I can't believe I'm comparing The Enforcer to Superman!"
she thought to herself. "Then again, if he's as old as LaCroix he *is* a
Superman of sorts...." 

The sound of air rushing up from behind made Jane turn with a start.  Ron
was *there* like he had appeared out of nowhere.  No wonder Natalie gets
so ticked off at Nick when he does his split-second entrances.  It *is*
unnerving.  He smiled at her and she gave him a nervous smile back. 

At the sight and unfamiliar small of the new arrival, Tasha the Attack Dog
was on her feet.  A low growl emanated from her thoart.  The Enforcer shot
the dog a look that would have melted lead and Tasha yipped once and
ducked for cover behind the sofa. 

Jennifer, Dawn, and Lane scoped out the newcomer.  He looked a lot like
Nick - not so much in appearance but in how he was dressed.  He was
wearing a black double breasted suit with a white collarless shirt and tan
suede vest (very Second Season Nick) over which he had on *the* duster
(the way cool wingy coat Nick wore in Season One).  His dark hair was
longer than he had wore it the last time the girls saw the Enforcer - it
was as long as Vachon's but *much* better styled. He wore slightly tinted
aviator glasses but in the bright light of the room the girls could see he
had gold eyes!  He was carrying a knapsack and a case that looked like it
held a laptop and despite having flown there from the Toronto airport, Ron
managed to look like he'd just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. 

"He's *cute*!" Dawn whispered to Jennifer, whose response was to nudge her
in the ribs. 

Ron heard the comment and gave Dawn a slight smile.  "Well, I'm here and
at your service, ladies.  Tell me what I can do to help...." 

###

NATALIE'S IN JEOPARDY!
by Lana G. Soward

Time: 9:30pm EST
Place: Die Hard HQ

"What's going on?"  asked Lana, who'd wandered into the room from the
kitchen.  That was the fortunate thing about this communal living; someone
else got to clean up the mess.  All she had to do was cook it. 

Jane and Dawn quickly filled her in on the HSN plan.  Giggling, Lana
agreed that it was a good plan. 

"But do they call?"  she asked.  "I want them to get telephone calls.  You
know those companies are always calling around meal times." 

The three of them quickly scuttled back to Jennifer, before she could make
good her escape.  Soon, the Natpackers would be receiving phone calls from
every source immaginable.  Her mission accomplished, Jennifer slipped away
from the computer to shower and change.  She was going out tonight, no
doubt about that. 

Dawn, Lana and Jane settled down on a bed, satisfied at a well planned
revenge. 

"What about Natalie?"  asked Lana, her eyes narrowed.

"What about her?"  Jane asked.

"Well," pondered Lana.  "We know that the Nat-packers rarely, if ever, do
anything without Natalie's tacit approval.  I wouldn't wonder if she
didn't aid and abet them this time.  Our contacts in that group haven't
received any little surprises .  They seem to be the only ones who
escaped." 

"Bad planning on their part,"  said Dawn, shaking her head.  "It won't be
long before everyone figures out that they are responsible." She paused
before continuing. "I know I've been lack-of-sleep-silly the last few
hours, but...has anyone wondered <why> the NatPack would do this?" 

The others looked at her strangely. Apparently the chance to wreck the
Die-Hards' reputation as peacemakers had driven all rational thoughts out
of their minds. 

"Yeah, yeah, but we'll think of that later!" Lana said.  "I want to know
what we are going to do about Natalie now.  I mean, if they really want to
drag us into this war, we might as well go the whole hog." 

"You could replace all Nick's blood samples with pig's blood,"  said a
voice from the corner. 

Jane shook her head.  "Natalie would only get some more from Nick."

"What happened to all the Jeopardy cards?" Lana asked.  Her eyes had lit
up and a devious expression was on her face. 

"We threw them in the dumpster."  Jane said.  "Why?"

"Well.  It seems a shame to let all those cards go to waste.  I think that
we should return them to their rightful owner.  I.e. Dr. Natalie Lambert.
We could remove the little players from the cards and put them all over
her office, car and apartment.  Every time she opened a drawer, the music
would start playing." 

"I'll do it!" volunteered Ariel.

"Me, too!" called Leah, from the other room.

"I would love to get into Natalie's lab," said Helen.  "This will be the
perfect opportunity." 

"Okay, then,"  said Lana.  "Why don't you go get the cards out of the
dumpster and head on down there?  The night's early, she might be out on a
call. Take a cellular phone with you when you go.  That way when you get
to her apartment, you can call to see if anyone is there." 

"But she'll be at work,"  said Ariel.

"True," said Helen.  "But there might be Nat-Packers staying there.
Natalie's always having them over." 

"Good point."

The three Die-Hards left headquarters quietly chatting among themselves,
hashing out a plan of attack on the distribution to the music mechanisms. 

"Now, Jane," said Dawn, settling herself back against the headboard of the
bed, using a pillow as a rest. "Tell us about the phase two of your plan." 

###

THE COUSINS STRIKE (b)
by Cousin Julie

Time: 10 pm EST
Place: Nick's Loft

Several Knighties, after getting the keys and the code to Nick's elevator,
returned for a nice evening of movies.  They had rented, among others, "I
Want to Be Mortal," "Indian Mythical Cures," and "It's Never Too Late" to
watch with Nick as soon as he returned home.  Something was not quite
right when they came in the door; a red spotlight shone from across the
room, casting an interesting glow on the VCR area of the TV/VCR holder. 
 
"What's going on?"
 
"I don't know...but be careful."
 
They went over to the couch, flipped on a light, and found that the
computer had been mutilated.  Now flashing across the screen was the
question,"Who's your favorite vampire?" 
 
Unable to resist (brickish and all that) one of them typed in "Nick" and
all Hell broke loose; the sound of the whirring of the VCR started and
then attached itself to the surround sound on the stereo.  The TV clicked
on and there was Julie Andrews, dressed like a nun, singing "The Hills Are
Alive" in complete stereo. The Knighties covered their ears and groaned. 
 
The screen flashed, "To end this session, type '0.'"  They typed 0.
 
The computer started laughing, adding to the sound of "How Do You Solve a
Problem Like Maria?"
 
To end this session answer: "What is the meaning of life?"
 
A Knightie reached for it. "Wait..."
 
"No, don't worry, I know the answer."
 
"Your funeral."
 
The Knightie typed in "to be Mortal."
 
There was hysterical laughter along with "Doe a Deer" and abruptly
everything stopped, the TV went blank and then a signal burst from the
computer to the TV...MELTDOWN IN 1:59:00.  There was general panic... 
 
"Oh, we better find Nick...."
 
They rushed out, and out of the shadows stepped several hooded figures,
pushed them into the back of a truck and sped away. 
 
"See...easy as pie."
 
"What are we going to do with them?"
 
"Feed them to Uncle?"
 
"Hmmmmmmm...ransom?"
 
"We'll see."
 
And the truck sped away.

###

RUMINATING WITH THE RUMINANTS
by Marcia Tucker

Time: 10pm EST
Place: Nick's Loft

1:58...  1:57... 1:56...

"Oh, we better find Nick!" Marcia screamed and pushed Scottie and Erika
ahead of her toward the door to the loft. 

Outside, they paused for breath, having run down the stairs, and looked
around, trying to decide which way to go for help.  Suddenly dark, hooded
figures stepped out of the shadows and before they could shout, they were
hustled into the back of the truck that had just screamed to a stop in the
alley.  The three Knighties pounded on the window to the front of the
truck, but there was no response.  Amid chuckles of derision from their
captors they could hear...  "What are we going to do with them?"  "Feed
them to Uncle?" "Hmmmmmm...ransom?"  "We'll see." 

Scottie gave one last angry pound at the window before desisting. 
"Cousins! Well, at least we know who to take revenge on..." 

"We're in no condition to take revenge on anything at the moment," Erika
gently reminded her. 

Marcia was still in shock from the computer/VCR debacle.  The computer
geek in her was still reeling from the thought of technological meltdown
in Nick's high tech digs.  "How could they... Nick's computer...the TV..." 

"It's okay, Marcia," Scottie reassured her, seeing how distraught her
friend was.  "I'm sure Nick keeps backups..." 

At Marcia's sudden stare, she finished,  "...doesn't he?"

Scottie and Erika exchanged glances.  "Oh, Nick..."

"We're talking about our Nick here," Marcia murmured, and sank down in
despair to the floor of the truck as her fellow Knighties did the same. 
"And he never did solve the upside down glass of blood trick, remember." 

As the truck continued to who knew where, all three Knighties sunk into a
deep funk, remembering that their dear love was, after all, occasionally a
few umbrellas short of a cocktail. 

A minute later, they roused enough to wonder about their fate.  "Where do
you suppose they'll take us?  I don't think I want to face LaCroix - um,
ever," Erika mused. 

Scottie hunched her shoulders together. "Nah, we'd be at the Raven already
if we were going there... unless..." 

All three exchanged glances.  LC's townhouse?  "Nah," they said together,
trying to emulate their hero, the Eternal Optimist. 

"I really was looking forward to seeing 'Indian Mythical Cures,'" Marcia
said in a small voice.  "Now I'm sure the videos will have to be returned
before we get back.  And I can't believe we fell for that crap on the
computer, those stupid questions." 

"You couldn't help yourself, Marcia," Erika replied, sighing.  "We would
have done the same.  We're Knighties - we plunge into the fray without
much forethought, courageous to a fault.  We love that about Nick, but it
does get us into trouble... like this." 

Just then the truck halted.  "Uh, oh," Scottie murmured.  "I'm sure we're
not going to like this." 

Before they could wonder further, the Knighties were manuevered out of the
truck, into a dark alley, and down a short flight of stairs to... 

"What's that smell?" Marcia whispered, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Shut up!" a Cousin screeched at them, and they were shoved forward.
"Screed, honey, they're all yours.  Knighties, meet your prison guard!" 

Now that they had a chance to look around, the three captives blanched to
recognize Screed's sewery hole.. and of course they recognized the bald,
ragwearing vampire approaching them. 

"Ooo, wot 'ave we 'ere?  You brought me lunch, eh?"

The Knighties clutched each other, more afraid of the vampire's breath
than the prospect of being his lunch. 

Ten minutes later, the Cousins gone to do more dastardly deeds, Screed was
sitting on watch, looking extremely bored and fortunately not hungry
(judging by the pile of dead rats beside him).  The Knighties were silent,
lost in their individual private rage and contemplation. 

<I just got to town,> Marcia was thinking, pulling her long black coat
more tightly around her against the sewer chill.  <I didn't even get to
sight-see yet and already I'm kidnapped by Cousins looking to bleed Nick
of his funds. Poor Nick - he's not really good at this sort of thing. 
First the bricks, the glass of blood, and the Caddy - now his high-tech
stuff and us...  I wonder what he'll do about it - I know he can have a
short fuse...> She narrowed her eyes, glancing over at Screed.  <Huh -
Screed working for the Cousins - I wonder if LaCroix is even in on this. 
I wonder what they paid Screed.  He's pretty crafty - he must know Nick
will be generous in getting us back and he's figuring on getting a fat
cut.>

She glanced over at her compadres - Scottie gave her a thumbs-up.  <Yeah,
that's the spirit,> Marcia thought, returning the gesture with a grim
smile. <We're tough, we're Knighties - we can survive a little discomfort
in a rats' nest like this.>

She spoke too soon.  Just then a rat danced across her left shoe and
scuttled back into the shadows.  Suppressing a shudder, Marcia gave
herself a pep talk to buck up her self-confidence, which had been severely
shaken.  <I'm a Knightie - I endure sacrifice - I believe in truth,
justice and the Canadian way.  My hero is Nick Knight who has endured
centuries of torment from LaCroix, has generally had a lot he's had to
deal with in his life and is unfortunately in love with a woman who is
obsessed with her own petty emotional needs.  Spend a year under the thumb
of LaCroix, Nat baby, and see if *you* get a little brickish at times. 
Get a life, Nat - and wake up to the fact that you can't have Nick because
he'd kill you.  End of discussion. Which reminds me... I hope Nick
restocked his refrigerator after his place was trashed.  We can't have a
hungry Nick around Knighties...>

A wicked gleam came into Marcia's eyes as she contemplated a hungry Nick
Knight catching up to the Cousins who'd kidnapped them.  <Just a little
sip, Nick, you can handle that...  Actually, the Cousins have to be aware
that they will *pay* for this.  Oh, yes, they will pay...>

###

SETTLING IN
by Shirl Cline

Time: Evening
Place: A hotel in Toronto

Cousin Shirl shut the hotel door with a sigh of relief. She'd managed to
survive a trip to the Raven without having to talk to LaCroix. <I don't
think I could really handle that. At least, not yet.> She was shy enough
as it was meeting all these new people face to face, without meeting
*him*. She'd take a few minutes to unpack her belongings, then check on
things back home. 

<They have cable tv, cool,> she thought as she turned on the set. She
channel-surfed long enough to find the weather channel. As the radar over
North America came up, she automatically looked at the east coast to see
what the weather was like at home in Maryland. <Rain. Hmmm, I wonder.
There's one way to find out.> Rrring, rrring, "You have reached the Cline
residence. We can't come to..." <Pick up, Mom. I know you've been waiting
for me to call.> "Hi, Mom, how are you? I just wanted to let you know I'm
all settled in at the hotel. I'll give you my number." As she talked, she
wondered if her mom was relaxing a bit. She was always worrying about her
kids (even though they were both in their twenties). <Oh well, I guess
that's in the job description.> "Is it raining there? It is? Could you
please run outside and look at my windows?" The signal of the cordless
phone grew a bit fuzzy, so Shirl knew she was complying. "They're gone?
Great! Thanks Mom." The q-tip snowflakes had been easy to get off the
first-story windows, but the ones on her bedroom windows were impossible
to remove without a ladder. <How did the fiends who did this get them up
there?> she wondered. <Actually, how had they got any of them on the
windows without setting off the dog? Must have did it when he was on his
long morning walk.> With the war starting on Halloween, her family had
thought the q-tips were an odd prank. She was the only one who'd realized
their significance. 

She said her goodbyes, admonishing her mom not to overfeed the cats, and
promised to call every day to check in. Her mom was used to her daughter
being a little weird, and she'd gone to meet people she'd met from the
list before and emerged unscathed. Of course she'd never gone out of the
country (or for that matter, out of state) to meet them... 

She'd also been careful to keep her mom as ignorant as possible about the
real purpose of her trip. She didn't watch FK, knew nothing about the
wars, and she wouldn't know what was going on if she was attacked. <The
dog ought to protect her, and she'd know something weird was happening if
the cats all decided to hide> she reassured herself. Besides, her brother
would be there most of the time. 

<Now to check my e-mail> Fortunately her great-aunt had decided to bestow
upon her an *extremely* generous early Christmas gift. She'd apologized
for the impersonal nature of the gift, but it was fine with Shirl. If she
hadn't gotten the money when she did, she'd never of been able to come to
Toronto, or buy this nice laptop. <No mail, hmm. I wonder if the list is
being held. I'll check again later before I get suspicious, but I wouldn't
put messing with my mail past someone who'd dare do anything to LaCroix.>

Shirl turned the computer and the tv off and stretched out on the bed.
She'd rest while she waited to hear if there was anything she could assist
her fellow Cousins with. <And who knows? I might come up with something
appropriately wicked to do in retaliation for the q- tips.> she thought
with a nasty grin. One way or another, the Cousins wouldn't let them get
away with this. 

###

UNTIL THERE WAS ONE
by Julie Randolph

Time: 10:10pm EST
Place: The sewer...Screed's hideout

"Oh, would you people stop moaning, like you've never seen anyone eat a
rat before." 
 
There were groans all around and Julie sat atop a pile of small,
transistor type radios. 
 
"Eh, wot's that?"
 
"I borrowed those bombs from Black Buddah part 2 (you know before they
blew up with Inca) and rewired them to play this." 
 
She turned it on and Screed covered his ears, retreating into the darkest
part of his hovel. 
 
"I'm going to deliver presents, you watch these three for me...oh, and
um...don't eat 'em, okay?" 
 
"I should off 'em good and proper."
 
"Nope...Uncle will kill ya, now get a grip and keep watch, others will
come for them...they don't have to like it, but they will come." 
 
"I'll be 'ere."
 
"I'll be back."
 
Julie proceeded to Cousin Headquarters and picked up an entourage, Jane,
Zillah, Candice, Deb and Tor, heading out for parts unknown. 

*********************************************************

Place: Susan Garrett's home

Raven/ettes had a tendacy to flock around their leader, and this was no
exception.  the Cousins in question, dutifully left a transistor ouside
the door of each Raven/ette they could reach...or that they knew of...or
that the Merc's told them about, and dissappeared without a sound. (Uncle
would be so proud)
 
Susan stepped out the door and picke up the small black box with a curious
stare.  She turned it over and was unable to resist the big RED button on
the back...to which the transistor screeched (no pun)
 
"JANETTE IS GONE...JANETTE IS GONE...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
 
They had about enough and slammed the radio into the dirt, squishing it,
when they all realized their hands had been covered in a green type of
leaking acidic paint.  Wiping furiously, the logo of the Raven, off the
coaster that Knight found, materalized on their hands...a trick of the
scientific minds of they who are at fault. 
 
Behind the scenes, the cousins laughed hysterically and loaded Julie's
truck, peeling away into the safety of the sewers that awaited. 
 
"Okay, granted it's not the greatest place, but it works, for now."
 
Screed hovered over the Knighties. They groaned, "Get away, rat breath."
 
"Oh, I wouldn't irritate him."
 
Screed growled under his breath and moved away at Julie's menacing stare.
 
"Someone go out for Chinese...Zillah?"

###

STRANGER THAN BOTH
by A.M. Marcoux

Time: 10:30 pm
Place:  Calgary, Ab

Journal

DAY ONE

it is truly a remarkable day.

first, i have finally started a journal.

second, i have finally gone insane.

i got up on this remarkable day around 7, after sleeping for a whole 3 and
a half hours.  i had to, you see, first because the bloody sun woke me up,
and second because the other half of group 3, good-ole domineering, anal
retentive, controlling martyr-complex BOB, scheduled our prototyping
appointment with the instructor during my 10 AM tutorial, so i had to go
to the 9 AM

lucky me, good ole couldn't fly by the seat of his pants if wings grew out
of his butt BOB insisted on driving me, so there would be no mix up about
the time. sure BOB, i said, pick me up at 8:30.  of course good-ole
couldn't tell time with a watch glued to his face BOB called me from
outside my house at 8:15 and asked if i was ready yet. 

then as we drove the long way to the college cuz good ole never listens to
a thing i say BOB didn't think i knew how to get to school from my own
house, he asked if i'd be mad if he dumped me for a new partner.  i don't
get mad, BOB i said, keeping my choicer comments to myself as usual, but
just barely. 

i snored my way thru the 9 AM tutorial and then headed for the VAX lab for
some BOB-free time before our prototyping session at 10:30 AM. 

i went insane immediately after i posted my first war piece to the list,
reproduced here for posterity.  that was at 10:26 AM, today. 

it's a piece of fluff, really.  i never should have written it.

>TO:     fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu
>FROM:   marc3108@mtroyal.ab.ca
>SUBJ:   WAR: On the Chessboard Part 1

>WAR V
>On the Chessboard Part 1
>by AM Marcoux

>By nine-thirty Andria was barrelling down The Hill in her half ton,
>singing along with Grace Slick with no regard for silly things like key
>and melody. 

>"...he called Aliiice, when she was just smaaaall.
>When men on the chessboard, get up and tell you where to goooo,
>and you've just had some kind of-"

>She slammed on the brakes, the song evaporating in her throat, when she
>saw IT. 

>IT was huge.  IT was illegally placed on Bow Trail.  IT...was a billboard.

>The billboard had as its background a mad collage of unconnected images
>and words like "confusion" and "chaos."  In the center of this anarchy
>was a dot. Pointing to the dot was an arrow.  Labelling the arrow in
>bold, contrasting letters ten feet high, was the statement: 

>"A N D R E A  M A R C O X ,  Y O U  A R E  H E R E"

>The fifth war had begun.

>Andria wondered what she had done to deserve such a vicious attack.  She
>was an agreeable, unaffiliated former lurker whose worst trait was a
>tendancy to ramble (but never without warning).  She'd kept *mostly* to
>herself during the last war, hadn't made any enemies, that she knew of... 

>Andria continued on her way to the college, wincing as she discovered her
>route was peppered with the misspelt insult.  She might not know how it
>was done, or why, or who the culprit was, but she had a good idea where
>to start looking. 

>By ten-thirty everything was settled.  Getting permission from the head
>of the department to skip school for the next two or three weeks had been
>no problem. She and Mr. C. were tight and she was ahead in all her
>classes, even group work. She and her partner Todd had already handed in
>Assignment 3, three days early.  With the state of the art laptop she had
>slung over her shoulder and the well packed overnight bag she always kept
>in the truck, she was prepared for anything.  All she had to do was go. 

>(to be continued...)

like i said, it's fluff.  reinventing my life sans any *real* stress.  i
thought it was good therapy.  then i looked at the time and posted it
without even proof-reading it, rushing upstairs for my much dreaded
rondevouz with BOB. 

i lurked in a corner, trying to avoid the head of the department who had
recently reminded me that in spite of my near perfect test scores i could
still flunk out if i kept letting the assignments slide. 

the next group was going over time, which was a semi-good thing, cuz BOB
was late.  i kept checking my watch, and finally came out from behind a
potted plant to ask kai if he'd seen BOB.  he just looked at me strangely
and asked how it was going.  i told him i was waiting for good-ole BOB so
we could do our prototyping and he just shook his head and walked off. 
obviously i had the time wrong, so i checked the schedule on the door. 
BOB and i weren't scheduled for 10:30, we weren't scheduled at all.  i
lied BOB, i thought.  i'm mad *now*. 

i turned around and ran straight in to the head of the departement.  he
gave me a big grin and asked what i was doing still there.  i muttered
something about going to find BOB, and he asked if BOB was a friend i was
taking to Toronto and that's when i realized how heavy my shoulder bag was
and that i had gone insane. 

i know i have gone insane because i drove home in a half ton my gramma
sold four years ago, and because i am keeping this journal on a laptop
computer i didn't own twelve hours ago and do not remember buying. 

nobody knows that i am insane.

i had a great talk with my mom and failed to mention the fact that i had
erased BOB from existance with a story about an imaginary conflict over a
t.v. show. 

i know this is true, as well as an insane person can know anything,
because i spent all day looking for him.  no BOB, no wife of BOB no kid of
BOB exists in this entire province. 

i typed and cancelled a hundred messages to various listmembers i have
been in contact with, each of them asking the same question in different
ways:  why didn't you tell me this was real? 

they were never sent because i was afraid of the answer.

it's just a t.v. show, i tell myself, it's just a story.  all you need is
some sleep, just a chance to relax, and everything will be back to normal. 

*NEW MAIL*

TO:     marc3108@mtroyal.ab.ca
FROM:   sender unknown
SUBJ:   welcome to the game

###

A SNIP HERE, A SNIP THERE... (b)
by Catherine Boone

Time: Evening
Place: Nick's loft

The next three hours had Knighties rolling their eyes and groaning at
wall-to-wall Nightcrawler spew, punctuated with random "Ooh, ooh!  If we
took that part *there*, and connected it to this part *here*..." "Ooooh!! 
Hey, that is nice!"  General giggling ensues. 

After an hour, Perri and Amy returned from the war conference.  The two of
them froze at the sight of half a dozen Knighties hovering over tape and
scissors, with several more listening to tapes in the kitchen.  Her eye
fell directly on Catherine. 

Oops.

"What are you guys *doing*?  What is this?  Wait...hey, I recognize
that..."  She burst into delighted laughter.  "Oh, that is so perfect! But
if you put that part *here*, and then followed with *this*..." 

Perri glanced up to see Catherine wearing a hopeful expression.  "I
live?"

"Just this once."

"Coooool."

Finally, the pain of listenting to all that dithering was over, and they
put the finished product into the case with the current label, then
Susanne was running out the door to plant it in the proper spot. 

Roni sighed in satisfaction.  "Wow, we should really wake up Scottie,
Erika, and Marcia.  They'll kill us if we let them miss this." 

Paula took the stairs two at a time, to Nick's bedroom, the only logical
refuge from all their noise in the living room.  "Hey, guys, wake up! You
gotta hear this!" 

"... guys?"

They weren't there.

** **

Lacroix furiously rummaged through piles of clothes and unmarked boxes,
looking for his prerecorded tape.  He knew that, with a war on, it would
be wise to tape all his shows the night before, such that, in an
emergency, he would be free to leave if he chose.  Being ejected from the
Raven irked him to no end, but he'd been able to make it to his old
recording room back at CERK, just in time for his show.  Only to find that
his tape was missing.  No matter, he supposed he'd have to take a page
from Deborah's book (he cringed at the very thought) and "wing it," as she
called it. 

Just as he was walking out the door of his private quarters at the
station, he spotted just the case he was looking for.  Silently he cursed
his slothful followers, grabbed the case, and flew to the recording room. 

He came flying into the recording room (figuratively, this time), to see
the necessary sound man in back frowning and tapping his watch.  Having
had a less than skippy day, Lacroix nearly snarled at him, yet restrained
himself at the last minute.  He deftly threaded the audio tape through the
player, and hit "play" at just the right minute. 

There was a few moments of silence, a pause so deep you could hear all of
those little Nightcrawler listeners turning on their radios.  Then it
began. 

"Nicholas, it's time to rock."  And as the Mortal Kombat theme started
blaring out of the speakers, Lacroix's mouth simply fell open in shock,
while the sound man was literally on the floor, laughing fit to die... 

But it didn't just end with one song.  It kept going, and going...

"How long is the longest friendship?"

++ I'd rather spend eternity / eating shards of broken glass / than spend
one more minute with you. / ooo OOO ooo mmbwap / I'd rather have my blood
sucked out by leeches / shove an icepick under a toenail, or two / I'd
rather clean all of the bathrooms in Grand Central Station / with my
tongue / than spend one more minute with you. / I'd rather rip my heart
right out of my ribcage with my bare hands and then throw it on the floor
and stomp on it till I die... <dramatic sob> than spend one more minute
with you.  ooo ooo ooo oooooooo! ++

"Ouch."  "That hurt!"

++ Happy happy joy joy, happy happy joy joy... ++

Finally the tape wound down to it's end.  A final "Well done, hahahaha!"
and it was done.  Very, very gently, such that he didn't demolish the room
and everyone in it, Lacroix took out the tape, put it back in it's case,
and walked out. 

The sound man trailed behind him, calling "Hey, that was great!  You think
you could do that again tomorrow?" 

Lacroix didn't even slow down.

###

IN BONDAGE (Part 1)
by Julie Randolph, Erika Hanson, Marcia Tucker, and Sharon Scott

Time: 11pm EST
Place: Screed's hovel

Julie had sent the other Cousins back to the headquarters. Of course,
these Knighties had no way of knowing that.  She perched on a rock,
watching Screed watch them.  He was kind of like a dog, wasn't he?  But
cute anyhow.  She just knew that their friendship would come in handy
eventually. 
 
"What?  You've never seen a man eat a rat before? Get a grip."
 
The Knighties squirmed and Julie smiled, a scary expression.
 
"Screed, come 'ere."
 
"Wot?" He wandered over, for the moment leaving the Knighties in peace.
 
"I want you to take this note to Nick Knight...I believe you will find him
in his loft...erm...cleaning up a little mess I made especially for him." 
 
"You want me to DO WHAT?  Oh, nonononono..."
 
Julie held up a bill, but Screed would not be swayed. Nick did not like
him and he had no desire to be anywhere near the vampire, especially if
Julie had done something horrible to his home.  Not a chance in hell. 

"I didn't do anything THAT bad...just his comp..." 

"You blotched 'is computer?"  

"Yeah...brilliance runs in the family. Take this will you?" 
 
"Nope, not for all the money in the world!"
 
"And if I were to tell Uncle about you NOT helping me?"
 
"And if I were to tell 'UNCLE' that you did this at all..."
 
"You have a point. Fine, stay here and watch these three...no
nibbling...and I'll do it myself." 
 
Julie sauntered over to the Knighties. "Hmm...what do you think, can I be
a Knightie?"  she laughs. 
 
"I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you!' Erika snarled, fuming. 
 
Cousin Julie leaned back against the wall, but immediately jerked upright
as she encountered quite a bit of slime. A vague expression of distaste
flashed across her face and was quickly supressed. 

"Be that as it may, you're still stuck with me for the duration--at least
until Nicky-boy comes up with the cash. This isn't exactly a party for me
either, you know." 

Scottie glared at their captor. "Oh, how *terrible* for you!"

Julie examined her fingernails in the dim light. "Yes, quite," she said.

Erika glanced at her. "What I want to know is, how much of this is LaCroix
aware of?" 

Marcia looked surprised. "Wasn't this his idea in the first place?"

Scottie shifted against the wall uncomfortably, and answered. "Not
necessarily. Cousins don't always play by the rules, even when it goes
against the wishes of their darling Uncle." 

"It's hard to imagine the Cousins having that much freedom though." Marcia
looked across the room at Julie, who was waving another freshly minted
bill at Screed. "I mean, he's always struck me as something of a control
freak...look at what he's done to Nick." 

There was a bit of silence at that, and then Erika shrugged. "Well,
Cousins are Cousins, and it's been known to happen. Anyway, LaCroix's been
so drugged up on happy pills lately, it shouldn't be *that* hard to fool
him." Erika saw Julie stiffen almost imperceptibly, and raised her voice. 

"One thing I *do* know, however, is that Uncle *always* finds out...and
the Cousins always pay. Isn't that right, Julie...?" 

Julie shrugged. "Perhaps....but then again, what he doesn't know and all
that... I have business to attend to..." 
 
Julie stepped out of the room into the hallway and then paused, looking
back, laughing hysterically."Oh, don't go anywhere." 
 
Her laughter could be heard as she made her way outside into the dark.

************************************************************************

Place: Nick's loft

Julie snuck around the side, hearing voices. Not trusting her climbing
skills, she called for the elevator. 
 
"Who is it?"  My, my Nick sounded a bit overwhelmed...heh.
 
"Package for Mr. Nicholas Knight."
 
He paused. Knighties looked up and several of them shook their heads. <It
was a trick.>
 
"Just send it up, and if you come with it..."
 
"Look, whatever, buddy, just make it snappy. I have other deliveries."
 
Julie stuck the ransom note in the elevator and took off as fast as she
could, headed for CERK headquarters, hoping to GOD Uncle didnt have her
for dinner for this.  Nah, he'll understand...right? 
 
The elevator stopped to reveal a bright pink enevelope with a raven
dancing across the front. He picked it up. "Ravenettes?" 
 
Someone sounded from the back, "Ummm...could be, what does it say?"
 
Nick read out loud,"I have Marcia, I have Scottie, I have Erika...transfer
6.5 million dollars to account number ZA1011023ZOOMAR1010 and they will be
returned...unharmed.  By tomorrow, no tricks." 
 
"Any suggestions, people?"
 
The Knighties shrugged and went into consultation upon who was responsible
for such a monstrosity. 
 
"Probably the same person who rewired your computer."
 
"Nah, then they would know this transfer is impossible until I get it up
and running." 
 
"Never can tell...it shouldn't be too hard to fix, just rewire the
motherboard..." 
 
"I'm sorry, do what?"
 
The Knightie sighed, "Nevermind, just give it here."
 
Nick looked out into the night. "Wars...."

###

EVERYBODY'S PLAYING THE GAME
(But Nobody's Rules Are the Same)
by Amy Hull, Jennie Hayes, Valerie Meachum and the NatPack
(except Sharon, of course)

Time: Evening
Place: Susan Garrett's home

Susan answered the door and found two men with dark hair, dark glasses,
and dark suits.  One was somewhat ferret-faced, and the other had a dark
beard that almost met his glasses.  Susan raised her eyebrows at their
rather comic book-ish appearance then inquired, "May I help you?" 

"Ms. Garrett?" the ferret-faced one asked politely.

"Yes."

"Ms. Garrett, we've been asked by some friends of yours to take you out
for an evening of entertainment." 

"By friends?" Susan asked, instantly suspicious.

"Good friends, Ms. Garrett.  Please come with us immediately; we'll be
late otherwise." 

Susan mentally located the phone while continuing to look calmly at the
strangers.  "All right.  I should probably finish one or two things up and
I'll be right with you." 

The ferret-faced man took Susan's elbow.  "I think you should come now.
Guido doesn't like to wait."  He gestured at his partner, who had a
devilish smile spreading across his face around the beard. 

Susan managed to just grab her sweater-jacket and the door knob as they
propelled her toward the building's exit. 

"I don't believe this is happening again," she muttered, pulling her arm
away from Guido but continuing to keep apace of the men, partially because
Guido's hand remained only an inch behind her back. 

"Please be cooperative, Ms. Garrett.  It's a much better way to go about
this," the ferret-faced man admonished. 

"Oh, don't worry.  I'm cooperating," Susan reassured, thinking how glad
she was that it was wartime.  With the war happening, she could continue
to believe that this whole episode was a harmless list prank.  Really. 
Susan forbade herself to contemplate the number of list members currently
around who had never been involved in a war and who might not know that
attacks (if this was indeed an attack) were by definition *harmless* and
*amusing* expressions of *affection*.  'Of course, I'd hate to see how
these folks express *dislike*.' Susan thought wryly, as she ducked into
the large black car with shaded windows the men indicated.  She looked
about the car for any sign of a weapon or escape route, but the only
outstanding feature the car sported was a rather medieval looking cap with
a large plume on it hanging from the rear view mirror. 

A relatively short trip down uniformly suburban residential streets later,
the car pulled into the lot of a building that could be nothing other than
a public school.  It was of the ubiquitous late 1960's early 1970's
variety that was used to rapidly construct thousands of schools when the
baby boomers' children arrived for Kindergarten in numbers guaranteed to
over-populated nearly every school. 

The car had barely pulled to a stop before Guido, who was in the back seat
with Susan, swatted the ferret-faced man's arm over the seat.  "Get the
door for the lady, Dirk!  Where are you manners?" 

A bemused Susan stepped slowly out of the car and found herself propelled
through a jungle of parked cars and into the school's gymnasium.  It was
decorated for the Fall holidays--brown and orange paper chains were strung
everywhere, and construction paper cornucopia, pumpkins, pilgrims,
witches, goblins, and ghosts were taped up to virtually every free inch of
wall.  The gym was packed with suburbanites, about forty-five percent of
whom had video cameras.  Susan froze at the door for a moment, her mouth
half open as she contemplated commenting on the sight, but failed to find
words that seemed appropriate for the situation.  Before the words came to
her, Dirk and Guido pushed her into the only remaining aisle seat. 

"It's about to start," Dirk whispered.  "We were almost late, Guido."

"That would have been a *fashionable* lateness, Dirk," Guido returned in
his most suave manner. 

Dirk rolled his eyes--you could even tell from behind the dark glasses.
"Guido, you have no sense of fine deportment--" 

"Excuse me," Susan interrupted, "but if I've got to be here, you two can
at least be polite to the kids."  She raised her eyebrows for their
agreement. After a few moments of hitting each other, they quieted down
and Susan looked at them like they were unruly toddlers and pointed at the
stage. 

Relative silence had fallen over the gym, broken only by the hundreds of
parents fidgeting with their recording equipment and adjusting their
chairs to better see their children's performance.  The principal quickly
introduced herself, then explained the Fall theme of their variety show. 
It was only moments before a cluster of 60 or more small children marched
onto the stage and lined up.  A young and perky teacher announced over a
raspy loudspeaker system that their new kindergarten curriculum was
focusing on an early introduction to both the basics and the arts. 

The children watched the teacher raptly as the pianist began to play the
"Moonlight Sonata"....badly.  Susan cringed at the lack of feeling in the
playing, then barely managed to avoid clapping her hands over her ears as
the students began (starting in at least five different spots), to sing
the alphabet in something only loosely related to the tune the pianist was
pounding out. 

The children must have cycled through the alphabet five times, plus
spelling out various basic Halloween words to the tune before it
mercifully ended. While the audience of parents and grandparents was
applauding the children, Susan was busily scoping out the exits to see if
there was a way to escape the gym.  Dirk stood up, politely gestured to
the chair he had vacated, and ushered Susan into the seat between him and
Guido.  Susan sighed. 

The first grades filed in slowly.  They held their arms parallel to the
floor, hands dangling limply.  The children were wearing tattered clothes
and had their faces painted with white clown makeup, with black circles
around their eyes.  They wandered around the stage, occasionally bumping
into each other, while each student, one at a time, read a short bit of
the zombie story the entire class had written as a round robin.  Susan was
staring at the stage, a look of blank shock on her face.  She tried to
remind herself that she was witnessing the beginnings of creativity, the
first fiction these children had created and committed to paper.  But the
zombies...a chill ran down Susan's spine, and she closed her eyes, sliding
down in her chair. 

Several interminable minutes later, there was commotion that indicated
another change in guard on the stage.  She peered through her eyelashes at
the new group approaching and found that the new group of students were
wearing innocuous solid colors.  She took a deep breath and sat back up,
though a sense of foreboding was overtaking her.  Whoever had planned this
had obviously chosen the school program carefully; this one included every
one of the things Susan couldn't abide.  Except.... 

And it began.  The teacher explained that while some older religious
celebrated Halloween, some Christian groups still celebrated All Saint's
Day, which had been initiated around the older holiday.  To indicate this
combination, the second graders were to represent the Christian element of
the holiday season, as well as the belief system that had motivated the
Pilgrim settlers.  Susan winced, and when "Amazing Grace" began to play,
she cringed again, "I knew it.  I just knew it." 

It could have been...not bad.  But there was one kid--a little girl no
more than eight--who had clearly already begun voice lessons.  Although
she was in the middle of a row, she stood up straighter than the other
students, and belted out the tune.  She was using one of those clear,
loud, singing voices--like the little girl from Annie--and although she
didn't sound half bad, she was easily as loud as all the other children
combined.  The stark contrast of styles, plus her enunciation pitted
against the others' "A-maaay-zing graaaace...." made for a hideous
combination.  Susan shrank into her chair again, and tried to concentrate
on developing story ideas. Something--anything--to distract her from
this...travesty. 

Fortunately, the song was mercifully brief, and the students departed. 
Several adults quickly carried on a jury-rigged puppet stage.  A number of
third graders came in and sat on the edge of the stage.  Another group
approached the mike, then a bustling occurred behind the screen, and hands
sporting homemade finger puppets popped up into sight.  The seated
youngsters sang, those by the mike told parts of the story, and the kids
with the puppets acted it out.  It was a wildly hilarious modern
adaptation of old Punch and Judy skits, and Susan shrank nearer and nearer
the floor. 

The final applause was thunderous, and Susan looked again toward the
exits. She noticed that Dirk was absent and tried to slip out into the
aisle, but Guido grabbed her elbow and stopped her.  Susan looked at the
floor, waiting impatiently to be released from the situation.  Parents and
neighbors filed out around them, kids ran amongst the mass of legs to
locate their moms and dads, and Susan and Guido stood still. 

Finally, Dirk appeared in the doorway and gestured the others to join him.
They waded through the sea of people, and made their way to the car.  They
waited for twenty minutes in local traffic before they headed back at a
regular speed.  As Susan got out of the car, Dirk stopped her once more. 

"What is it now?" she asked impatiently.

"We were asked to give you these."  Dirk offered a pack of candy
cigarettes politely.  Susan took them, shook her head, and walked away. 
When she glanced at her watch, she saw that only an hour and a half had
passed. 

"Are you sure it was okay to drop her off already?" Guido questioned.

"Yeah, I called the lady who sent us and she said they've got the stuff
all ready." 

"What else did they do to her, anyway?"

"Well, they mentioned that if we had Internet access, we should check out
the New Susan Garrett Web Page.  They mentioned a whole string of
characters that they said would get us there.  And they said we could also
just go to the _Forever Knight_ Web Page and it's cross-referenced there." 
Dirk seemed a little confused by the various references. 

"Oh.  That's a good show.  What's on this "Susan Garrett Web Page",
anyway?" Guido didn't even sound sure of what a Web Page was. 

"Apparently a list of almost everything she's ever written.  If you want
to know more about any specific piece, you're sposed to ask Susan herself. 
She can explain about the specifics since she wrote it.  There's also some
kind of movie of her all dressed up--apparently she usually wears the
jeans and t-shirts like what she was wearing today.  You know, we ought to
see how she cleans up.  Let's go take a look!"  Dirk and Guido exchanged
approving glances and took off in the car. 

###

ANOTHER FLIGHT INTO THE SUNSET
by Dawn Steele

Time: Evening
Place: Airplane

Dawn leaned back into the airplane seat and tried to get comfortable. Not
an easy thing to do when the cramped conditions made her want to stretch
all the time. Her knees were starting to hurt already. 

//I knew I should have reserved the seat between economy and first class.
More leg room and still cheap.//

Dawn checked out the other passengers in the mid-sized plane. She didn't
recognize any of them, but that didn't mean anything. Having flown from
the small Fredericton airport to the international one at Halifax, she was
now on her way to Toronto once more. 

//Once more into the breach. You'd think I'd have more sense after all
I've been through.// She made a mental note to herself to keep an alert
watch out for anyone trying to slip her a mickey, get her drunk, or...
//gulp!// get her high on vampire blood. //What a wierd allergy. Easily
avoidable though. It shouldn't be a problem this time.//

She tried to think whether she was likely to meet anyone in Toronto who
bore her "ill will," but couldn't come up will anything <really> serious.
//I'm lucky to be such a nice person.//

Dawn pulled out the "Blood Price" book by Tanya Huff that she was
rereading. Great stuff. //I wouldn't mind meeting a vampire like Henry
Fitzroy. Too bad all the real vampires have that problem with...
self-control.//

She flipped through the pages, and pulled out the piece of paper with the
directions on it. Quite a few of the Die-Hards had started up an email
list in order to keep in contact. It had certainly come in handy when
everyone on the lists started to get that... Jeopardy thing happening. //I
don't mind the show itself. Kind of fun, but that host... // She
shuddered. 

//It's too bad I don't live near Toronto anymore. Flying in from the East
Coast definitely puts a crimp in my budget. Maybe I should buy a lottery
ticket?//

Luckily for the Die-Hards, another Torontonian had quickly secured a base
of operations. //No hotel bills for us. We'll be able to sack out in a
secure base. 24 hour security, and all the accesses are monitored by
security cameras. We won't have to worry about any of the other factions
trying to trash our place.//

She looked at the contact name she written down on the list. //Lana
Soward.  Hmmm... Where have I heard that name before? Oh well, I'll be
meeting her soon enough.//

Dawn closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable.

It might be her last chance.

###

WAITING IN AIRPORTS
by Lana G. Soward

Time: Evening
Place: Toronto airport

Lana sat uncomfortably ensconced in an airport chair.  She'd arrived about
three hours ago, although with all the hassle she'd gotten about her
cameras and computer she was ready to turn around and climb back on the
plane and go back to DC.  You'd think that she was trying to enter Fort
Knox. 

Rummaging in the pocket of her jacket she pulled out the description that
Dawn had hurriedly sent.  Brown leather jacket and blue jeans. 

It'll probably be my luck that half the people on the plane will dressed
like that, she thought glumly. 

This was her first trip to Toronto.  She'd managed to wrangle a plane
ticket from her company and she had their American Express card, but
somehow, she was going to have to find another way to finance this stay. 

At least, I don't have to worry about hotel bills, she thought. She'd
taken the money that she expected to save on the hotel and decided to
splurge on the rental car.  No telling how many people she might be
carting around here, and there was no reason to be squished in a compact
car. 

Suddenly, the loudspeaker squawked into life announcing the arrival of
Dawn's flight. Lana unfolded herself from the chair and stood up,
stretching her legs. She pulled at the blue jacket that she'd worn up.It
was hot, but she said she would wear it so that Dawn would recognize her. 

As the passengers disembarked, Lana began scanning the passengers.
Fortunately, there was only one person wearing a brown leather jacket. 
She was limping slightly, like someone who'd been cooped up too long in a
too small chair.  Not surprising considering the size of the plane Dawn
had just arrived on. 

Lana swallowed and took a deep breath.  She always hated introducing
herself. She moved toward the woman and asked, "Are you Dawn Steele?" 

Dawn looked at the stocky figure addressing her and nodded.  "You're Lana,
right?" 

Lana nodded.  "It's good to finally meet you in person," she said. "I've
already got the car. Let's get your bags and we can talk on the road." 

"As long as it's not a compact car," grumbled Dawn, rubbing her knee.

* * *

"It's definitely, not a compact car," sighed Dawn, as she stretched out in
the Cadillac.  She looked over at Lana. "Can you afford this?  The rental
must be a killer." 

Lana shrugged.  "My company gave me a per diem.  I'm using the money for
the hotel on the car.  Hopefully, we'll be able to find funding up here
and I won't have to worry about it." 

She drove through the rental car exit and stopped.  "Okay," she said.
"Which way to headquarters?" 

###

THE DIE HARDS GATHER
by Jane Snyder

Time: Evening
Place Die Hard Headquarters

Jane stood at the elevators and waited, clutching the stack of
personalized key cards in her slightly sweaty hands.  She felt compelled
to greet her fellow Die Hards personally, incapable of trusting the
security guards at the desk to hand out the precious access cards to the
right people.  After all, this was war. 

Arranging for time off work to prepare and participate in the war hadn't
exactly been easy -- boss lady mentioned something about Jane's first born
child -- but it looked like it would be worth it.  The arrangements for
Die Hard headquarters were finally in place. The last piece of equipment
had been hooked up this afternoon. Hopefully Dawn and Lana would approve
of what she had done with the apartment.  If they didn't, well they'd just
have to make the changes themselves. 

Hearing footsteps, she wandered around to the front of the building. 
There were two people standing just in front of the doors.  She recognized
Dawn immediately from her description. 

"Hi, I'm Jane Snyder. Welcome to Die Hard headquarters."  Jane wiped her
damp palm on her jeans before holding it out. 

"Hi.  Nice to meet you.  I'm Dawn and this is Lana."  Dawn placed her bag
carefully on the floor and looked around.  "This isn't too bad at all." 

"Want to come upstairs and see what I've done with the place?" Jane's
voice cracked a little with nerves.  Here she was, in her first war, and
she'd taken on the responsibility of setting up headquarters. What had she
been thinking of?  Just because she was the only one who actually lived in
Toronto.... 

"That would be great."  A mischievous grin spread across Lana's face.
"This way I get to choose which bed I'm going to sleep in before anyone
else gets here."  She looked at Dawn, and added, "There have to be some
perks to being co-leaders." 

At that exact moment, several more Die Hards trooped through the revolving
doors.  Flurries of introductions were exchanged and access cards given to
each of them, except Tasha the Attack Dog of course. 

Jane got the security guard's attention.  He put his caller on hold, and
looked up.  "We're expecting a couple more people to join us. If you call
me when they arrive, I'll come down and bring them up." 

"Sure.  No problem."  He lowered his voice and continued with his
telephone call.  "Sorry about that.  You were saying...." 

The Die Hards squeezed into the elevator, leaving Tasha a considerable
amount of space.  "These are the only two elevators that work at night,
and then only if you use your key card."  She showed them where the card
slot was, and punched the button for their floor.  The elevator began to
rise. 

"And this is our headquarters."  Jane entered the code into the electronic
lock and pushed the door open.  "That camera over there is linked to the
monitor bank in HQ.  No- one can use it to see the entrance from the
security desk downstairs.  Ummm...there's three bedrooms, each with two
double beds.  A couple of pull-out couches in the living room.  I hope
that's enough space for everyone.  I know that Lillian is staying in a b
and b with some friends, but I wasn't sure how many others would need to
bunk here.  We can always get a couple of roll-aways if we need more
sleeping space."  She flung open another door.  "Kitchen.  And the armory
is over there.  I've included weapons which will work against vampires and
mortals. Ummm...is that okay with you?"  D**mit she was babbling again. 

Die Hards moved through the apartment, claiming beds and rummaging through
the kitchen for food and drink.  Someone discovered the CD player, and
music began to play.  Jennifer took possession of the computers and
security monitors and began firing them up.  Tasha curled up at her feet,
growling softly at anyone who came too close.  An eerie green/grey glow
began to emanate from that corner of the main room.  A couple of curious
Die Hards drifted over to watch, but Jennifer ignored them.  She picked up
the phone and dialed.  Speaking softly in incomprehensible computer
jargon, she told the person at the other end exactly what she needed to
upgrade the system. 

In one of the bedrooms, Lana and Jane watched Dawn as she stretched out on
the bed, wondering what to do next.  Die Hards were defensive she had
said. So now what?  Personally, Jane just wanted to get back at whoever
sent that &*%$@# message with the Jeopardy tune. 

###

THE RAVENS GATHER
by Jill Bradley

Time: Evening
Place: Jill's home

Jill jumped as the telephone rang.  The raging thunderstorm had actually
blown the lights and knocked her offline, but apparently the phone was
still working. 

"Hello, talk fast, I hate being on the phone during lightning!"

"Jillby, it's me, Sheryl."  Jill's face lit up at the sound of her dearest
friend's voice. 

"Hey, what's up?"  She automatically began digging in her pocket for a
cigarette, since she was on the phone.  "Sh*t.  Can't find 'em.  What's
going on in DC?"  She continued to wander around the house, looking in the
usual places. 

"Haven't you heard?"  Sheryl's voice was somber.  "It's war."

Jill's heart skipped a beat.  Sheryl hadn't been around for the last wars,
but Jill had.  She had even dared to play in the last one, but it was an
unnerving experience.  "Are you sure?  Where the HELL did I put them?" 
Sheryl sighed. 

"Of course, I'm sure.  Missing anything, Jillby?"

"No--all right, my cigs.  Finally!"  She reached into the corner of her
bag, eager to light up.  "What in the &*#@ is this?"  She stared at the
pack of cigarettes--candy cigarettes.  "Hey, Manda didn't get candy cigs
last night.  I checked all her stuff!" 

"Jill, listen!  It's a calling card.  You've been identified as a
Ravenette, and that's someone's idea of the first shot.  We've got to get
to Toronto, fast!!"  Sheryl sounded eager, but Jill's thoughts were
darker. 

"WHO started it?  Screwing with my cigs is not funny!  Damn.  I've got to
have some somewhere."  She continued talking as she opened drawers, patted
jacket pockets, and generally began to jones. 

"JILL!  We're going to Toronto.  Tonight.  Can you make it?" Sheryl was
getting irritated.  It wasn't like someone had taken out her gin or
something. 

"I'm there!"  Jill was grim.  "Do you still have that deep discount card
for the Sheraton?"  She grinned at Sheryl's reply.  "OK, I'll take Manda
to her friend's house and use the comp time I was going to use at
Christmas.  This is more important."  She glanced at the clock on her VCR,
the only clock in the house.  "I'll catch a night flight.  You've still
got my MasterCard number?  Great. See you in a few hours in Toronto." 

She hung up the phone and began to climb the stairs to her bedroom two at
a time.  Suddenly she stopped.  Some things were vital.  She turned and
hurried out of the house to the 7-11.  Cigarettes.

###

VINI, VIDI, VICTIM
by Susan M. Garrett

Time: Evening
Place: Susan's apartment

The phone rang just as Susan had staggered back into her apartment.  The
musical barrage had been abominable.  How could anyone do THAT to
Beethoven? 

Then again, she'd heard Nick play it.  And he didn't have the excuse of
being young and in need of milk and cookies.  The only saving graces had
been that her 'escorts' had been well dressed and polite (NOT a bad car .
. . .), that she'd been able to hum the words to "Gilligan's Island" under
her breath during "Amazing Grace" (it works--try singing Emily Dickinson
to "Yellow Rose of Texas" sometime), and that there'd been a dearth of
"The Sound of Music" from the program. 

The phone call was Tara with not-unexpected news.

"Jennie and Amy?  Are you sure?"

"It's got to be, the candy cigs are their signature.  So, the Natpackers
are starting a war?" 

"Seems that way.  They took all of your cigarettes?" asked Susan in
wonder. "Don't they know how dangerous that is?  It's like preventing
Sharon from having her morning coffee!" 

"Guess they knew the risks when they signed on," grumbled Tara, in the
throes of nicotine deprivation.  "I'm heading up there.  I've tried to
warn as many of our people as I could, but I don't think I got them all." 

Susan booted up her computer--conveniently located in her kitchen--and
checked her e-mail list.  "I'll send out messages.  And I'll, um, try to
contact the Boss." 

Tara drew in a long breath--either that or she was still going through
smoker's withdrawal and her inhale reflexes hadn't shut down yet.  "You
know where she is?" 

"No, but I can take a few guesses.  Let's face it, she doesn't have to
cover her trail <that > well--the only one likely to follow her is Nick
and she'd make it just tough enough to give his ego a boost when he
finally figures it out." 

Tara snickered.  "Yeah.  It's not like Nat solves most of his cases for
him or anything.  And with Schanke gone--" 

There was a moment of silence in respect for the near-departed.

"At least," continued Tara, after a pause, "Nat won't be inclined to help
him find Janette.  He's not . . . you don't think he'd actually <ask> her,
do you?" 

Susan rose from her chair and walked over to her sink.  She thought about
it while filling the tea kettle.  "This <is> Nick we're talking about. 
He's got hormones instead of brain cells some times.  I guess it just
depends on whether it's that time of the month for him."  She turned on
the electric range and set the kettle on the burner.  "Does Urs have a
faction yet?  We should have them give her a couple of words about Nick's
habits.  Then again, if she's been hanging with Vachon for the last
century . . . ." 

"Toronto?" reminded Tara, with just an edge of annoyance.

"Sorry.  Somebody's gotta keep them in line.  But first thing's first. 
I'll tell everybody to meet us at that club--you know . . . where all the
Raven regulars went after LaCroix took over the Raven.  It's not home, but
it's got booze, bar stools and atmosphere." 

"And cigarette smoke," Tara noted mournfully.  "Yeah, I know the place.
Tomorrow afternoon?" 

"Definitely," agreed Susan.  Another glance at her incoming e-mail caused
her to smile.  "And I think we'll have a little surprise in store for a
few people.  Just try not to cause too much havoc on the way, okay?" 

"<Moi>?"

The feigned innocence grated on Susan's abused auditory nerves.  Dear God,
she could only imagine what would have happened if they'd done the hokey
poky at the children's concert!  "Then again . . . if you can get a few
shots in on the way, I don't think that's any harm done." 

"Like anyone could stop me?"

Tara's chilling chuckle was the last thing she heard as she hung up the
phone.  Sitting down in front of her terminal, Susan hooked up her TCP
line and began to surf the Internet.  WebCrawler certainly made it easy to
find the home pages of the French fashion houses.  With a little tooling
around, she checked out Janette's favorite designers, made notes of which
originals had suddenly been withdrawn from the market and production
ceased (because Janette wouldn't suffer anyone else to own a copy of a
dress she might wear herself), and all but confirmed that Janette was in
Paris, probably spending scads of money and depleting the population of
handsome, avaricious, and transient young men. 

Well, <somebody> had to . . . .

Still mulling over whether or not to contact Janette, Susan headed for the
FK Web Page on instinct.  If their plans came to fruition, she didn't want
Janette anywhere near LaCroix.  But she <could> get Miklos to help.  And
Alma had her uses . . . although there were fewer male Cousins to convert
these days.  She'd used most of them up, last time Susan had checked the
membership rolls. 

It was while she was at the FK Web Page that she spotted the link.  What?
She didn't have a web page!  At least, not yet.  She hadn't really had a
chance to begin thinking about what she'd put on the one she was offered.
It <was> possible that someone had constructed one for her.  Stranger
things had happened, most of them earlier that evening. 

Susan clicked on the link.

It was hideous, filled with garish pinks and fluorescent greens, looking
like something out of one of Fox Mulder's nightmares.  There was a list of
all of the fiction she'd ever written.  ALL of it (someone had invested a
MAJOR hard drive).  Right down to the Godzilla-Shadow Chasers crossover
and then some.  But the most terrifying thing was a note that said to
e-mail and phone Susan for more info on the stories. 

Her mouse pointer hovered over the e-mail program.  She hadn't checked her
answering machine, but could guess that it had been overloaded by now. 
And her e-mail was probably spammed . . . . 

Then she saw the other link.  Against her better judgment, she clicked on
it--

And nearly passed dead away.  Nothing like real time video to bring back a
Kodak moment, was there? 

This was <war>!

Dumping Netscape, Susan hastily sent a message to all Ravens and
Ravenettes, warning them to get to Toronto and to the club ASAP.  However
unlikely, the Natpack were heavily implicated, not only from what had been
done to Tara but there were a few clues contained in her evening as well. 
Thankfully, she had some ammunition on her side. 

The Natpack <would> be brought to heel . . . with a minimum of effort. 

###

VAQUEROS ON(PHONE)LINE
by Sherri Campbell

Time: Evening
Place: Sherri's home

Sherri hung up the phone with a bemused expression on her face.  \\Go to
Canada, now?  Huh, Torrey expected the impossible.  Well, first things
first. Where in tarnation did I put those phone numbers?// Rumaging
through the massive piles of paper in and around her computer desk,
tossing most of it on the floor, she finally found the list.  \\Ok, here
goes the phone bill!//

Dialing Deborah in Austin, Texas, she listened to the phone ringing.  On
the fourth ring the phone was picked up. "Hello?" "Hey, Deborah!  This is
Sherri in Oregon.  Torrey just called and she wants us all up in Toronto,
ASAP!" There was dead silence on the line.  "Deborah?" 

"Toronto?"

"Yes, the war and all, you *have* been paying attention to the lists
haven't you?" 

"Oh, Ok, I'm with you.  I'll pack and leave right away!  Where do we
meet?" 

"We're supposed to rendezvous at Nick's loft", Sherri responded, and
rattled off the address. "All set? Great!" 

\\Ok, who next?// Hitting flash, Sherri dialed Cindy in Rockford,
Illinois; it was an exact repeat of the first conversation... \\wow,
everybody reacts the same//, she thought as she hung up, and dialed the
next number.  \\Who, oh, I'm to Crystal in Athens, TN on my list//, as the
phone was picked up. "Crystal, it's Sherri from the list, you're needed in
Toronto...." \\My goodness, we *are* spread all over the map...//

\\All right, only two more to go...// As the phone was ringing at Karen's
place in New Orleans, \\hmm, wonder if all those bars are still there//,
remembering the late night stroll down Bourbon Street... she was struck by
the thought that she would finally get to meet some of these people she
had been corresponding with on the list..."Hello?" 

"Hi, Karen, this is Sherri; you're needed in Toronto", Sherri ran the
words together like single phrase. There was dead silence on the phone.
\\Boy, I must be stunning people tonight...// "Karen?  Torrey called, and
she wants us to meet in Toronto at Nick's loft."  Finding her voice, Karen
finally was able to respond. "Toronto? Torrey?"  Sherri laughed, "Yes, I'm
sorry to spring it on you so suddenly, but Torrey called and wants us up
there as soon as possible.  Oh, and Torrey specifically asked for you to
bring some of that 'Voodoo' stuff with you."  Karen replied in the
affirmative and hung up. 

\\Whew, one more//, picking up the phone, she dialed Alicia. "Alicia,
Torrey wants us to meet her in Toronto.  The war has involved the
Vaqueros..." Listening to Alicia's response, Sherri remembered the rest of
Torrey's message and broke in, "Oh, and Alicia, since you're from Texas, -
Torrey said to bring something warm to wear - it's really cold up there!" 

After hanging up on the last affirmative, Sherri looked around.  \\What a
deal. Ok, I'll just have to use my last few days of vacation; my co-worker
needs to figure out how to do computerized payroll without me to bail her
out...//. 

Packing the essentials into a bag, Sherri dug out the Visa Gold she had
been saving for a real vacation. <sigh> Picking up the phone she called
and made reservations on a flight leaving for Toronto (via half the towns
between Oregon & Ontario) and reserved a car for when she arrived.  The
other Vaqueros were to rendezvous at Nick's loft.  Sherri realized she
could rent a cab there from the airport... but not being accustomed to
cabs & buses, a rental car seemed the perfect choice for getting
around....

###

WE'RE BAA-AACK...
by Jill Kirby, Leslie, Mary GT Webber and the rest of the Pack -
well, except Sharon H.

Time: Late evening
Place: Natalie's apartment

"What a <day>!" said Leslie, trudging up the stairs to Natalie's
apartment. "I'm exhausted." 

"You and me both."  Jill tried to push the backpack further up on her
shoulder, but failed miserably.  She contented herself with dragging it
along behind her.  "I need a pop.  Or a G&T." 

"It was worth it, though," said Leslie.  "We were able to warn Jamie <and>
Laura.  Very productive.  And dropping Laura's 'Moon Over Miami' tapes off
in a safe place was a smart bit of insurance, don't you think?" 

"Uh-huh."  Jill was uncharacteristically quiet.  "I still feel bad about
Jamie, though.  Halcion is one of the <safest> sleepers around, but I
still didn't like having to use it.  Nat would never approve." 

"No, she wouldn't.  But since Halcion only interacts with other sleepers
and the odd antidepressant, you should be okay.  You were careful.  You
checked, Jill.  Don't worry too much." 

Jill brightened.  "I only hope she didn't drink much alcohol or else she
might not remember meeting heavy-metal man, and realize she should be
grateful to us.  Who knows - they could get together again after this is
all done.  And now, maybe she'll figure out what's going on and help us
<do> something about it.  Jamie's pretty sharp." 

They opened the door to Nat's apartment and were faced with the glummest
bunch of Natpackers since Natalie gushed over Alix Logan like a
twelve-year-old.  Leslie threw her bags down, worried.  "What's wrong?" 

Amparo could barely bring herself to look at them.  "Sharon's in jail."

"In <jail>?" Jill tossed her stuff down by Leslie's and flopped onto the
floor, stunned.  "Sharon?  Sharon <Himmanen>?  What in the world..." 

"Apparently, she stole a salt shaker."  Amy looked like she couldn't
believe it either. 

"SALT?  They arrested Sharon because of <salt>?"  Leslie almost laughed,
then caught herself.  "You're kidding, right?" 

Amy sighed.  She was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a quilt and
clutching a Natmare.  "No.  We're not kidding.  Everything's been going so
<well,> and now she's stuck in jail." 

Jill sneezed violently.  "We can't get her out?" she asked, digging a
Kleenex out of her pocket. 

"Not until tomorrow morning," said Jennie, who was by the telephone. 
"We've got the money; they just need to set bail."  She was about to pick
up the receiver, then looked back at Leslie.  "Well, how did your day go?" 

"It went fine," said Leslie.  "We warned Cousins Jamie and Laura.  They
won't be happy, but at least they're <warned.>" 

"Great," said Jennie, satisfied.  "I love it when a plan comes together.
Well, except for the Sharon thing, of course.  And Di Sidduth's car..." 

Jill looked around.  "Speaking of cars exploding, where's Nat?"

"At work, and Selma's out taking care of something." 

"So what do we do now?" asked Leslie, handing Jill a Diet Coke and
flopping down in an available chair. 

"Well," said Amy, "We wait."

###

FURRY FRIENDS
by Selma McCrory

Time: Late evening
Place: Nat's and a motel.

Selma fondly picked up the carrier. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you,"
she said to the feline occupant within. 

Sidney made discontented noises. Selma lifted the carrier to smile at him.
"I know you're not used to this carrier, but my cats do okay with theirs,
and they're not fond of them either." 

She hauled the carrier, with protesting cat, out to the taxi. The taxi
driver looked curiously at her, but she just smiled. 

*  *  *

When she had found one of the few motels in Toronto that accomodated cats,
she'd paid enough rental to stay a week. She had enough money, thanks to
the DeBrabant Foundation, and it was a nice little room for a woman and a
cat. She had a litterbox, Nat had told her about Sidney's favourite
catfood, and she had even brought a few toys and a scratching pad. "Never
thought that learning to show a cat would have its advantages," she
muttered. 

She picked up the phone to call one of her first two people. "Jennie? Oh,
hi. No, It's been a long day. I just wanted to tell you that I put
LaCroix's fish in a safe place. Spike, his name was I think? Okay. I'm
going to hang around here a while, get Sidney comfy, you tell Nat that
he's officially 'catnapped'. See you later. Bye." 

The second call, she hated to make, but she had. "Oh, Vince? Yes, I'm
fine. No, I haven't hooked up with anyone else. No, I'm not ready to join
you yet," she said in annoyance. Sidney meowed as she petted him. "Oh, I'm
petsitting. A cat. Male, long-haired white, remember Cody from next door?
No, Cody doesn't like me either. I'm not taking care of Cody. This is
another cat that looks like him. Name's Gallifrey. And next week, I've got
Methos. No, he's not the smoke Persian that lives a few blocks away. He's
white too. Kind of like Cordelia in shape. Well, I'm sorry if Cordelia
won't come out for you, she doesn't come out for anybody. But, enough of
the cat talk, I just wanted to warn you that that vampire that I asked you
to distract is reportedly in a very bad mood and mumbling about clumsy
vampires. And I think she mentioned you. Better clear out of the area.
Okay, I might see you later, too." 

She hung up the phone and lay down on the bed. She sighed. "Peace and Quiet."

If only for a while.

###

HOW MANY TUNAS ON THAT CD? (a)
By Susan M. Garrett

Time: Late evening
Place: Susan's home

Susan was packed and ready to go.  A brief consultation with the
Raven/ette(s) legal eagle had ended with a warm glow in her middle--or
that could have been the hot apple cider she was sipping.  Miklos was
(surprise!) already in Toronto, having returned to wrap up a few loose
ends for Janette and seemed eager to participate in their plan, especially
since she'd promised him a rematch against Tami and Sheryl for a Mai-Tai
Off (he was still pissing and moaning that he'd lost to Sheryl only
because all their mortal taste-testers got too blotto to be considered
reliable). 

Diego whined from behind the gate.  Shawn would be down to take care of
him tomorrow.  She leaned over the child-gate to check the dog's food and
water. Can't leave a pet without food. 

That's when she had the idea.  It was a good idea and, Canadian prices
being what they were, well within the funds Miklos had made available from
Janette's coffers. 

###

DIE HARDS ENTER THE FRAY (Part 1)
by Jennifer Mingee

Time: Late, late evening
Place: Die Hard Headquarters

Jennifer absently took a swig of Diet Coke as she peered intently at the
computer screen in front of her.  All the computer equipment upgrades were
finally ordered and scheduled to arrive tomorrow.  She ticked off the list
in her head. //Multimedia equipment, check; multimedia software, check;
extra network security software, check; power generator, check; extra
tapes for the surveilance cameras, check...// Sigh... all the interim
setup that she could do was done, too.  She gazed at all the surveillance
equipment surrounding her.  //Wow, Jane sure was prepared!  Must've been a
Girl Scout// she thought.  She peeked at Tasha, quietly snoring at her
feet, and smiled.  //Boy, Tasha's going to love all the activity.  I
wonder if Jane bought any dog food?//

She stood up and stretched, realizing that her fellow DieHards had
retreated to the bedroom that the co-leaders had claimed.  Time to find
out what the group's first move would be! 

Dawn, Lana, Lillian and Jane were sitting on the bed comparing notes.  So
far, other than being deluged with cards playing that obnoxious game show
theme song, no other signs of war had been noted. 

Jennifer stood in the doorway to listen to all the devious plots and plans
being laid.  Since she came in mid-plan, she couldn't follow the whole
plot, so she resolved to get a summary in the morning. 

Her computer-blurred mind did pick up a few important points.  She was in
charge of all the computer and surveilance equipment.  //Wow, and it's
even my first war!// she thought, silently praying that her skills were up
to the task.  First thing tomorrow morning she'd put those skills to the
test to see what information she could gather of use to the faction. 

Hmmmm, somebody asked a question about money.  She decided she'd better
pay attention since someone was going to have to pay for all the equipment
she ordered, and it sure wasn't going to be her! 

"I wondered when someone was going to ask."  A grin spread across Jane's
face.  "We're being subsidized by all the minor FK vampires.  Feliks Twist
set up a meeting with Urs, Bourbon, Aristotle, Larry Merlin and the rest
of them.  They were all feeling left out because they don't have factions
to represent them in the war.  So, I explained that the Die Hards
supported all the characters in the show, including them.  And then I
asked for their help in setting up HQ." 

"And?"

"And we have enough money to pay for this place, and buy anything our
little hearts' might desire.  The only one that didn't contribute was
Screed." Jane started to laugh.  "He blew all his savings in Vegas." 

//Great!// Jennifer thought.  //We're in the black!  Hey, I wonder how the
other factions are funded.// She filed that thought in her beleagered
brain for future reference. 

Despite how hard she tried to concentrate on the conversation, her mind
kept wandering.  The only other important point her brain remembered was
that Lana and Dawn were going to try to keep track of the location and
activities of all the DieHards.  //Wow, that's an impossible job! 
DieHards aren't the type to follow a leader.//

Jennifer's mind then turned to what, for her, were more important matters. 

She spoke up.  "So, what happens now?  I know people have accused DieHards
of being defenders of peace and justice, but this is war, right? Surely
more is going on than just us getting a zillion copies of that stupid
song.  Can't we go investigate?"  Her eyes gleamed.  "Besides, this is the
farthest north I've ever been in my whole life!  I've got to go take a
look around.  I at least want to take the nickel tour of the city to see
all my favorite FK sites." 

She looked around the room at the other DieHards.  "Are y'all going to let
a Texan loose on this city by herself, or is someone going to come with
me?  After all, I don't even have a map of Toronto!  Who knows what kind
of trouble I can get into?  I'm leaving Tasha here to guard the place." 

Blank stares met her gaze.  Then the phone rang. 

Lillian dove for the phone, gestured for some notepaper, and scribbled
directions.  "Gotta run pick up Laura.  Be back later!" the she exclaimed
on the way to the door. 

"Don't forget your security card!" yelled Jane. 

The excitement over, Jennifer put on her best "pout" face and resumed the
wheedling tone that worked miracles on her husband. 

"Aww, c'mon folks!  I'm not saying we have to go out *tonight!* I'm a
morning person, even if I do watch a show about vampires. I'd just as soon
get started tomorrow on the sightseeing." 

Relief was plainly evident on the faces of her fellow DieHards. It *had*
been a long day of war activities, after all.  They could get a fresh
start on the city tomorrow.  Groans and moans filled the room as people
drug themselves up to get ready for bed. 

Maybe tomorrow Jennifer could get people to take the bait to go
"sightseeing".... 

...And perhaps while they were sightseeing, the DieHards could also engage
in a few... shady activities. 

###

THUNDER & LIGHTNING. ENTER THREE WITCHES. (Part 2)
by Maureen Wynn

Time: Late at night
Place: Toronto

The mercenary fitted the large brass key into the lock and turned it,
entering the Merc safe-house.  She looked around, noting the suitcases
piled in the foyer, and the clutter of cups and wineglasses in the sitting
room. She stood still for a moment, listening. 

Pleased at the silence (except for a soft sound from the second floor that
sounded like thunder, but was probably a snore), she turned and re-opened
the door.  Slipping outside, she moved quietly to the car parked at the
end of the driveway, and opened the trunk. 

First she removed and unfolded a light-weight wheelchair, then she
carefully manuvered a large object from the trunk and placed it in the
chair.  Wheeling the chair to the house, she started to hum. <I can't get
that song out of my head!  Oh, well, there are worse songs to have stuck
in your mind than "Possession."> "Through this world I wander, so many
times betrayed, trying to find an honest word to find the truth
enslaved..." she sang lightly under her breath as she entered the house,
pushing the wheelchair, and made her way to the sound-proofed studio on
the first floor. 

First taking care to close the door firmly, she reached into her pocket
and pulled out a ski mask, which she then pulled over her head.  Turning
to the huddled mass on the chair, she turned her small flashlight on,
illuminating the shape of a human form.  She shone the light on the closed
eyes, and lifted the lids to check the reactions of the pupils.  Satisfied
with what she saw, she nodded, and started to lightly slap the cheeks of
the woman. The woman started to groan, then opened her eyes and blinked
them rapidly, trying to bring the world into focus.  When she finally
focused on the black-clad and faceless form in front of her, she screamed
and started to struggle. 

The merc watched silently for a moment, then said "That won't do you any
good, you know.  Those ropes are too tight, and this room is soundproofed
so no one will hear you scream." 

These quietly spoken words startled the victim into silence, as she gazed
in fear at her kidnapper, and said, "Wha-what d-do you wa-want?" 

"Only the truth," said the black figure, "...and nothing *but* the truth!" 

"I don't know anything!" the woman said quickly.  Too quickly?  It had the
sound of desperation, of fear, of perhaps knowing too much for her own
good. 

"Methinks she doth protest too much..." mis-quoted the black figure, as
she started to prepare for this long night.  "What is it that you don't
know?" 

The woman in the wheelchair was starting to regain her senses, and with
them, her anger reasserted itself.  "This isn't fair!  Why'd you pick on
me?  Oh, you just wait - you're going to be in *so* much trouble!"  She
started to struggle again, showing more emotion than sense.  "It isn't
fair!" she yelled again. 

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair..." said the mercenary with an evil grin.
"And how can I be in trouble if you don't even know who I am?"  The dark
figure zipped open the large fanny-pack attached to her belt, and removed
an object.  She held it up so that her prisoner could see it.  "What do
you know about these?" she asked. 

The looked bemusedly at the scruffy Q-tip held by the mercenary, looked at
the mask covering her face <Who could it be?  I'd *swear* I know that
voice...>, and then closed her mouth firmly.  "No." she said.  "I'm not
telling you *anything*!" 

"Oh, I think you will," the merc said, and there seemed to be an undertone
of amusement in her voice.  "I think you'll be *very* happy to tell me
what I want to know..."  And so saying, she opened up her bag again, and
removed another object, holding it up so the unfortunate kidnappee could
see it. 

"Nooooooo...!" the poor (shoeless) woman wailed, as the mercenary advanced
on her holding a large feather... 

###

CLEANING UP
by Erika S. Hanson

Time: Night
Place: Nick's loft

Erika stepped back and surveyed the loft critically. *Well,* she thought,
sighing inwardly. *The Cousins sure have made a mess of everything this
time--in more ways than one.*
    
"All right, guys. I guess we better get this place cleaned up, or we won't
have anywhere to sleep tonight." 
    
"We could always get you guys a hotel..." Nick said, a little wistfully.
He still wasn't certain about letting everyone stay at the loft. Things
were already getting a bit crowded, and Perri had told him to expect
others by Monday. 
   
"Nothin' doin'." Susanne Clark walked by, a stack of bricks in her arms,
holding them as far away from her as humanly possible, a look of disgust
on her face. "Have we got any trash bags?" Catherine was the one who
answered. "Yeah, I saw some earlier, under the sink..." 
     
The Knighties buzzed about the loft, ripping down paper streamers and
hauling bags of bricks down the elevator. Susanne's voice drifted in from
the kitchen. "Jeez, Nick, don't you ever clean out your refridgerator?"
Erika looked in Susanne's direction, rasing a quizzical eyebrow. "What's
he got in there to clean, execept...." "Exactly." She held up a broken
wine bottle, drops of 'Sangre de Vaca' sliding from it's edges. 
 
"Ewww..." all the Knighties said, more or less in unison. 
 
Nick shrugged a little helplessly. "What can I say? It's been a busy
week." 
 
Karen Tobin snorted dirisively, and shot the others a glance. "Yeah,
protecting Tracy must be a job unto itself." 
  
"Hey..."
 
Roni grinned. "Oh, you mean Tracy-poo really *is* a good cop?"
 
The others groaned and pelted her with pillows.
 
"Hey, Hey...I was just kidding!"

"Someone should watch out for her though..." Erika said thoughtfully.
"With the Cousins on the prowl, Tracy could become lunchmeat." 

This sobered everyone.

"What are we going to do?" Susanne asked.

Erika looked toward Karen. "You have any ideas?" she asked.

She shook her head. "LaCroix's been acting so weird lately...it's hard to
judge what would really set him off." 
   
Catherine was looking around the room thoughtfully.

"What?" Roni looked at her suspiciously.

She responded in a sickly sweet voice. "The Cousins were *so* nice to
redecorate for us..." Nick looked at her as if she were insane (he, after
all, was still wincing over the Caddie). 

"...don't you think we should return the favor?"

The Knighties stared at her for a moment. Then Karen began to giggle,
followed by two others. 
       
Soon, the loft was echoing with raucous laughter.

###

UM, HI
by Perri Smith and Torrey Harris

Time: Midnight
Place: Nick's loft

When the knock came on the window, Nick almost couldn't hear it over the
umpteenth playing of what the Knighties kept referring to as 'the oatmeal
commercials,' and the almost constant outbreaks of evil-sounding laughter,
which no one would explain. He had a horrible feeling it had something to
do with LaCroix; he was going to have to pin Perri and Catherine (who had
apparently assumed part of Perri's duties) about it. At least the squabble
over the bathroom had died down when Perri had taken it over by 'Because
I'm in charge!' dictate. 

He shook his head with a mix of amusement and exhaustion. He had to admit,
having this many people around certainly had this place livelier than it
had been in years. It was enjoyable to come home on his 'lunch' break to
people... And most of them were good kids -- actually, many weren't
strictly kids at all, but from 800 years, they all looked pretty young.
Still, he was very glad for Perri's other 'Because I'm in charge!' command
-- the one that had gotten all breakables out of the way. Now, if they
would only finish that concoction Scottie referred to as 'blood' (which
Perri seemed willing to gulp by the litre), stop with the popcorn and
clear out the Vaqueros! He didn't have a real objection to them except as
extra bodies that had someplace else they could be... But Perri had
invited them to help 'plot' as she put it. There was no help for it. 

Was this, he wondered, what was meant by the obscure horror Schanke had
once spoken of -- the 'slumber party'? 

The knock came again; Nick contemplated ignoring it - he certainly didn't
need more company! - then realized how close to dawn it was. And it was
unlikely any of this crew would even blink at being confronted with a
vampire seeking shelter. He sighed for the umpteenth time that evening and
opened the window. 

"Hello, Detective. Having a party?"

"Vachon. What are you doing here?"

"Trying to find out who the hell redecorated the church with ... *cows.*
Is this a bad time?" Vachon craned his neck to look past a startled Nick
at the hordes of people (mostly female) littering the floor with air
matresses, sleeping bags, luggage, blankets and the occasional teddy bear.
"Actually, it looks like a pretty good time." 

"Hands off, Vachon," Nick almost hissed. "Every person in this room falls
under the same category as Tracy, and then some. Touch any of them, I'll
hurt you. Badly." 

Vachon looked at the potential violence in Nick's eyes, thought about it,
then nodded. "Right. No problem. Can I come in? Or will it freak them. Or
you?" 

"I doubt it," Nick sighed yet again. "Nothing has yet. Come on in." He
stood aside and swept his arm out in an elegant invitation. Vachon looked
at him sideways as he took it. 

At that precise instant, everyone in the room noticed the visitor.

Vachon looked up at dead silence where seconds before had been giggling,
masculine chuckles (from what were apparently the only two males in the
room), and what had sounded suspiciously like swooning. Now, all eyes were
trained on him. 

And he strongly considered retreat.

"Uh, Knight?" he said out of the side of his mouth, smiling uneasily.
"What's going on here? And does it have anything to do with the cows?" 

Nick, on the other, had an unholy grin of satisfaction on his face. He had
been wrong. This *was* going to be fun, after all. "Well, Vachon, I would
guess it has a great deal to do with the cows. And at least five of them
are your followers." 

Blink.

Blink.

"My what?"

"Followers," Nick repeated helpfully. "Most of this bunch are Knighties -
they, ah, follow me. A few are Nick&NatPackers - no one will get specific
about that one - and the rest of them belong to you." 

Blink.

Blink.

Vachon was saved from an answer to that by the bathroom door opening.
Perri came out with a towel over her head, briskly drying her hair and
wandering blindly into the room. "Why's it so quiet in here?" she asked
without looking up. "Did Vachon just fly in the window or something? And
if he did, I get first dibs...well, after Torrey." 

To his credit, Nick did try to warn her. Everyone else was locked in
silence. "Perri..." 

"Relax, Nick, I'm not going to turn Vaquera..this war," she said, still
wrapped in the towel, "... but he is one of the sexiest things with fangs
this Texan has ever seen." 

"Thanks, I think," Vachon said wryly.

Perri froze, then slowly lifted the towel off and looked over at Vachon
through a tangle of wet, shoulder-length hair. Her eyes swept him from
floor to amused, shell-shocked eyes before closing in pain. Then, to *her*
credit, she brazened it through. 

"You know, this is really typical," she said conversationally to no one in
particular. "I come waltzing out being a female chauvinist and the object
of said chauvinism is standing there listening. One of these days, I'm
going to find out who's screwing with my luck and kill them." 

"Would you like help?" Vachon asked politely, starting to smile.

Perri looked tempted, then caught a glance from Nick. "No," she sighed.
"It's against my principles. Well, against his, anyway," she added,
gesturing to Nick. "Ummm..." The bravada started to wear out. She looked
around for something to get the attention off herself, and gratefully
passed the buck. 

"Javier Vachon, meet Torrey Harris." Perri gestured at Torrey and
retreated gracefully if quickly behind Catherine Boone and Scottie. "He's
all yours, Torrey." 

Torrey looked from Perri to Vachon and back again. "Nice entrance, Perri," 
Torrey sub-vocalized.  Torrey looks back to Vachon who is just staring at
her with "that look." Getting up from the couch...upon which she had been
un-gracefully lounging, Torrey takes a few step toward Vachon. 

"Nice to meet you,"  Torrey says a little uneasily.

Vachon looked from her to Nick and back again..."Ummm...nice to meet you
too, I think; I am afraid that I don't really understand why you are
here." 

Torrey smiles and walks across the room to her backpack that is lying on
the floor with about 20 other bags. She comes back to stand in front of
Vachon and holds something out in her hand. 

Vachon, looking at it, asks, "What is that?"

Torrey turns her hand over and a pitiful MMMMMoooooooo fills the room. 

Vachon jumps and looks at her, astonished. "Where did you get that?" 

Torrey, putting the annoying object down on the cluttered coffee table,
responds, "It came in the mail the other day, as did one to every other of
my faction members." 

Blink.

Blink.

Vachon looks at the "mooer" on the table. "I have found cow things just
like that scattered all over the Church in the last couple of days.  I
still don't understand what it means." 

Torrey turns to walk away, and says over her shoulder, "It means that
someone is trying to tell us something, the question is... What?" 

Blink.

Blink.

Vachon looks to Nick with a questioning expression on his face. "Ok,
answer this...why send us something that moos?" 

At this the room erupts in laughter. Vachon looks to Torrey who is trying
unsuccessfully to keep the smile off of her face. 

"Well...why does it moo?" asked Vachon, a little frustrated now.

At this Torrey is reduced to hiccuping bursts of suppressed laughter.
Torrey stumbles toward the bathroom and motions to Perri to try and answer
for her. 

"It is a bad joke about your name started by some people on the list,"
answers Perri. 

"My *name*??"

The bathroom door opens and Torrey comes out wiping her eyes. "I am so
sorry, Vachon.... I normally have more control that that, I guess it is
just a lack of sleep," Torrey apologizes. 

Vachon just looks at her. " Well, I am glad you found it so funny."

"Sorry..." Torrey says with her head down.

"I bet you wouldn't find it so funny if you knew what they did to the
Church!" Vachon snaps at her. 

Torrey's head snaps up and she looks at him with slitted eyes.  "They
who?" 

"THEY!!!" exclaims Vachon.

Torrey just gives Vachon "that look."

Blink.

Blink.

Perri takes in the scene of Torrey and Vachon locked in "the deer in
headlight" staring contest. "Augh, I didn't know it was contagious,"
mumbles Perri.  "Snap out of it, Torrey!" 

"Ok, they who?!?" asks Torrey, again.

Vachon picks up the mooer off the table and waves it in Torrey's face.

"Whoever it is with this cow fetish!" Vachon exclaims.

"Ok, ok...what did *they* do to the church?"

"Let's just say it looks like a tacky cow exploded in there," Vachon
answers. 

****

The Vaqueros gather around Vachon to try and explain to him about the war
and why they are all here. Nick helpfully injects the odd comment here and
there, and soon it is all arranged.  The Vaqueros began gathering up their
gear. 

"Well, Vachon, you have your own faction now...and everything that comes
with it," chuckles Nick. 

"What do you mean 'that comes with it'?" asks Vachon.

"Let's just say I hope you have a lot of room for sleeping bags over at
your church," answers Nick, barely hiding his grin. 

###

I FINALLY MADE IT!!
by Dotti Rhodes

Time: Midnight
Place: Toronto

Dotti slammed the door to the taxi, hoping that the driver wouldn't take
it personally. It had been one hellish week. She was finally getting a
chance to join a war - finally ready to throw in her towel and take part -
and she came down with pneumonia the week everything began to happen. 
Trying not to feel sorry for herself (but failing miserably) she thought
of all the time she devoted to the four kids, the husband, the job and
finally when she thought she was going to get involved in something fun
and worthwhile that didn't have "family" stamped on it - boom! 

Oh, well, it was over now - well pretty much anywhere.  She could get out
of bed and and get to the airport, that's all she was interested in.  She
knew from posts from Perri that she could have asked Nick for the money
for the plane tickets, but she felt it was really rude to arrive late and
beg for money on top of that. So, she got her own tickets, got on the
first availabl plane, and got to Toronto.  She grabbed the first taxi she
could find and now, finally, she arrived at Nick's loft.  She thought she
was seeing things but she thought she saw a familiar figure banging at the
window as they drove up and being let in.  From the way those jeans looked
from the back, she figured it could only have been Vachon. 

Smiling as she got out of the taxi and slammed the door, she saw him go
into the loft.  She figured she would probably be the oldest Knightie
there - 40 having suddenly decended on her - but being the "mother" type
did have its advantages.  You could get away with a lot of things under
the pretext of mothering.  And thinking of NIck and Vachon could
definitely bring out the "mother" in her. 

She dismissed such thoughts from her mind as she got to the door and
knocked - must only think pure thoughts now. I'm here to help, after all. 
She suddenly felt like Wendy rushing to help the lost boys and be mother
to an overgrown Peter Pan.  Ah, well - if I'm needed, I'm needed!!! 

###

WAS I SUPPOSED TO BE SOMEWHERE?
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 11pm/1-2am (overnight)
Place: Toronto

The boarding house on Spadina was clean and comfortable, the only
liability being that there were no phones except for the pay phone in the
vestibule; and since Jamie hadn't bothered to locate a cellular thingie,
she was completely out of touch. 

That suited her fine: she was just happy to be back in Toronto, War or no
War. 

She propped up the photo of Janette on the shelf above the TV and began
rummaging through the tiny cube refrigerator for dinner: smoked Gouda
cheese and coffee-flavored yogurt and Crunchie bars, half a leftover
Subway meatball hero, and the ubiquitous red plastic baby bottle filled
with semifrozen cranberry juice...  //Life is good,// she reflected,
absently watching what looked like a Canadian infomercial and munching on
her impromptu buffet. 

Something warm and fuzzy and black rubbed against her side.  "Mairrh
mrrap," Elfy declaimed. 

"Spooky poozles," Jamie replied, "squinkle nummies?" and offered her a bit
of cheese; the cat declined, but did lap for awhile on a piece of Crunchie
bar. 

It was an awkward language, but they understood each other...

Tonight, while she'd been swapping tapes for swiped photographs, the
Cousins had been gathering at the Raven.  Jamie felt a twinge of guilt at
having missed it, felt slightly left out of the action; but contented
herself with the knowledge that at least she'd already made her first
pre-emptive strike.  Although it was a certainty that Sharon would find a
way to extricate herself from police custody with all due speed, no one
could debate her Cousinly credentials... 

Not that anyone ever had.  Such intelligent people on those lists...

And hadn't she, in the midst of her pissiest mood, called up LaCroix's
private number and ranted at length to his answering machine?  Yes, she
had.  Which made the Raven...not the safest place in the world for her to
be. 

"You have the most incredible talent for stupidity," her old friend Morgan
had told her repeatedly.  "Which makes it a really good thing that you
also have *luck* like some people have freckles."  She'd been lucky enough
in the past, i.e. shooting her mouth off, at LaCroix and others, and
living to tell about it.  But that was no reason to tempt the fates. 
Naaahhh... she'd deal with LaCroix later, when the memory of her call
would no longer be THE most recent thing in his mind. 

Besides, the Cousins knew where she was staying; surely someone would drop
by and let her know what was going on? 

Jamie stretched out comfortably on the bed -- Dee Davidson, a lurking
Cousin, had sent her plenty of Solarcaine: and she'd given in and risked
drug interactions, and taken a whopping dose of pain medication, muscle
relaxants and ibuprofen, for her back (exercising her talent for stupidity
by washing 'em down with a half-bottle of wine), so she was feeling no
pain, none whatsoever. 

//And this is a GOOD thing,// she determined, with a lazy smile.  //Way I
feel now, I could almost forgive the people who inscribed me...//

She opened up her notebook and began to get some work done: nothing major,
just a bit of revision on this story, a scene added to that one, lines
deleted from another...a way of killing time between War scenes,
basically.  She'd tried to conjure up a laptop computer for herself, but
the imagery process had backfired somehow and she'd ended up with a Sega
Master System video games console instead.  Which was fun, but which left
her with naught but paper and pen with which to write. 

"Jeez," she thought, gazing at her chicken-scratch notes, "I sure hope
someone brought some White-Out..." 

###