***Friday, November 3, 1995***

BREAKING AND ENTERING
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: 2:15am EST
Place: The Raven

Vicki watched Deborah and LaCroix leave the car and head to the Raven. She
had changed out of the silver grey double breasted suit into something
darker and more suitable for night travel.  Her dark, reddish brown hair
wouldn't be a beacon. 

<How dare they stick a plant like Callie in there.  What kind of idiots do
they think we are?  Evidently not too brilliant.  Nice trick though.>
Vicki was reluctantly admiring.  She wondered what kind of acting skill it
had taken to gain the policeman's cooperation? 

<Deborah probably deserves an Oscar, or whatever they give out here in
Canada.>

As she watched, the pair approached the door.  Deborah put the key into
the dead bolt and turned. 

IT DIDN'T MOVE.

She tried to reverse the key.  No good.  It didn't go in at all that way.

"What is wrong?"  LaCroix was impatient.  It HAD NOT been a good night. 

"The...the...key seems to be stuck, Uncle...er, Sir."

"Stuck?"  LaCroix lifted one eyebrow and stared at her in his inimitable
way. 

"Yeah, stuck."  She lowered her voice. "Uh, of course, they could have
changed the locks already.  There ARE 24 hour locksmiths." 

Vicki smiled softly and pulled out the Cellular she had borrowed from her
Dad.  "Police?  Yes, I would like to report an attempted break in.  It is
at a bar called the Raven.  Yes, 2 persons, 1 woman and 1 man.  The man
has very light short hair.  Thank you very much."  She pushed the off
button and just waited. 

There was no sound, but Vicki saw the flashing light as it approached the
Raven.  Deborah and LaCroix saw it also. 

"You said you could get in here."  LaCroix stared at her as though all the
events of the night were directly _her_ fault. 

"Well, it didn't occur to me that they would have time to change the
locks."  Deborah was backpeddling fast and using up the points she had
made by coming up with the idea that closed down the Raven and arrested
Miklos. 

By now the police were out of their car and approaching the pair. "Excuse
me, what are you doing?"  The policewoman didn't have her hand on her gun,
but it was obviously, almost ostentatiously, within quick reach. 

"This is the Own..." Deborah was silent after LaCroix put a hand on her
shoulder. 

"Nothing officer.  We were just leaving."  LaCroix steered Deborah towards
the car and they both got in. 

"Why did you stop me.  You could have taken them easily, Uncle."

"Yes.  Don't ever forget that."  LaCroix stared grimly into her eyes and
she shivered. 

<But if I took those two police officers, Nicholas would find out somehow
and never forget it.> Not for anything in the world would LaCroix admit to
one of his followers that he spared certain persons out of fear of how
Nicholas would react.  <NEVER will they know my weakness,> thought LaCroix
as they drove away. 

Vicki immediately departed for the B & B.  She needed some sleep before
tackling tomorrow.  Miklos had to get out of jail and the Raven had to be
open for business. Not because it was so important, in and of itself, but
to show LaCroix that he wasn't going to win this way. 

###

A POINT OF HONOR
by Cousin Zillah

Time: 2:15am EST
Place: Outside the Raven

<In which a valuable possession changes hands, performances already
critiqued are watched from a new perspective, and a series of events are
set into motion prompting a sequel to this story.>

He watched from the darkness above, unseen because of the bright lights
below and a battered and dusty black trench coat. It had been easy to
scale the Raven and secure his little watchpost...he'd been doing it since
he was a teenager. He had grown up watching espionage movies, and then
figuring out how it was done. Moving quietly, climbing, and
breaking-and-entering were easy to master. Most people bothered. 

*This will never do,* he muttered under his breath. He watched the fiasco
below as the police confronted LaCroix and Cousin Deb. It had all been too
easy. We'd been so confident that being Cousins we'd be the most ruthless,
we let it take our guard down. Our plans were crumbled before they even
had time to take shape. 

Zillah rocked back on his heels in his squatting position and watched the
figures below disperse. Particularly, he eyed the woman who had been to
the club earlier and taken it, and now returned to take it yet again.  He
would remember her. He was intrigued by her. He liked her strength. 

'Possession of the Raven would now be a point of honor. That was a
weakness to Cousin and Ravenette alike. The key to taking it seemed to
rest in a sheaf of folded documents that was the deed for The Raven,' he
thought. 'If they were to disappear, our position would be simplified.'

A cold smile spread slightly over his features. Perhaps he should follow
the Ravenette home...just to make certain she was safe, of course. 

With this thought, there was a movement and a flapping noise as the figure
disappeared over the side and was gone. 

###

NICK MEETS HIS (CLOTHING) MAKER
by Toni C. Holm

Time: Dawn
Place: Nick's loft

Two of the Knighties stirred their heads from their sleeping bags as Nick
let himself quietly into the loft just as dawn was breaking over the
Toronto skyline. 

"Hi guys" he said to the two sleepy Knighties, "I'll just eat something...
uh from the fridge of course, & head off to bed" 

The two Knighties stare at him, appalled.  Nick looks at them bemused and
then around the loft for a clue.  It's immaculately clean, quite a change
from the day before when a cleverly placed electronic device had all but
trashed the place...  A an assortment of Knighties, most in black silk
pj's, were scattered around the room in their Miss Piggy sleeping bags. 

"Oh, thanks for straightening up", he said magnanimously, thinking maybe
that's what they were waiting for.  Meanwhile more groggy Knighties were
awakening (after all they had been up all night scrubbing & repairing the
loft), and gathering around Nick in a horrified circle. 

"Uh... guys, what's wrong?, Uh, did I say something?, Uh, I did thank you
for cleaning up... Uh, should I have brought flowers?" Nick stuttered,
metally going over the list of things he might have done and falling back
on his all-purpose apology. 

"Nick" one of the Knighties said firmly, "WHERE did you get that vest?"

"The vest?" he said nervously fingering the bright orange quilted satin
monstrosity he wore, "Uh, well I know you guys wanted me to drop the
vests, well most of you anyway, Lillian seemed to like them, but uh, well,
I kind of..." he broke off

"No, Nick, not vests in general" she said shuddering, " that _particular_
vest." 

"Oh," Nick said beaming, "This vest.  When I got to the station house last
night, there a huge box from Janette. I think she's over her little upset
with me," he said confidingly. "It was full of these amazing vests, all
colors... At first I thought they might be a little loud for me, but
Janette said they were the latest thing from her new favorite Paris
designer.  Since orange is my new third sesaon favorite color..." 

The horrified Knighties drew closer...

"Hey," Nick said, aggrieved, "I don't get you guys, I mean you always want
me to be a bit more daring. I mean, I got Ger to do that Playgirl
interview and no-one ever said that Janette didn't have the best fashion
sense of any..." 

"Nick", he was interrupted, "that *package* _did _not_ come _from
_Janette_!" 

Just then a frozen Knightie broke loose from the awful sight and attacked
the back of Nick's collar. 

"Hey, what are you doing?" he said struggling to remove the woman without
hurting her, " you know I told you all I don't believe in bringing anyone
across." 

The Knightie had the label from the vest loose by this time...

"Aha!" she said triumphantly, " I _thought_ I recognized that designer."

"What do you mean?" said another Knightie.

"Do you remember when I brought over those tapes of AbFab and made you all
watch them?" 

Several of the Knighties groaned, remembering.

"Well, do you remember who Edina's favorite designer is?", she said, her
voice rising dangerously. 

"Cousins!" said another Knightie angrily.  " But I thought we had them all
tied, up."  "Between the legal battle over The Raven and the kidnappings
and..." "Who?" 

Just then the phone rang.  A Knightie came from the other room.  "It's
Karyn," she said.  Several of the Knighties smiled remembering the very
helpful woman in Vancouver who had provided them so many of the US members
with their Canadian only import cd's and magazines. "She hasn't been able
to leave Vancouver just yet, but she's been watching through a useful plot
device, and she thinks she knows who's behind this." 

"Karyn Swanson?", the first Knightie said, "I've been wondering where she
was."  

"She knows the culprit, huh? Let me talk to her..."

###

BETWEEN THE SCENES
by Toni C. Holm

Time: Dawn
Place: Toni's place

Cousin Toni put down the phone & leaned back in her tall leather chair.
"First task completed", she thought, wondering what the bill would come to
for having Edina call her designer in the middle of the night like that.
Or the favors she'd have to repay for getting her friend's brother's
girlfriend to call her in the first place. Well the package from Paris
should be on the way and results were what counted. 

"Hope the man's pleased with the commotion", she thought.  LaCroix's
instructions had been clear, but hardly specific.  Keep them busy,
misdirection and mischief, that's all that was required (for now).  After,
all, no-one on the list knew her... Well almost. 

Now to task number two.  She picked up her internal phone & called the
front desk "Sue, would you mind coming in for a moment... There's
something I think you could help me with..." 

###

RUNNING ON EMPTY
by Diane Echelbarger

Time: 6am EST
Place: Toronto

Diane didn't stick around for breakfast Friday morning.  Dodging the
Cousins was more important, especially today.  Wearing the disguise she
had hastily improvised from her Wednesday afternoon purchases and carrying
a large Eaton Centre shopping bag, she slipped out the back door of the
house before anyone else was up.  Moving as quietly as possible, she
ducked through three back yards, then strolled nonchalantly down someone's
walk to Bellefaire, a block east of her lodgings, trying to look as though
she belonged there, and hoping the owners weren't up yet. 

When she reached Queen Street, she turned left and headed for the next
streetcar shelter east.  She shivered as the wind cut effortlessly through
the Blue Jays jacket she was wearing instead of her usual warm black coat. 
Pulling the Maple Leaf-logo'd cap--<Thank God I bought a knitted one!>--a
little lower over her head, she squinted fuzzily at her surroundings. 
Dressing in clothes she'd intended as Christmas gifts and not wearing her
glasses wasn't much of a disguise, but it *might* be enough.  If she was
lucky.  She was *definitely* due for a little luck.... 

The trolley arrived then, and she climbed aboard gratefully, taking a seat
that would have her back to the north side of Queen Street, where she
figured any Cousins watching her usual trolley-stop would be. <Probably
having coffee at The Second Cup,> she thought longingly. Maybe, if she was
lucky, they wouldn't recognize her from the back. 

Several trolley and bus changes later, Diane entered one of Toronto's
smaller downtown hotels.  She scanned the lobby carefully, but unless the
bored-looking desk clerk was a Cousin, she seemed to have lost them.  With
a sigh of relief, she approached the desk. 

"May I help you, ma'am?"

<I hate it when they call me ma'am,> she grumped silently, but summoned up
a pleasant smile, all the same.  "Yes, I'd like a room, please.  Just for
one day." 

They went through the usual routine: number of occupants (1), smoking or
non- (non-), method of payment (cash), name (Misty Mischeff--actually her
cat's name, but nobody in Toronto knew that) and he handed her a key. 
With a heartfelt sigh of relief, Diane crossed the empty lobby, rode up in
the empty elevator, and walked down the empty hall to her empty hotel
room. 

She locked all three locks on the door, and dragged a chair under the knob
for good measure.  Then she unearthed her camera bag from under the
ordinary winter wear she'd stuffed in the shopping bag, and collapsed onto
the bed, hugging the black vinyl bulk to her chest. 

She was safe.  Until she had to leave again.

Pushing that thought firmly aside, she picked up the house phone and
dialed room service.  Breakfast, even an overpriced hotel breakfast,
sounded *very* good right now, and she had time to kill. 

###

THE FOD THAT ROARED
by Sharon Himmanen

Time: Early morning
Place: The Happy Souvlaki Deli

The delivery truck pulled up right on time, Pam noted, wiping her hands on
a towel.  For such an early hour the place was remarkably crowded with
patrons, and Pam felt a rush (Rush?) of FoDly pride as she realized she
was responsible for the contented stomachs of a good portion of the lists. 

She narrowed her eyes and looked carefully at the somewhat older man who
opened the door of the van and began unloading metal pans.  It wasn't that
she didn't trust this catering company--they'd come highly recommended by
Don . . . 

Pam halted that train of thought abruptly, not wishing to delve into
painful memories, and concentrated on the man.  With great burdens came
great responsibility, and Pam felt personally answerable for the
satisfaction of her patrons.  What better way to circumvent the causes of
justice, righteousness and souvlaki than to disrupt the supply lines? 

So, this individual from the Star Trek Catering Co. bore especially close
scrutiny in these troubled times. 

He seemed normal enough as he struggled into the deli bearing three metal
pans.  Pam silent held up one hand but her authority was such that the man
halted in his tracks, staring questioningly at her.  Pam pointed to a
nearby table, indicating that he should place his goods there for
inspection which he did promptly. 

Carefully, Pam lifted the foil of the first pan to behold a splendid pasta
salad, the noodles, small pieces of vegetable, and garlic wafting gently
through the air to fill her senses. 

Bliss.

The rattle of dishes over to her right brought her back to her senses, and
she turned, nodding her approval.

He beamed.

The next pan held crisp bacon, cooked to perfection.

Again she nodded her approval and again the man beamed.

The final pan.  They both held their breath, wondering wht delights were in
store therein.

With a ceremony from days long past, Pam closed her eyes, reaching out to
lift the lid from the pan with a flourish.  A quick flick of her wrist
would send the splendiferous odors up and into the air to her waiting
nostrils . . . 

Nothing.

Nothing that is, except a sharp gasp, perhaps of fear, from the man
standing next to her. 

Pam opened her eyes and looked down at the pan.  It *looked* fine, a pile
of brigoles delicately speared with toothpicks. 

But something was wrong.  Something was amiss.

It had no smell.

And if it had no smell, it had no taste.

And if it had no taste it had to be . . .

Pam's mind whirled as she reached out and dug her fingers into the pile.

It had to be . . . PLASTIC!

With a snarl, Pam turned toward the caterer, ready to attack and demand
the truth from him, but he began to back away, pale and shaking his head. 
He opened his mouth to speak, but Pam cut him off. 

"Stop that man!" she yelled, pointing her finger right at his heart like a
daggar.  He stumbled backwards, knocking the pan of plastic food to the
floor before he was instantly beset upon by several large and burly FoDs,
and though he struggled valiantly he was quickly overcome. 

"Take him into the back," Pam ordered, barely noticing the hundreds of
Hershey Hugs that tumbled to the floor when the tray was knocked aside. 
"I have a few questions for you, Mr. Caterer-Man." 

*

Hours passed, in that dark little room in the back, lit only by a single
shaft of intense white light.  Hours, and nobody dared go into the back of
the deli except to fill food orders, afraid of what they might see and
hear. 

*

He emerged almost none the worse for wear, and stood near the door shaking
Pam's hand, grateful that she had accepted his story as truth.  Pam smiled
back at him, though it was strained.  She was satisfied that this man had
nothing but good intentions, but there was still a lot of work to be done. 

Walking over to the cash register, Pam sidled up to Christine.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Christine asked.

Pam stared into space for a moment, lost in another place, another time.
"He's innocent," she said finally, turning to fix Christine with an
intense stare.  "But our security may have been undermined.  There's only
one way to be sure." 

"What's that?" Christine asked, her eyes growing wide.

"Other contaminated foods might have slipped by up," Pam said.  "We're
going to have to go through our entire inventory to make certain." 

The two stared at one another, as the extent of their undertaking began to
dawn on them.  Slow, happy grins spread across their faces at the prospect
of all the food they were going to have to examine and sample over the
next couple of days. 

Pam nodded in satisfaction.  Whatever mysterious force was at work,
perhaps it had just done them all one huge, delicious favor. 

Which meant it couldn't be all bad, now, could it?

###

RONI GETS A JOB 
by Roni Power

Time: Before sunrise
Place: Nick's loft

All the Knighties are asleep on the floor, on the couch, in the chairs,
under the tables, and on the tables. 

"If I have to spend one more night on this cold floor it'll be the
death of me."  Roni grumbles, rolling out from under the sofa table. 

The sound of Knighties snoring in unison was just too much to bear after
staying up half the night.  Roni decides to get a head start on the
bathroom before everybody wakes up and a line forms.  First stop, the
refrigerator for her first Diet Coke of the day.  After rummaging around
Nick's fridge and stumbling across something that vaguely resembled one of
Nat's protein shakes Roni spots her 6-pack of Diet Coke next to Nick's
blood, "EWWWW, that's gross!"  Roni mumbles.  Popping the top and savoring
the Nutra-sweet, carbonated water and syrup combination the phone rings
startling Roni back to reality.  Running and leaping across the sleeping
Knighties Roni barely makes it before Nick's answering machine picks up. 

Hi this is Nic...BEEEEEPP, "Hello Knight residence Roni speaking," she
says out of breath. 

"Hello Roni?  This is Pam, I need a favor,"  Pam says hurriedly.

"Sure, what's up?  They did what!"  Roni scratches her head.

"You heard right, someone tampered with some of the food replacing it with
plastic food and Sher and I are having to check all of it while Christine
tracks down the culprits.  Can you come over and help check food and drive
the delivery van during the dinner rush?" Pam says, still testing food. 

"Yeah, I'll see if anyone has a car I can borrow and I'll be there in an
hour.  Let me get dressed and do something with this perm-gone-wild. 
Bye," Roni says looking around the room to see which Knightie has a car
they won't be using today. 

Twenty minutes, two Diet cokes and a half a can of hair spray
later.

"Hey, wake up Karen, no it's not time to get up yet.  I need to borrow
your car today, can I?  I'll be careful I promise,"  Roni says leaning
over Karen Tobin. 

"Yeah, Yeah, sure, sure.  It's a 5 speed, just be careful.  I need it back
by tonight," Karen mumbles from inside her sleeping bag. 

"Thanks, you're a life-saver.  Tell everybody I'll be back later," Roni
says hurrying out the red door. 

"Yeah, sure, OK,"  Karen mumbles again and goes back to dreaming of Nick
and Vachon. 

Ten minutes later at the Happy Souvlaki Deli.

Roni walks in the back of the deli to Pam and Sher running around with
spoons tasting food.  And Christine banging away on her computer ignoring
the chaos around her.  "Where do I start?"  She asks nervously. 

"Oh, great, you're here.  Take this spoon and start over there looking for
plastic food."  Pointing to the shelves that had not been touched yet. 

"OH MY GOD, I knew I shouldn't have filled up in Diet Coke this morning,"
Roni says staring wide eyed at the shelves in front of her.  "It's going
to be a LOOOONG day." 

###

NEVER SEND A FERRET TO DO A WEASEL'S JOB
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: 8:00 am EST
Place: Toronto

Vicki rolled over and curled up again, hugging her pillow.  In the back of
her mind was a tiny poke that it was very important to wake up and not go
back to sleep, but she was too tired to remember what the reason was. 

War!  The Cousins.  That's right.  Miklos had been easy to get out of jail
last night, but the Raven had to be put back in business.  It might be a
problem.  Canada didn't appreciate selling liquor to minors.  However,
Miklos should never have been arrested.  In fact, if the Officer had been
more experienced and less taken in by Cousin Deborah's sad tale and
Callie's little performance, then the Raven would still have been closed
but Miklos wouldn't have been arrested.  <Wonder if we have a false arrest
claim?  Probably be too much trouble to mess with.  We don't want to call
attention to ourselves,> Vicki thought as she fell out of bed. 

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Vicki headed immediately to the
teapot.  <This is definitely a morning for 2 teaspoons of Assam and a
teaspoon of Ceylon> Assam had the strength and Ceylon the acidity she
needed to kick her brain into gear.  Only after the tea had brewed and the
first cup was poured did Vicki head back to the bathroom to shower and
wash her hair. 

<What to wear?  What to wear?  Not the silver grey again, it is too
formal.  The red suit with the yellow silk blouse.  That's it.  Less
formal, more friendly for meeting with police officers and assistant
prosecutors. 

Several cups of tea later, Vicki was dressed, picked up her Coach
briefcase and headed downstairs for breakfast.  She had copies of the
police officer's and Callie's statements to go over as well as the
information that Tara had provided when she called last night.  It was
during Vicki's breakfast of cereal and fruit that the light dawned and she
finally started to smile.  "Gotch!" 

<Well, the Cousins have tried, but not hard enough.  I thought we had
trouble; thought I was going to need to plead entrapment and prove that
Callie was an agent of LaCroix.  Instead, it is all going to be laughably
easy.>

---

Vicki had brought her sister, Debbi Johnstone, along to the meeting with
the prosecutor in order to provide a layer of Canadian legal
responsibility.  However, for the most part, Debbi really didn't do or say
much. 

"The management of the Raven should never have been arrested."
    
"I know.  Officer Stevens is a little overly enthusiatic sometimes.
However, I see that he was released before being formally charged at the
station last night."  The prosecutor said as she glanced over the
information on her desk. 
    
"Yes, and we've decided that a false arrest charge wouldn't be to anyone's
benefit." 
    
"Big of you."  Jennifer Owens, the prosecutor in charge of the case, said
sarcastically. 

<Oops.  Better be friendlier,> Vicki thought.  "Officer Stevens is young,
isn't he?" 
    
"Well, yes."
    
"These things happen.  Miklos isn't annoyed with Officer Stevens. He
realizes that he was taken in by Ms. Menikoff's performance.  Is he
related to Tracy Vetter by any chance?" 
    
"How did you know?  They are first cousins on her mother's side, but
virtually no one is aware of it." 
    
"Just a wild guess.  Thought I saw a family resemblance when I met him."

"Now as to the complaint, why do you expect us to just drop the charges
and allow the Raven to reopen?"  Ms. Owens wasn't going to let herself be
sidetracked by anything as trivial as a false arrest claim. She knew they
wouldn't go through with the somewhat unsubtle threat. 
    
"Two reasons, the least of which is entrapment.  Callie Menikoff isn't
Callie Menikoff.  she isn't related to the woman who sent her into the
bar.  Deborah Menikoff is listed by name"  At this point Vicki handed Ms.
Owens a copy of the TRO (temporary restraining order) against LaCroix "as
a known agent of Lucien LaCroix." 
    
"Possibly.  However, that wouldn't negate the fact that alcohol was served
to a minor." 
    
"Precisely the point of the second, and main, reason.  If you will notice
Callie's statement [whatever her last name is], she clearly mentions that
after the bartender allegedly gave her a scotch and water, she asked to
run a tab.  She wasn't legally served anything. 
    
"In Canada, as well as in the States," At this point Vicki looked to her
sister for confirmation, "in order for a bar to be charged with serving
liquor to a minor, that bar must deliver the liquor and the minor must
_pay_ for it.  Otherwise, there is no charge.  That is one of the first
things one learns in a University town, that it is the _payment_ that
makes the connection.  'Running a tab' doesn't create that connection." 
     
Ms. Owens laughed softly. "That's a technicality all right." 
     
Vicki just looked back and said calmly, "our client did _not_ serve
alcohol to a minor." 
     
"Now you can cite the Raven with allowing a minor onto the premises, if
you would like to.  Naturally, we dispute that, but since it isn't an
offense for which a bar can be shut down, we can schedule a hearing date
if you'd like and argue about it later.  Our client just wants to be left
in peace." 
    
Vicki went on to explain the situation between Janette DuCharme, Lucien
LaCroix, and the Raven.  She also provided a copy of the Ejectment Order. 
    
The prosecutor was quiet for a few minutes while she went over the
statements and information she had heard. 
    
"You say that this was a deliberate attempt to hurt Ms. Ducharme in
retaliation for voiding this sales contract between the two of them." 
    
"Yes, Ms. Owens, that is exactly what I'm saying.  Ms. Ducharme has always
been scrupulous about making sure that underage drinkers weren't present
at the Raven.  In the 20 years that she had the bar, she was never once
cited for serving to a minor.  This was a deliberate attempt at character
assassination on the part of Mr. LaCroix." 
   
"Very well.  That does appear to be the case.  All charges will be dropped
and there won't be a need for a hearing on the citation for having a minor
in the bar.  We'll just let that one go.  However,"  Ms. Owns added, "you
will remind the management about the need for careful checking of ids,
won't you?" 
   
"Absolutely.  Thank you very much for your assistance in this matter."

Debbi and Vicki rose to shake hands with Ms. Owens before leaving her
office. 

 ----

Later that evening, Vicki finished telling the tale to Miklos and a couple
of Raven/ettes.  As she did, she watched the door tenders who were
carefully checking for two pieces of id.  One of the bouncers was
reassuringly pale, ensuring that he would get the truth when he asked "are
you over the legal drinking age?" 
    
The regulars of the old Raven weren't particularly happy to be going
through this rigamarole, but the Raven\ettes made sure that the story
about the entrapment from last night was making the rounds, and everyone
agreed that it was much better to have to be checked, than to lose their
beloved club again. 

###

POWER TOOLS (a)
by Tara O'Shea

Time: 8am EST
Place: Tara's place

Tara blinked. The sun was in her eyes. That was a bad thing. She reached
for the cheap alarm clock, and 8am was etched in unforgiving red numbers.
She buried her head under her pillow, and wondered if maybe anyone would
miss her for six more hours. 

Yeah, right.

There was a knock at the door, and she fell out of bed, forgoing a robe.
Swathed in the counterpane from the bed, hair sticking up at odd angles,
she opened the door as far as the chain would allow. 

"Yeah?"

"Good morning to you too," Jill and Ari traded a bemused look.

"Sorry." She undid the chain, and ran her fingers through her hair, which
now stuck up in different odd angles. "Are you bearing coffee?" 

Ari held up the brown paper bag with the lovely smells coming from it. 

"I love you." Tara took the bag and shuffled over to the table. "So what's
up?" 

"Vicki and Catherine are taking care of Miklos, and we're supposed to get
over to the Raven to finish the redecorating, hence the informal
wardrobe," Jill spun around to model her jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt
emblazoned with zebras. "Do you think they'll let me use a jackhammer?
I've always wanted to try that." 

"Do you really think we'll need a jackhammer?" Ari raised an eyebrow, and
then her coffee cup to her lips. 

"You never know." Jill's enthusiasm refused to be squashed.

                              * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Tara emerged in blue jeans belted with woven brown
leather over scuffed black suede boots, an off white button down shirt and
one of her father's cast off suit jackets. This one was pin-stripped
charcoal, and she'd even tucked a wrinkled handkerchief into the pocket.
Her hair was loose, and she had done minimal make-up, out of vanity more
than practice. Just a little cover-up to camouflage the bags under her
eyes, and lipstick. Catching sight of her reflection, she stuck a
cigarette in her mouth and muttered "Great, I look like a cop." 

"You know, that could be useful," Ari's mouth twitched in a smile.

"Hah." Tara hefted her suitcase.

###

DISASTER AT THE DELI
by Pamela Rush

Time: Mid-morning
Place: Happy Souvlaki Deli, Toronto
     
Three weary figures drooped over the long worktable in the spacious
kitchen of the Happy Souvlaki Deli with identical expressions of sated
appetite on their faces.  Pam, Sher and the
Knightie-with-FoDly-tendencies, Roni Power, had been taste-testing the
current stock of the Deli; Roni was showing impressive staying power for a
borderline FoD, but the other two, depsite being
died-in-the-linguine-with-clam-sauce FoDs, had been at it most of the
night before as well and were definitely flagging. However, after the
disasterous delivery on Thursday of *plastic* food, it was absolutely
necessary to personally check every comestible or potable item in the
extensive pantries, the walk-in freezers, the yards and yards of cool
shelves, the pastry displays and even the condiment racks.  Thus far, they
had been able to sample about 73% of the inventory but they were slowing
down seriously and it began to seem doubtful that they would be able to
finish in time for Roni to do the afternoon deliveries and Pam and Sher to
start preparations for the dinner crowd; yet they could not possibly allow
a delictable morsel to be served to any customer until the entire shop had
been carefully tasted for tampering or substitutions. 
     
Christine was still glued to the office computer, where for the past
seventeen hours straight she had been hacking her way through the credit
records of the Star Trek caterers and their thousands of customers, bouyed
up only by the merest bits and pieces of pastry snacks and the occasional
falafel.  She was the best hacker amongst the FoDs and all hoped that she
would be able to track down the perpetrator of the dastardly plot to
contaminate the food supplies and ruin the Deli's reputation. As she
pounded the keyboard, she could be heard to be humming medleys of Italian
opera, a symptom that had appeared in all the FoDs since the fateful
seance two nights before. 
     
Christine hummed softly around a bite of almond profiterole while the
others chewed thoughtfully but more and more slowly. 
     
Just then, one of the waiters, who had been sweeping out the seating area
for want of better occupation, leaned through the kitchen doors and eyed
the stuffed FoDs and near-FoD apprehensively. 
     
"Uh, Mo-- I mean, Ma'am...?" 
     
"Only decades of practice enabled Pamela to respond in a level tone
instead of screaming at the interruption. 
     
"Yes, Colin, what is it?"
     
The young man averted his eyes from the spectacle of his usually
imperturbable boss looking somewhat less than complacent and managed to
stutter out: 
     
"Uh, Ma'am, there are some guys here to see you...looks *official*."
     
"Colin, you know we always welcome officers of the law in this
establishment!  There's no reason to get your--" 
     
"No, Ma'am!  I mean, they're not that kind of official," he gulped and
squeezed his eyes closed, unable to watch the horror about to engulf his
honored employer and her associates.  "Mo-- I mean, *ma'am*!  I think
they're...Health Inspectors!" 
     
A full minute of comprehensive silence followed as they all considered the
unprecedented occurance of the presence of the Board of Health at the
Happy Souvlaki Deli. 
     
"Oh.  How perfectly...sanitary," Pamela responded finally, sweeping to her
feet with a rakish billow of linen apron.  "I...  I will *see* them
personally, of course." 
     
Sher looked horrified and absent-mindedly began to nibble on a tart tatin
that had already been tested.  Roni eyed the corrider at the back that led
to the rear of the premises and debouched upon a picturesque alleyway,
just in case.  Even Christine seemed to be aware that Something was
happening through the trance like state induced by seventeen straight
hours of virtual surfing and she twitched and muttered irritably at her
keyboard. 
     
Pamela looked determined if rather anxious and shepherded the young waiter
out towards the marinated salads counter with a firm hand, following
closely on his heels. 
     
The remaning FoDs and Roni waited tensely in the kitchen, rather expecting
raised voices at the very least and possibly something more exciting if
the Health Inspectors actually went so far as to doubt the utter
pefection, not to mention the sanitary precautions, of the Deli. 
     
But Christine was capable of worrying and hacking simultaneously, so it
came as no surprise when just then she untied a final electronic knot and
cornered the little byte she had been hunting so assiduously. 
     
Her eyes widened and she subconsciously bolted the rest of her profiterole
to bolster her fortitude. 
     
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Look at this!"  A credit card number had finally led
her from the Star Trek caterers to a personal credit record. And then,
shock creeping into her voice: 
     
"Oh, I say, mates,"  --she sometimes inserted the popular idea of Ozzy
stuff like 'mates' into her otherwise public school (which, as it does to
the British, means a *private* school to Australians) vocabulary to make
the other FoDs happy as both Pam and Sher had been much taken with _Mad
Max II_ and fondly albeit erroneously hoped that everyone --or even
*anyone*-- from Downunder would talk like that, not to mention drive about
at madly outrageous speeds with no breaks and shoot people who anmoyed
them (especially the latter) -- "I say, this is.... *incredible*!" 
     
But before Sher and Roni had more than half-risen from their chairs, the
kitchen doors flew open to provide entry to two tall, bulky gentlemen
dressed rather unbecomingly in rumpled, dark suits, carrying clipboards of
an unnecessary size and scowling menacingly.  Pamela followed them with a
discreetly blank look on her face but a martial posture.  The young waiter
Colin trailed dutifully behind her carrying a huge platter heaped with
assorted pickled vegetables and pates. 
     
"Yes, gentlemen, you will see that we have nothing whatsoever to hide
here," she murmured and then correctly introduced the ladies to the
gentlemen first:  "This is Ms. Crabtree, Ms. Power and Ms. Hawkins.
Ladies, these are Msrs. Baskin and Robbin." 
     
The two intruders glowered about the huge main kitchen as though expecting
to find themselves in the inner chambers of Hell or at least the sixth
floor Ladies' Lounge at Marshal Fields' on a White Sale day. They made
unintelligible grunting and huffing noises that Pamela could apparently
interpret due to her wide experience in catering for government agencies. 
     
"Yes, I know you are.  And you are absolutely right.  Just come right
through here..." she said as she led them into the back corridor and
turned sharply to the right into the baked goods pantry.  Colin followed
in mute protest, his eyes rolling in trepidation at being in such close
quarters with such dreaded beings. 
     
The others flocked to the entry to the narrow hallway and hovered within
eavesdropping distance, fascinated against their wills by the potential
for tragedy unfolding before their eyes. 
     
"Gentlemen," they heard Pam's voice ringing with emotion with just a
soupcon of a sugar-high, "I can't tell you how appalled I am by these
accusations against this establishment, but I insist, yes, absolutely
*insist* that they be proven wrong and malicious in the most
incontrovertible terms!  I insist that you sit down right there and sample
every item, every dish, every staple, every tray, every bin, every spice,
every condiment on the premises." 
     
The dramatic tension in her voice, worthy of Sarah Bernhardt in her prime,
was very convincing but in startling contrast to the suddenly
professionally bland tones of her maitress d' voice when she continued: 
    
"Your waiter today is Colin.  Enjoy your, er..." she hit the auto- pilot
eject and stopped mid-sentence, waving Colin into the breach. 
    
<Make sure you give them some of *everything* that hasn't been tested yet
first.  A bite out of *every* batch.  And crack some plonk, one of those
five-litre jobs.> she whispered to the trembling waiter in the subaudible
but perfectly understandable-by-the-person-addressed tone employed by the
staffs of the very best restaurants for the sake of invisible
communication. 
    
Obviously steadying himself to the task, Colin swooped in and began to
serve from his laden platter. 
    
Pamela stopped only long enough to take note of the effect of the mingled
piqant aromas on the attention of her official guests and then slipped out
the door, pulling it closed behind her.  She started back to the kitchen
area at a brisk pace and carroomed off the flock of FoDs (with one
near-FoD) gathered in the hall. 
    
"OOF!" they all exclaimed more or less simultaneously.  And then reached
out to catch the Oldest FoD as she sank gracefully into the kind of swoon
you scarcely every see nowadays and even "way back when" it was mostly
reserved for special occasions and holidays. 
     
"Give her some air!"
     
"Get the brandy!"
     
"How about a glass of cold water, heh?" the skeptical tone of the speaker
indicating her opinion on the most suitable application of said glass of
water.  "Or a *pitcher* of water, even--" 
     
"Eerrrh...." came a weak sound from the supine figure now.  And then on
the slightest breath of a whisper, "sou--sou-vla...ki.  Just...a...bite." 

***

Pamela had recovered quickly from her fainting spell after a judicious
internal application of souvlaki to soothe her troubled spirits.  It
seemed to work so well for her that the other FoDs and Roni had a bite,
too, washed down with an unassuming Rheinpflaz Kabernet shared amongst
them.  Christine continued to look skeptical about the rather theatrical
swoon but kept her suspicions to herself as they gathered at the long
worktable to parlay and and plan.  The Health Inspectors could be heard
dimly in the far background making the sounds of men with hearty appetites
who had suddenly found themselves in Paradise. 

Sher nodded at Colin, the young waiter (from hence to be known as Colin,
the *handsome* young waiter, at his request), as he scurried past with
another loaded tray for the third time in as many minutes. 

"Are we just gonna feed them into oblivion or the next millenium, or
what?" she asked curiously. 

"I told Colin, the dashing *and* handsome young waiter (whose demands are
becoming a bit ridiculous, don't you think?), to make sure they try some
of *all* of the untested food first and then he can watch for signs that
they've found something wrong,"  Pamela said absently while struggling to
straighten the printout that Christine had given her. 

Christine froze in position; Sherry swallowed the wrong way and gagged;
and Roni's unruly curls quivered in shock at the utter idiocy of this
plan. 

"Pam!  What're you--"

"Are you *nuts*?!  What happens--"

"A-a-a-h-h-h--"

"--using for a brain, the *spaetzel*?!"

"--if they find something?  We might as well--"

"--a-a-a-a-h-h-h-e-e-e-e-e-e...."  Sher had always been a first class
screamer but she was outdoing herself this time. 

"--close up shop right now and save the trouble!"

Pam met three hard-eyed glares with a slightly sickly but placating smile
and said quickly:  "Wait a minute!  I know, I know-- But it's not *that*
bad.  I'm also keeping them well supplied with the fruit of the grape,
maybe some fortified dessert liqueurs later, then brandy, and I'm sure
they'll get too squishy to remember much of this later.  Not enough to
fill out a report on it, I hope.  Besides," she pleaded her case, "they
can't very well write us up while they're drinking on the premises, can
they?  And they'll finish the food check that way so we can get back to
running the Deli and tracking down..." 

She shook the stack of perforated paper that Christine had handed her in
their faces and Christie smiled wryly at the surprise in store for the
others.  She skipped the details of the search procedure and went straight
to the finish as Pam spread the sheets out the length of the worktable. 

"I finally ended up with this list of Star Trech caterer's customer id's,
which I connected to this list of credit card numbrs and then
cross-referenced to all known participants and fans on forkni and fkfic
and found only *one* match:  Sharon Himmenan!" 

Silence as soggy as a soufle after you've slammed the oven door fell upon
the small gathering.  (No, no, Roni!  I said "gathering," *not*
"Gathering"!  Down girl, down!) Why would a Natpacker...? 

"Why would a Natpacker...?"  Roni sometimes had to stop and think about
the various alliances and loyalties amongst the factions (and the
friendships that crossed faction lines were even harder to keep track of!)
because this was her first War, but even she was struck immediately by the
strangeness of the revelation. 

"And one renowned for her FoDly tendencies, too!" Sher cried indignantly,
having had occasion to witness Sharon's prowess at the table on occasion. 

"That just doesn't make sense!  Could it be a false trail?" puzzled
Pamela. 

"Cousins!" cried Roni, already knowing where to put the blame for any
troublemaking not readily authenticated. 

"And sometimes the Ravenettes, just for the hell of it," added Sher
softly, having always had a great deal of empathy for their laissez-faire
attitude, their eternal and non-stop partying and their enviable sense of
just how-far-to-go-in-lingerie without crossing the line outright into
tacky. 

"I don't think so," Christine insisted, "it's a pretty water-tight paper
trail." 

"If it's true," said Pam thoughtfully, "I bet Natalie Lambert didn't know
about it, not specifically anyway.  She's too good a customer here." 

"Oh, really?"  said Roni, who'd been hoping to meet more of the regular
cast and was a little sentimental about the Nick and Nat thing herself. 
"When does she come in?" 

"Oh, early.  Very early for us, late for her.  After her shift ends, I
suppose.  She stops in for carryout a couple of times a week around 5:00
am." 

"Yeah," Sher said reminiscently, "last Thursday she got a Chicken Curry,
'Cress and Cucumber Salad, Focaccio and a large Chocolate Seduction to
go...." her voice trailed off as she considered Happier Days, or,
possibly, it was the Chocolate Seduction. 

"Be that as it may," said Christine, the practical one, "we have to do
something about *this* soon, make sure it doesn't happen again!" 

"Right!" agreed Pamela and a cold chill ran down Roni's spine at the
prospect of live participation in a real War mission.  "Roni, you'd better
get started on the afternoon deliveries; just double check to be sure that
everything comes out of the stock that has already been tested!  Take Andy
to help you load and unload, just don't let him drive, for heaven's sake. 
He gets lost everytime he gets out of sight of the Lake!"  And then,
topping off the four wine glasses on the table and raising hers in a toast
which the others hastened to join, "If guerilla tactics is what it takes
to save the Deli, then guerilla tactics it shall be!" 

         *       *       *       *       *

Roni left to supervise Andy and Colin loading the van, Christine went back
to her keyboard muttering about strike and counterstrike, Sher wandered
off towards the pastry cases (probably to check out the supplies of
Chocolate Seduction) and Pamela was momentarily alone in the cooking area. 
She regarded the dregs of her wine thoughtfully, savoring the aftertaste
and thinking about which wine to serve with the dinner special at one
level of her mind.  But at another level, amost random reflections about
attacks and betrayals, motives and alibies, vindication and revenge
floated about like meringues in a custard sauce until they coalesced into
a slightly more solid thought of....black snakeskin boots.  Slowly, almost
unconsciously, she picked up a phone and started to dial.  Donny had
always spoken very fondly of Arizona. Someday she must really go see it
for herself, but, meanwhile.... 

Somewhere in Tucson, a phone started ringing.

###

THE STRANGER IN BLACK (Part 1)
by Pamela Rush 

Time: Midday
Place: Happy Souvlaki Deli, Toronto

Somewhere in Tucson, a phone was ringing.

"'llo--"

"The Deli is in danger."

"Uh...  Could you be more specific?  I eat out a lot and, off hand, I
can't quite--" 

"Stop kiddin' around, Kid.  The Happy Souvlaki.  We're being attacked on
all sides-- contaminated food supplies, Health Inspectors hounding us, God
knows what next--" 

"Ok, ok!  Calm down and tell me about it."  The Stranger settled black
leather clad shoulders more firmly against the chair back and crossed
silver- toed, black snakeskin boots at the ankles on top of the desk.  The
speaker at the other end could hear the *ching* of the Spanish rowels as
they scraped across the scarred oak slab. 

"Christine has tracked the trouble down to a Natpacker, which is hard to
believe, but we're going out to look for evidence tonight, one way or the
other.  What I'm worried about is what to do if it does turn out to be.... 
Well, I'd better not say on the phone.  But I'm beginning to think we
should be ready for, er...a show of *strength* here, or at least as
backup, just in case." 

"And that would be...?"

"Well, you *are* a FoD!  At least, on your *better* days!  You owe the
faction a little loyalty, a few days of your time...?" 

"Yeah, yeah.  Wait a minute...."  The Stranger flipped over the pages of a
Quiltblock of the Month engagement calendar.  "Ok, I'll be there Sunday
night." 

"Oh, great!  Should we pick you up at the airport?"

"In that yellow watermelon you call a vehicle?  Not likely.  No, I'll make
my own way.  Vaya con chile rellenos," said the Stranger, closing with the
traditional Southwestern FoDs' blessing. 

"Garcias (1) to you, too!" replied the caller tartly and hung up.

(1) Not a typo this time.  ;-)

###

POWER TOOLS (b)
by Tara O'Shea

Time: 11am EST
Place: The Raven

"I think this would be a fine place to start," Susan gestured to the, for
lack of a better word, runway. It was barely eleven in the morning, and
the club was alive with the sound of power tools. Tara, Jill and Ari had
been joined by Sheryl and Lorelei at the suite, and more had trickled in
as the morning wore on. 

The assembled ravens nodded enthusiastically, and Heather flexed her
fingers. "I like breaking things," she said with a chilling smile, and
they took up their stations. 

Tara thought about getting the fire axe from the hallway near the storage
room, but thought better of it, and snuck upstairs to fetch the catalogues
she and Lorelei had left there the night before. 

Miklos, none the worse for his ordeal, was crashed on the couch.
Apparently he hadn't felt comfortable using Janette's bed, though it would
have been quieter there. But then, he was sleeping the sleep of the dead
quite literally. Jill's coveted jackhammer probably wouldn't have awakened
him. She crept out again, catalogues in hand. 

###

LUNCH AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD
by Dawn Steele and Diane Echelbarger

Time: Noon
Place: CN Tower

Dawn stuck her face to the window and tried to find the University of
Toronto. She never got tired of being on the observation levels of the CN
tower. "What is this? My eighth, ninth time?" 

A tourist gave her a strange look. Dawn reminded herself forcibly (in her
head this time) *not* to talk to herself in a public place. 

She turned around, and started to check the place out. Dawn had never been
to the CN Tower revolving restaurant. Too expensive for her plebeian,
*broke* student life. She absently smoothed down the wisps of light brown
hair that had escaped from her french braid, and checked over her jeans
and sweater. 

She looked respectably if not expensively dressed. She was dressed in
brown, and appeared *average*. Average Caucasian height, weight, hair
colour... 

As Dawn checked her watch again, a figure in a black jacket and peaked cap
stepped from the elevator and scurried toward her. 

"Dawn!" the woman gasped, glancing nervously behind her, "Thank God you're
here!  C'mon, we have to keep moving." 

It took Dawn a moment to recognize the woman who clutched her arm so
tightly.  She remembered Diane as a slightly overweight, basically cheery
person with wavy brown hair halfway down her back.  The nervous woman
dragging her forward had similar features, but her hair stopped at the
jawline and she looked harried and tense. 

"I thought we were going to get coffee or something," the Die-Hard
protested as they pushed through the crowd in the souvenir booth. 

"We are," Diane nodded.  "I have reservations right here."

"In the revolving restaurant?  Do you have *any* idea how much that
*costs*?" Dawn gasped. 

Diane shrugged, a quick, nervous gesture.  "Can't be any more than the
Space Needle in Seattle.  Besides, it's the one place I'm fairly sure
*they* won't be able to follow me." 

"Ummm...Diane? How are you feeling today? I know another War just started,
but it's not as if you're affiliated with a faction. You're not even a
Die-Hard." Dawn checked her out for tell-tale signs of a fever, or
hallucinations, but Diane seems fine physically. Her pupils weren't even
an odd size, so that ruled out some of the more common drugs. "Who are
'they'?" 

"You don't need to know," Diane replied, as they swept into the restaurant
entranceway.  "The less you know, the safer you are, *believe* me." 

Dawn decided to let the odd behaviour go until the hostess had left them.
Besides, Diane's note had mentioned that the restaurant bill was her
treat, and Dawn wasn't about to pass that up. They were seated at a small,
secluded table, and started to look through the menus. 

Diane flipped through quickly.  Dawn however, got stuck when she saw the
prices of the entrees. She let out an audible gasp. "Diane? Have you
looked at how much the food costs?" 

"Order what you want; my treat," Diane replied absently as she scanned the
occupants of the nearby tables.  That completed, she relaxed a little and
smiled at her lunch companion.  "Sorry, just had to make sure we weren't
seen together.  Things have been getting--awkward since I arrived in
Toronto, but I think we're safe for now." 

Dawn mentally checked out the balance of her bank accounts. Not good. "Are
you sure you don't want me to, um, chip in?" She was having second
thoughts about the whole meeting. Diane had seemed such a *nice* person
when they'd met during the last war, but she had this paranoid look about
her today... 

"Oh, that.  Don't worry about it," Diane assured her, opening her menu
again.  "A friend at work gave me a lottery ticket as thanks for giving
him a ride to work for a week, and it matched five-for-six.  I won almost
three thou, and decided to treat myself.  No more staying at Motel 6 and
eating at McDonald's *this* War.  So, what looks good?" 

Dawn's apprehension and guilty conscience eased, and she decided to go all
out. It wasn't everyday that she could be treated to a meal like this. The
waitress came back, and Dawn revealed her FoDish tendencies. 

"I'd like the stuffed artichokes, the marinated vegetables, the spinach
souffli, the cream of leek soup, the fruit plate, the egg rolls, red
zinger tea and a slice of the chocolate lovers' delight cake." She looked
over at Diane, who had raised an eyebrow somewhere during her recital, and
stopped herself. 

The waitress waited a second and then asked the necessary, "Would you like
anything from the wine list with that?" 

Dawn glanced over at Diane for approval, and then ordered a carafe of red
wine. They had to get into the spirit of the War after all. 

"And for you, ma'am?" the waitress inquired.

Diane flipped back to the first page of the menu.  "I'll have the crab-
stuffed mushrooms, a cup of the bouillabaisse," she turned a page "the
house salad with lemon-curry dressing," and another "the tiger shrimp
scampi with steamed vegetables and angel hair pasta, and the Black Forest
cake."  Having reached the last page, she closed the menu.  "And coffee,
black."  She paused a moment, then asked, "Do you carry Chateau Ste.
Michelle in your wine cellar, by any chance?" 

The waitress looked slightly startled.  "Why, yes, ma'am, we do."

"Then I'll take a glass of their fume blanc, please.  1982, if you have
it." 

"Yes, ma'am."  The waitress collected their menus and departed.

Dawn tried not to think how much this lunch was going to cost her
companion.  "Sorry, I should have asked if you preferred red or white
wine." 

Diane smiled back at her, looking a lot more like the person Dawn
remembered.  "S'okay, I don't mind.  Didn't know you were a vegetarian." 

That naturally led to a discussion of cooking, and they chatted about
inconsequentials through the first three courses.  Dawn began to think she
had been mistaken about her companion's mental state. 

When the waitress brought their dinner rolls for the main course, Diane
appropriated the basket immediately, lifting the napkin with one hand and
extracting a croissant with the other.  Quickly dropping the napkin back
into place, she passed it across the table with a *very* strange look. 

"Here, you'd better take one," she said in an odd, intense tone.  "While
they're still hot." 

Puzzled, Dawn accepted the basket and lifted the napkin.  There, nestled
among the fragrant, fresh-baked rolls was a black-plastic, 35mm film
canister.  She glanced up at Diane, who nodded solemnly. 

Dawn dropped the film into her pocket, wondering again just *what* was
going on. 

Diane broke and buttered her croissant with elaborately casual gestures.
"I understand the head baker here is originally from East Germany," she
said, voice as overly casual as her movements. 

Dawn was puzzled. "You've met him?" She would have said more, but Diane
flashed her a *look*, and she shut up. 

"Yes, he escaped just as the wall was going up.  In 1966, I believe."
Diane raised her eyes from the dismembered croissant and added, with
sudden intensity, "He brought some *very old* recipes with him." 

Dawn's voice was extremely *neutral*. "1966."

Diane's voice in contrast, was so intense that Dawn flinched. "Yes." With
another glance at the people surrounding them, Diane changed 'the
subject'. 

The rest of the rather large meal passed pleasantly, with comparisons of
the places they'd grown up, the other Forever Knight fans they'd both
met--although Dawn soon realized that any mention of Cousins made her
lunch companion *extremely* nervous--and a discussion that soon turned
into a briefing for Diane on the current War situation. 

<Funny,> Dawn thought.  <She's in Toronto, but she doesn't seem to have a
*clue* what's going on....>

Diane paid with her Visa, signed the bill, and they started back towards
the elevators.  As Dawn reached for the button, Diane grabbed her arm and
pulled her to a stop. 

"Whatever you do, don't let *anyone* know you have--that.  It could be
dangerous."  She glanced over her shoulder again, and swallowed nervously. 
"I wouldn't have dragged you into this, but I have a feeling I may need
insurance, and you Die-Hards tend to have good security...." 

Dawn's voice was soothing. She handed Diane a slip of paper with her
current address, and phone number on it. "Here's my number. Don't worry.
I'll take care of...it." She patted her jeans pocket. "You can get it back
anytime you want it." 

"With any luck," Diane muttered, "you *won't* be hearing from me," and
disappeared into the ladies' room, leaving Dawn to ride the elevator down
by herself. 

Fifteen minutes later, Diane rode the elevator down and headed straight
out the door, glancing nervously over both shoudlers the whole time.  She
simply couldn't believe she had lost the Cousins *that* easily. 

It wasn't until she was in line, waiting to board the Toronto Island ferry
for the second time in two days, that she realized the woman next to her
had a sword pin on her blue anorak.... 

###

FLYING GRAYING SKIES
by Sandra Gray

Time: Very early afternoon
Place: Sandra's home

"Goodbye, sweetie," said Sandra, bending to give Amanda a kiss and hug.
Her carry-on bag shifted forward and almost slid off her shoulder. She
straightened and added, "You be good for Granma, okay?  And do your
homework." 

"Yeah.  'Bye, Mom."  Amanda's large blue eyes looked a bit forlorn. She
knew her daughter wanted to come, especially since she would be able to
ride in an airplane, something she hadn't done.  Sandra wouldn't have
minded her taking her place, since heights bothered her and planes went
awfully high.  She tried to push that thought from her mind. 

"We'll call when we get there, and every night too."  She looked at the
petite, plump woman beside her. "And I'll give you numbers where you can
reach us, Mom."  She hugged the gray-haired woman. 

"Don't worry, dear.  We'll be fine," her mother said.

Sandra hoped so.  After the attack (attacks?) by the Cousins, she wasn't
sure of that.  She'd been quite the vocal defender of Nick on the list and
been a coordinator of the Knighties in the last two wars, not to mention
having had a couple of "runs ins" with "Uncle." It made her a good target. 
Oh, well, once it was known that she was in Toronto... 

"Be good, squirt," she heard Bruce say and came out of her thoughts to see
him kneeling so he could give his daughter a big hug and kiss.  No one
could certainly mistake Amanda of not being his daughter.  Her hair was a
shade lighter than her father's more dark blonde/light brown and her eyes
more blue than gray-blue, but the resemblance was very apparent.  Bruce's
lapel pin was still faintly playing the theme from "Jeopardy".  God, she
wished he'd left that thing at home.  If she had to listen to that thing
all the way to Washington, DC...or worse, Toronto!  Then again, after a
few drinks she might not care. 

The plane was boarding and they had to get on it.  Sandra pushed up her
large-lensed rust-framed glasses and hoisted her carry-on back up on her
shoulder again.  Bruce stood and adjusted his shoulder bag. He checked one
more time that the packages he had prepared were in the bag.  After a
couple more quick comments and goodbyes, they headed for the plane. 

She wished they could have taken the car.  But it wouldn't have held up
for so long a trip in its current condition and she had to admit planes
were quicker.  And Bruce had reminded her that Mom might need the little
red station wagon. 

Sandra looked back once more to her mother and Amanda and wondered one
more time how she had ever gotten involved with "warring."  She smiled and
waved and then turned her attention back to the waiting plane.  Gray
clouds were starting to stalk in from the west, hungrily munching away the
blue sky.  A cold chill ran through her and then was gone. 

*God, I hope they have drinks,* she thought.

###

HAVE FUN STORMING THE JAIL
Or: Who Wants to Go to Fresno?
by Elizabeth Ann Lewis

Place: Fresno

Elizabeth got out of her car and stretched.  She hated driving long
distances, and even the Lost Boys soundtrack blaring at full volume didn't
alleviate the stress of the four hours between LA and Fresno.  She had
also had a strange urge to break out her old Chess soundtrack (Broadway
version, of course, the London one was entirely too cynical for her
tastes), and when those had run out, Sting had sung to her as she passed
by the endless fields that lined California's Inland Empire. 

Bending down to check her appearance in her side mirror, she grinned. 
Short, fair skinned and wide eyed, she was usually able to talk her way in
and out of situations with the greatest of ease.  Her habitual dress code
of long loose skirts and her long brown/blonde hair helped with the
helpless waif act. 

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she walked across the Fresno
State campus to find the holding cell where Cousin Janice was
incarcerated.  She'd never broken anyone out of jail in her life.  It was
illegal.  It was immoral. 

This should be fun.

********

Janice was pacing up and down the tiny area where she was being help. 
"Let me out of here!" she yelled.  "You have no right to keep me here! 
I'll get you for this!" 

The guard who had arrested her in the cafeteria clicked his tongue.  "Now,
now, you just threatened me.  I'm afraid that I'm going to have to keep
you in longer for that one.  Say... oh, until about November 17." 

Janice rattled the bars of the cell furiously.  By November 17, the war
might be over, and she wouldn't have a chance to avenge herself on whoever
had stuffed Q-tips (tm) in her backpack and had her arrested.  *It must be
the Knighties* she thought furiously.  *Only they have access to police
records.*

"Oh, Officer, *please*, you *have* to let me in!"  The wail pierced
Janice's ears painfully, and she clapped her hands over the offended
appendages in time to see a young girl dash into the room.  She flung
herself at the bars of Janice's cell and said, "Jan, dear, are you all
right?"  Janice nodded blankly, staring at the complete stranger whose
teary eye closed in a quick wink before she turned and flung herself back
at the guard. 

"*Please*, Officer, you *can't* keep my sister in there!" she cried.  Janice
began to wonder if the girl could speak in anything but exclamation points.
 "I *know* that she is *horribly* lead astray by that *nasty* Uncle, but I
*promise* that I'll keep her out of trouble, I *swear*!" 

Several more minutes of pleading, and a few broad hints that "Courtney,"
as she called herself (Janice winced at that... Courtney Cox?) would be
*eternally* grateful, and a few more broad hints that "Courtney" shared
his affiliation, and the guard let Janice out with a firm warning to make
sure that she stayed out of Toron--uh, trouble.  Janice didn't wait
another second, but grabbed her backpack and raced out the door, following
the short sister she never knew she had. 


They made it all the way to the parking lot when "Courtney" stopped beside
a dusty blue Corolla.  Holding out her hand, she said in a voice very
different from the one she had used in the jail, "Hi, I'm Elizabeth.  You
owe me a plane ticket to Toronto." 

Janice shook her hand mechanically.  Then it hit her.  "You're a Merc!"

Elizabeth unlocked the passenger door so Janice could get in, and crossed
to the other side.  "Yup.  When I heard about you being arrested...well,
I'm new, and no one wanted to hire me.  So, I thought I would freelance,
offer my services, and see where that got me." 

"And now you're demanding a plane ticket?" Janice said incredulously.

Elizabeth backed out of the parking space.  "Well, I broke you out of
jail, I'm going to take you home to pack, and then I'm going to drive you
to the airport.  And it's not like you are going to have to cough up the
money... I'm sure your *Uncle* won't miss the money.  And I need to get to
Toronto... I've got a job up there." 

Janice decided to ignore the heavy sarcasm that Elizabeth injected into
the word *Uncle*.  "OK, you've got a deal.  To get to my apartment, turn
left here..." 

They sped off down the street, while Florence sang, "Nobody's on nobody's
side..." 

###

A DEEP BREATH...AND A BIT OF DINNER
by Abby the Merc, Diane Echelbarger, and Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: 4pm
Place: Toronto

Diane stood as close to the landward exit from the Toronto Island Ferry as
she could get.  She hadn't *seen* the woman in the blue anorak follow her
onto the ferry, and hoped she'd been left behind on the pier--but she
wasn't going to take any chances.  Off the ferry, through the hotel lobby
to the elevator--she'd been reading detective novels since she was in
third grade, and she was fairly certain she could lose them if she put her
mind to it. 

But what then?  It was still fairly early--about four--but it would get
dark soon.  She didn't want to wander around downtown Toronto in the dark,
waiting to be pounced on by the Cousins... 

The ferry landed, metal ramps lowered, and the nervous 36-year-old hurried
down them before they hit the pier, ignoring the warning shouts from the
ferry's crew.  Hurrying down the sidewalk, she ducked into the hotel next
door and was about to bolt for the elevators when a familiar figure rose
from one of the lobby's comfortable armchairs and called her name. 

"Hey, Diane! Over here!"

Diane hesitated, then decided that running would only draw unwanted
attention to herself.  Resigned, she approached the tall, red-haired woman
in the black leggings, green tunic, and a belt that seemed to be made
of...polished pieces of *wood*? . 

"Hello, Dianne.  Still keeping busy, I see.  How much are they paying
you?" she asked in fatalistic resignation. 

"They?" Dianne looked confused.  "Which 'they'?  I've got a *lot* of jobs
going...maybe even *too* many..." she sighed wearily.  "Which is why," she
continued, gesturing back to the petite brunette woman sitting behind her,
"Abby and I have ducked out for a peaceful drink." 

Abby looked up from the stack of flyers covering her lap. She grinned
sheepishly and did a little wave before returning to her study of Toronto
nightlife. 

Dianne paused and looked back and forth between the two women for a
moment, then finally gave her over-tired memory a break and just asked,
"Have you met Abby?" 

"Hi!" Abby said as she rose from her chair, the flyers spilling
everywhere. "Oops, uh, hi." A giggle escaped from her mouth. "I think
we've met... Wait. No... Ummm. Lemme think... Oh, yeah! I remember you
now." 

"Yeah, at the cast party at The Raven last year," Diane sighed, leaning
tiredly on the back of a sofa.  "I guess I should be flattered they hired
two of you, huh?" 

Abby had no idea what Diane was talking about, but figured she's get
around to explaining, eventually.  "Would you like a drink?" she offered.
"Dianne's buying this round." 

Diane sighed, and dropped morosely into an armchair.  "Might as well. But
you don't need to drug it; I'm dead on my feet already."  She told the
approaching waiter, "Bailey's on the rocks," and stared blankly at the two
Mercenaries, voice flat with exhaustion.  "Look, I know you've got client
confidentiality to uphold and all that, but you don't have to pretend.  I
*know* the Cousins hired you two to follow me, or kidnap me, or whatever." 
She leaned back in the armchair, resting her head on the cushioned back,
and sighed.  "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you.  I know it's
nothing personal." 

Dianne just stared at her friend for a moment, as the wheels ground slowly
around and around in her brain.  "Kidnap?" she echoed tentatively, trying
to remember.  "No, no kidnapping," she finally declared firmly.  "That
pays pretty well, and I would have remembered a commission like that." 

Diane stared back, wondering exactly how long the Merc had been "relaxing"
here. 

"Cool!" Abby exclaimed as she picked up her flyers.

Dianne rolled her eyes and resumed tossing a Chuck E. Cheese token
absently into the air, not even wanting to know what Abby was doing this
time. 

Diane just rubbed her forehead.  Her headache was *definitely* edging
toward migraine status. 

"I can't take you anywhere Abby," Dianne sighed.

"No. Look! It's a coupon for a free dinner at some restaurant on your
birthday!" Abby folded the brochure and stuck it in the pocket of her dark
green trench coat. 

"And we should care because?..." replied Dianne, a smile tugging lightly
on her lips. 

Diane leaned back in her chair, *not* wanting to know what the Mercs were
plotting to do once they'd finished with her.  "Anyway, Dianne--" 

"Hmmm?" Dianne turned back to Diane. Realizing that a potential client was
in the room, she slipped back into her professional persona. 

"If they didn't hire you to kidnap me--and I notice you didn't say *Abby*
wasn't kidnapping me, don't think I didn't--what *are* you going to do to
me?  Although right now, I'm so tired of running, I almost don't care
anymore..." 

"Huh? Of course Abby's not kidnapping you.  What are you talking about?"
Dianne asked, suddenly realizing that Diane looked like she was on her
last legs. 

"I'm talking about you two waylaying me here for the Cousins," Diane
repeated.  She was getting a little tired of the two Mercs playing dumb.
"Like I said, I know you're working for the Cousins, and I know they hired
you to kidnap me, or follow me, or *something*." The waiter returned then,
and Diane took a hefty swallow of the Bailey's.  "So can we just cut the
play acting, please? It's been a *really* long day, and I'm tired." 

"Would I do something like that to you?" Dianne began to ask in outrage.
Realizing the absurdity of the question and adroitly shifting tactics
without stopping for breath, she continued, "You're one of my
beta-readers!  If I'd planned something nasty for you, I'd have done it
already, no?  You _know_ I don't have that kind of patience...." 

"How do I know you're not just saying that to lull me into a false sense
of security?" Diane demanded, getting angry now. Anger was good.  It
*might* give her the energy to try to get away, when the Cousins came for
her... 

Dianne sighed, a long-suffering sound, and looked over at her fellow Merc. 
"She doesn't *believe* me," she said, sounding hurt. 

Abby considered a moment.  "Well, should she?" she asked, reasonably
enough.  After all, she didn't know who Dianne was working for, either. 

Dianne stared at her a moment.  "Well-- Well, *you* aren't out to get her
for the Cousins, are you?" she asked. 

Abby considered a moment, then decided the truth wouldn't hurt, just this
once.  "No." 

"Well, neither am I!" Dianne declared indignantly.  She turned to the
harassed-looking woman in the chair.  "Diane, I-- Okay, listen closely.
Are you listening?" 

"Yes," Diane sighed, taking another swallow of Bailey's.  It would all be
over, very soon now... 

Dianne took a deep breath and spoke slowly and clearly.  "I swear I am
*not* currently employed by the Cousins to kidnap you, harass you, follow
you, or do *anything* to you.  And if that's not the truth, may I never
make another profit as long as I live." 

Abby's jaw dropped in shock.

Diane opened her eyes slowly and straightened in her seat.  "Wow--" she
breathed.  "You're *serious*." 

Dianne nodded solemnly.

"What about her?" Diane asked, nodding at Abby.

"I'm not either," Abby repeated under her breath.  "And if _she_ is, I'll
rescue you, *for a modest fee*.  Mercenary's oath." 

Diane took a slow, deep breath, and relaxed for the first time that day.
"Okay," she said, licking dry lips, "then can I offer you both a nice,
easy job for the evening?" 

"What's the deal?" Abby asked, prepared to sell her services dear.

"I just want to get back to my lodgings in one piece," Diane wailed
plaintively.  "I'll buy you *both* dinner, at that fancy converted liner
down the way--lobster, prime rib, *anything* you want--if you'll just let
me sit with you, and ride home with me afterwards.  *Pleeeeease*?" 

The glow of soft lighting, the jewel-like hues of expensive wines in fine
crystal, the faint clink of silver on china, the gentle murmur of refined
conversation--Diane was finally staring to relax a bit.  She was just
lifting another bite of salad to her mouth when she saw Dianne the Merc
reach suddenly into her boot and pull out a small metal object. 

Making a strangled, choking noise, Diane dropped her fork on the floor and
nearly pushed her chair over backwards in an attempt to get away. 

The Merc froze, her hand extended and a long-suffering expression on her
face, while Diane took a long, careful look at the object in question. 

"It's--a pen, isn't it?" the wide-eyed woman said slowly.

"Yes, dear," the Merc agreed.  "It is indeed a pen.  A decidedly
*harmless* pen," she stressed.  "You can sit back down now." 

With the caution one would use in approaching an apparently dead scorpion,
Diane reached for the silver case--finally grasping it gingerly with the
tips of her fingers. 

"It won't *bite* you,"  Dianne said suddenly, nearly causing Diane to drop
the fine writing instrument in the tartar sauce.  "It's a present... I'm
giving one to all of my beta-readers." 

Abby gave her fellow Merc a decidedly odd look, but Diane was too busy
admiring the gift--an expensive, inlaid fountain pen--to notice. 

"It's just a little 'Thank you' for sticking with me through all those
rewrites."  Dianne smiled at her reader and neatly bit another sautied
shrimp in half. 

"Oh," Diane said, very quietly.  "Um--thanks.  Sorry I over-reacted. Guess
I'm still kinda jumpy."  She slipped the pen into her inside- jacket
pocket. 

They finished the rest of the meal in relative peace, discussing current
movies, favorite books, and other War-neutral topics. 

Afterward, Diane paid the bill and they all piled into a cab.

When they arrived at the B&B in The Beaches, Diane invited the two Mercs
upstairs for tea.  Dianne refused, saying she had work to do, but Abby
accepted. 

Diane plugged in the electric kettle, and asked Abby what kind of tea she
preferred.  "We have, um--" she began picking up the boxes, one at a
time-- "Montagne Jiang, Hojicha, Oolong, Keemun, Assam, and Sleepytime." 

Thinking for a minute, Abby responded with, "Sleepytime, please."

"Good choice," Diane said brightly.

"Thanks," Abby grinned ruefully.  "It's the only one I could pronounce." 

Diane filled the ceramic tea infuser, and dropped it in the pot. 
"Um--Abby? Are you busy tonight?" 

"Tonight? I'm completely free tonight..."

Diane carefully poured the hot water into the teapot, then looked at the
Merc, her eyebrows raised in a question. 

"You know I didn't mean that!" Abby grinned.  "Mmmm, that smells good...
So, what did you have in mind?" 

###

THE *BOX*!
by Karen Weston

Time: Afternoon
Place: Wisconsin

Karen Weston contemplated the large box blocking her back door. What the
heck!  It was too soon for Christmas presents and too big even for her
in-laws to send.  She looked for a label.  UPS.  Uh-oh, shipped from
Toronto with no return address given.  And weirder yet, it was addressed
to Diane Echelbarger, care of Karen Weston. 

It had to be something to do with the War.  Karen was only marginally
involved - still trying to get a payment delivered to the correct
mercenary.  (Her e-mail account was eating things at work and being
inaccessible from home).  Well, she now had the perfect excuse to go to
Toronto.  Diane would need the box.  And she, Karen, could get thew
cheesecakes to the intermediary merc for final delivery personally.  Now
the catch was to get Ace to buy it and agree to watch the kids for three
days by himself.  He liked FK, but thought she and Diane were getting a
little silly about this war stuff. 
        
Inside to pack, call the number Diane left, and have supper ready when
everybody got home.  Then she could leave as soon as Ace loaded thatt box
in the van. 
        
Ten minutes later, long-distance to Toronto.  "Hello, I'm tryingg to reach
one of your guests.... Diane Echelbarger.... Everyone is out.... Could I
leave a message?.... Tell Ms. Echelbarger that Karen Weston called and
will be arriving in Toronto about noon tomorrow.  I am bringing her a
package.  She can reach me at the Motel 6 we stayed at last time or the
Archives of Ontario.  Do you have all that?.... Thank you." 
        
"Whew!"
        
"Mommy!"  

"Karen, what's in the box?"  Oops, Ace and the kids were home. 
        
"I don't know.  I have to take it to Diane in Toronto tonight."
        
"What?!"
        
Karen went into babble mode,"I'll just be gone until Monday; I'll be back
before Kathleen gets home from school.  So you'll only have to take the
boys on Monday morning.  I can do that genealogical research that I've
been wanting to do.  I won't go near the rest of the NatPack, I promise; I
don't even how to get in touch with Jennie in Toronto.  I'll just take the
cheesecakes to my contact to pay off my contract and unload the box at
Diane's B&B." 
        
Ace looked skeptical, but decided that if Karen just had to go to Toronto,
maybe he could swing that long weekend in Vegas that his brothers were
planning. 
        
Forty minutes later, Karen was on I-90.  Overnight bag, box, and
cheesecakes in the car.  Presents promised to children.  Permission given
to husband for weekend in Vegas.  Itinerary in Toronto being planned.
*Drop off box.  Pay mercs.  Buy Mountie hat for Andrew (she and Diane had
forgotten to get it last war).  Hit major SF collection at Toronto Public
and the genealogy stacks at the Archives (talk about a busman's holiday!)*
        
Toronto here she comes.

###

REDECORATING DAY
by Lorelei Feldman (helped by Ari, Cynthia, mj, and previous posters)

Time: Afternoon
Place: The Raven

The Ravens were finally back in *their* club, where they all belonged.
Power tools in hands, and wearing clothes as casual as Ravens are capable
of wearing, they endeavoured to once more *make* it their club.  Ari
headed almost immediately for the back of the club, a crate of
dark-coloured light bulbs under her arm, to look for the switches to lower
the lights to the ground. 

"Job number one:  we ditch these things right now!  I'm not putting up
with the technicolour any more!  Speaking of which, will someone dump out
all that food colouring they've been adding to the drinks?!"  she called
back. 

Jill headed off to take care of that, while Sheryl and Lorelei helped
Susan dismantle the *shudder* runway. 

"You guys will just *love* all the furniture I found!  It's perfect!  It
should arrive soon.  All black and red velvet and dark wood, *nothing*
tacky!"  Lorelei stated firmly. 

Tara walked in, carrying the catalogues of fabrics.  "Well, there are
plenty of appropriate accessories in here:  glasses, ashtrays, fabrics for
table-cloths, paintings, you name it!  We should have this place looking
decent again in no time!" 

"Hey, guys!"  Heather made her entrance.  "Anyone want to help paint? I've
got lots of black and mauve paint, and plenty of brushes!" 

"Um, hold on a second, guys," Cynthia held up a warning hand.  "I'm
allergic to that stuff.  Look, if you really can't wait for the pros, why
not take it somewhere else first?" 

"That's okay! I thought we could start in the bathrooms, anyway.  Has
anyone been back there yet?  They're *pink* and *light blue*!!"  Several
Ravens gasped, while others made retching noises.  "Three guesses which is
which." 

Several from among the crowd dove at the brushes and followed Heather back
to attack the offending decor. 

"Gee, you know, getting rid of this monstrosity gives us an awful lot of
great scrap wood.  You don't suppose we could give it back to old LC with
a vengeance, do you?"  Lorelei got an evil glint in her eye. 

"Sounds good to me," mj piped up, from his position by the door.  "And I
know right where I want to stick it too.  But *you* want to be the one to
deliver it?" 

"I take your point.  Pun intended.  I can wish, though, can't I?"

He snorted.  "So can we all."

Meanwhile, Cynthia and Jasmine worked to clear out the chrome-plated
furniture. 

"Hey, guys!  Look what we found!"  Tami and Chanda hurried as fast as they
could up the stairs from the basement, all but buried in large, heavy
chains.  "They must've just hidden most of them down there!" 

"Oh, wow!  That's great!"  Ari answered.  "If you guys can get them
untangled, we can hitch some of them up on this lighting rig." 

Tami and Chanda heaved their burden over to a relatively clean stretch of
floor and dropped it with a great *kthunk* and lots of rattling.  Several
Ravens converged on the scene to help, and a few groaned at the sight of
the tangled-up chains. 

"Just like separating extension cords after a stage show."  Lorelei
enthused.  "Don't worry, guys, it's harder than it looks!" 

"Never mind," Cynthia answered.  "I think I'll find something else to do. 
It's not like there isn't plenty." 

Just then Jill, standing behind the bar, let loose with a screech of pure
outrage.  "That... that...  *chauvinistic* idiot!" 

"What?  What?!"  All eyes turned to her.

"Look what I just found back here!  I mean, *really*!  The strip shows
weren't bad enough?!"  She held up the offending glass object.  "There're
whole *boxes* of these things back here!" 

A general cry of outrage and disbelief ensued.

"Oh, I don't know,"  Cynthia drawled.  "I think I know *just* the thing
to do with them..."

###

*THIS* IS WAR???
by Karen Tobin

Time: Early evening
Place: Nick's loft

This didn't _feel_ like War!

Karen sighed and turned the page of the book she wasn't really reading.
She thought back over the past days. She wasn't sure what she'd expected
from war, but this certainly wasn't it. 

Not that she hadn't rather enjoyed her time in Toronto. Getting to know
Nick and the Knighties (which was the name of the rock band she and Nick
were kidding about forming after this was all over, although one female
singer and one classical pianist makes a pretty lame rock band!) had been
a wonderful experience. But really, she was longing to be useful, longing
for something _real_ to happen. 

So far she and the others had (they hoped) found all the bricks hidden in
the loft and consigned them to a rather ignominious pile. (Well, except
for the refrigerator magnets. They _were_ rather cute, and remained as a
reminder of the work that had to be done.) They had taken turns grocery
shopping and making Nick's neglected kitchen into a functional place.
(Knightie does not live by take-out alone," someone had scrawled on a slip
of paper thrust under on of the ubiquitous brick magnets.)

Karen had performed all of the preparatory tasks she could think of, such
as connecting to the Internet provider her provider at home had
recommended, and getting her cell phone activated for the area. She had
winced audibly at the cost per minute which had been quoted her, but Nick
had taken the phone from her hand and directed the startled account
representative to bill the account to his credit card. 

Since taking care of the preparations Karen had felt restless. She had, as
promised, begun cataloguing Nick's books, and, fascinating as that was,
she wanted more. "I could have stayed home and done this," she mused as
she tired for the fifth time to make sense of the paragraph she had been
"reading." "And if I had, Roger would be a much happier kitty!" (Her cat
HATED when she went away, and was bound to be miserable with the neighbors
feeding him.)

"Is anything ever going to happen?" she thought, giving up on her book
entirely. 

<rring  rrring>

###

THE TELL TAIL HEART
by Sandra Gray

Time: 6:30 pm EST
Place: Nick's loft

Bruce and Sandra stepped out of the elevator and into Nick's loft to be
greeted by several female faces, some which Sandra recognized, but more
that she didn't recognize.  Concurrent statements of "Why didn't you call
someone to pick you up?", "Yeah, Nick would have, I bet.", "How was the
flight?", and "You wouldn't *believe* what's been happening!" chorused
from the women.  Sandra tiredly smiled. 

"The flight was okay."  *After a few drinks.* But the cold Toronto air had
cleared her head a good deal.  "Bruce didn't want to impose on anyone.  We
took a cab," she said. 

"Which is still waiting," Bruce said.  "I want to check in with the
Die-Hards," he added by way of explanation and smiled at the group. "Sorry
to skip out, but I'll be back soon."  He looked at his wife. "Or I'll call
if I'll be long, okay?" 

"Okay.  Be careful," said Sandra.

"I will.  'Bye."

"Bye."  Some of the others said farewells too and Bruce was gone. Sandra
took off her gray coat and toboggan and smoothed down her light red hair
amid a flurry of introductions.  She walked over to a black leather chair
and sat down.  Someone (*I'll get the names straight before long*) brought
her some food and a cold drink.  As she ate, she listened with interest to
what had been going on with the war, a part of her tired mind taking in
the sleeping bags and other signs of mild chaos.  *Poor Nick.*

Eventually she got up and carried her plate and glass into the kitchen and
put it in the sink.  As she was returning to the "living room", the phone
rang.  *Maybe that's Bruce,* she thought. 

Sandra snatched up the phone.  "Hello?"

"Sandra Gray?" the woman on the other end whispered hoarsely.

"Yes?  Who is this?"

"My name is Diane Echelbarger.  We've never met.  Listen, I need to meet
you. I need you to take something to Nick for me.  I can't risk it myself;
I think I'm being followed." 

"Followed?  By who?"  Sandra had learned, over the course of four Wars, to
be skeptical of such claims.  Karen Tobin's green eyes focused on her with
catlike curiosity from where she sat on the couch. 

"Cousins...."

"O...kay," said Sandra slowly.

"Come to the Royal Ontario Museum.  Give your name to the attendant at the
booth and he'll give you a ticket to get in.  I'll meet you under the
mosiac dome they used in Dark Knight." 

"But--"

The phone line went dead.  Sandra hung up the receiver.

"What was that about?" asked Karen.  Sandra looked at her, then at the
others. 

"Some woman, I think.  Said her name was Diane Echelbarger.  She said she
has something for Nick that she wants me to come get.  She wants me to
meet her at the Royal Ontario Museum." 

"It's a trick," warned Karen.

"I'm not sure.  She sounded...nervous."  She paused.  "She said she
thought she was being followed by Cousins." 

"Yeah, I bet it's a Cousin trying to lure you out for some reason," said a
young woman whose name Sandra had forgotten temporarily. 

"But what if it's legit?" asked Sandra.

"Then we call Nick," said Karen.

"Nick's working.  Besides, she's expecting me to come.  And by the sound
of it, come soon."  She picked up the phone book. 

"What are you doing?" asked Karen.

"I'm calling a cab," said Sandra.  She started to dial the number of the
cab company. 

"I've got my Hyundai here.  We could take it," said Karen.

Sandra looked at Karen.  "I don't know.  I wouldn't want to scare this
woman away if she has something important to give to Nick."  The phone
squawked at her and she gave the man on the line Nick's address. 

"And if it's some Cousin plot?" asked Karen.

Sandra hung up the phone.  "Then we take backup."  Karen frowned at her. 
"You follow in your car, wait outside.  I'll go in.  If I'm not out in
oh...twenty minutes or you see anything strange going on, you call Nick." 
She looked at the others.  "And if we're not back in two hours, you call
Nick."  She paused.  "Well?"  She looked at Karen. 

Karen sighed.  "Okay."

"Then let's go," said Sandra.  She picked up her coat and put it on,
wishing briefly that she could change out of the green pantsuit she had
worn on the plane (even if it did wear well).  But Bruce had their
luggage. 

A few minutes later she was getting in the cab she had called.  Karen
followed it a discreet distance behind. 

                           * * * * *

Karen glanced at her watch, then at the museum across the street. It was
taking Sandra too long.  It was cold in her Hyundai and as she looked over
its white hood, she wondered again if it had been a good idea to volunteer
her car.  The trusty five-speed wasn't very inconspicuous.  She ran her
hand nervously over her blonde hair.  She wondered if she should go inside
and try to find Sandra, but sat where she was.  Then a disturbance at the
side of the building caught her eye.  Three people close together, with
another person out in front. The person in the middle of the trio seemed
sick or something...it was Sandra!  Karen watched in horror as she was
bundled into a car and sat frozen as the car drove past her.  Then she
came to her senses, started the car, and took off after the car Sandra was
in, which was disappearing down the street.  She followed it, wondering
what to do. 

The cell phone!  She picked it up and started to punch in a number. The
car ahead of her sped up and took a right.  Karen increased her speed too
to take the same right. There was a blare of horns and a truck suddenly
appeared out of *nowhere* (it seemed).  Karen successfully swerved to
avoid crashing into it, dropping her phone, but the brief delay it cost
her was enough. 

The car with Sandra in it had vanished into the night.

###

THIS IS A SHOPPING CART
by Perri Smith and the Knighties

Time: Sunset
Place: Nick's loft

Perri was calm(er), at last. Catherine was plotting, as usual. Amy was
bouncing, as normal. Scottie was asleep, as expected. The other kidnapees
were showering, again (it was the fourth or fifth time in two days).
Someone was playing a CD; another group had the tv on low. All in all, it
was a pretty peaceful sight that met Nick's eyes when he emerged from the
bedroom. 

"Are any of you sick?" he asked as he came down the stairs. All eyes
turned to him, most broke out in smiles (except Scottie, who snored
peacefully on.)

"Very cute, Nick," Perri informed him, going back to her computer. "You're
very cute." 

"Yeah, I always thought I was kinda cute. Thanks for noticing." He was in
a good mood after the sucessful rescue of the Knighties the day before.
And it had even been a peaceful day and night, with most of the Knighties
going to the movies and sightseeing in Toronto. "Did all of you have fun
today?" 

He was immediately hit by a torrent of overlapping words as everyone tried
to tell Nick everything they'd seen at the same time. He caught 'the CN
Tower', 'the Coroner's Building', 'Metro Homicide,' 'filming,' 'Hollywood
North', 'cold!', and a gleeful burbling from Amy and Perri involving
'Mounties!'

"I take it that's a yes," he managed to work in as they wound down. 

"I would say so," Scottie said, rolling over and opening her eyes. The
other returned to what they had been doing, although a few plopped
themselves down at the table and looked at him expectantly. 

He grinned. "I ate last night, guys; don't be any gorier than you have to
be." 

They grinned in return, without even bothering to look abashed. 

"Speaking of food, Nick," Amy put in. "Some one's going to have to make a
grocery run." 

"Groceries?" Nick said. 

Perri shook her head. "Groceries, Nick. Food. You know, the stuff people
have in their fridge instead of blood?" 

"I know what groceries are," Nick answered a bit testily. "I was trying to
remember where Nat said that store was." 

"Right," at least three people said together. 

Catherine laughed. "We believe you, Nick. So, who's coming?"

Marcia stuck her head out of the bathroom and enthusiatically volunteered.
Corvia and Karen Tobin seconded, Karen Swanson, Susanne, Perri and Amy
falling in behind them. A few more joined them in getting jackets,
earmuffs, sweaters, gloves, mittens and all the other things they seemed
to need. 

"Twelve people. Quite a crowd," Nick commented.

"Thirteen," Perri said firmly. "You're coming."

"Why do you want me to come?" Nick asked. "I need to do some work on a
case." 

"It'll wait," Amy said, grabbing one arm while Perri got the other. "You
need to learn how to go shopping, for looks if nothing else. Remember what
happened the last time the wrong people looked in your kitchen? I don't
think Tracy's going to buy the paint thinner routine." 

"Then again, it *is* Tracy," Perri muttered. 

Nick started to defend his partner as the two Knighties dragged him out
the door, the rest of the crusade trooping behind them. Behind him, he
heard the big screen tv come on again and a strangely familiar theme song
begin to play. As the door closed, he heard someone complain, "Not 'Only
the Lonely' again!" 

***

Later, he would remember the trip only in brief flashes, mercifully. After
they dragged him to the grocery store, they split up, but their voices
echoed through the store. 

"Zinfandel. We need something besides red wine!"
"White Zin, it tastes better. And don't forget Chardonney."
"Rum and tequila for daquaris and margaritas. And vodka for Blood."
"Hey, we forgot the Blood!"
"I didn't. Cranberry, grape *and* orange juice."
"Lots of grape juice."
"Bunch of flamin' alcoholics."

"Pizza!"
<a chorus>"Again?"
"There's no such thing as too much pizza."
"Get a couple cheese or Scottie and Roni will starve."
"Roni can't starve, she's half-FoD."

"Coffee! Please, God, coffee!"
"Don't forget espresso."
"We have't got a machine. How about the instant stuff?"
"Ew! Stick to coffee."

"Pepsi!"
"Coke!"
"Pepsi!"
"Coke!"
"That settles it. Dr. Pepper!"
"Ew! And they don't have it."
<a chorus> "Saved!"

"All right! Hey, Nick, how about Count Chocula?"
"Karen!"

"Fat-free Ben&Jerry's? What's the point?"
"Taste's great, less filling?"
"Hush, Pinky, or I will have to hurt you."

"LaCroix water? Isn't the Raven enough for him?"
"How about some of those Vachon cakes?"
"What are they, anyway?"
"I don't know, but I'm tired of hearing Canadians being superior about
them. Find 'em!"

"Chocolate!"
"Ice cream, cocoa, syrup, cookies -- yes, Perri, Oreos -- milk, YooHoo,
pudding *and* cereal."
"...You forgot the chocolate chips."

"Ribena!"

"Steak for the non-vegans!"
"How do you cook a steak?"
<all Texans in unison> "Barbeque!"

"Popcorn! We can throw it at Nick!"
"No, you can't!"
"Awww.....! No fun!"

***

As they staggered back to the loft, loaded to the sky and with Nick
considerably poorer, he began to have second thoughts about mortality. 

"Cheer up," Amy said cheerfully. "Now we get to unload and cook it. And
Nick.." 

"What?" he grunted under his load.

"The blood comes *out* of the fridge."

###

POWER TOOLS (c)
by Tara O'Shea

Time: Sunset
Place: The Raven

As the sun slipped below the horizon, Miklos' eyelids flickered before
they opened, and he sat up, stretching. A bottle of the club's finest sat
on the cherry wood endtable before him, and he poured himself a glass,
draining it in one long swallow on the way to the shower. 

When he emerged, it was to the sounds of Josef Kessler's fiddle from the
speakers LaCroix had so graciously donated, and water running. Tara was
rinsing out his bloody glass, and wiping down the counter. 

"What's this?" He buttoned up a black silk shirt, and shook his head,
spraying her with droplets from his still damp hair. 

"Hey!" She flicked water at him from her fingers. "Boiled in Lead, *Songs
from The Gypsy*. 'Ugros', it's called. I can't remember what it means." 

"Springtime," Miklos supplied.

"Joe's amazing. I swear, if they could bottle him, you could power Chicago
for a year." She dried her hands on a dishtowel that had, of all things,
cows on it. 

"You came upstairs to do my dishes and expose me to excellent music?" 

"No, those are perks. I came up here bearing a message from our
Illustrious Leader-elect in the Absence of Our Illustrious Leader. And I
quote: "Tell Miklos he's the Boss tonight, and to act accordingly. No
tending bar, let the hired hands handle it." End of quote. She will be
periodically reminding you of this throughout the night, if she feels the
need." 

"I suppose orders are orders..." He picked up the bottle, and sank back
down onto the couch, letting the music wash over him. 

"I take it you approve?" She leaned against the back of the couch, arms
crossed and smiled faintly as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. 

"My brother Janos used to play fiddle like this."

"One of these days I'm going to pry your entire history out of you." 

"That's what you think." He opened an eye and looked her over more
carefully this time. "Nice outfit. You look like a cop." 

"I'm changing *right now*" she held up a hanging bag and makeup kit. "I
needed something I could wear that I could get plaster dust in. Enjoy the
music while you can, I think the band Heather has rounded up is a little
different in flavour." 

"Band?"

"Long story, nothing to be afraid of. Oh, if you like fiddle," she fished
in her jacket pocket and tossed him another cassette. "It's live, from the
Minneapolis St. Paddy's day party. Try 'O Ya' on side A. It's right after
the Bunny Hop." 

"The Bunny Hop?"

"Well... the Bunny Hop from Serbia. Really. Was Janos older or younger?" 

"Older."

"Ha, one down, two to go."

"I'm not telling you any more about me!" he called after her.

"Just keep telling yourself that, Miki."

                              * * *

The ravens were in the process of putting away power tools and
paintbrushes when Miklos wandered downstairs. He could hear the sound of
glass breaking through the back door, which had been left open to vent the
fumes. 


"That's Cynthia," Susan supplied at his bemused look. "She found a crate
of glasses LaCroix had apparently special ordered." 

"And?"

"And they were those tacky beer glasses shaped like a naked woman. She's
smashing them one by one into the recycling bin, and taking great delight
in it." 

"Ah."

"The Raven is almost back to normal, I think the Boss would be proud."
Susan looked over their handywork. 

"I *know* she would be." Miklos actually smiled.

###

GHOSTLY VISITATIONS
by Christine Hawkins

Time: Early evening
Place: The Raven

Friday night at the Raven.  Contented Raven/ettes stood, sat and propped
themselves against the furniture in strategic positions about the
nightclub.  The sleazy strippers were gone, the building redecorated, the
ratbag clientele - not to mention the Cousins! - turfed out. 

It was their club again. 

Who says you can't go home again?

Susan Garrett sniffed the air and looked at Miklos.  "Isn't that a kind of
cheap cologne you're wearing?  After all, you're meant to be Janette's
representative." 

Miklos looked offended.  "Cheap cologne? I?"

"Well, somebody's wearing -"  She shook her head, bemused.  "That's odd. I
thought I smelled something." 

Across the room an elegantly attired Vicki Merriman shivered.  "Did you
feel that?" 

"A cold feeling?  Like a draft down your back?"  Her companion nodded.
"Somebody should turn the heat up." 

Word had gone around Toronto, and all the old regulars had returned to
take possession of the dance floor.  Spike was there in all his glory of
hair and halitosis.  Alma had cornered yet another hapless mortal and was
leading him in an impatient bump-and-grind near the bar.  The mood and the
music was goth, dangerous. 

Dee da da, da da dee...

"What the hell is that?"

            You get up every morning
            From your alarm clock's warning
            Take the 8:15 into the city
            There's a whistle up above
            And people pushin', people shovin'
            And the girls who try to look pretty

Consternation in the Raven as this - *stuff* - poured out of the
loudspeakers. 

            And if your train's on time
            You can get to work by nine
            And start your slaving job to get your pay
            If you ever get annoyed
            Look at me I'm self-employed
            I love to work at nothing all day

Alma, who had danced to all the popular hits since 1909, popped her gum
and stood wide-eyed.  "Hey, wow!" she exclaimed.  "That's Bachman Turner
Overdrive!(*) I haven't heard that since -" She realised that her mortal
partner was regarding her with something close to shock.  "I mean, like,
uh, my Dad used to own that album.  Isn't easy listening music, like,
*gross*?" 

           And I'll be...
           Taking care of business every day
           Taking care of business every way

"The Cousins have sabotaged the sound systems!" stormed Susan Garrett. "Do
something!" 

            I've been taking care of business, it's all mine
            Taking care of business and working overtime
            Work out!

"I'm a lawyer, not a stereo repair person!" Vicki hissed back.

            If it were easy as fishin'
            You could be a musician
            If you could make sounds loud or mellow
            Get a second-hand guitar
            Chances are you'll go far
            If you get in with the right bunch of fellows

Spike growled, sensing something strange.

           People see you having fun
           Just a-lying in the sun
           Tell them that you like it this way

Alma seized her partner by the arm and rubbed up against his hip.  "I've
got something better to do," she murmurred in an aggressively sultry tone.
Why don't we go out to the back room?  C'mon!" - and gave him a predatory
smile before dragging him off the dance floor. 

          It's the work that we avoid
          And we're all self-employed
          We love to work at nothing all day

Miklos was scanning the ceiling, his eyes darting from side to side, and
all the while muttering to himself in Hungarian. 

          And we be...
          Taking care of business every day
          Taking care of bus-

Suddenly the sound system was playing "Reptile" by Nine Inch Nails again. 

Susan was shaking.  "I need a drink," she said to Miklos.  Seizing a
goblet of wine she downed in nearly one swallow.  "Do you think the
Cousins will make another move tonight?" 

Miklos shrugged.  "I am not so sure it is the Cousins.  I have seen
something like this before, a long time ago, in the Old Country."  At
Susan's puzzled look he mouthed a single word at her: 

"Ghosts!"

                            *** ~ ***

(*) Bachman Turner Overdrive.  One of Schanke's favourite groups for
"Rock 'n Roll!" (See "Dying for Fame" in the 1st season.)

###

NO ONE EVER EXPECTS THE INSPECTOR
by Susan M. Garrett

Time: Early Evening
Place: The Raven

Susan grabbed Miklos' arm as he started to move away from the bar.  "Stay
right there," she warned. 

"But the table there--they need drinks--"

"You're the owner, not the bar-tender.  Let the employees take care of
it." Miklos looked away sullenly and Susan warned, "Look, you're standing
in for Janette, right?  You wanna do the Boss proud.  So act like an
owner.  Be cool.  Be confident.  And, for God's sake, look <cheerful>!" 

His attempt at cheerful made her cringe.  Lorelei stopped as she was
passing and asked, "Miklos, are you all right?" 

He raised an eyebrow in Susan's direction.

"Okay," she admitted, after a pause.  "Some people weren't meant to look
cheerful.  I mean, just imagine if LaCroix tried it." 

Lorelei shuddered.  "I'd rather not."  She turned as the music started up
again.  "Oh, good, the band's back." 

Tara chose that moment to wander over.  "Heather did a nice job with the
band, didn't she?"  She took a drag from her cigarette.  Miklos moved to
grab her an ashtray from the bar, but Susan slapped his hand and then
gestured toward one of the bar tenders.  Tara merely raised an eyebrow and
smiled.  "Getting fresh with vampires now?" 

"<Now>?" asked Miklos dryly, as he moved past them and into the crowd.

Susan merely shook her head.  "Just trying to remind him that right now
he's more than the hired help.  The Raven needs to re-establish a rep in a
big way."  She took a quick glance through the club. 

It was almost back to the way it should be.  Heather was doing a great job
coaching Urs and her friends from the band in style and attitude.  Chanda,
Ari, and Tami had appropriated a booth and were taking a breather--they'd
done a hell of a job in replacing most of the chains and joists that
afternoon.  Sheryl was spelling Tami on tending bar--they'd decided to
keep at least one mortal Ravenette behind the bar just in case the Cousins
decided to try the 'minor' truck again.  Jill and Cynthia were trying to
explain to mj the difference between first and second season Raven decor.
Catherine and Vicki were going over a few papers in another booth--Miklos
had joined them.  As far as she knew, David, Kathy and Jasmine were trying
to make Janette office habitable again . . . which was just as well, since
Susan had no plans on staying in a hotel (her track record being what it
was, she knew her limitations). 

Yeah, the place still smelled faintly of paint, plaster, wood shavings,
and floor wax, but it was almost as good as old.  Almost, but not quite. 
There was one thing missing . . . . 

"Think the Boss'll make it back this war?" asked Tara.

Susan smiled and lifted her glass of Amaretto from the bar.  "Hope so.
Hasn't been the same since she's left.  I'd like the new lot to get a
chance to meet her."  She looked over at the door, where the bouncer was
carefully scrutinizing the would-be entrants.  "Think the Cousins will try
anything tonight?" 

"Are you kidding?  Of <course> they'll try something--we threw LaCroix out
on the seat of his jeans!  We're just lucky their first shot went wide and
high.  Someone could have gotten hurt." 

"Yeah."  Frowning, Susan sipped at her glass again.  "I forget that
sometimes, you know?  I mean, when the boss was in charge, we did what she
said and that was that.  I know why Miklos is itching to get behind the
bar--he wants to be wiping down glasses and taking orders, and catching
gossip here and there, because he knows how to do that." 

"And you wanna go back to fetch and carry, get this, get that,
pawn-of-the-month club?" asked Tara sharply.  "Forget it.  Until the Boss
shows up, we've gotta keep a handle on things.  Even if it means facing
down LaCroix." 

"But if someone gets hurt--?"

"Then someone gets hurt."  Tara stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.
"This is our club.  We're gonna fight for it.  Nobody walked in here
expecting a party with no strings.  We're Ravens and Ravenettes--if we
win, we're gonna win with style.  And if we can't win, then we'll walk
away with our heads held high, our skirts pressed or our pants creased,
straight to the nearest bar where we can drink ourselves into a coma." 

"Sounds like a plan to me," agreed Susan.

There was a commotion at the door.  Susan slid off her bar stool and
looked across the room, but Miklos was already moving through the crowd. 
A man holding a clip board was arguing with the bouncer at the top of the
steps. 

"Is there a problem?" asked Miklos smoothly, side-stepping two dancers who
slipped past the bouncer and into the club. 

The man pulled down his coat and glared at the bouncer.  Adjusted his
eyeglasses, he glanced down at the clip board.  "Are you the owner of this
club?" 

Miklos glanced at Susan and Tara and smiled.  "The owner's representative.
The name is Miklos.  If I can be of some--?" 

"Well, then, Mr. Miklos, I have to inform you that as an inspector of the
Toronto Municipal Building Permit Department, I'm going to have to shut
you down." 

"What?" asked Susan.

Tara grabbed hold of the clipboard.  "Let me see that!"

The man held tightly to the clipboard and simply glared at Tara.  Miklos
reached over and pried her fingers from the board, slipped his arm around
the man's shoulder, then gestured him down the steps.  "If you'd please
come this way, my legal representation is just over here--" 

Susan stared after Miklos in wonder.  "He's getting good at this."

"<Too> good," muttered Tara, around the fingers she held in her mouth. 
"If I can't hold a cigarette, I'm gonna kill him." 

They followed Miklos and the inspector over to the booth, where Catherine
and Vicki were looking up with alarm.  "Ladies," said Miklos, gesturing,
"I think this is your area." 

Vicki stood up and eyed the man.  "Can we help you?"

The inspector coughed into his hand.  "We've had reports that certain
alterations were made to the premises within the past twelve hours." 

"Alterations, hell!" sputtered Tara.  "We just put the club back the way
it was before that son-of-a-"

Taking her shoulder, Miklos spun her around and gave her a push toward the
bar.  "You need a drink.  On me." 

"It's <gonna> be on you for real if you try that--"

Susan tuned out Tara's parting threat and concentrated on the inspector,
who was writing something on his clipboard.  "These alterations--" 

"Non-structural," warned Vicki.

"That doesn't matter."  The inspector adjusted his eyeglasses on his nose.
"These alterations require a permit.  Nothing's been filed with our
office. Until a permit is purchased and filed and the alterations
inspected, I'm afraid we'll have to shut you down." 

Catherine looked up from the papers she was studying.  "What's the
deadline on this permit?  When does it have to be filed?" 

"I <could> take the information for the permit right now.  And the fee--?"
The Inspector looked over at Miklos.  "We <do> allow for an emergency
situation.  Of course, there might be some unofficial costs involved--" 

Susan looked at Vicki, who nodded slightly--this was a shake down.  "I
think we'd like to expedite this," said Vicki slowly.  "How soon can you
get us the permits and an inspection?" 

"As soon as you can take care of the fee."  The inspector removed a
cardboard placard from his clipboard and began to write on it.  "If we
take care of this right now, I can get you people up and running again by
. . . say, tomorrow night?" 

"Tomorrow night?" asked Susan, her voice breaking.  "Is that the best you
can do?" 

A cold look from the Inspector told the sad story.  Vicki took the man's
arm and started leading him away.  "Let me take a look at that permit.
And--Miklos?"  She turned and gestured, so that Miklos followed.  "The
owner can handle the fee end of things." 

Susan just shook her head.  "Can you believe this?  Who'd have thought
holding onto a club would be so hard?" 

"Better ring for last call," noted Catherine, gathering up her papers.  "I
don't think there's a lot Vicki and I can do with this one.  And even if
the Cousins are behind it, all it does is delay us for a day.  They're not
getting their grubby paws on the Raven that easily." 

It took close to twenty minutes to empty out the club to the satisfaction
of the Inspector.  Miklos locked the front door and the man taped over the
lock, hanging a 'Closed for Repairs' sign on the door.  "I'll need a key,"
he said, turning to Miklos.  "So we can inspect this place tomorrow
afternoon, when the permits come through." 

Most of the Ravenettes had either left and returned to their hotel or had
moved back to the Revenant for the evening.  Only Miklos, Ari, Vicki and
Susan were left.  Of them, only Miklos, Vicki and Susan had keys. 

"That's all right," said Susan, handing over her key.  "Take mine." 

The Inspector took the key without so much as a 'thank you' and headed for
his car. 

"And where am I supposed to spend the day?" asked Miklos. 

"I think we can dredge up at least one suite with heavy drapes," said Ari.
She looped her arm through Miklos'.  "Believe me, we'll keep you safe, all
right.  The worst thing you'll have to worry about is a raving Miki who'd
want to ravish you." 

"A 'Miki'?  Ravish <me>?"  Miklos raised an eyebrow, glanced over his
shoulder at Susan and Vicki, then smiled as they walked to the rental car.
"Tell me more . . . ." 

"You <do> know the Cousins tipped off the Inspector," said Vicki quietly
as she and Susan turned to stare sadly at the closed sign.  "They're not
going to give up without a fight." 

"Neither will we," Susan promised.  Sighing, she started back toward the
rental.  "Give you a ride to the hotel?" 

"You're staying at the hotel?" asked Vicki in surprise.  "With your track
record?" 

"Hey, after having my reputation impugned, drawers with no bottoms, a bad
toilet, a hole in the wall where there used to be a temperature unit and a
phone that disintegrates when you touch it . . . what else could go wrong?
Don't answer that--" she said quickly, as Vicki opened her mouth.  "I
don't really want to know . . . ." 

###

JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE PARANOID....
by Diane Echelbarger

Time: 8pm EST
Place: Toronto

<rrring  rrring>

Sandra snatched up the phone.  "Hello?"

"Sandra Gray?"  the woman on the other end whispered, hoarsely.

"Yes? Who is this?"

"My name is Diane Echelbarger.  We've never met.  Listen, I need to meet
you. I need you to take something to Nick for me.  I can't risk it myself;
I think I'm being followed." 

"Followed? By who?" Sandra had learned, over the course of four Wars, to
be skeptical of such claims. 

"Cousins...."

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

Sandra stepped out of the cab and climbed the wide stone steps to the
spotlighted front entrance of the ROM.  Once inside, she gave her
name--and her coat--to the attendant at the booth, and was handed a
ticket, just as Diane had said.  Apparently, there was some sort of
special, invitation-only, late-night opening going on.  She didn't pay
much attention to exactly what it was--maybe after their meeting was
over--but hurried away to the designated meeting place, under the mosaic
dome they'd used in "Dark Knight." 

One there, Sandra looked nervously around the mezzanine.  Diane had
sounded kind of paranoid, but if she really did have Cousins after her, it
was understandable.  Those people were *vicious*.  Finally, when she'd
almost given up hope, an average-looking woman with short, curly brown
hair and wire-framed glasses stepped out of the elevator and approached
her warily. 

"Sandra?" she whispered, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

"Yes, I--"

"SHHH!" the increasingly-paranoid woman hissed. "Not so loud! They'll hear
you."  She glanced around again and clutched the Knightie's arm in a
panicked grip. "Come on, over here.  We can't risk being seen together." 

Sandra was beginning to have her doubts about this woman's sanity, but she
allowed herself to be drawn into the Medieval exhibit, which opened off
the mezzanine.  Diane guided her past several displays into a small side
alcove.  Glancing nervously around, she reached into her jacket pocket and
took out what looked like a 35mm film canister. 

"Here.  Take it."

Sandra hesitated.  "What is it?"

"I found it in the UW-Madison library, while I was looking for Sashlik
recipes." Diane glanced around nervously again.  "I think it was mis-
filed a couple of decades ago.  It's microfilm--I paid to have a copy
made."  She hesitated, glanced over her shoulder, and leaned forward to
hiss in the Knightie's ear, "I don't read Sanskrit--had to find a
dictionary--but I *think* it's a copy of the Abarat." 

As Sandra stared at her in shock, the nervous listmember stuffed the small
black cylinder into the Knightie's jacket pocket. 

"Take it!" she hissed.  "Get it to Nick.  He'll know where to find someone
to translate it." 

"B--but--" Sandra stammered, still off-balance from the unexpected
revelation. 

"Don't *say* anything.  Just get it to Nick, before the Cousins realize
I've passed it on.  I've got to go..." 

Diane turned and started to scurry away.  There was a suit of 16th century
decorative armor near the doorway and as she neared it, the heavy, ornate
halberd in the right gauntlet fell, blocking the doorway. Both women
froze--and the attackers struck.  The black-clad figures boiled out of
their hiding places--false bottoms to display cases, "Employee Only"
doors, the ventilation ducts in the ceiling--and overwhelmed them.  Before
Diane or Sandra could cry out, chloroform-soaked cloths were pressed over
their faces. They were both unconscious within seconds. 

The 16th century armor moved.  One gauntleted hand lifted the visor and
the woman inside hissed, "Search them! And you two, help me out of this
thing."  Both figures were roughly examined--pockets turned inside-out,
purses' contents scattered over the floor--while the ringleader was freed
from her metal carapace, which was left tidily piled around the stand. 

"Got it!" a confederate called softly, holding the desired object aloft. 

"Good." The leader pocketed the cylinder.  "Leave that one; we have no
orders about her.  You two--" she nodded at two of her followers-- "get
the other one down to the van.  We'll meet you there shortly." 

Two minutes later, the Medieval exhibit was quiet again.  In the corner of
one of the alcoves, a tousled figure slept undisturbed, surrounded by the
scattered contents of two purses, head resting on a disassembled suit of
armor.... 

###

THE PURLOINED SANDRA
by Karen Tobin (incorporating a concept by Sandra Gray)

Time: Evening
Place: Toronto

Karen put her car into gear and pulled away from the curb and the
telephone pole she'd only narrowly averted when she swerved out of the
path of the truck. She drove, alert for any signs of the car she'd been
chasing only moments before. How could it have disappeared so completely?
She felt under her seat for the phone she'd dropped, and finished dialing
the number she'd begun before the truck had appeared. She held her breath,
praying that someone, _anyone_, would answer, that she wouldn't get the
damned machine! 

"Knight"

"Nick, it's Karen! They've got Sandra!"

"Who's got Sandra?"

"I don't know. I followed her to the museum and she went in and I waited
for her and they brought her out unconscious, I think and they put her in
a car and I tried to follow and a truck got in my way and I almost crashed
and I lost them and I'm driving around trying to find them." Karen was
breathless, half-hysterical and had NO idea if she was making any sense. 

"Get back here to the loft RIGHT NOW," Nick ordered.

"But Sandra..."

"Look, you're not doing Sandra any good right now. Besides, what if
someone saw you? They could be coming back for you. We can't afford to
lose you too." 

"But Nick..."

"Karen." There was no mistaking the tone.

"Okay," she said shakily. "I'm coming back."

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

Karen nearly stumbled as she got off the elevator. She was shaking with
shock?  fear? anger? exhaustion? Maybe a combination of them all. Nick
caught her arm and led her to a chair. Several of the Knighties gathered
around. Someone handed her a glass of wine. 

"What's this?" she asked.

"Drink it. I think you need it," Nick said. "Besides, it's much better
than that $10.00 a bottle stuff you carried in here. It's just something I
keep around for guests...and friends." 

Karen sipped her wine and felt her breathing and heartbeat return almost
to normal. 

"Now, tell us what happened," Nick prompted in a quiet, reassuring voice. 

Karen recounted her tale, this time much more coherent than she had been
on the phone. She began with the phone call Sandra received from Diane and
related every detail she could recall up to her own phone call to Nick. 

"Tell me more about the car," Nick instructed.

"I don't know...it was dark and everything happened so quickly."

Nick sighed. "You must remember something."

"Well, it was a dark color...could have been black, but it also could have
been dark ble or green. It was a mid-size. It was essentially, probably
deliberatly nondescript." 

"What about the license plate?"

"Sorry, I didn't really get a good look at it." Then, frustrated, Karen
added, "I AM trying!" 

"I know you are,"  Nick responded.

"There is a way I can, well, help you remember more," Nick began, "but
it's rather intrusive." 

"Do it."

"You're sure?" Nick asked.

"I'm sure."

Nick glanced around at the hovering Knighties. "Give us a few minutes?" he
requested. 

As the Knighties moved away, Nick sat opposite Karen. His blue eyes caught
her green ones and held. Karen felt conscious of her heart beating, of the
sound of her her blood pumping, and nothing else but those blue eyes and
that voice: 

"You will remember. Tell me what you remember."

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

"Karen? Karen?"

Karen looked up, confused. "Did I...?"

"Make, model, color, license plate, and a sketchy description of the
occupants," Nick told her, smiling a little at her confusion. 

"Oh...did I really remember all of that?"

"You sure did," Nick responded, leaning forward to brush the hair--that
one piece that always fell in her face a drove her crazy--out of her eyes.
"You gave me a lot to go on. And you trusted me. Thank you." 

"Anything...." Karen said, softly. "You know that."

He did.

Karen, realizing she had said too much, smiled up at him and said, "Well,
at least now I know I am a GOOD amateur cop." 

They laughed together, then went to find the others.

###

PSYCHE! (Part 1)
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Evening
Place: Toronto

"Hey, Dianne!  She's coming out of it!" the brunette woman hissed from the
back seat. 

"Can I hit her over the head?  Huh?  Huh? Can I, _pleeeeze_?" the Cousin
in the passenger seat begged. 

"No!"  Dianne vetoed the suggestion, making a left and shifting lanes. 
"Give her some more chloroform, Chaos," she directed her fellow Merc.  She
watched in the rear-view mirror as Christina placed the cloth against
their captive's face and Sandra slipped into complete unconsciousness once
more. 

The plan was going extremely well.  Thanks to the bug she'd put in Diane's
little "gift" she'd been able to locate her target almost effortlessly. 
Twirling the silver cylander between her fingers, she thanked Goddess for
that on-line spy shop--the web had been a real boon to independent
"contractors" like her. 

"Wait!" came a surprised voice from the back seat, "What's this?"  Chaos
clasped a small film canister in her long, painted nails, holding it up
for all to see. 

"Where'd you get _that_?" the Cousin asked.

"It was in her pocket," Christine explained, blushing slightly.  "See I'm
kind of new at this Merc stuff so I was just practicing searching her
and...well...it was just there." 

Dianne turned to the Cousin beside her, "Nice search job, dear."

"Oh, don't give me that!" the Cousin snapped back.  "Once we found the pen
I stopped looking.  What, I was gonna turn her pockets inside out just for
fun?" 

Dianne sighed, "So what the heck *is* it and why is Sandra carrying it
around?" 

"It looks like microfilm of some kind," Christina said, peering inside. 

"Well, hang onto it," Dianne instructed.  "Never know what something like
that might be worth." 

Turning left again, Dianne ran over the plan in her head for the hundredth
time.  It was an elaborate--and costly--job.  But if it came off all right
she'd more than make back what she'd invested in it. 

<Which was most of the remaining profits from the _last_ war,> she thought
ruefully.  But there was no way around that-- discrete, advanced
construction under dubious circumstances in the middle of the night just
didn't come as cheap as it once had.  She sighed again. 

She had had to leave Diane and Abby early in the evening to go and check
on the final touches to the plan.  Amongst the clutter of random
redecoration and water damage (not to mention sudden and unpredictable
ownership changes!), no one would notice the slight "addition" to the
Raven's wine cellar until it was far too late. 

The trap was set.  Now all that was left was to bait it.

###

PICKIN' UP WORK
by Abby Albrecht

Time: Evening
Place: Royal Ontario Museum

Abby wound her way through the museum, wasting time until her appointment.
She finally stopped next to the Egyptian artifacts, *Dead bodies... Great!
I'm on vacation and I'm hanging around dead bodies. Guess I'll cross the
Raven of my list. There's just so much a gal can take." Looking at a
female mummy she remarks to herself, *at least you guys won't talk back...
Unlike a certain detective.*

Realizing she had spent _way_ too much time talking to inatimate objects,
Abby headed off to her meeting. On her way she spotted a group of people
dressed in black. They seemed to be in a hurry, carrying a large object.
*Not my problem,* she thought. 

"Ow! Dang armor!" she shouted after stubbing her toe on what appeared to
be... A codpiece? "What the..." Random pieces of armor were piled in a
corner by the door. *I don't think the curators will be happy with this.*

Abby surveyed the room more closely, *or _that_! Great Abs, your second
really commission ever and she's already dead!*

Creaping up slowly Abby whispered Diane's name repeatedly to see if she
was dead. Nothing happened, so Abby took drastic measures, she pulled out
her handy Payless pocket mirror and held it in front of Diane's nose. The
mirror fogged up quickly, and Abby sank to the ground relieved. 

It only took Abby a few seconds to realize that she was sitting next to a
comatose woman in a nearly deserted museum, which wouldn't look to good if
security came. "Ok, Diane. You wanted me to take you home, I'll take you
home." She stood up and looked once more around the area, "I suppose you
want your purse and stuff too? Hmm, I'll take both purses ok? No answer
means a yes... All right, c'mon." 

Dragging her friend into a nearly standing position, Abby pulled her to
the museum's exit. The guard at the main door asked her if she needed any
help. Considering the situation she was in it took all of her Merc skills
to ask for a taxi without cracking up. 

Ten minutes later she and Diane were on their way to the B&B. "Is there
anything wrong with your friend, Miss?" the cabbie asked while he examined
them through the rearview mirror. 

"She's just tired... Tell ya what. I'll give you a big tip if you get us
home fast." 

"Can do," he said as he stepped on the gas.

Since Abby had no money, she began to rifle through the purses on her lap.
The first wallet she came upon had Sandra Grey's address inside. *I don't
wan't to know why I have this... Oh, but she has money! I'll reimburse her
later...* Abby thought as she pulled a 50 and a 20 out. 

She hit Diane's purse next. No wallet, but something more interesting. A
card that had a name, "Karen," and a phone number. 

"We're here, Miss," the cabbie said brightly. Abby gave him the 70 dollars
and carried her friend to her room. 

###

PUTTIN' WORK TO BED
by Abby Albrecht

Time: 9pm EST
Place: Diane's B&B

Abby struggled her way up the stairs to Diane's bedroom, hitting various
parts of Diane's arms and legs on the way. "It's a good thing you're
unconsious, Diane. Just remember, the bad people who drugged you gave you
all these bruises... Abby was really gentle." 

The creak of a door opening downstairs made her stop mid suggestion. Abby
spun around, nearly knocking Dian'e head into a wall. "Oh, hi!" Abby faked
cheerfullness. "My friend had a little too much fun tonight, so I'll just
put her to bed and be on my merry way. Right, right." 

After seeing the dissapproving look from the B&B owner, Abby hoisted Diane
onto her shoulder and continued up the stairs. 

"I don't suppose you left your room unlocked, did you?" Abby said as she
tried the door; it was unlocked. "Well I never look a gift horse in the
mouth, which is stupid since I am a Trojan [ed. note-yup, that's a vague
historical reference for you.]." 

She sat Diane on the floor next to the door so she could check the rooms
for damage safely. Unlike most mystery shows, Abby's first act was to turn
on the light. The rooms looked fine, clean even... There was even a
chocolate on the pillow cases in the bedrooms. 

"Ok, let's go, oh sleepy one!" Dragging her friend uncerimoniously into
the right-hand bedroom, Abby saved her last bit of energy to lift her to
the bed. "There! You made it home. Can I go now? There's a big party, and
I gotta get..." 

She stopped as she looked more closely at Diane. Her body was twisted like
it had been dumped by a twister. "Don't look at me like that! Fine, I'll
fix it." Abby straightened Diane up, and fixed her so that the covers were
partially covering her. 

"Now, what?" Abby asked as she looked about the room. "Ooh, a letter!
Diane, you want me to read it to you? I'll take the silence as a yes. Ok,
well it seems as if Karen is in town and she wants to see you... Something
important, according to her. Hmmm, this is the same woman that's on your
"In Case Of Emergency" card? Maybe I'll just stick around tonight and see
if she needs any help..." 

With that, Abby curled up in a nearby chair and waited.

###

***Saturday, November 4, 1995***

WITH CAT LIKE TREAD...
by Pamela Rush

Time: Midnight
Place: The cold streets of Toronto & Natalie Lambert's apartment

          With cat like tread, upon our foe we steal;
          In silence dread, our cautious way we feel.
          No sound at all!  We never speak a word--
          A fly's footfall could be distinctly heard!

          Come, friends, who plow the sea, truce to navigation,
          Take another station!  Let's vary pi-ra-cy--
          With a little burglary!

Pamela kept insisting upon substituting "who slices cheese" and "vary
cook-er-y" for the original lyrics, but other than that the
FoDly-plus-Roni group was doing a fairly good job on reproducing the
stupendous level of sound and vibrato usually associated with full- chorus
stage productions of "The Pirates of Pinzance" as they bowled along Yonge
at a clipping rate in the big yellow delivery van belonging to the Happy
Souvlaki Deli. 

They had already swung by Knight's building for Roni to pick up a change
of clothes and to leave Karen Tobin's car, which Roni had borrowed for the
day.  The FoDs had decided there was no reason that Roni shouldn't
continue to drive the van for personal business the next couple of weeks
so long as she continued to make the afternoon deliveries as well.  The
FoDs would still have Pamela's personal vehicle, the Mean Green Machine,
if they needed it. 

Meanwhile, the FoDs-and-Roni were intent on their mission: to find
evidence confirming or denying the Natpackers' involvement in the sabotage
to the Deli's supply deliveries.  To this end, they were rapidly
approaching the neighborhood of Dr. Natalie Lambert's apartment. 

Roni skidded around the corner and jerked the big van into a parking space
inches in front of a snarling red sports car.  The musical tribute to
their mission trailed off as the immensity of the undertaking settled in: 
FoDs were not much accustomed to field activities during Wars.  However,
what they lacked in experience, they more than made up for in sheer
ignorance of the dangers involved, so spirits were high as the piled out
of the vehicle and started sliding into the pale yellow overalls that were
provided for Deli delivery personnel and, disguising themselves further
with stacks of carry-out cartons and boxes, they started towards the
apartment block. 

Skipping along the walk towards the building, the FoDs-and-Roni noticed
strange shakings amongst the shrubberies, sliding shadows where no figure
stood and sounds that might have been the whispering of the breeze in the
leaves had there been any wind whatsoever. 

"What's that?" Roni whispered nervously.

"Lurkers!" hissed Christine, prodding her in the ribs.  "Don't pay any
attention to them." 

"And for heaven's sake, don't stop to talk to them; we'll be here all
night," added Pamela. 

"Lu--  lurkers?"  quavered Roni, not liking the sound of it.

"Or spies or hunters or *someone* we could name if we wanted to has been
known to hang around peeking in windows, too, but at any rate, it's bound
to be one or another of the other factions or groups or characters going
about their, uh, business.  Ignore it." 

Roni slowed down again.  "But, but...shouldn't we, uh, 'lurk,' too?" 

"No, no!" explained Pam, "We're *delivering*.  Hurry up."

The four approached the doorman/security guard at the secured door of the
apartment block as though completely assured of their welcome.  And,
indeed, the doorman barely gave them another glance after he had
identified their familiar yellow overalls with the Happy Souvlaki logo. 
He waved them through the door with their loads and the four hurried
towards the elevators in the lobby. 

Roni slowed to a halt in front of the elevator and was nearly jerked off
her feet when Christine grabbed her sleeve to pull her along and Sherry
shoved her from behind simultaneously. 

"What?!" she hissed.

"Not that way!"--  *This* way--"

Christine and Sher carried her along with them after Pamela's rapidly
retreating figure, around the corner and into the dark, silent well of the
emergency stairs.  There, by the light of a dim 40 watt bulb, the four
quickly divested themselves of the brightly coloured overalls to reveal
tight-fitting, dark-coloured burglary costumes. Piling their discarded
clothes and empty carryout cartons in a corner, they ran swiftly and
silently up the stairs and slipped out into the second floor hall and
around the corner to Natalie Lambert's apartment. 

***

"Hurryhurryhurryhurryhurry..." murmured Roni with no sound at all,
watching Sher tinkering with the second lock with a thin, angular whisp of
metal.  Christine stood guard at one end of the corridor and Pamela at the
other.  Finally, they could hear the tumblers turn over and Sherry flashed
her teeth in a grim triumph. 
     
"Coulda been *faster* if you'd dated Joe more than three times, " hissed
Pamela, running back to them as the door swung open, "but, n-o-o-o, you
gotta drop 'em before the hook is even set--" 
     
"Coulda been faster if we'd spent *all* our time practicing lock- picking
when I was dating Joe," sniped Sher, "but we *didn't*!  Ok with you?!" 
     
"Be quiet, both of you!" ordered Christine as she slipped through the door
and made room for the others to follow.  She snapped on her penlight and
played it around Dr. Lambert's darkened living room.  The tiny spotlight
illuminated heaped bundles and awkward, bullky shapes that resolved
themselves into luggage of every possible description and piles of
sleeping bags, bedrolls and pillows. 
     
"Wow!  What's all this junk?"
     
"Natpackers.  Apparently they've been having a slumber party."
     
"What a mess...."
     
"You should see Nick's place," giggled Roni, who had been sleeping on the
floor there, lining up for the bathroom and cold showers with about a
hundred other Knighties. 
     
All three FoDs looked at her as though her expiration date were long past. 
Finally, Pam whispered. 
     
"Takes all kinds, I suppose, but it sounds like a zoo to me."
     
"Come on," Christine prodded, "look for luggage labeled HIMMANEN first;
that's the place to start." 
     
The four fell to burglary with a will, quickly sifting through the reefs
of luggage and carryalls looking for airline baggage tags first. 
     
"Here it is!" Roni squealed, excited to be the one to have found it.
     
"Great!  Open it!"
     
"Open...it?  But, but...that's..."
     
"Yeah, burlgary!  What'd you think we came up here for?!  This is War,
Roni.  Open it.  Or one of us will." 
     
Roni shuddered at the unsuspected depths of ruthlessness of FoDs aroused
to militancy and relunctanly complied.  Three pairs of hands immediately
began turning over the contents of the bag, which seemed to be larger
inside than outside. 
     
"Hey, this is *nice*!" remarked Sher, fingering a lacey bit of
underpinnings.  "I thought 'Packers all wore flannel next to the skin!" 
     
"Nah, not all of 'em.  Himmanen's got better taste than that.  But the
question is, what else does she have-- Oh!"  Pamela pulled a little,
leather bound volume out of the folds of a wooly sweater.  "This looks
interesting...." 
     
"What is it?" queried Christine, trying to see over her shoulder.
     
"It appears to be...oh, my goodness.  Yes!  This is it!"
     
"What?!"
     
"It's Sharon's...*food diary*."
     
"Her what?" asked Roni.
     
"So what?" chorused the other two FoDs simultaneously, immediately
recognizing the item but dismissing it as only commonplace. 
     
"God, lookit what she had for breakfast Saturday morning!"
     
"Wow!" admired Sherry.
     
"Uuuhhhh..." pondered Christine, "if it's late *Friday* night *now*, how
could we know what she's going to have for breakfast Saturday morning?" 
     
"Alernate universe," suggested Sher, unperturbed by the concept.
     
"Non-synchronomous even horizon," hazarded Pamela, "does it really matter? 
What we need are the entries for last week...." 
     
"That's too far back," Sherry pointed out, "*that* meal was last July at
Cresent City; I remember hearing about it." 
     
Pam reversed directions and soon found the previous week's days.
     
"Ok, here it is.  Look!  *Plastic* pasta salad!"
     
"But why did she put that in her food diary?" asked Roni, "She didn't
actually *eat* it." 
     
All the FoDs looked at her pityingly.
     
"Someday you'll understand, Ron."
     
"Everything goes in your food diary, Roni.  Suppose she wanted some some
plastic pasta salad again in a couple of years and she couldn't find the
address?" 
     
Roni tried valiantly to imagine why anyone might want more plastic pasta
salad every four or five years, if ever at all, and decided that it was
probably a Good Thing that she had *not* officially affiliated herself
with the FoDs.  Hanging around with them occasionally was confusing
enough. 
     
"Ok, we got hard evidence, let's roll--" Christine snatched the book lest
Pam and Sherry simply stand there all night reading it and admiring the
entries, and stuffed it safely away. 
     
"We're just going to *take* it?" squeaked Sher.
     
"What's the point if we don't?  Our word against theirs?  This is
evidence." 
     
"Yeah, but taking a person's *food diary* --that's *low*!"
     
"Donny took Janette's family picture that time; it was *evidence*," said
Pamela firmly. 
     
"Ok, ok, but I don't like it, mucking about with peoples' food diaries. 
We'll be mistaken for Cousins next--" 
     
"Come *on*," insisted Christine, pushing shoulders towards the door.
     
"Ok, ok-a-a-a-o-o-w-w-w-e-e-e-e--" Sher's relunctant agreement turned into
a supressed but patently heartfelt shriek and everyone stopped dead in
their tracks whispering an urgent chorus of "what is it's." 
     
"HHHHGGGMMMG!" Sher gargled, jumping up and down frantically.
     
Three penlights focused on her agitated figure, sweeping up and down
frantically looking for the cause of her distress. 
     
"Oh, look!" cried Roni, bending low and snatching something dark-
and-ill-favored off Sherry's ankle.  "Isn't 'e a 'ittle, bitty cutie?" 
     
"How in the world--"
     
"Good grief!"
     
"Argh," shuddered Sherry.
     
"What is it?"
     
"Frog legs on the hoof, I'd say."
     
"Nah, he's too small.  Give him a chance to grow up first."
     
The tiny amphibian seemed unharmed and content to sit in Roni's palm. 
Pamela starred at it a moment and a strange smile briefly crossed her
face. 
     
"Say, Roni...?"
     
"Yeah, lookit how sweet he is..."
     
"Roni, you know Knightie Scottie, don't you?"
     
"Oh, sure; or, at least, I know her by sight.  She's venerated by the
Knighties as the Official Waistwatcher and I've never dared to speak to
her in person, of course," 
     
"Fine, good.  You wanna give Scottie a really...*big* thrill? Give her the
little froggie!  She just *loves* 'em!" 
     
"Really?  Should I?"
     
"Yes, definitely.  Although...." Pamela's FoDly conscience smote her,
"perhaps it would be more effective as an *anonymous* gift.  Just put in
in her luggage and leave it to surprise her.  Don't tell her you found
it." 
     
"Can we get *out* of here now?!" pleaded Christine.

Five minutes later the yellow van careened around the corner opposite
Lambert's apartment block and laid rubber on up the street. 

###

PURPLE PROSE
by Tim Dedeaux

Time: Midnight
Place: Tim's place/Toronto

It was a cold, winter's night when Tim Dedeaux contacted Debra Ann, who
had just arrived in Toronto for the War.  Dedeaux, due to previous
responsibilities, was forced to wage a "third-wave" information era war by
remote control in the immortal (ahem) cause of the Knighties and Knights
against the Cousins (and everybody else, but mostly the cousins :). 
        
He needed a contact - a previously unknown contact - in Toronto to help
carry out his first attack. 
        
Debra was driving in a rented car, listening to LaCroix pontificate about
love and friendship and Clinging to the underbelly of life.  She picked up
the cellular phone and dialed Tim's number.  She got his voice mail. 
        
"Hello, Tim Dedeaux.  Either I'm not in or I'm asleep.  Press 1 to leave a
message, and don't take it personally."  She left her name and number and
said she'd be ready by midnight. 

Tim got in from talking with some friends at a coffee house in Jackson
early just so he could be ready to launch the attack.  He contacted Debra
and they prepared the message, which was to be transferred first by modem
and then by some very fancy police equipment Nick had appropriated. 
LaCroix was back, at least for the time being, in his old station now that
Janette's faction had retaken the Raven. 

"Come, gentle listeners, tell me all your woes," LaCroix began, sounding a
bit less intelligent than he had in past years, "For I will listen.  And
though I do not promise to care, I will understand far more than you could
know."  The phone rang. 
        
"Oh, I have a caller."

Meanwhile, Tim and Debra were working the last few kinks out of the setup
and preparing for the coup de grace. 

"Tell me your name, my child."

"Lisa," she said in a most sad voice.
        
"What troubles you, my dear?"
        
"Nightcrawler," she sad, "he dumped me."
        
"And who is he?"
        
"Billy."
        
"And why should I care?"
        
"Uh - "
        "
I thought so. (CLICK)  Next caller."

The phone rang.  "Yes?"  LaCroix asked in a slow, seducing tone. "Who are
you?" 

"I'm going to burn the building down.  If they move me one more time - " 
        
"Good, good.  Let the anger build inside you, let it consume you - "
        
"(Sesame street was brought to you today by the letters N, K, and the
number 1228.)" 
        
"What?"  LaCroix asked, aghast that something *positive* was crossing his
airwaves. 
        
The plan was working.  The first breakin to the signal was a success. 
Debra and Tim set the controls and waited for the right time to strike
again. 

"Ahem," LaCroix said, instantly regaining his composure (after all, one
learns to be cool and collected in 2000 years).  "As I was saying, the
strong will always oppress the weak, not only because the weak allow them
to do so, but because the weak *want* it.  Can you tell me that you do not
want a leader?  What man really wants to decide for himself? What you must
do, if you no longer want to be controlled is - " 
        
"(Take a trip to the land of make believe - here's the trolley now!)"

"Great timing, Debra!"  Tim said over the link.  "Bravo!"

LaCroix scowled.  Someone would die for this.  "What you must learn to do
is take control.  There are two types of people in the world, hunters and
prey, wolves and sheep, warriors and victims - " 

"(...Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans.)"

"All right," LaCroix said, showing a hint of anger for a little less than
a second.  "That's *enough*.  As I was saying, gentle listener, you must
let the fires of rage burn inside you.  Let them give you the strength to
take control, because ultimately - " 

"Do it," Tim whispered.

"(I Love You, You Love Me, We're a Happy Family, With a Great big Hug and
a Kiss from Me to You, Won't You Say You Love me Too?)"  The jammming
continued in a nearly endless loop of Barney songs and soundbites until
well after dawn. 

"All right!"  LaCroix said, finally losing his immortal temper, "That's
*it!* There are many things I can tolerate, but *Barney* is not one of
them.  *Someone will die for this!*"  He regained his cool before he
trashed the studio or caused any collateral damage, but in his heart he
longed to drink the blood of the people who disgraced him so thoroughly. 

"Got the crosses and garlic-filled hollow points?" Tim asked.
        
"Yes," Debra answered, "but I hope I won't need them."
        
"You probably won't.  Just get to Nick's apartment and don't come out
again till dawn." 
        
"All right."
        
"And Deb,"
        
"Yeah?"
        
"Just think - we got BARNEY on LaCroix's show!  The *ultimate* crossover
:)" 

###

LIFTING UNCLE'S PANTS (a)
by e.m. and B. Hall

Time: The weewee hours of the morning
Place: CERK, Toronto

"Is everyone who's still here inside? Hey! Guys!" Cousins milled about
the CERK lobby, Cousins continued setting up shop, Cousins hauled the last
dregs of packing material out - some of whom grumbled, bemused over the
recent turn of events and their displacement, and some of whom happily
chatted away, repeating for the umpteenth time, the clever tale of Cousin
Caile's disruption at the Raven, but all of whom thoroughly ignored Cousin
Deborah's call for order and attention. 

She pulled off her shoe and banged the sole against the reception desk,
bellowing, "Would everyone who is still awake *please* shut up!!" 

Through the thin glass of the vaulted skylight above, drop-out Cousins
erica and Bianca, black-clad, faces-painted smiliarly dark, peered down at
the scene, their expressions stern and purposeful. erica pulled out a
folded bit of tracing paper and compared it to the room below. She nudged
Bianca and pointed to one of the two ceiling-to-floor length, heavy doors
behind Deborah which lead to the recesses of the structure and then to a
spot on the paper. 

Bianca looked at the door and then looked at the paper. She glanced back
at the small gathering below her, chewing her lip, reflecting upon the
people's positions about the room, taking into account that, as Cousin
Central, other bodies would surely be scattered within its rooms and upon
its various floors. Bianca looked over erica's shoulder to the candy
cane-shaped air shaft that reached up from the building. She pursed her
lips. She nudged her sister. 

erica looked behind, tapping a finger upon her tiny map thoughfully. She
looked at Bianca. Bianca looked back. They both nodded once. 

Instantly, the two slipped from the skylight and dropped to the floor of
the CERK roof. They crawled swiftly but silently to the air duct, with
erica in the lead. They scurried up to the large metal tube. erica pulled
a pair of needle-nosed pliers from her backpack and wrenched the screen
covering open. She returned the pliers to her bag and with a meaningful
look to Bianca and flashy snap of the wrist, signalled for the invasion to
begin. 

erica proceeded into the vent first, dropping 3 or so feet and then
crouching in the middle of a narrow, pitch dark corridor in the second
story air vents of Cousin Central. Bianca followed, after struggling with
the metal lip of the air well for possession of her utility belt. 

They shuffled along on their bellies, propelled by their elbows and knees,
elbows and knees - Marine style. They turned corner upon corner, pausing
once or twice to peek through vent grates on their way to LaCroix's
office. 

Oh, maybe, 10 rooms and 30 minutes later, erica stopped suddenly, causing
Bianca to bonk into the soles of erica's Converse (hence, her nickname,
for those of you readers who care. "Thank you," says Bianca sarcastically,
reading over the co-author's shoulder.). Bianca pinched erica's ankle
indignantly, trying to get the co-author back to the story in question.
erica, after looking back at what she's written, jabbed her finger towards
the grate she'd been looking through before getting distracted. Turning
onto her back (in order to make gesticulation possible), she tapped her
nose with one hand and pointed wildly at Bianca with the other in that
"correctamundo, tell what she's won" charades gesture. 

LaCroix's private room - the station's office back when CERK was
underground Toronto radio and the management could care less about
audience acessibility and demographics - was as serene and dim as a
still-life painting. Conversation from the corridors beyond, where Cousin
Deborah was, no doubt, still trying to get things in order before Uncle
returned, trickled under the locked door (along with illumination) as
clear, though unintelligible, murmurs. It was hardly a sound-proof room.
Any noise made here could certainly be heard just outside. erica,
therefore, took the utmost care in setting the grate cover upon the floor
and wriggling out as smoothly as possible. Bianca did so too, but only
after unhooking her caught utility belt from a screw in the opening's
frame. 

erica and Bianca straightened up slowly, looking about, wondering where to
begin. The older cousin tried the door, making sure it was, indeed,
locked, then made her way to the green marble-topped desk (pitying the
Cousins who were forced to move it up here for their Uncle), sat upon the
Italian-made, black leather swivel chair, and looked for anything of
interest. She found mostly empty Chiclets boxes and broken toothpicks. 

Bianca, blowing wisps of hair from her face, pulled open file cabinet
drawers and riffled through stacks of Playboy and Mad magazines. Nothing
of interest there either. 

The two continued to search about, opening unpacked boxes and checking
under the loveseat's cushions looking for something, anything they could
take with them (actually, erica did find new Raven publicity photos but in
these, LaCroix was posed sitting on a beach towel, surrounded by neatly
piled sand whose yellow brightness reflected in his RayBan sunshades,
before a faux-Hawaiian backdrop...a Marguerita, topped with a little
umbrella, in his left hand. He gave the camera a thumbs up and the
photographer a broad smile, welcoming everyone to nights of fun, frolic,
and lotsa Babaloo. erica fed these to the paper shredder, to hell with
being heard). Whilst roaming about, erica pulled out a baggie of two pale
garlic pills, a few tiny cork slivers, and one snippet of mint dental
floss and scattered its meager contents about the room, thus throwing
suspicion to the Knighties, should someone discover that the office had
been broken into. 

Then, Bianca noticed one of LaCroix's suits - one of the *good* ones from
second season (high neck, severe cut, ruthless black) - hanging, covered
in clear plastic, on a coat rack in one corner. Upon it was a Stick-It
note: "Candice, Deb - get this cleaned." 

Bianca looked at erica. erica looked at Bianca... and nodded.

erica joined her sister at the rack. She pulled back the plastic and
fished through the coat pockets (sneaking a sniff at the fabric. It
smelled good. Ladies, try this if you get the chance). Bianca searched the
pants pockets and...came up with a wallet. Thin snakeskin - the kind of
wallet made to hold a card or two. One of them was plastic, gold, and had
"Lucien LaCroix" stamped upon it. In fact, this was a specially made,
'Platinum issue' card from a Swiss Institution. 

Bianca looked at erica. erica looked at Bianca.

Silent nod.

Bianca slipped the card into her utility belt (See! It came in handy for
*something*!) and the two cousins slithered back into the metal tunnels,
securing the vent cover behind them. 

###

PSYCHE! (Part 2)
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Pre-dawn
Place: The Raven

"Give me your key!" Dianne hissed to the Cousin as they got out of the car
in the back alley behind the deserted club.  "You *do* have a current key,
no?" 

"Of course I do!  So I'll hold the door and _you_ carry her in!"

"It's *my* operation," Dianne hissed right back.  "Besides, if you don't
do it I'll report you to your beloved Uncle for this little caper." 

"You wouldn't _dare_!" the Cousin sneered.  "What happened to
confidentiality, my dear Guildmember?" 

"Confidentiality is for paying clients," Dianne reminded her. "you just
wanted to ride along and help." 

The two women stared menacingly at each other for a full minute in the
growing light.  Finally, Christina broke in. "Guys!  We're running out of
time!" 

Dianne took advantage of the startled Cousin's distraction to snatch the
key from her hand and open the door.  "Come on!" she ordered with a wicked
smile.  "If you have trouble seeing, make Chaos go first, she still glows
in the dark pretty well, no?" 

To the accompaniment of muttered curses, Sandra was hauled into the
darkness of the Raven. 

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

LaCroix strolled aimlessly around the club, feeling the chains brush
against his face as he passed, running a proprietary hand over the bar. 

This was his favorite time, just before dawn when the Raven was deserted. 
Without the garish decor and the vulgar, graceless patrons about, he could
forget his plans for Nicholas, the absurd lengths to which he was forced
to go in order to reclaim his lost child. 

It was now that he could still sense Janette's presence.  When he could
close his eyes and imagine her once again sitting at the bar, looking
lazily out at the mix of mortals and vampires moving in the half-darkness. 

Stepping into the back he was startled out of his reveree by the
quickening pulse of a mortal heartbeat.  Intrigued, he followed it into
the wine cellar. 

For a moment he paused in the doorway, the echoing rooms and the wine he'd
consumed (<He really _was_ drunk most of the time nowadays,> he mused.  It
was simply the only way to endure what he'd been forced to do to the
Raven.) confusing him until he thought he heard more than one
heartbeat...two...three...fo.... 

No.  He shook his head to clear it.  There was only the one.

He smiled.  Stepping into the cellar, he determined to meet his breakfast. 

###

PSYCHE! (Part 3)
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Dawn
Place: The Raven's wine cellar

The moment LaCroix disappeared from sight among the tall oak racks, Dianne
strode forward from the shadows of the hallway. her bare feet made almost
no sound as she smoothly slammed the cellar door shut and bolted it
securely. 

Almost immediately her co-conspirators were behind her.

"Nice going, guys," she groused, stooping to reclaim her boots.  He almost
heard you two and that would have ruined _everything_. 

"Oh, posh!" the Cousin dismissed Dianne's concerns, moving closer to
examine the construction of the door.  "'All's well that ends well' and
all that." 

"Shouldn't we get *out* of here?" Christina asked nervously. "Before _he_
gets...well...cranky?" 

"Nah," Dianne said, looking very pleased with herself.  "Let him fume! 
There's nothing he can do about it.  The cellar itself is pure concrete. 
No windows, no other doors, no way out except here," she assured them,
knocking on the door's wood paneling. 

"A wooden door?"  Christina choked.  "We're trusting *that*?" She cleared
her throat nervously.  "Yeah, well, it's been nice working with you
guys...but I've gotta *run* now...." 

"Relax, Chaos!"  Dianne assured her.  "Under the wood is six inches of
steel with a hollow core center filled with holy water straight from the
Vatican."  She scratched a hinge lightly with her fingernail and the other
two cringed back from the stench as she continued, "All of the joinings
are liberally treated with a paste of that same holy water mixed with
crushed, fresh garlic from cloves I had flown in from Gilroy, California
this very afternoon.  Not even LaCroix is getting out of this until I let
him out!" 

Christina looking suitably impressed, left to hang the "Closed for
repairs" sign on the Raven's door.  But the Cousin pulled Dianne aside,
"And when exactly would _that_ be?" she asked in a concerned voice.  "I
mean, Sandra's not gonna last more than a few _minutes_ against LaCroix!" 

"Try '_seconds_'," Dianne corrected with a feral grin.  At the shocked
look on the Cousin's face, she relented.  "Relax, already!  I didn't bring
her here to just feed her to LaCroix. What kind of plan would _that_ be?" 

"He won't kill her," Dianne continued with confidence.  "Heck, with all
that bottled blood about I doubt he'll even touch her. One of the
employees will find him just after sunset and let him out I'm sure.  I
mean, they're none of them all that bright-looking, I'll grant you, but
_he_'s pretty hard not to miss." 

The Cousin just stared at her, making no effort to disguise her disbelief. 

Dianne sighed.  "Look, there's a reason he won't kill her.  A very good,
very *secret* reason!" 

The stare continued.

"Oh, all right _fine_!"  Dianne finally agreed.  "But don't come crawling
to me when you wake up with nightmares or when 'Uncle' finds out you know
his dirty little secret! 

"Now you *know* how important 'family' is to LaCroix...."

A few moments later all that could be heard from the deserted club were
shrieks that might be either hysterical laughter or agonizing horror... 

...or both.

###

LOST IN TRANSLATION
Or: Saturday Fun and Games Part 1
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: Very early morning
Place: Merc Central

Christina yawned and trudged in the front door of Merc Central, feeling
the warm glow of completing something she hadn't known she'd be able to
do.  Sandra's kidnap had gone wonderfully. Well, wonderfully for her and
Dianne and the mysterious Cousin; not so wonderful for poor Diane and
Sandra. Now she could contact her client and ask for the chocolate bars.
Not bad for a first job! 

Happily, she tossed the mysterious film canister high in the air, then
caught it again, studying it thoughtfully. Why had Sandra been carrying
it? If it had been normal film she probably wouldn't have thought twice
about it, assuming it was Sandra's vacation pictures. But microfilm---that
was something else. Wincing, she suddenly, guiltily realized that she'd
called Dianne by her real name in the car. Oh, well, she consoled herself.
Too late to do anything about it now. Besides, hopefully Sandra was too
groggy to remember her slip, and the other Merc hadn't noticed. 

Dianne had gone off to ditch the car, or possibly return it to the Toronto
PD repossession lot. She'd also mentioned something about sightseeing on
the way back. So it'd be another hour or so until they'd both be back
outside the Raven, staking out the premises to make sure the 24 hour
deadline was met.  Not for the first time she wondered who Dianne's client
was, then mentally shrugged. It didn't matter, after all. Mercs didn't
keep track of each other; but then, their loyalty to each other was
unquestionable. They might work against each other during the course of a
War, but personal feuds were rare, and the Charter kept them honest. Well,
relatively honest. 

Humming, she went down to the computer room to check on her film, stopping
for an apple in the kitchen on the way through.  Sara was there, much to
Chris's surprise. She squinted at the clock. "Isn't it a little early to
be up?" 

"I couldn't sleep." Sara sighed, "I was too tense. Everything is happening
so fast---and I have nothing to do!" 

"Sorry," Chaos sympathized. "But it's so early in the War--- something is
bound to come up." She liked Sara; she seemed more inherently responsible
than most of the Mercs. Thursday she'd given an orientation to most of the
newer Mercs who'd shown up, and explained the new computer systems, as
well as giving them the mugshots book to study of the known members of
other factions. 

"I hope you're right," Sara replied as Chris continued on to the computer
room. 

"Micro-reader, micro-reader," Chris muttered to herself as she threaded
her way around a ton of equipment, noticing a pile of computer disks next
to a Pentium, with a note from Lane Lombardia on them: TOUCH THESE AND
DIE. Wonder when he got in? And what he was working on? 

"Where's the --there you are," she scolded the machine, as if it had been
deliberately hiding from her, then realized what she was doing and glanced
around uneasily. Definitely punchy. Mai-Tai hour, she thought frivolously.
Chris's capacity for alcohol was practically nil, but despite being quite
nocturnal, when she stayed up too late she started acting as if she'd
drunk a Mai-Tai for every hour after midnight. Which meant that at this
point, she was three sheets to the wind on sleep deprivation. 

"Awright, let'seeee," she mumbled softly, punching buttons until the
reader lit up. She slipped the film under the viewing glass, spooled it
up, and stared at what appeared on the film. 

"What in the..." She frowned, eyebrows squinching together in a parody of
Klingonesque frustration. She wasn't certain, but it looked like...
Sanskrit. Her best friend during high school was born in Calcutta, and
she'd shown Chris some of her family's old books a couple times, and
they'd discussed Hinduism, India, Promita's family still in the country,
and various other related topics on several occasions. Why did Sandra, of
all people, have a Sanskrit manu-----

An idea so startling that she gasped aloud occurred to her. NO, it
couldn't be. Could it? Maybe it was. Nooo. Wait, wait, if it was, that
meant, that meant

"YEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!"

Sara nearly jumped out of her skin when Christina came running back into
the kitchen, and unable to stop herself in time, slammed into the kitchen
table. "Sara!" Chris was panting and gulping in air as if she'd just run a
marathon as she clung to one of the chairs. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm... fine. Really." The younger merc tried to smile
nonchalantly, but to Sara it appeared unconvincing. Her brown curls stuck
out in every direction, her eyes were wide and hopeful, and she'd even
broken a nail without seeming to notice it. "Please, do you read
Sanskrit?" 

"A little," Sara frowned, "Why?"

"I'll give you several chocolate bars to translate something for me.
Please?" 

Sara's eyes narrowed. Chris was offering a price before Sara had a chance
to name one; obviously this wasn't a minor job.  She'd said "please"
twice. Whatever it was, it wasn't a small matter. "What is it?" 

"Does it matter?" Christina waved the question away impatiently, then
turned to the door. "C'mon, this is really... kind of important." 

"Okay, but I want a cut of the profits if it's THAT important," Sara said. 

Chris stopped, then turned around, eyes narrowed, looking even more like a
Romulan than usual. "Uh...." 

Sara smiled sweetly. Mercs do that easily; it's in the training.
"Twenty-five percent of whatever you make from this." 

"Ten."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen, only because I want to know NOW. I can always ask Nick," Chris
sang softly. 

"You've been looking for an excuse to meet him anyway," Sandra sighed and
got up. "Fifteen it is." 

+++++

"It's a WHAT????"

Sara looked at Chris sympathetically. It wasn't hard to guess what she'd
hoped the manuscript was; which made her disbelief all the more poignant.
"A cookbook. Indian recipes... see, this one has chicken, curry,
tarragon---sounds good, actually..." Chaos was staring at her with her
mouth open, blinking. She kind of looked like Vacant a the moment; Sara
resisted the urge to giggle. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear,"
she ventured. 

Chris closed her mouth with a snap, mouth twisting into a pout. "Nooo,
you're kidding me. Tell me this is a ploy to get a bigger cut, Sara.
Please? Joke over, right?" 

"Sorry, kiddo," Sara shook her head. "Guild honor. It's a really old
version of Good Housekeepings Top Ten Recipes." 

Staring at the reader screen, Chris mumbled, "I feel like Kevin Kline in
'A Fish Called Wanda'." At Sara's questioning look, she stood up, stalked
around for a second, then yelled "DIS-AP-POINTED!!!!!" She slammed her
hand down on a nearby disk drive, cried out in pain, then slumped back
down into her chair. "What a letdown." 

"Where did you get it?"

"S..someone had it." At Sara's raised eyebrows, Chris elaborated.

"A Knightie. I thought it had to be the Abarat."

Sara tapped a finger against her lip. "Hmmm. Maybe the Knightie thought it
was." 

"Fat lot of good THAT does me," Chris mourned. "I wanted to sell it to
Nick in exchange for a private, candlelight dinner at the CN tower and his
eternal gratitude. No chance of that now." 

"You could offer it to them anyway," Sara smirked. "I'll bet whoever-it-is
wants it back." 

"I can't ransom this back under false pretences," the brunette protested.
At the other Merc's stare of shock, she said, "Well, I could. But not to
Nick. That would be too cruel. I still have 'remnants of a conscience,'"
she said, mimicking Janette. 

"So what's stopping you from selling it to someone else?" Chris stared.
Sara grinned. "Just tell them that a certain Sanskrit document that was in
the possession of a Knightie is up for sale. You don't have to SAY it's
the Abarat." 

Awestruck, Chris considered the possibilities. Maybe it would work. A
slow, small smile of satisfaction crept over her face. Patting Sara on the
back, she said, "Twenty percent. You just earned it." 

###

THICKER THAN WATER (AND MUCH TASTIER!)
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Dawn
Place: The Raven's winecellar

As he came within view of his intended meal, LaCroix turned suddenly at
the hollow thud behind him.  <Just the door,> he thought vaguely, shaking
his head.  <It must have swung shut again.>

Feeling the hunger and the vampire rising within him (he always got the
munchies just before bed after a long, hard night drinking) he turned to
view the limp form slumped on the ground against one of the oaken racks. 
As he took another step forward, the woman started to stir. 

She seemed familiar to him--probably someone he'd met in the bar tonight. 
A mortal who had drunk far too much and chosen an "unfortunate" locale in
which to sleep it off. 

As he drew closer, he could hear her heartbeat quicken slightly. <Good. 
She's waking up.> he thought.  <That always makes for a better meal.>

His hand traced the line of her neck as he knelt beside her. As he found
the pulsing vein with his finger, he turned her face towards him... 

...and staggered back in shock.

"No!"  He snarled as he tried to process the situation before him.  <Why
would she be _here_?  She was one of those infernal _Knighties_!  She
should be safely away, drooling over that annoying child of his, not
here....">

When he realized what he had almost done, LaCroix felt ill.
___________

Dirt.

Finally managing to open her eyes against what felt like hundred-pound
weights holding them down, all Sandra could see was dirt. 

Realizing slowly that this was probably because she was lying face-down on
a dusty floor, she struggled to sit upright.  Her head spun round and
round and round and... as she moaned softly, finally managing to focus her
eyes on the figure before her... 

...and wished she hadn't.

It was LaCroix.  And they were alone.

She couldn't decipher the odd look he was giving her, but she _hoped_ it
wasn't hunger.  When he took a small step forward, she reacted. 

"You can't kill me!" she insisted with more bravado than she felt. 

"I know," LaCroix agreed, almost sadly.

Sandra was shocked silent for a few moments by that one.  Then she smiled
unpleasantly, "Well it's about time you realized that." 

This time, it was LaCroix who looked surprised.  His expression quickly
shifted to bemusement as he asked, "Oh?  And why do _you_ think I'm
letting you live?" 

"You've finally learned that attacking the people Nick cares about does
nothing but drive him away from you," Sandra pronounced smugly. 

LaCroix threw back his head and laughed.  "One 'Knightie' among _so_
many?"  He shook his head, "I wouldn't count on Nicholas even noticing if
you 'disappeared'.  Keeping track of his little mortal pets has _never_
been that child's strong suit." 

"He _would_ notice!" Sandra snapped back.  "He _cares_ about his
followers!  If you did anything to me he would never speak to you again!" 

But LaCroix kept laughing, finally wiping blood tears from his eyes as he
calmed down.  "Can we say 'Sylvaine?', 'Alyce?', '_Raleigh_?' He *always*
comes back, my dear." 

Sandra realized that she was getting nowhere and changed the topic
abruptly, "So why _won't_ you kill me?" 

The question sobered the ancient vampire up immediately.  "It's none of
_your_ concern," he responded, watching her slowly try to stand.  "And you
have no business here," he snapped.  "Leave." 

"*Gladly*," she snapped right back, cringing only slightly at the snarl
her tone elicited.  Giving the ancient vampire as wide a berth as
possible, she moved to the door and pulled... 

...and pulled...

...and pulled...

...and pulled...

"Move!" LaCroix snarled as he stepped to the door with unnatural
swiftness. 

Sandra could have sworn he'd muttered <Mortals!> under his breath. 

Getting nowhere by pulling the handle himself, he swung his fist at the
door in frustration, intending to splinter it and get this
*Knightie*--this _particular_ Knightie--out of his hair.  But as his hand
connected, he let out an involuntary snarl of pain. 

His eyes glowing red he turned on Sandra, daring her to say a word.  <No!>
he reminded himself as he struggled with the urge to take out all his
frustration on the frail mortal woman before him.  <Not *her*...>

Steering his mind away from those thoughts, he examined the door.  His
blow had only dented the steel enough to allow a small dribble of liquid
through--a small dribble of harmless- looking water that had burned his
skin like engraving acid.... 

Within a few minutes, LaCroix had established that there was no way out. 
With the club above deserted (and changing hands at a truly alarming
rate!), there was no way out.  He...<*HE*>...was stuck in the cellar with
this *annoying*, Nick-worshipping mortal for the duration of the daylight
hours. 

And the worst part of all was that he couldn't kill her.  He would *never*
bring her across...not without a _serious_ attitude adjustment on her
part.  But he hardly minded making a little snack of a stray Knightie... 

...except...

.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.

His mind traced back to the years just after his bringing across.  He'd
been very much like Nick at the time, actually. <Although _he_ had at
least grown out of it!> he reassured himself, flinching away from the
memories. 

He had concerned himself about the mortals from his earlier life for
_years_.  Barbara in particular.... 

For a moment he remembered the child he'd left behind-- illegitimate, and
thus lost to all history but his own memory.  She had looked *so* like
him.... 

He had followed her short, mortal life from the shadows, seeing that she
married well and had a happy life. 

And he had wept blood tears for her when she died.

Then, keeping track of her children...and her children's children...had
been an obsession--now, it was merely force of habit.  They had never been
very prolific, and had threatened to die out completely more than once,
but he had always kept an invisible, protective eye on them. 

.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.+*+.

<And that was why he could not rid himself of this particular _nuisance_>
he thought, returning to the present and fixing a stony gaze on the woman
before him. 

He *loathed* to admit, even to himself, that any trace of mortal feeling
or weakness remained within him... 

...but no matter _how_ misguided she might be, he just couldn't do it.  He
just couldn't kill her... 

...not his *only living mortal decendant!*

###

DUNGEON OF DOOM? (Part 1)
by Sandra Gray

Time: Dawn
Place: The Raven's wine cellar

"Move!" LaCroix snarled, startling Sandra with the swiftness with which he
reached her side.  She stumbled away from him, as he muttered under his
breath what she could have sworn was "Mortals." 

She watched as LaCroix tugged at the door, but it didn't open. He tried
again, and then again, but it still wouldn't budge.  Dust on her glasses
lenses made the scene look *slightly* blurry around the
edges...unreal...and her head still felt half stuffed with cotton. She
reached her hand up to her glasses... 

Then quickly dropped it as LaCroix slammed his fist into the center of the
door.  Brown pieces of door tinkled to the floor and LaCroix quickly drew
back his hand with a snarl that sounded almost... *painful*? 

He turned toward her, eyes red.

Sandra backed away, her mind becoming instantly more alert and her heart
pounding.  The last couple of minutes of conversation that she'd had with
the vampire suddenly registered in her brain.  Good God, what had gotten
into her?  *I'm dead,* she thought and froze. 

LaCroix bared his fangs, and viewed the mortal backing away from him
through a red haze.  Her heart beat a frantic enticement in his ears and
he caught a scent of sudden fearful sweat.  He took a step toward her and
saw her freeze, her eyes wide behind her glasses.  Yes, she would pay, pay
with a hot stream of blood. 

<no> A small voice nagged at him and he halted.  His eyes drifted to her
throat, and his ears focused on the sound of the blood rushing there. 
<*No*> the voice insisted and he frowned, the corners of his mouth
dropping slightly. 

Sandra watched the ancient vampire with a frightening clarity...watched as
his red gaze shifted from her face to her throat, as his hands clenched
and unclenched, as his mouth drooped slightly to half cover the bared
fangs.  His mouth worked for a minute and his gaze shifted down her body
to her feet, or maybe the floor.  His hands closed again and then his
mouth closed into a hard line. 

He turned back to the door and began to examine it.  For a moment, Sandra
was still frozen.  But as he continued to look at the door, she finally
swallowed and took a breath.  Her body trembled and she got a sudden
recollection of the last time it had done that--after she and Bruce nearly
got in a wreck going the wrong way down a divided highway one night while
on vacation.  Bruce had had to put the car in reverse and back up to a
crossover.  She hadn't been afraid at the time at the sight of car
headlights coming toward them on both sides of the road.  Only after they
had gotten to safety had she reacted...by trembling. 

The trembling lessened and she watched as LaCroix ran his right hand over
a door hinge and quickly drew it away.  The door showed a dent from where
he had hit it and a trickle of liquid.  She frowned. 

LaCroix suddenly moved away from the door and her heart jumped into her
throat.  But his gaze wasn't on her.  He stalked past her and she turned
to watch him as he made a circuit of the room and returned to the door. 
After looking at it again, he stepped back and turned his cold blue gaze
on her.  Sandra swallowed and licked her dry lips. 

LaCroix looked away and his eyes glazed over slightly.  He looked... he
looked almost like Nick looked whenever he had...  A flashback! 

What was he remembering?  And what was he going to do to her when he came
back to the present? 

LaCroix's "flashback" look continued.  *What *is* he thinking about?*
Sandra thought and frowned.  He stood as still as a statue and seemed as
sculpted as one too.  She looked over at the door.  Liquid still trickled
from the dent in it.  Curious.  Keeping her eyes on LaCroix, she began to
slowly edge back toward the door. 

She had covered half the distance when LaCroix stirred again.  She froze. 
His gaze was very cold and stony, but that was better than yellow (or red)
and hungry.  He strode away from her and abruptly sat on a wine cask. 

Sandra stared at him.  He didn't speak or even look at her, just stared at
the wine rack across from where he sat and rubbed his right hand absently. 

"I thought you were going to open the door?" Sandra finally ventured.

LaCroix gave her a baleful look before looking away again.  "I can't," he
said shortly. 

"You...expect me to believe that you can't get out of here?"

"It makes no difference to me what you believe.  I am just stating the
facts." 

"What kind of game are you playing with me?"

LaCroix just sat there with a brooding expression on his face.

Sandra frowned, then moved over to the door.  She put her fingers in the
liquid trickling from a small crack in the door.  She smelled it, then
tasted it. 

"It's holy water," said LaCroix.

Sandra looked at him.  Did he really think she was going to fall for this
'We're Trapped Together' idea?  "And that bothers *you*?"  He just glared. 
Sandra got mad.  "What about the hinges?"  He didn't answer.  "The walls!" 

"Solid concrete.  I will not do structural damage to my club."

"Yeah, right.  Well, Nick's gonna come rescue me and make you sorry you
did this!" 

###

LIFTING UNCLE'S PANTS (b)
by e.m. and B. Hall

Time: Dawn
Place: Fe-Malefaction HQ

A knock at the front door of The Building Formerly Known as Stage 37 now
Fe-Malefaction Headquarters, Q Branch, brought erica from behind one of
the many sizable gadgets she and Bianca were putting the final touches on.
She put her ear to the door. 

"Yeah?" Cautious but rude.

"Uh, i'm looking for..." came a sweet voice.

"Shush! No names!" hissed Bianca from behind her sister.

erica opened the door, as far as the newly installed chain would allow,
and spied suspiciously upon the petite woman who stood there, her odd
night-blue vocational bag in hand. 

"erica? Bianca? I'm Elizabeth. You know, the Merc you hired?"

She was so...sweet looking. Long brownish hair glowing golden in the
growing light, fair complexion warming pink to the rising sun... Sweet,
petite, and innocent-looking. Harmless. Until she looked about their
cavernous and indescribably impressive Central Command and smirked
impishly. 

erica turned to Bianca. Bianca looked at erica.

"Perfect," they said together.

erica opened the door (not too wide) and welcomed Elizabeth in. "Hi, sorry
about that. You know, we're outlaws now and one can never be too careful.
Now, as per our correspondance over the Internet, you'll be working for
the regular Cousins. A sort of jack-of-all-trades for them." 

"And they'd better appreciate it, too," Bianca muttered, plopping onto the
floor and taking up the jacks to an oscillograph. "Hiring a Merc to take
our places now that we've AWOLed... We should *be* so nice..." Her words
became obscured as she scooted underneath a large console, jacks in hand. 

"We've got guilt and loyalty issues," erica said to Elizabeth
apologetically.

"Do you have my payment?"

Hm. She was greedy too. This was going to work out fine...

"Of course." erica reached for Bianca's utility belt which lay draped
unceremoniously over a discarded grappling hook. "Now, please remember,
*we* paid for you. No one is to know about this card. In the event that
LaCroix notices something unusual in the mail next month, it won't be a
problem anyway because you'll have lost it and conveniently passed it onto
the next Joe on the street by then. You'll be fine. And so will we,
considering all the precautions we've taken (re-routed email addreses,
elimination of other correspondance)... You'll find it exactly to you
liking, i think. Perfectly authentic and currently activated. And..."
Here, the credit card was revealed. It flashed in a ray of dawn that fell
from a crack in the roof (i'll get that fixed before next posting. i
needed it here for dramatics.). "...yes, it's got an unlimited line of
credit." 

###

EYE OF THE STORM
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: After dawn
Place: Toronto

After dropping Christina back at Merc Central...<That is one up-and-coming
young Merc!> she mused.  <A _natural_!>...Dianne realized that she finally
had a little time to spare. 

"Time to sightsee!" she decided, knowing she was on her second (third?
fourth?) wind and would pay for it later, but too psyched up from a
successful job to sleep now. 

Toronto's newest hit game of "Raven, Raven, Who's got the Raven?" had made
logistics a bit tricky there for a while, but her accomplice was right
(not that Dianne would ever admit it to her!)--"All's well...." 

Especially when she had had the foresight to invest her last bit of
bankroll in the Greater Toronto Building Supply Co....  With a smile
Dianne added that to her take for the job--*four* homemade chocolate and
amaretto cheesecakes, a vast quantity of the finest chocolates, and an
intricately woven gold diadem set with sapphires. 

(Thinking over the list again, Dianne made a mental note to ask for a
health-club membership next time...or a stairmaster or something. 
Otherwise that diadem was the only thing she was gonna be able to fit into
pretty soon!)

A particularly uncooth growl from the general vicintiy of her stomach
interrupted her reverie.  Regardless of the early hour, she didn't feel
like having _breakfast_...she was still on night time.  She's stop by the
Happy Souvlaki for a bite and plan out her tour of the city. 

Turning left at the next signal she spotted the B & B.  <Oh...,> she
remembered.  <*Diane*....  I _really_ should stop by and check on
her...she's likely to be pretty sick.>

Dianne debated back and forth for a while.  <Nah,> she finally decided,
heading towards the lake, <I'll stop by when she's feeling a bit
more..._civil_....>

###

STUCK WITH CERBERUS
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: Early morning 
Place: The Raven's wine cellar

Sandra fumed, kicked at a wine rack, then winced and leaned against it,
ruefully looking at her toe.  Blast it, where was the cavalry? Karin *had*
to have seen her get grabbed at the museum! Nick and the Knighties should
have been here by now to rescue her! Uneasily, she considered the
possibility that Karin had lost her trail. When was she going to get out
of here, if no one knew where they were?  What if the Cousins found them
first. She swallowed hard, considering the possibility. That could be...
unpleasant. 

A sudden, panic-stricken thought assailed her: the Abarat! What if Lacroix
had taken it from her??? Carefully not looking in his direction and
humming "Climb Every Mountain" under her breath to cover her thoughts, she
searched her pockets, then her purse, hoping she'd dropped it in there...
gone. It was gone. Nick's best hope for mortality had been stolen when she
was knocked out. 

Biting back the urge to cry in disappointment, she sat down on the floor,
muttering "Think, Sandra. Think." 

"What are you blithering about?" Lacroix asked, glancing in her direction,
away from his study of the door. 

"Go back to brooding, Lacroix, it's what you do best," Sandra replied
waspishly, staring at her hands. She'd had it in her hands; put it in her
pocket, turned away...and the suit of armor blocked her exit. Then the
chloroform--she could still detect its sticky-sweet smell on her
clothes--and then--someone picked her up, carrying her like a carpet,
until... 

Concentrating, she remembered coming around for a few seconds in a car. It
was dark, and she'd been incredibly groggy; but she'd recognized the
voices talking in front of her. Who had it been? 

The woman in the back. Sandra couldn't get a clear fix on her face; it had
been fuzzy, and the kidnapper had been wearing sunglasses, despite the
night, and a skicap which concealed her hair.  But she'd spoken to someone
in front...and called her Diane. 

No, not Diane Echelburger. She'd been attacked in the museum too; and she
had no reason to put Sandra in this horrible position.  Besides, she'd
been so scared, and so worried; like someone out of a Hitchcock film, "The
Woman Who knew Too Much". No, Sandra realized, it had been another Diane.
Or rather, Dianne. 

Dianne la Mercenaire.  Oh, wonderful. Sandra dropped her head into her
hands, trying to regulate her breathing. If the Mercenaries were
responsible for this, there might not *be* a rescue coming. They'd have
lost Karin, covered their tracks, and dumped Sandra in the cellar with no
one the wiser.  And they might have the Abarat. 

If Lacroix didn't.  No, he'd be gloating too much if he did have it. He'd
be torturing her with her failure, and his hold over his darling Nicholas.
Lacroix had no idea... 

She eyed him covertly. He was sneering at the door, eyes glinting with
suppressed rage and concentration.  She had to get out of here. Before
Lacroix started asking questions, before she had to start trying to lie to
him; before any *hint* that another copy of the Abarat existed reached
Lacroix. Getting it back from the Mercenaries was a whole different set of
problems, but she'd worry about that after she'd told Nick about it. 

"How did you get lured down here?" Sandra asked, then was almost sorry
when Lacroix sent an ugly glare in her direction. 

"Your heartbeat is quite strong. For now. Unless you would are to have me
change that for you?" he asked coldly. 

Sandra smiled nastily. So the great Uncle could be fooled by hunger.
Something to keep in mind.  "No, thanks. I prefer mine the way it is.  If
you even *think* of bringing me over--" 

"Don't flatter yourself," Lacroix snapped, prowling around the door again
without touching it. 

Sandra curled into a corner between the racks, and started to think hard
about escape. 

###

DUNGEON OF DOOM? (Part 2)
by Sandra Gray

Time: Early Morning
Place: Raven wine cellar

No amount of brain wracking turned up any ideas for escape.  The walls
were solid concrete, there were no windows, the drain in the floor was too
small, and the door...  Well, perhaps if she irritated LaCroix enough,
he'd get angry enough to rip it open, holy water and garlic or no.  *Then
again, he might just decide to rip *you* open instead,* she thought. 

Her stomach growled.  She looked over at LaCroix to see him looking at
her.  "I'm hungry." 

"So am I," he breathed in almost a whisper.  Sandra didn't like the look
he was giving her.  He rose slowly from the floor and walked over to where
she sat, leaned down, reached out his hand toward her...  And past her, to
pull a bottle off of the shelf beside her. He smiled slightly.  "Here," he
said, thrusting the bottle into her hands and rising. 

"Wine?" Sandra asked, her fear giving way to irritation.

LaCroix gestured at their surroundings.  "This *is* a wine cellar." He
paused and added, "Unless you'd prefer blood?" 

"No," said Sandra hastily.

She looked at the bottle in her hand.  Wine on an empty stomach?  Not a
great idea, but preferable to the alternative.  She eyed LaCroix, watching
as he picked a bottle for himself from a rack across the room from her. 
Did he want her drunk and, if so, why?  She wasn't entirely sure that he
was a victim here. 

LaCroix uncorked the bottle he held and took a long draught of it. Sandra
shuddered slightly, but was also briefly reminded of the third war
(*wasn't it?*) where she had watched Nick, vamped out, drain a bottle of
blood in his garage.  She remembered how arousing it had been... 

Sandra looked down at the bottle in her hand and pulled at the cork, her
cheeks warm.  Of course the damn thing wouldn't budge.  Suddenly the
bottle was snatched from her hand.  LaCroix removed the cork and handed
the bottle back to her. 

"Thank you," Sandra said automatically.

His eyebrows rose briefly.  Then he walked back to the other side of the
room and sat, picking his own bottle up again. 

Sandra raised her own bottle to her lips.  *What if it's poison?* she
thought suddenly and paused.  No, if he'd wanted her dead, she'd be dead
already.  She took a small sip.  It tasted like wine--quite a nice one
actually.  She took several big swigs of it. 

*God, I hope someone finds me soon!*

###

THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
by 'A Lady'

Time: Early morning
Place: The Raven's wine cellar

Sandra sat across from Lacroix, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. But
that tends to create a raging headache if done too long, so she decided
she'd try her hand at baiting him, instead.  Besides, she'd had some
things she'd always wanted to ask him... 

"I don't understand why you hate Nick so much.  What is the purpose in
torturing him all the time?" 

Lacroix, who'd been studiously ignoring her, turned and stared at her,
seemingly genuinely surprised at the question.  "I suppose I shouldn't
expect anything more from a Knightie, but I *don't* hate Nicholas.  I only
want what's best for him." 

She sat with her arms crossed.  "I don't know how you can justify 800
years of torment as being 'for his own good'." 

"We haven't fought for 800 years.  For a very long time after I brought
Nick across, we were in perfect harmony.  It was only after he began this
search for humanity that we've grown apart." 

Each was beginning to warm up to the debate.  "But you've done horrible
things to him, to the people he cares about, for no apparent reason." 

"It was for very good reasons.  The best, actually.  Every thing I've
done, I've done to keep him by my side." 

Sandra snorted.  "To keep him under your thumb?  Very noble of you.  If
you care about him so much, why don't you just allow him this search for
humanity, and let him be happy?" 

"Think of the consequences if I did.  All too soon, Nicholas would be
dead, and gone.  Dust.  Is that what you want for your precious leader?"
She could see the anger in his eyes.  "I do what I do to keep Nicholas
alive.  And I will continue to do so, no matter what it takes.  Should he
hate me for the rest of his days... at least he'll be alive to hate me."
Did he look... sad?  Might he regret the high cost... of keeping Nick
alive?  "Besides, Nick needs someone to blame for his decision to be
brought across.  If not me, then who?  Janette?"  God forbid, Lacroix was
actually smiling slightly at the memory.  He seemed to have forgotten that
she was there.  "Janette loved him dearly.  I couldn't let that happen to
her."  Sandra mulled it over, and didn't dare to think of a world without
Nick. 

She still had one last card to play "But Nick is trying to be human to
save his eternal soul." 

Lacroix looked at her with a sympathetic expression.  "Now really, in your
heart of hearts, do *you* think Nicholas is damned?  Evil?"  She paused,
then shook her head in defeat.  "Well, I don't either." 

Sandra looked at the man...no, vampire...no, *man* sitting across from
her.  "Lacroix, I've misjudged you.  All this time, when I thought you
were just being cruel, you were doing what you thought was best for Nick,
regardless of how it drove him away from you.  I'm sorry, I didn't
understand your sacrifice." 

Lacroix looked vulnerable for the first time she had ever, *ever* seen
him.  "Well, now you know." 

Their conversation apparently over, Sandra walked over to the far corner
of the wine cellar to think about her new perspective. 

While her back was turned, she couldn't see Lacroix's smile.

###

DUNGEON OF DOOM? (Part 3)
by Sandra Gray

Time: Early morning
Place: The Raven wine cellar

Sandra sank down into the corner and took a drink from her bottle of wine. 
It was almost empty.  Maybe she *had* misjudged LaCroix. He actually did
have Nick's welfare at heart.  Maybe he... 

*Wait a minute!  What am I thinking?!* She shook her head and looked at
the almost empty bottle.  Too much wine on an empty stomach and not enough
rest from the flight was fogging her brain! 

It was no wonder Nick had been confused if he had had to deal with this
kind of emotion tugging!  The lousy bastard!  It was "Father's Day" all
over again!  Oh, he was a good actor, good at eliciting sympathy.  And to
think she had been *listening* to him! 

She got up from her corner and strode out into the room.  "You're a filthy
liar!  And I won't be brainwashed so easily!" 

LaCroix looked at her and sighed. 

"You're not interested in what's *good* for Nick!  You just want to keep
him in your control!  You'll never convince me otherwise!" 

For a moment, LaCroix considered showing her just exactly *what* he could
convince her of.  But all he said was, "You're as pigheaded as he is." 

"And you're not?  Nick's not trying to force you to become *mortal*, is
he?  He's not trying to interfere in *your* life." 

"I am not interfering in his life." 

"Oh, no!  You just try to torture and brainwash him over the radio,--"

"I tell him the truth."

"--keep him on edge wondering when you're going to try to destroy the life
he has here," continued Sandra. 

"If he wants to believe that--"

"Why shouldn't he?  You already tried to frame him for murder.  But YOU
FAILED!  Because his *mortal* friends stuck by him and helped him." 

"Sheer luck," said LaCroix.  How was he to know that that infernal Dr.
Lambert was going to sample the real killer's blood?  Or that the late
Detective Schanke would track him down and get a confession?  Mortals
could be infuriatingly unpredictable sometimes. 

"--beat him into submission either," Sandra continued.  "He drove you
off--" 

"He did *not* drive me off.  I chose to go."

"To protect him from harming himself, I suppose?  I believe that as much
as I believe we're *trapped* in here." 

"Why shouldn't you believe that?  If I'm as *evil* as you think I am, why
wouldn't *holy* water deter me?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure it's going to affect someone with the power to come back
from the dead." 

"Then Nicholas did not drive me off with his cross either, did he?" 

Sandra's face turned red.  "Ooooh...," she said, infuriated.  Her fingers
squeezed around the neck of the bottle she still held and she let it fly
at him.  "I *hate* you!" 

The bottle shattered on the wall next to LaCroix's head, some shards of
glass and drops of wine spattering on his shirt.  He stood.  She grabbed
another bottle of wine from the rack and reared back her arm to throw it
at him. 

Sandra suddenly found herself pinned against the back wall.  "And quite
passionately...it would seem."  His hand was tight around her right hand
and pressing her fingers painfully into the glass of the bottle. "But
let's not waste a perfectly good vintage on such a futile act." He
snatched the bottle from her numbed fingers and stepped back.  He uncorked
it and handed it to her.  "Or are you so eager to meet your maker?" 

"No," said Sandra, her anger suddenly replaced by confusion at his cold
calmness.  She watched as he took a seat between two wine racks and pulled
a bottle off of one.  She sank to the floor and took a drink from her
bottle, a reactive tremble running through her.  For a while she just sat
and drank in silence and so did he. 

But one thing about their conversation still nagged at her and she finally
said, "But it doesn't matter what we think."  LaCroix looked at her. 
"About the state of Nick's soul.  Whether he's damned or not. That's up to
God." 

###

WHAT'S A LITTLE THEFT BETWEEN FRIENDS (a)
by Cousin Zillah

Time: Morning
Place: Toronto

<In which a valuable changes hands once more, old friends provide favors, =
pepsi proves once again to be a trusted companion, and theories =
involving rock climbing are used to a new purpose.>

He awoke, hating it. Given a choice, his body would go nocturnal on it's =
own, but today would be very busy and very few people kept his kind of =
hours. 

'Mornings truly suck,' he thought.

Cousin Zillah looked around the room suspiciously, as if the patches of =
sunlight were a dubious thing and not to be trusted. A full pepsi can =
floated in the water that only last night had been ice. The room had no =
fridge, Zillah having opted to stay in a dump so not to be noticed by =
any of the factions icluding his own. The ice bucket had been used to =
keep his breakfast cold. 

*pop*

Wandering past the door, he looked casually at the hair he had pasted =
with spit across the crack in the door. If the door had been opened in =
the night, it would have pushed the hair off and he would have known he =
had a visitor. It was still there. Putting that hair there to begin with =
had been an act of purest paranoia, but he was still breathing and it =
made sleeping at night easier. 

Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Brush. *ugh* He eyed the Crest label written in =
french. It still tasted nasty. Shower. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Clothes, pullover =
and jeans, all black. Army boots, red laces. Black gloves and scarf for =
a mask in the back pocket for later. Cellular phone. 

One of the advantages of working in a software store was that you met =
some interesting people. One of the more interesting persons had tumbled =
the phone so that it broadcast at a random frequency each time it was =
used. Never a bill to pay but no way to receive a call. He dialed, =
knowing that someone somewhere was going to get an international phone =
bill and not be happy about it. 

"Me. Yeah, listen... I need a few things, and I want you to send me the =
stuff you use not the stuff you loan out..." 

###

DOUBLE JEOPARDY
by Lana G. Soward

Time: 6AM EST
Place:  Natalie's Apartment

Natalie dragged herself into her apartment.  All she wanted to do was to
take a bath, relax and forget the past night.  She'd spent most of the
night trying to find those blasted Jeopardy mechanisms.  They had been
secreted everywhere.  Just when she thought she'd found them all, another
one would go off. 

Nick had thought it hysterical.  Everytime he asked a question, one would
go off.  Eventually, he lost it and started to giggle.  Then he started to
laugh.  If he'd been a mortal man, he would have peed in his pants. 

She was going to have to think up some particularly vile protein drink for
him to drink, she though grimly. 

Natalie stopped at the sight of frantic Nat-packers throwing pillows and
seat cushions in the air.  Cries of "Where is the thing."  "I found
another one!"  were being screamed at the top of their lungs. Suddenly,
she had it.  Jeopardy. 

"Oh, no!"  she cried and collapsed on the only chair that was still
intact.  It too began playing Jeopardy.  She jumped up and began to tear
the chair apart. 

"No more," she screamed.  "I can't take it anymore."

Concerned Natpackers pulled her away from the chair and took her to the
bedroom.  This, too, was trashed. 

"I think we got them all from here," one said as they helped Natalie to
bed.  "Now don't worry.  We'll find them all." 

Quietly, the natpackers slipped out of the bedroom.

Natalie snuggled down into her bed.  She could hear the others moving
around in the living room, but the sounds were muffled.  Just as she was
drifting off to sleep, a thought floated through her brain. 

She sprang from her bed and bounded over to her dresser and pulled open
her lingerie drawer.  Frantically, she threw underwear out of the drawer
until it was empty.  It was gone. 

"NO!"

Several of the Natpack burst into the room.  They found Natalie collapsed
by her dresser, moaning. 

"It's gone.  Oh my God, it's gone."

"Natalie, what's wrong?  What's gone?"

Haltingly, she explained to them what was missing from the dresser.

"We have to get it back," said one of the NP.  "What made you keep in your
lingerie drawer?  You should have kept under lock and key." 

"I didn't think.  What are we going to do?"

"We'll simply have to find someone who knows where it is."

They helped Natalie back into her bed and pulled the covers up to her
chin.  They scooped up the lingerie and stuffed it back in the drawer. One
lingered and picked something up. 

"Natalie?"

"Yes."

"How do you wear this without chafing?"

###

THE SECRET'S OUT
by Lana G. Soward

Time: 7am EST
Place: DieHard Headquarters

Lana sat hunched over her laptop.  The paperwork that Jennifer had printed
up on the deBrabant Foundation was scattered around her.  She'd been
trying for the past two hours to try and make sense of the foundation's
expenses.  The disbursement of the funds were enormous. 

She sat up and allowed her spine to pop.  How was she ever going to figure
anything out about this mess?  She needed access to the actual Foundation
files.  Unless... 

She was distracted from the thought when Leah, Helen, and Ariel bounded
into Headquarters.  They crowded around her and started all talking at
once. 

"It was great."

"You could hear them playing everywhere."

"I thought Nick was going to explode."

Dawn wandered in from the bedroom.  "Do you guys want to start at the
beginning?"  she said. 

"Well,"  Ariel said.  "First, we went to Natalie's apartment.  Some cousin
was kidnapping a couple of the natpack and..." 

"Really," said Laura, her ears perking up.  "Who was it?  Who got
kidnapped?" 

"I don't know," shrugged Helen.  "I know that Leslie R. was one.  She was
sneezing fit to burst." 

"Anyway," continued Ariel.  "Helen picked the lock and we unloaded a bunch
of the Jeopardy buttons there.  She'll be looking for them for weeks. 
Then we went over to her office and put a bunch there." 

"Is that what took you so long?" asked Dawn, yawning.

Helen grinned.  "Actually we put a video camera there, so that we could
watch.  We had to wait until she'd left so that we could retrieve it." 
She held up a video cassette. "Anyone want to watch? "

There was a mad scramble as most of the Die-Hards scrambled to the video
room, where the television was set up.  When the dust cleared, the only
ones left were Leah, Dawn and Lana. 

"What is it, Leah?" asked Dawn, sitting beside Lana on the couch, after
she shoved some papers out of the way. 

"I found this at her apartment," whispered Leah, conspiratorially.

She pulled a small book from her shirt and handed it to Lana.

Dawn and Lana crouched together over the book.  Lana flipped the book open
and they began to read. 

"This should be on the ADULT section of Darkangel's fiction page," said
Lana. "I would have never expected it of Natalie." 

"Why not?" argued Dawn.  "I mean she has no personal life.  Even Nick is a
research experiment.  Every time she meets a mortal man, he turns out to
be a serial killer.  I guess she has to have some outlet." 

"Is this really possible?" asked Lana.  She pointed to a passage in the
journal. 

Dawn read.  "Gee, I dunno," she said.  "I didn't think that you could
stretch like that.  But then she's doing it with Nick, so maybe he doesn't
have that problem. "

Lana snapped the book shut and tapped the cover.  "What are we going to do
with it?"

###

SICK DAY (Part 1)
by Diane Echelbarger and Vicki Merriman

Time: 9am EST
Place: Diane's room

Diane awoke slowly (which was not normal) vaguely aware of something
wrong, but unable at first to figure out what it was.  The cats?  She
couldn't feel them pressed up against her, but that wasn't unusual. 
Besides, somehow she knew that wasn't what it was. 

Gradually, she remembered that she was staying in Toronto. Rooming with
Lorelei and a couple of other people from the list. And something--
something terribly, terribly important had happened.... 

Suddenly, she remembered.  The Cousins! *Sandra!* _The ABARAT!_

She shot upright in bed--and immediately regretted it.  Her head pounded,
feeling like someone was taking a five-pound sledge to each temple.  Her
stomach churned and she started to gag. Whimpering, she stumbled out of
the bed-- trying unsuccessfully not to jar her aching head-- and made it
to the bathroom just in time to lose everything she'd eaten in the last 24
hours. 

When the nausea passed, she sank down onto the cool, tiled floor of the
bathroom and leaned one aching temple against the equally cool wall.  She
felt *terrible*-- this was, beyond all doubt, the *worse* migraine she had
*ever* had in her life.  She shifted her head a little and winced as she
accidentally looked toward the small window. No, light was a *very* bad
idea right now.  So was sudden movement.  And noise.  *Any* noise... 

It wasn't until she tried to climb carefully to her feet that she realized
she was still dressed in the same clothes she'd worn last night.  And
*then* she realized how *very* odd it was that she was here, in her room. 
The Cousins had kidnapped her, hadn't they?  They'd jumped out and
chloroformed her and Sandra (she'd recognized the smell from college chem
lab, just before she'd passed out) in the ROM--- so why was she here?  Had
Abby rescued her?  She'd asked the Merc to watch the exchange, and get her
out and home if there was any trouble-- what had happened?  And-- oh,
God!-- did the Cousins have Sandra? 

Horrified at the thought that she'd put the helpful Knightie in danger--
<I did my best,> she reminded herself miserably, <I took all *sorts* of
precautions...>-- she started to scramble to her feet, to call Nick's loft
number and explain--

And the sudden movement triggered another wave of nausea.  By the time it
subsided, she was convinced her empty stomach had turned itself
inside-out. 

After resting a few minutes with her head leaning against the bathtub, she
climbed *very* slowly and carefully to her feet and walked back to her
bedroom, trying not to jar her head. 

Her purse-- she'd left her camera bag behind, hoping the Cousins would
think *it* was the important thing-- was lying on the bedside table. 
Squinting against the shafts of light that slipped through the blinds, and
fighting the nausea that any sudden movement invoked, she searched through
the bag for the small notebook with Nick's loft's number in it.  *That*
had been hard enough to get, back in Wisconsin, when she'd thought all
she'd have to do was travel to Toronto and use the Factions' War
activities as a cover for contacting Nick and passing on one of the copies
of the microfilm.  If she didn't have it.... 

She found the book then, and fought to get her eyes to focus enough to
find the right page.  The phone was in the sitting room, and when she
found the number, she shuffled across the room and pulled the bedroom door
open. 

And recoiled as violently as any vampire from the brilliant, bright, and
extremely painful daylight that flooded the sitting room through the
south-facing window. 

Leaning against the wall, next to the doorway, she took deep, slow
breaths, fighting to keep the nausea under control.  Finally, squinting
against the sunlight, she felt her way around the room to the curtain cord
and pulled the drapes shut. 

Once the light was excluded she sank gratefully into a chair, reflecting
that she wouldn't have minded burning into a pile of ash right now-- it
couldn't possibly hurt as much as her head. 

She shuffled over to the phone and, wincing with every *beep*, pushed the
buttons to call the Knighties and tell them what had happened. 

Fortunately, they answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"I--" she swallowed, and tried again-- "This is Diane.  I met Sandra last
night..." 

"Speak up!" the voice on the other end snapped. "I can't hear you!"

Diane winced as her stomach lurched at the loud noise.  "I-- I'm sorry." 
She forced herself to speak louder.  "I-- I use Diane E on the FK lists? 
I'm the one Sandra Gray met last night, at the ROM---" 

Silence.

"They-- they jumped both of us.  Is she-- all right?" Diane asked, knowing
already what the answer would be. 

"We don't know," the voice told her, confirming her worst fears. "We
haven't seen her since she was kidnapped." 

"Oh, no...."  she groaned.  "I'm sorry, I'm *so* sorry...."

"Where are you?" the voice demanded. "We have some questions. You have a
lot to answer for, whoever you are." 

"I know.  I-- I'm not even sure how I got home myself," Diane told her
miserably, and gave her the address of her B&B.  The Knightie told her to
wait for them, and hung up.  She returned the phone to the cradle, buried
her head in her hands, and tried to remember how she'd gotten home last
night.  <I have to call Abby--->

Only then did she realize that she didn't have Abby's phone number. Or
address.  Or *any* way to contact her. 

While she was sitting there, the door of the other bedroom opened and
someone came out.  "Hi, Diane.  Hard night?" Vicki asked, much too loudly
and with indecent cheerfulness as she headed immediately to the teapot. 
"A pot of strong tea will help fix you up in no time." Vicki, who was not,
and never had been accused of being a morning person, could tell that
Diane wasn't at her best.  Some perverse bit of sadism pulled the cheerful
perky act out of her.  "Geeze, why are you sitting in the dark? It's a
gorgeous day out."  She moved to open the drapes. 

"Don't!" Diane cried, and winced as her headache pounded harder. Vicki
turned to look at her, and Diane squinted blearily (and blurrily, since
she wasn't wearing her glasses) up at the Mercenary.  "I'm sick." 

"Hmmm, you're sick and you don't like the sun.  Perhaps I had better warn
Lorelei and Lillian to starting watching their necks."  Vicki took a
closer look at the sad heap that used to be Diane.  "Boy, if this is what
a new vampire looks like you probably want to be staked. Probably should
be, too.  I've only seen a couple of corpses, not counting the vamps, but
they, the corpses that is, definitely looked better than you.  Nope, you
truly don't look good enough to be a vampire.  Must be some other
problem."  She made a cross sign with two fingers.  "If it is contagious
then stay away.  So nice to know I'm rooming with Lillian." 

<I wish she wouldn't talk so much...> "It's not contagious.  The Cousins
jumped me last night," she explained miserably. "Chloroform.  And they
took Sandra Gray and--" She stopped herself just in time from mentioning
the Abarat. After all, however nice Vicki was, she *was* a Merc.  "--and
some stuff of mine," she finished lamely. 

"Some stuff of yours?  Whatever else the Cousins are... nasty sneaky
building permit bribing individuals that they are... they aren't usually
thieves.  What did they take?" 

"Umm..." <Oops.> "...I'm not sure, exactly.  Some stuff from my purse."
Even Diane didn't believe herself, she sounded so lame. 

"So don't tell me.  You know, I could try to help get it back for you.  I
got the Raven back for Janette," Vicki paused a second, "or at least I
think I did.  We'll have that building permit mess cleared up shortly and
be back in business in no time.  Of course, tune in in a couple of hours
and that may change again.  The Cousins don't see to lose gracefully." 
The teakettle boiled, and she poured hot water into the teapot.  "So do
you want my help?  I'll be glad to help as long as it won't hurt the
Raven/ettes." 

"All I want is peace and quiet..." Diane moaned.

"So, why did they take Sandra and your stuff and not you?  How did you get
away?" The Merc sounded skeptical. 


"I don't know," Diane admitted.  "I can't remember anything after the
chloroform.  They've been following me for *two* *days*-- why would they
take Sandra?"  The Merc didn't answer, so Diane closed her eyes again and
leaned back in the armchair, wincing as her head came in contact with the
overstuffed back.  "Please don't open the drapes.  And could you talk a
little softer?  I don't want to throw up again." 

"Well, I'm not quite as heartless as I sound."  Vicki lowered her voice. 
"You need liquids and saltine crackers.  My mother always fed me saltines
and coke.  Why don't I brew you a cup of the sleepytime tea and then fetch
you stuff from the convenience store.  I have that car I rented so moving
won't be a problem." 

"I didn't know you rented a car. "

"I needed to get around Toronto somehow and my sister wouldn't be thrilled
with me always borrowing hers.  It's not too expensive and I'll be writing
most of the bill off as expenses." Vicki poured herself a cup of tea and
shrugged.  "As for why you didn't know, we've hardly seen each other since
we arrived on the 31st.  Why are you so sick, by the way?  Ether always
made me sick but shouldn't you be getting better soon from the choroform?" 

"I don't know; I've never been chloroformed before.  But when I had
surgery last January, I was sick for a whole day.  It triggered a
migraine."  Diane accepted the cup of tea and sipped at it carefully.
"This one's worse, though." Another sip.  It seemed to be settling her
stomach, a little.  "My purse is by the bed.  Saltines, ginger ale-- and
could you get some of those chicken broth cubes?  Thanks." 

###

ANOTHER ONE?
by Perri Smith and Diane Echelbarger

Time: 9am EST
Place: Nick's loft

"Take deep breaths," Yolanda coached, leaning over Karen. It had been
hours, and she still hadn't stopped crying. 

Nick was on the phone again; he and Perri had been trading off shifts for
six hours, talking to every cop and faction member they knew,
respectively. There was another APB out on Sandra; the dispatcher was
starting to recognize the background noise at Nick's apartment. 

The description of the car had been excellent, but no one had been able to
track it down yet. And Karen had jumped from happiness at being able to
help, back into guilt. 

No one doubted it was the Cousins striking yet again; but who knew where
they would take her. The Raven was closed due to the ongoing battle
between the Ravenettes and LaCroix over ownership - no help there. 

Nick hung up and the phone rang. He didn't even blink, just looked at it.
Corvia was closest; she reached past him carefully to pick it up. After a
quick conversation, she hung back up. 

"Catherine? Perri? That was someone named Diane E..."

"Unaffiliated," the leaders said simultaneously.

"Yeah. She said she was with Sandra last night - that they both got
attacked. She doesn't know how she got home, but she thinks she might be
able to help us find Sandra." 

"Where is she?" At least five people demanded simultaneously.

****

It nearly came down to blows, but they managed to convince Nick that yes,
it *was* a bad thing for him to go out in daylight, no matter how guilty
he was feeling about the kidnapping of a fourth Knightie. They piled into
Paula's van (courtesy of the N&NPack) and drove to the B&B. 

Diane met them at the door, holding her head oddly stiffly.

"Did they hit you?" AmyD asked, not particularly sympathetically.

"Chloroform," Diane said groggily. "I think they got both me and Sandra
with the same thing." 

"Why?" Matt asked angrily.

Diane winced.  "If you don't keep your voice down, I'm going to throw up
again."  She sank into a chair. "Please close the door. My landlady is
already convinced I'm strange, and I don't have anywhere else to go." 

The Knighties scowled at her, but came inside and closed the door.

"Why did you ask Sandra to meet you?" Dotti demanded, lowering her voice a
little. 

"I found an microfilm of an old book in the UW-Madison library.  I wanted
Nick to have a copy." 

"What old book?" Perri asked.

Diane sighed. "The Abarat."

"What!!!!!!!" the Knighties yelped simultaneously. Diane flinched and
paled visibly. 

Perri and Catherine exchanged looks. "Where is it now?" Catherine asked.

"I-- I gave it to Sandra last night."

"So where is Sandra?" Perri said between her teeth.

"I'm not sure. But... wherever they are... the Cousins have them both."

***

"Nick. It's us."

"Where are you?"

"At Diane's. The Cousins have Sandra. We're going to start checking all of
their known hideouts. Stay inside, we'll let you know if we find
anything." 

"Wait..."

<click>

Perri looked at Catherine. "do you think we should have told him?"

Catherine looked unhappy. "they may have already destroyed it. Why get his
hopes up?" 

Perri nodded, but didn't look happy. "Let's go."

###

STAKEOUT AT THE RAVEN (a)
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: 9:30am EST
Place: Outside the Raven

Not for the first time, Maureen wondered how she'd gotten roped into this.
Probably the usual-- "It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

"This" in this case, being a stakeout she wasn't getting paid for, showing
the ropes to Virginia and Sonja in the rented apartment behind the Raven.
Boredom will make you do strange things, even if you're Grand
Administrative Poohbah of the Mercenaries Guild. Not that Virginia and
Sonja weren't fun, but she still felt like she ought to be out trying to
drum up more business. Not to mention that she usually got *paid* for
giving seminars on surveillance techniques.  She sighed. Trust Dianne to
con her into a job on the grounds it would be good experience for the
rookies. La Mercenaire and her protege wanted to make sure their captives
in the cellar didn't escape before the sunset deadline, and were staking
out the Raven to that end. 

"And this bit does what?" Virginia asked, waving her hand vaguely in the
direction of some electronic equipment. 

"Blocks the sounds of movement from this apartment." At Virginia's and
Sonja's blank looks, Maureen sighed again. "It's a white noise generator.
Most vampires can't distinguish the sounds of a human heartbeat or a
normal room-level conversation through the static. Just don't touch it,
it's working fine." 

"Can I take some shots of the street?" Sonja asked, fiddling with the
long-range viewfinder on the camera. 

"As long as you don't move it, yes. I have it set up for the area we want
to concentrate on." 

A burst of static from the short-wave, then Dianne's voice came through
the intercom. "Oh Imperious Leader, are you there?" 

Maureen grinned and hit the TALK button. "Yes, Lady Vader. What's up?" 

"I think Sandra's coming around. Chris and I are hearing some weird sounds
on the cellar mike; can you get down here to help us boost the gain? We're
having a hard time making out what's going on through all that cement." 

Glancing around, Maureen smiled at the two young Mercs. "Think you can
handle it alone?" At their vigorous nods, she said, "Okay, call us if you
see anything. Hit the record button on the camcorder if someone goes into
the Raven; but DON'T leave this apartment. Got it?" 

"Got it." 

"No problem." 

Maureen hit the short-wave reply button. "On my way, Dianne. I'll take the
long way around and be there in fifteen minutes." 

Dianne adjusted the sound AGAIN, cursed again, wished that she'd been
there when Maureen had bought the equipment, and gave up. "My kingdom for
a closed-circuit monitor into that wine-cellar," she said. "We wired the
whole place for sound, why didn't we think of video?" she groused. 

Chris chuckled as Maureen the Mad gave the ritual knock on the Winnebago
door, and Dianne unlocked it to allow the Grand Poohbah entry. She knew
Maureen was, of course, disguised; but the sight of a short, dark-haired
Roseanne clone made the newest Merc stare in shock. 

"Neat mask, no?" Maureen asked, then peeled it off carefully, revealing
her usual cheerful countenance underneath. "Got it at Walmart, plus the
wig, at the After-Halloween Sale. $14.95." She began to take extra padding
out of her sweatclothes. 

"Scaaary," Dianne said solemnly, then pointed to the controls. "Why isn't
it working?" 

"Did you mess with it?" 

"Of course not," Dianne began in an offended tone, and then, at Chris's
raised eyebrows, she amended it to, "Well, it wasn't doing anything. Just
fix it, okay? You're the one that got it on sale." 

Squinting at the dials, Maureen made some careful adjustments, frowned,
then whacked the back. All of the needles shifted and a sudden burst of
sound came through the speakers. 

"...Don't flatter yourself." 

Christina shivered. Lacroix didn't sound very mellow at the moment. Dianne
crowed, and hit the record button on the tape recorders, smiling in
delight. "Gotcha, Uncle." 

"...Why don't you go back to brooding, it's what you do best..." Sandra
didn't sound very comfortable either, and Chris squirmed with momentary
guilt. Maureen caught her expression, and narrowed her eyes in Christina's
direction. 

"Second thoughts?" she asked in concern. 

"Sort of. No. Just, kind of... I hope she's okay. Her and Diane." 

"They are," Dianne said reassuringly. "And remember, we didn't do this out
of malice, we did it for money. That makes all the difference." 

"I'm going back to the apartment," Maureen said, taking another mask out
of her bag and doing another quick change, this time into Meg Ryan. Chaos
shook her head in awe as she watched. "By the way, Dianne," Maureen added,
"I think you were right, we need another red-headed Merc count, Virginia's
arrival has upped the tally again." 

"That is so great. You going to HAVE to teach me how you do that," Chris
said, pointing to the by-now dead-ringer for Dennis Quaid's wife. 

"How are the other two doing?" Dianne asked. 

"Fine, I think. This isn't the worst idea you've ever had," Maureen said
grudgingly. 

"Told you. I'm making so much money off this, it's obscene. It's
beautiful. Obscenely beautiful." The taller red-headed Merc turned up the
volume as Sandra was accusing Lacroix of being a monster and Maureen left. 

###

FLORIDA ENTERS THE WAR
by Maryann Jorgensen

Time: 10am EST
Place: Star Trek convention

<Flashback to phone conversation Friday night.>

"Hi, Judy, It's Maryann.  Hey have you heard that some of the Knighties
have been getting bricked? I think we should go up and see if we can be of
any help.  Are you still going to the Star Trek con in St. Pete? You are. 
Great.  I have to go, I'm meeting some of the PARISites there to see
Robbie Duncan McNeill.  We can get together and do some planning.  I'll
see you there."  I hung up the phone and got ready to go.  I was looking
forward to going because we were going to compare stories and I wanted to
show she the latest drawings of Nick and Nat that I had been working on. 

<End flashback.>

Got to the con at about 10:00 AM Saturday.  I was in the Dealer's Room
looking around when I heard a familiar voice.  "Hi Maryann."  I turned
around to see Judy standing there. 

"Hey Judy.  Got here in one piece, huh?  Have you heard anymore about
what's going on up in Toronto?" 

"No, I haven't been on line since we talked." Judy answered, shaking her
head. 

"Last I heard Knighties were getting bricked into their homes, and someone
had trashed Nick's loft and done some nasty things to the Caddy.  I
thought we could go make some reservations. I think we can get a direct
flight to Toronto.  I checked before I left home. You can leave from Palm
Beach, and I can meet the plane in Orlando. 

"Sounds good to me, lets go make reservations, I have Nick's American
Express number.  It's wonderful what you can get through e-mail."  she
smiled. 

We made the reservations, and were all set to go. I had contacted Perri
and Catherine so they knew we were coming and someone would hopefully be
at the Toronto airport to meet us at 8:00 that evening.  Hope we could
connect since I wasn't sure what anyone looked like. 

I good home from the con about 6:00.  When I got home there was a package
waiting on the dining room table.  There was a note from a friend that had
been taking care of my dog and ferret saying that the package had come
after I left. 

There was no return address on the box.  I was kind of puzzled because I
usually don't get unmarked packages in the mail.  Shrugging I opened the
box.  I pulled out some thing that was wrapped in paper.  It was about the
size of my fist.  I started to unwrap it "Eeww, GROSS."  I was holding a
rubber heart with an arrow through it.  I dropped it and it fell to the
floor and kind of bounced.  The dog came over to investigate.  "Killian! 
Leave it!"  I reached down to pick it up just as the phone rang.  I looked
over to the phone, I was sure if I wanted to answer it.  It may be whoever
sent this THING wanting to make sure I received their little gift. 

My machine picked up.  "Hi.  Maryann, this is Christine, look you may be
getting something.." 

I grabbed the phone.  "Hi, Chris...ya I just got home.  You won't believe
what was waiting for me. What?  other Nick&NatPackers have been getting
these things.  What! a real one, That is so disgusting.  Who would want to
do that?  Ya, Judy and I will be there tomorrow.  No you don't need to get
us a room, we'll be staying with the Knighties at Nick's.  OK, bye see ya
tomorrow." 

After I hung up I called Judy.  She had gotten the same thing in the mail
too.  I told her that I would be there early.  I decided to go to bed,
tomorrow was going to be a long day, not that I expected to get much
sleep.. 

###

REMEMBER THOSE VERY FINE COMMERCIALS?
by Sharon Himmanen

Time: Morning
Place: A small coffee house in Toronto

Pushing her chair back from the table in the little coffee house she'd
found just down the street from her boarding house Cousin Jamie rose,
swallowing the last of a very large cup of cappuccino..  This was the only
way to properly start a morning. 

Time to get going, Jamie thought.  There was a war on--there were people
to torment.  She winced slightly, a small pain shooting through her leg. 
Her walking stick was upstairs, but it didn't seem to bad at the moment. 
She thought she could make do.  Checking her pocket for her Q-tip gun,
Jamie headed out the door and on to business. 

When the cab pulled up, it was just too good to resist, she realized.  It
let out a single passenger, and she moved quickly to catch up.  A short
cab ride back to the radio station, or wherever the hell the cousins were
congregating these days, and she'd be all set. 

The guy was kind enough to hold the door for her, and slammed it shut.
Being that it was early morning, and Jamie was only semi functional, this
was a good thing.  The cab pulled out into traffic, and she leaned
forward, giving the guy directions to CERK.  Then, she settled back to
enjoy the ride. 

Some time passed, and Jamie noticed that they seemed to be heading in the
opposite direction than where she wanted to go.  Figuring this guy was
rooking her for cab fare, she leaned forward, spotting a subway station
off to her left. 

"Here!  Let me off here!" she yelled through the little opening.  It was
just as well since that really big cup of coffee was beginning to catch up
with her. 

In response, the guy reached back behind him and closed the little
plexiglass window that served as a divider between the front and back
seat. Jamie flopped back against the seat back as he stomped on the
accelerator. 

This was not good, Jamie realized.  Paybacks were really hell sometimes.
And of course, the rear door handles had been jimmied so that she couldn't
just open the door and jump out. 

"Now what?" Jamie said aloud.  "Is this were the back seat gets filled up
with sleeping gas?"  She hoped this would be over quickly.  And that they
ended up near some sort of public lavatory or at least a large bush. 

The driver shook his head, then turned to glance back at her, then pointed
forward with a smile. 

Potholes.  Lots of potholes.

And in her present condition, this was a *really* bad thing.

###

THERE *IS* SUCH A THING AS TOO MUCH SALT (AND CAPPUCCINO)
by Jamie M.R. - The Illustrated Cousin

Time: Morning
Place:  A pothole-laden street in Toronto.

Cousin Jamie winced visibly as the taxicab rattled and thumped and bumped
down the street.  Potholes in combination with several very large cups of
cappuccino, she determined, were a *bad* thing. 

A very bad thing.

With the driver's partition closed and the doors of the cab locked shut,
she could see only one course of action open to her.  She pulled out her
trusty Q-tip gun, aimed at the door handle and fired... 

A Q-tip shot out of the gun, hit the door swab-side first, and bounced,
ricocheting around the back of the cab like a pinball on acid. 

"Oops," said Jamie thoughtfully, "wrong setting."  And winced again,
because the potholes were very definitely getting worse. 

She flicked the switch to "toothpicks" and fired again, and a stream of
mint-flavored minispears zipped out and carved a hole in the door; she
stuck her hand into the hole and fumbled around until her hand caught
something that was apparently the door release. 

The door opened, and she threw herself out of the cab, hitting the
concrete forcibly as the taxi screeched away. 

For a moment, Jamie simply lay there on the ground, gathering herself, and
wishing devoutly that she hadn't had *quite* so much coffee to drink... 
She was going to have to do something about that, and quickly. 

She looked around, but the street she was on was all empty lots and
boarded up buildings; no signs of life, or at least, no life that would be
willing to allow her the use of their bathroom. 

For lack of a better idea, she aimed her gun at an empty space, set it to
"random" and fired again, hoping that the improbability field would do
something interesting, like create a Port-O-San... but the thing about
'improbability' was that it never quite worked the way you wanted it to;
and instead, all she got was a massive heap of Q-tips. 

A heap of Q-tips big enough to conceal a person reasonably well...

//Any port in a storm,// thought Jamie.

A short time later, she emerged, Q-tips sticking out of her hair and
adhering to her clothing, feeling considerably better physically, but
seething.  //Somebody is going to have to pay for this,// she thought. 

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

Sharon Himmanen opened the door of the coroner's office and stepped
outside, chattering to her fellow Natpackers and feeling quite pleased
with herself over the apt revenge she'd arranged for Jamie.  //Serves her
right,// she thought self-righteously. 

A strange sound alerted her, and she looked up...

WHOMP! came the noise, and all at once, a massive cascade of white
crystals tumbled down to the ground, encasing Sharon thoroughly. 

Jennie and Jill stared in horror as their comrade Sharon was suddenly,
instantly transformed into a massive pillar of... 

"Salt," said Jill, in stunned shock.  "It's salt!"

The other reached out hesitantly to touch.  "Not ordinary salt," Jennie
said grimly.  "The outside's like a hard shell.  It's solidifying around
her!" 

"Oh, no!  We've got to get her out of there, before she suffocates..."

From within the white mound, a strange crunching noise could be heard. 
"Do you think...?" 

"She's trying to *eat* her way out!" said Jennie.  "But... but that much
salt could kill anyone!  Even Sharon!  Quick, we've got to find an axe..." 

"...or some tequila and lemon..." Jill opined

"...or something..."

And on top of the coroner's building, Jamie cackled quietly to herself in
glee, and slithered off to create more mayhem. 

###

WHEN IT RAINS, IT POURS!
By Jennie Hayes and a lot of caffeine...

Time: Morning
Place: Toronto

"Quick!  Get her inside to that lab right near the door!" Jennie directed
Jill.  "We can use the safety shower!" 

Jill spied a nearby forklift and wheeled it over.  Between the two of
them, the Natpackers managed to get Sharon onto the cart and wheeled her
back through the doors to the nearest lab, which was fortunately not far
from the entrance. Jennie pulled the handle.  Water came gushing out of
it, rapidly eroding the salt, but spattering both Natpackers in the
process. 

"Eep!  I think it's working.  I always wanted to turn one of these things
on," Jennie commented.  "Too bad this is one of those labs they didn't
bother designing a drain system for the safety showers in.  There's gonna
be a nasty flood by the time this is done." 

"Well, she could suffocate.  This is a life or death situation," Jill
replied. 

The water had finally worn its way through the salt.  Sharon sputtered and
choked in the spray, trying to get a breath.  The other two pulled her out
from under the shower, trying to turn it off. 

"It's stuck!" Jennie yelled to the security guard who had just arrived in
the doorway, slipping and sliding in the water that had flowed out into
the hallway. 

The man nodded and made his way over to help her shove the lever back into
the 'off' position. 

"What happened to her?  Is she all right?" the man queried.

"She will be, but we'd best get her to a doctor.  Thanks, we'll take it
from here!" Jill answered. 

"But...the mess..." the poor guard tried to point out to their retreating
backs. 

"Call the janitor!" Jill called over her shoulder.

"Sharon?  Quick, drink this," Jennie suggested, handing Sharon a large
glass of water. 

Sharon made a face.  "No."

"Yes.  You need to flush the salt out of your system.  You never should
have tried eating your way out of that thing.  You are gonna be so
sick..." 

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence.

###

STAKEOUT AT THE RAVEN (b)
by Cristina Kamnikar

Time: 11am EST
Place: Outside the Raven

Chris was still wondering what to do about the microfilm. Maybe sell it to
the Cousins? She glanced at Dianne, then back to her contemplation of the
street. La Mercenaire had suggested letting her contact Lacroix's
followers, just to get an idea about what kind of price they'd get for the
thing, and if they needed guarantees about what it was and where they'd
got it. Since Chris and Dianne had *no* idea how it got into Sandra's
posession, this could be tricky. 

"Dianne? 

"Yes?" Dianne looked up from the November issue of Playgirl she had
borrowed from Chris. 

"If it's an unkindness of ravens, and a gaggle of cousins, what's a
gathering of mercenaries?" Dianne just stared at her, so she hit the
button on the walkie-talkie to the apartment and repeated the question.
Lifting the button, she could hear Virginia and Sonja arguing about how it
would be a Gathering of Immortals, and a darkness of vampires. "No, wait,
maybe it would be flight of vampires... Oh, I've got it! A profit of
mercenaries!" 

A *thwack* on the head distracted her from the argument. "Hey!" 

Maureen's voice came over the line. "Dianne, is Chris okay?" 

"She's fine, she just needs a nap. Sleep dep will do that to you if you're
not prepared," Dianne sternly shook the rolled-up copy of Playgirl at
Chris. 

"Christina, you are hearby ordered to sleep for at least four hours. No
excuses, no explanations, just get up on that bunk and SLEEP. This is a
direct command from your Grand Poohbah. Got it?" 

"Got it, Your Madness," Chris yawned, made a face at Dianne, and staggered
up onto the upper mattress above the driver's seat. 

###

REVENGE, VAQUERO STYLE (Part 1)
Or: A Night at the Church
by  Torrey Harris
contributions and editing by:  Sherri Campbell

Time: Morning
Place: Vachon's church

The Vaqueros were now nestled cozily into the church with Vachon. It had
taken a lot of explaining and fast talking by the Vaqueros to get here.
Vachon was just not going for the idea of having his home overrun by
revenge-crazed women.  After a promise to clean up the dreaded cow mess in
the church, and some not so subtle hints from Nick, Vachon found himself
surrounded by sleeping bags, backpacks, and a odd assortment of tools
covering his floor. 

<Great, now my place looks as bad as Nick's,> Vachon glumly thought to
himself. 

After finishing the clean up and unpacking their assortment of clothing,
tools, books, and some strange Voodoo stuff that Karen had brought along,
the weary group of Vaqueros settled down for some rest. 

The next morning, getting up before everyone else, Torrey decided to post
some things to the list to let everyone know that they had all arrived in
Toronto. 

"NO... Oh, my G*D...everything I just posted to the list is wrong!!!"
Torrey exclaimed.  "I can't believe it. That should have gone to Perri,
not the list.... AUGH, that one is just a draft...I don't even have the
war header on it, yet..." 

Awakened by the commotion, Sherri rolled over to see Torrey pacing back
and forth mumbling to herself about being stupid and wanting someone to
shoot her.  Sherri got up and looked at the lap-top that Torrey had dumped
on the floor. 

"Lousy way to treat a laptop... Good Heavens, Torrey! Did you post THAT?!" 
Sherri asked in horror. "What will the list say?!!" 

Torrey, with an anguished look on her face, grumbles something about
wanting to die and, with a dramatic swish of her three-foot long red-
blond hair, slams into the the old choir room. <Bang! Snick.>

The other Vaqueros slowly tumble out of their respective sleeping bags at
the sound of the door slamming. 

"What's going on?" asks Alison, still rubbing the sleep from her hazel
eyes.  She was wearing some of the most exotic sleep-wear that anyone had
ever seen. Much too strange to describe.  Her dark auburn hair was rumpled
from sleep, and she kept yawning. 

<Muffled sounds are coming from the choir room...they sound like someone
talking to themselves, followed by some not so muffled curses.>

Sherri looks at the door to the choir room. "Poor Torrey has posted some
really bad writing to the list, and she is in there suffering." 

"Should we do something?" asked Crystal.  "She might hurt herself in
there." 

<Thump, Thump, Thump - The sound of someone banging their head against the
wall is heard from the choir room.>

"Hmmmm, I think we should give her a little time," answers Sherri. "I
don't think she will go so far as to hurt herself.  After all, she *is* a
nurse." 

<Everyone rustles around and gets dressed.>

"Hey...where is Vachon?" asks Cindy, looking around.

"I think he went out to get something to restock his fridge," answered
Deborah, brushing her long auburn hair. "Have you noticed most Vaqueros
have long hair?" 

"I don't," responded Sherri, "my hair ties in knots if I even think about
it..." 

<Cindy turns around and runs into Vachon, who is standing right behind
her.>

<Gasp!> "DON'T do that!" Cindy exclaims to Vachon, as she tries to put her
glasses back on her nose. "You almost scared me to dea...um, you
frightened me!" 

"Hi, guys, what's up?" asks Vachon casually, smiling slightly. 

<Thump! Thump, thump, thump...  The sound resonates through the church.>

"What is THAT?" asks Vachon with a slight expression of surprise on his
face. 

<Hmm, so he can show expression...> "Never mind that...it's just Torrey
banging her head up against the wall," Sherri replied calmly. 

<Vachon stands there, his face unreadable except for the movement of his
eyes.> <Blink> <Blink> He opens his mouth to speak, and then slowly closes
it. *sigh*

"Never mind," says Sherri, "this, too, shall pass..."

"Ok, listen...I just got back from the Raven and something very strange
has happened over there," said Vachon. 

"What do you mean, strange?" asks Deborah, with a suspicious expression on
her face. 

"I mean that LaCroix is gone and a woman named Janette is running the
place." 

<The Vaqueros gasp.>

"At first I didn't notice anything. But when I went to the bar the old
bartender was gone and a man by the name of Miklos was tending bar. He
filled me in on what had happened." 

<The choir room door slams open. Torrey comes rushing out.>

"What did you say!" screams Torrey, waving her hands wildly in the air. 

Vachon doesn't answer her, he is too busy looking at the big red mark on
Torrey's forehead. <Hmm, that clashes with her hair...>

"He's back, HE'S BACK, oh, my, I have to go see him for myself, I just
have to see him in real life!" Torrey gabbled. 

Vachon looks to Sherri with a questioning glance.

"She kind of has this 'Thing' for Miklos," Sherri responds with a shrug.
"Sit DOWN and stop babbling, Torrey!" 

"I have to go!" <Torrey is bouncing from excitement.>

"No, you don't," answers Sherri, "Think about it; I would bet money that
it was the Ravenettes that sent us all that stuff and re-decorated the
church. They were just trying to throw everyone off by pitting us against
each other, so they could take over the Raven unchallenged." 

<A chorus of Ooosss and auggggs fills the room as the reality of the
situation sets in.>

"We will need to do something about this," Karen responds, fingering her
'voodoo' stuff... 

"Revenge," says Sherri, with a frown, resetting her glasses to a more
comfortable perch on her nose. 

"But, Miklos is there!!" wails Torrey. "We can't!!!"

Sherri looks at her and responds, "All is fair in love and war, and...this
is WAR!" 

###

REVENGE, VAQUERO STYLE (Part 2a)
Or: A Cracking Good Time
by Torrey Harris
contributions and editing by Sherri Campbell

Time: Late morning
Place: Vachon's church

It took some time and some rummaging around, but the once sorry looking
group of Vaqueros now looked ready for war. Every member had a backpack
full of supplies, and a grimly determined look on their faces. 

"It's time!" Torrey pronounced.

Everyone nodded and started out of the church to pack into Sherri's car.
On the way out, Sherri grabbed Crystal and pulled her over to the side. 

"I need you to do something for me," Sherri said quietly.

"Yeah...sure...anything," answered Crystal, her blue eyes serious.

"Ok, it should be okay once we get to the Raven, the Ravenettes will be
trying to get all of Janette's clothes back into her old closets, so
they'll be busy, and Janette and Miklos should be resting, so we should be
able to slip in and out without notice," Sherri said. 

"Yes, but what's your point?"  Crystal asked.

"Well, if we do meet any resistance, Torrey'll be okay, she can handle
most anything that the Ravenettes could throw at us.  She's an emergency
room nurse, and you know how they deal with stress, very calm, but ready
for anything...." 

"Most anything?????" asked Crystal.

"Well...." Sherri said, looking around. "We didn't think this would
happen, but if Miklos shows up, I need you to get Torrey out of
there...fast!  One look at that man, and she will be reduced to a
blithering idiot." 

"Wow, that's serious. Ok, I will keep an eye on the situation," Crystal
promised. 

After a short ride in silence, the group arrived at the Raven. Torrey
peeked into the front doors after Cindy had rather expertly picked the
lock. 

"Hmmm, just like I said, not a person in sight," Torrey whispered.

"Great! Let's go!" said Sherri, glad she had dressed in dark clothes, she
had never, ever considered a life of crime, and didn't want to admit how
nervous she was. 

"Wait!" Torrey said. She pulled a rubberband out of her bag and tied her
hair back. 

Sherri winced. \\Rubberbands in hair - ouch! That's why I keep mine
short!// "Good idea," Sherri said, "They would definitely know it was us,
if they found one of your incriminating yard-long red hairs in there!" 

"Well, now they won't," answered Torrey.

Sneaking into the Raven, the group quickly set to work. Half the group
took the bar and the other half took the room where the 'special stock'
was kept. 

The room was silent except for the barely audible whisper coming from
Torrey. 

"All is fair in Love and War, all is fair in love and war."

Soon the job was done and the group slipped silently out of the Raven and
into the safety of Sherri's car. 

###

STAKEOUT AT THE RAVEN (c)
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: Late morning
Place: Outside the Raven

Virginia was bored, bored, bored. Nothing was happening. Well, at least
she'd be able to advertise that she had experience in stakeouts when she
sent out her next Merc-for-Hire ad. Waitaminit. Wait. What was that? 

She hit the record button the camcorder and yelled, "Sonja, Maureen, we've
got trouble!" 

Maureen hurried to the window and took out the binoculars. "Cousins? No,
wait... that's Torrey. What are they doing there? Hit the bar mike, will
you?" 

Sounds came through just as Dianne's voice came through on the short-wave.
"Maureen, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" 

"Yup. Vaqueros. Why on earth...?" 

The sounds on the apartment mike made it clear that the Vaqueros were
doing some redecorating; and not with the idea of beautifying the Raven,
either. "Random retaliation strikes again, guys. Tape it, maybe they or
the Cousins or the Ravens or whoever's got ownership will want a copy. It
doesn't look like they're going to rescue our prisoners." 

"We won't just sell the copy to whoever owns the Raven?" Sonja wondered. 

Maureen gently said, "No, Sonja. Highest bidder, remember?" 

Sonja nodded. "Yeah, I guess." The sounds of various glassware clinking,
and one voice softly saying "all's fair in love and war, all's fair in
love and war" came through loud and clear. 

###

INTERLUDE WITH THE VAMPIRE
by Sherri

Time: Before noon
Place: The Raven

Vachon was wondering uneasily what he had let himself in for.  It was bad
enough that his sanctuary had been invaded by an unknown (at least to
himself) number of "Vaqueros" (and just *why* they were named that was
beyond him; no-one was willing to explain it to him..) but, then, they
decide to "attack" the Raven, just because of some 'War'.  Nick had been
no help at all, had given him *NO* hints on how to handle this, and had
laughed at the thought of controlling the situation.  He could now see
why. 

His 'followers' had taken off moments before, on their "mission".  He sat
there for a few moments thinking.  \\What if they run into something they
can't handle.  Anything happens to one of them, not only will Nick blame
me, I'll blame me. Merde.// With that happy thought he took off, arriving
at the Raven just as his followers arrived.  Good thing he had plenty of
practice working during 'daylight' hours, and knew the bottom ways... 

As he came into the Raven, moving as quietly as he could, he could hear
some mortal in the bar.  The heartbeat did not sound like one of his
followers. Moving like drifting mist, he entered the bar.  The young woman
whirled as he reached her.  "W-w-who-oo are you?", she demanded.  Then, as
her eyes focused on his face, she paled.  "V-vvaa--chhonn??" 

\\Why is it, that people I've never met, *know* who I am??// Vachon
thought irritably.  "I fear you have the better of me, madam", he replied
frostily. "Oh, oh, I-I <gulp> I'm Amy, uh, Amy Hull of the Natpack", she
replied faintly. \\Natpack?? I don't think I want to know...//

Quietly watching Amy, who was staring back at him with a 'deer in the
headlights'(tm) expression on her face, he mulled his options.  He *knew*
the Vaqueros would be coming into the Raven, any time now.  This *was* an
inconvenient encounter.  Well, it couldn't be helped.  Staring hard at
Amy, he spoke. "*Listen to me*, Amy, *You must listen*", watching hard, he
saw her eyes start to glaze over. \\Now, what shall I do with her...?// A
though struck him.  After all, they *were* in the Raven... 

"Amy, you must listen... you are not 'Amy'... your name is Janette... the
Janette who *owns* the Raven... you are *Janette*", he watched her
carefully. When she started to say "Janette" quietly, he knew he had
succeeded.  "Now, sleep, Janette,...sleep....".  Catching her as she
slumped, he looked around. \\This should do, I'll tuck her in this
booth//.  As he completed his task, he heard the Vaqueros at the door, and
quietly took cover.  Watching from the shadows, he shook his head at their
antics.  \\I hope this doesn't backfire...//

###

REVENGE, VAQUERO STYLE (Part 2b)
by Torrey Harris

Time: Noon
Place: The Raven

Janette had awakened early and gone down to the bar to get a little drink. 
\\What a strange smell.// Janette wondered, \\What is that??// Pulling a
wine glass out of the over-head rack, it broke in her hand. <!> \\Hmmmm,
LaCroix must have brought in some cheap crystal in my absence,// she
thought. 

Pulling down another glass, she felt a tug and then it broke also. Looking
around her she started grabbing glasses and bottles off the shelves. They
all broke in her hands, or just stuck there.  Throwing open the door to
the stock room she found more of the same in there. 

"MIKLOS!!!!!" Janette yelled.

She could not believe it...someone had broken in and GLUED all of her
glasses and bottles to the racks and shelves! 

###

IT'S THE HICCUPS
by Selma McCrory

Time: Morning
Place: Unnamed hotel room

Selma sat in the hotel room, the modem hooked up and sending and recieving
data. She was glad that Nat had let her telnet into her account via the
account she had at home. 

She'd been playing with the commands on the majordomo program that her
friend Wendy's new list was on. While playing around, she accidentally did
something to the program. Now it was sending her more than two results...
more like about 20. She looked at what she had done, managed to reproduce
it, set the list back to one reply, and then thought hard. And then set it
back to 10. 

Wendy was no doubt busy in another part of Toronto, doing whatever the
other Die-Hards were doing. It would take her a while to find out that her
Tomorrow People fiction list was now sending out 10 copies of everything
to her. 

Selma hoped that no one posted anything really long or mult-part that day.
She'd set it back later. 

###

LET'S GET NAKED!
by Maureen Wynn

Time: Early afternoon
Place: Wine Cellar of the Raven

"...and he is *not* a child!"

"Then why does he continually *pout* all the time?  There is nothing so
tiresome as someone who spends hundreds of years pouting." 

"It's not pouting, it's *angst*.  He's had a lot to deal with, and you
haven't helped at *all*!  You kill his companions, you hound him all over
the world, you won't let him get away and have a life of his own, and
you've never even *tried* to understand why he wants to be mortal..." 

"Enough!"

"No, it's *not* enough - let me tell you something, buddy, you better
change your tune, or one of these days Nick is going to come after you
with another flaming stake, and the *next* time, his aim might be better!" 

"ENOUGH, I say!"  LaCroix snarled at Sandra, his eyes glowing red, and his
self-control dangerously frayed.  The Knightie had gone too far.  Once she
realized that the ancient vampire that she had feared so much wasn't going
to have her for breakfast, she had gathered her courage and tried to talk
some sense into him regarding Nick.  As the day wore on, and the bottle of
wine that she'd had for breakfast got emptied, however, the "discussion"
had degenerated into a shouting match. 

Sandra shivered, the realization settling into her wine-fogged mind that
it probably wasn't a good idea to get a vampire angry at her. She decided
to try to make amends.  "Um, do you want another bottle of...um, another
bottle?" she said, getting up and wandering down the line of racks. 

LaCroix sighed, closing his eyes.  "Yes, I might as well. I have to do
*something* to keep myself occupied <...and not thinking of the warm blood
running through your veins...>. There are some good vintages down at the
bottom of that rack." 

Sandra bent down to look at the bottles, and pulled one out.  Under it,
beneath the rack, she saw a small, light colored rectangle, and reaching
in, she pulled it out.  It was a deck of cards.  "Hey, look at this!"  She
carried the bottle and the cards over to LaCroix.  "We can play cards!" 

LaCroix opened his eyes, and looked at the mortal holding up the deck of
playing cards.  He took the bottle from her and uncorked it, taking a long
drink from its contents, pretending to ignore her shudder of revulsion.
"What card games do you know?" 

"Go Fish?"

"NO!"

"OK, how about gin rummy?"

He sighed again, and took another drink.  "What about poker?  Do you know
how to play five-card draw?" 

************************(some time later)

"You lose, you lose!  What do you want to forfeit this time?"

The scene was slightly different than it had been earlier.  There were
more empty bottles lying around, for one thing.  Quite a few more.  And
there were other things lying around also... 

"I guess <hic> I'll forfeit my shirt," he said, slowly unbuttoning the
black silk. 

"Yeah, it's time we actually saw some flesh!" Sandra said wickedly.

LaCroix only lifted his eyebrow at her, and said, "It just proves that I'm
a better player than you are."  He looked at her attire, and added, "After
all, we've seen quite a bit of *your* flesh, haven't we?" 

Sandra would have been angry, but she was too drunk to care.  She looked
down at herself, clad only in bra, panties, and half-slip, and giggled. 
LaCroix finished unbuttoning his shirt, and took it off.  On a whim, he
started whirling it over his head. 

Sandra giggled again, and then whistled. "Go, baby, go!"

LaCroix decided to add a little bump-and-grind to the routine, to
enthusiastic cat-calls from his audience.  He threw the shirt to Sandra,
who caught it and waved it in the air triumphantly.  "OK, now it's *my*
deal," Sanda said, and started to lay out another hand. 

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

And now we draw a curtain across this scene...

Further developments left to your fertile imaginations...

###

IT WAS TOO EASY
by Torrey Harris

Time: Afternoon
Place: Vachon's church

The tired group of Vaqueros had made it safely back to the church.

"I can't belive we did it!" exclaimed Cindy. "It was so easy!"

Torrey and Sherri look at each other. "Uh, oh. Too easy..." Torrey says. 

"I was thinking the same thing..." Sherri says from the corner of the
room where she was sitting on a box. \\Vachon needs better
furniture...//

"Crystal?" Torrey calls out.  "I need you to do something for me."

"Yes? What?" asks Crystal, doubtfully.

"I need you to go back to the Raven and check things out; see if Janette
is there or not." 

Crystal looks at her with horrified eyes...

"Go back!" whimpers Crystal.

"Don't worry," Torrey assures her. "No-one will recognize you; the others
barely know the Vaqueros are up here. Just look around a little and let us
know what you see." 

"Right...just look around a little," Crystal whines quietly.

******

About an hour later.

*****

Crystal returns with a confused look on her face, and finds the other
Vaqueros sitting around the church with Vachon. 

"You're back!" Torrey exclaimed. "What did you find?"

"She's not there, Torrey," answered Crystal, "I was listening through a
door and heard them talking about her being in Paris." 

Torrey looks at Vachon.

Vachon looks at Torrey.

Blink.

Blink.

"You said Janette was running the place....did you actually see her?"

"Well, no," answers Vachon.

Sherri tugs on her bangs and starts to moan, "I knew it was too easy,"
Sherri mutters grimly, "Why didn't we ask Vachon if he knew Janette by
sight??" 

"Did we just attack innocent people?" Crystal asks.

"I don't think so..." answers Torrey.  "But something is definitely up,
and we had better find out what it is, soon!" 

###

WHO IS AT THE RAVEN?
by Crystal Guffey

Time: Afternoon
Place: Vachon's church

"Go to the Raven?" Crystal asked Torrey incredulously. "You've got to be
kidding?" 

Torrey assured her that she definitely was not. Crystal needed to go to
the Raven to see if Janette had actually returned as Vachon had thought. 

Crystal took a cab to the Raven. The driver gave her suspicious looks as
she got out at the club. "Hey lady, are you sure you want to get out
here??? This can be a rough part of town" the driver said." "I'll be ok,
just meet me back here in 30 minutes and I'll make it worth your while.
Besides, for the middle of the afternoon, there seems to be a lot of
commotion going on in there." 

After he was out of sight, she cautiously edged her way towards the door
and tried the handle. The door was locked tightly, but she could hear a
lot of noise inside the building. She saw that the building had a back
door in the alley and decided to try it. 

She didn't like going down the cluttered, dark alley. A person never knew
what could be lurking there. As she was going down the alley, the door
opened and several well dressed women came out. They had to be Ravenettes
with that exotic sense of style...especially in the middle of the day. 

She ducked behind a dumpster that took up the majority of the alley. She
heard the women talking as they walked past her and learned that Janette
was actually in Paris. With this piece of information, she started to move
quietly to the entrance of the alley. That was when she noticed a man with
long, dark hair standing in the dark, back doorway of the Raven. She
immediately recognized him as Miklos. She stayed still until he was gone,
and silently left the alley behind her. 

"I sure am glad that Torrey is not here right now," thought Crystal.
"Sherri said that Torrey might not be able to keep a cool head if Miklos
was nearby. I will have warn everyone so that they will watch out for
him....and for Torrey!" 

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

When Crystal returned to the church, she filled the Vaqueros in on the
whereabouts of Janette. Then she asked them to all gather around and that
she had something important to tell them. 

Crystal glanced at Sherri and then pointedly at Torrey. "I saw Miklos
today. He is definitely at the Raven!" 

Torrey gave an excited yelp and then said that she thought she would like
to see what the Raven looks like in the afternoon sunlight.  Crystal
stopped her just in the nick of time. "Torrey, that place is crawling with
Ravens and if they knew that we did the glue job, no place would be safe
for us and especially for you!" Crystal reasoned. 

All this time, Vachon stood by and listened to the discussion about this
Miklos. Who was he that he had so much power over one of the Vaqueros?
Vachon was having a hard enough time realizing that he had the Vaqueros at
all. He stood up quickly and quietly (surprising everyone in the room as
usual) and this action alone got their attention. He stood quietly and
blinked his soulful, brown, sleepy eyes and gazed at each Vaquero
individually. All were cast under his spell and waited quietly for what he
would do or say next. 

Finally he spoke, "I am very fortunate to have supporters like you guys.
Nick was right when he said that you are an awesome responsibility. But,
I'm lucky to have you. Having you here has certainly made life more
interesting for sure. I will not allow anyone or anything to hurt
you...especially this Miklos...whoever he is." 

Torrey looked heavenward as if remembering some special memory as he
spoke. 

Sherri spoke with conviction, "We must band together to protect Torrey and
this information from the other factions. If they knew of this, especially
the Ravenettes, they would use it somehow and Torrey would be in danger." 

Each Vaquero promised to keep that information secret and to watch out for
Torrey when Miklos was in the vicinity. They must not learn of Miklos'
power over her. 

###

A QUIET INTERLUDE IN CHURCH....
by Sherri Campbell

Time: Afternoon
Place: Vachon's church

Sherri sat quietly in the corner of Vachon's quarters.  She had come to
actually *like* her box-chair... but, Vachon still needed better
furniture... Looking down into her hands, observing her wounded friend,
she was quietly mourning the damage. *sigh* Her friend had carried her
through thick and thin, book stores, trips to Portland, even a trip to the
Canadian Rockies, but never had appeared to be so ...diminished. 

Thinking back to the whirl-wind arrangements to come to Canada, the
plane-ticket, the rental-car... restaurants... *sigh*.  \\My gold card
will *never* be the same,// Sherri thought.  \\It will take *forever* to
pay this off...//

Suddenly, from next to her ear, a voice spoke. "Don't worry, I won't let
you suffer.."  Jerking her head to the side, she realized she had company
- Vachon was kneeling next to her.  Refraining from jumping with stern
will-power, she gasped, "Why don't you scuff your feet or something!??" 

"Why?" Vachon said, smiling, "Nervous? I just meant to reassure you, I
have some money stashed away, none of you Vaqueros will suffer for trying
to defend me." 

Gulping, Sherri responded, "Why no, of course, you won't make us suffer, I
mean, you will help us..." 

Vachon reached out and ran his finger down her jaw. "I'm only here to help
you, that's all" 

Sherri slid out from her corner, ducking away from Vachon. "Uh, sorry, uh,
fascinating conversation, but, but, Torrey is calling me - gotta go..." 

Vachon, with a 'deer in the headlights'(tm) expression, watched her go.
"Funny, *I* didn't hear Torrey calling?...." 

###

DUNGEON OF DOOM? (Part 4)
by Sandra Gray

Time: Afternoon
Place: The Raven wine cellar

Sandra was humming "Let's Get Physical" as she looked at her cards.
LaCroix gave her a mildly irritated look.  "Must you do that?" he asked
her. 

"What?"

"Hum."

"Oh.  Sorry, I'm...just in a music mood.  Happens when I drink. First I
get happy, then I wanna hear music and dance, then I--"  She broke off
abruptly. 

"What?" asked LaCroix.  He burped.  He watched her face flush red and
heard the jump in her heartbeat.  She looked at her cards.  Her facial
expressions went from arousal to embarrassment before settling on
something that tried to be vacant and nonchalant (but wasn't). 

"Get sleepy," she replied, not looking at him.  At least she still had her
faculties.  No way was she going to say, "Get horny" even if that *was*
after the "music stage".  Maybe she had drank enough to shoot past that
stage (it happened). 

"Then maybe you should concede defeat before then," said LaCroix, knowing
what her reaction would be.  He smiled. 

Her expression hardened, her full lips pursed, and she looked at him, her
blue-gray-whatever eyes behind her glasses flashing. 

"Never!" said Sandra, looking at him, then down at the white flesh of his
exposed chest and arms as he laughed aloud at her.  She focused her eyes
on her cards again, shifted them around, and smiled. Then she looked at
him. 

LaCroix laid his hand out on the floor.  Sandra slammed hers down with a
flourish and said, "A-ha!  I win!"  Her eyes met his again. "Drop 'em,
Lu."  She grinned. 

LaCroix blinked at her.  "See here, you are *not* [hic] to call me *Lu*." 
She ignored him, and began to sing in off-key "da-das" a strip tune.  He
suddenly wondered what had possessed him to play this game.  She was
ahead, as she was still clad in her bra and panties. 

Sandra stopped singing abruptly and said, "C'mon!  Or you chicken?" 

"I am *not* chicken," said LaCroix and somewhat unsteadily got to his
feet.  He'd show her just how ready to strip he was.  She had started to
sing the strip song again, but her voice trailed away as he stood there. 
He placed his hands at the waistband of his pants, slid the fastener open,
and eased down the zipper just an inch. 

Sandra watched in riveted silence as LaCroix performed a slow and very
sensuous strip of his pants.  His skin was so white and hard, softened
only by a swatch of black silk bikini.  What would it feel like to have
that hard, cold body pressed to hers?  The strip finished, he lowered
himself back to the floor.  As he reached to pick up the cards to deal the
next hand, she found herself reaching out to grab his hand.  "No," she
breathed.  "You win." 

LaCroix looked at Sandra.  Her skin was flushed, her heart fluttering, and
heat poured out of her in waves.  There was no mistaking her desire.  He
pulled his hand away and ran it through her thick hair, then leaned
forward and kissed her.  She returned his kiss with passion, her arms
going around his neck.  He pushed her back on the floor. 

His body was cool as were his lips, but both inflamed Sandra.  His hands
roamed over her body as they kissed.  She felt his teeth emerge and he
pulled his head back.  His eyes were gold as they looked into hers.  "Take
me," she said. 

LaCroix stared at her for a moment, then frowned slightly.  He could take
her, but...there was Barbara's image hanging in his mind.  He frowned
deeper, then said cruelly, "How faithless you are." 

Sandra responded by kneeing LaCroix in the groin.  He released her and she
slid away from him, her desire replaced with fear.  LaCroix sat back on
the floor with a snarl, his eyes red.  Then they faded suddenly back to
blue and his fangs disappeared.  "This game is over," he said.  "I win." 
He began to pull on his clothes. 

Sandra reached out and dragged her clothes toward her, piled them
together, and moved further away from him, completely sober.  Her body
trembling, she began to dress. 

###

SICK DAY (Part 2a)
by Diane Echelbarger, Karen Weston, and Dawn Steele

Time: 2:30pm EST
Place: Diane's room

Diane's headache was finally starting to ease up.  She sat in the big
armchair, cautiously consuming saltines and chicken broth.  The Knighties
had arrived-- furious, and who could blame them-- and left again, before
Vicki returned from the convenience store.  She hadn't stayed long, and
Diane had been sitting here ever since, nursing her migraine and trying to
decide what to do now.  Lillian, decidedly distracted, had stopped by
briefly.  It wasn't until the petit brunette left that Diane realized she
could have asked her to take a message to the Head DieHard for her.  Dawn
Steele still had the second copy of the microfilm, and she didn't *think*
the Cousins knew about that.  <Better not mention it to *anybody*, just in
case.> Maybe they could get it to Nick?  It was a sure bet the Knighties
weren't going to trust her anytime soon. 

And *how* had the Cousins found out about her meeting with Sandra? Calling
her had been a last-minute decision-- she hadn't really intended to ask
for anybody in particular, she'd just blurted out the name of the first
Knightie she could think of. 

She finished the broth and stood up to get a ginger ale from the table by
the door.  Only then did she notice the two notes with her name on them. 
The first one was from Lorelei. 

"Hey, Diane!  Been having a good time, I see!  Can't wait around, I've got
things to do.  See ya later.  If you need me, just call my cell phone.
Bye!" 

The second was from her landlady.

   "11/3

   "Ms. Ekelberger--"

<*Why* do they always misspell it?>

   "Karen Westin will be in Toronto about noon.  She had your package.
She's staying at the Motel 6 and the Archives of Ontario. 

       Gladys McGillicudy"

<Package?> Diane wondered, taking the note and a bottle of ginger ale back
to her chair.  <What package?  And what Motel 6?> Before she could decide
whether she should try calling all the Motel 6's in Toronto, or just wait
for Karen to come here-- after all she *did* have the address-- there was
a knock on the door. 

Diane winced at the sudden, loud noise, and stood up, leaving the bottle
and the letter behind.  She didn't bother to ask who it was.  Cousins,
Knighties, Abby, Karen (who was a NatPacker)-- what did it matter anymore? 
She didn't have anything they wanted, now. 

Dawn stood there with a drawn, slightly haggard look. Her clothes were
definitely on the "used and comfy" side with a couple of small bleach
stains on the green kangaroo sweater. 

"You look awful... Are you sick?"

Diane motioned the DieHard inside.  "Yeah, I'm sick. I got chloroformed
last night." 

"Nasty." Dawn pulled out a small plastic film container and tossed it in
the air. "Just wondered if you were still jumping at shadows." 

Diane turned a shade paler-- then grabbed the container and ripped it
open. There was ordinary 35mm film inside. "Are you sure you're not a
Cousin?" She sank into a seat and closed her eyes. 

Dawn frowned slightly.  "You *are* sick, aren't you?"  She took the film
back.  "That's just my film from my last vacation. I keep forgetting to
get it developed." 

Diane opened her eyes and sighed.  "*Not* funny.  Why are you here?"

"Just checking out the Die Hard intelligence ring. I wanted to find your
location." She paused. "It wasn't very hard to find you." 

"I didn't think I needed to hide from *you*," Diane pointed out. 
"Besides, Lillian is rooming with me; how could you *not* know?" 

"Anyway. The little matter that we talked about at lunch the other day?
The baker?" Dawn flipped the plastic container in the air over and over
again. 

Diane sat up cautiously.  She peered behind Dawn at the slightly open
door.  Was there someone waiting out there, listening? 

"I gotta go. So many things to do... so little time. This war's running me
ragged." Dawn moved to go to the door again. 

Diane spoke as the DieHard's hand touched the knob.  "The Baker?"

"I managed to contact a cousin of mine who know's the baker's language.
It'll be a couple of days before he can give me the translation of the... 
the recipe." Dawn stepped outside the door. "I thought you'd like to
know." 

"You need to be careful," Diane warned her.  "The Baker's-- relations in
Rome-- have the only other copy.  They got it last night."  She paused.
"When your friend finishes, pass it on, will you? I really want the ...
recipe." 

"Will do."  She began to shut the door.

"And Dawn?"

"Yes?"

"If-- If I need someplace to go--" Diane hesitated, and Dawn turned to
face her again.  "Are the DieHards still offering Sanctuary this War?" 

Dawn smiled.  "I gave you my address yesterday, remember?"

This time, Diane didn't stop her from leaving.

She picked up the note from her landlady again, trying to decide what to
do about it.  Why would Karen have a package for her?  Her neighbor was
picking up her mail and feeding the cats, and she hadn't ordered anything
by mail lately anyway.  She'd just decided to try calling the motel when
there was another knock on the door of the suite. 

"Diane?  You look awful!" Karen Weston said, peering anxiously down at her
friend.  She pushed her glasses up her nose and brushed straight,
dark-blond hair out of her eyes as she entered the room.  "What happened?" 

"Hi, Karen," her friend sighed.  "It's just a migraine.  The Cousins
chloroformed me last night.  And they kidnapped Sandra Gray, too." 

"They *what?*" the 5-ft-8 librarian cried, then lowered her voice as Diane
winced.  "Sounds like you've had a busy War." 

"You could say that," the shorter brunette agreed.  "Want a ginger ale? 
Or you could use Vicki's stuff and make tea." 

"Tea would be good; it's really cold out there."

As Karen put the tea fixings together, Diane summarized her adventures to
date. 

"But," Karen protested, "why were the Cousins chasing you, and why did you
need to meet Sandra at the ROM?" 

"Remember last month, when you wanted to do Romany for your gourmet club,
and I offered to check out the UW-Madison's library for recipes?" 

"Yes, we ended up using several of the ones you found." Karen took the cup
of tea and sat on the loveseat next to her friend. 

"Well, there was one microfilm in the collection that wasn't labeled. 
When I put it in the reader, I realized it wasn't in English.  It was in
Sanskrit." 

"Sanskrit?" Karen stirred sugar into her tea. "I didn't know you read
Sanskrit." 

"I don't.  I only recognized it because I used to play with alphabets as a
kid.  You know, like spelling cat with Greek letters-- kappa, alpha, tau--
and pretending it was in code?" 

Karen nodded and sipped her tea.

"So I knew it was Sanskrit," Diane leaned back in the chair and sipped her
ginger ale.  "I was curious, so I wrote down the title and looked up the
characters."  She took a deep breath, let it out.  "It was the Abarat." 

"*The* Abarat?  The cure-for-vampirism Abarat?"  Karen gasped.

"Yeah," Diane nodded.  "I had a copy made, and figured I could give it to
Nick.  I might not have dared, but my college turned out to be sponsoring
a show at the ROM-- archaeological stuff from a dig one of the professors
ran.  And being a Whitman alum, I could get tickets to the opening.  It
seemed ideal.  I figured I'd drop two tickets by the precinct for Nick--
he *loves* archaeology, so he'd be almost sure to come-- and I could slip
him the film then.  And when the War broke out, it seemed like the perfect
cover.  I mean, they're so chaotic, who would notice?  After all, if they
could overlook almost a dozen unsigned presents last time... 

"But the Cousins found out, and started following me.  I had to figure out
something to do.  I *couldn't* risk just dropping by the precinct... So I
called his loft, and Sandra answered... 

"And now she's been kidnapped by the Cousins, and it's all my fault."

The two women sat in silence a moment, drinking their respective
beverages. 

"So," Diane asked, "what's this about a package?  I didn't ask you to
bring me any package." 

"It was waiting for me when I got home yesterday," Karen explained.  "On
the porch, with your name on it.  It's about so big--" she sketched
dimensions with her hands. 

"That's *huge*," Diane protested.  "I'd remember if I'd ordered anything
*that* big.  And why send it to your house?" 

Karen shrugged.  "*I* don't know.  It's in the van.  We can look at it
tomorrow, when you're better.  For now, why don't we go out and get some
dinner?" 

Diane shook her head.  "I'd rather not.  We could order in, though."  She
took the Happy Souvlaki menu from the table and handed it to her friend.
"They make a *great* roumaki....." 

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

Karen returned to her hotel about 9pm, the Box still in the back of her van.
Diane went to bed early.

###

PLOT TWISTS (Part 2)
by Wyndi and Diana

Time: 3pm EST
Place: Lost in Toronto

"Do you have any idea HOW many abandoned churches there are in Toronto?
Not to mention all of the abandoned churches that aren't even on the
maps!" Diana tossed down the fifth map in disgust. 

Wyndi sighed, looking at the vast pile of maps they had found.  They had
been at this for DAYS.  There was no sign of anything unusual...  The one
time they had tried to go to the Raven, no one had been there except cops,
so they gave up.  "And we don't even have computers to try and get in
contact with Torrey," she said, making a face.  She picked up the fallen
map.  "Hey, lets try this place...  old part of Toronto.  Should have
plenty of abandoned things..."  She looked worridly at Di, who shrugged
and put the car into gear. 

"Good thing you're a good navigator," Diana said darkly.

About a half-hour later, Wyndi and Diana were slowly driving down a long
street.  "Hey, look!"  Wyndi called, excitedly.  "Look at that little shop
on the courner.  It looks like it was made for SCAdians!"  (Society for
Creative Anacronism, for those of you in the 20th century) Diana almost
immediately pulled over. 

The store was small and wooden-floored, with a silver bell on the door
that rang as they opened it.  Wyndi grinned, coming face to face with
fashions that hadn't existed for well nigh five centuries, and began
digging through the dress racks in the back of the room.  "Ooooooo..  look
at this!" She exclaimed, holding up a long, midnight blue dress.  It had a
thick, metal belt that went with it.  She tried it on, fell in love, and
put it on the Visa Gold (He had said get something nice...) She also a
pair of black, leather boots that fit perfectly, and a long, dark blue
cloak with a deep hood.  "Di, just look at this stuff!" She exclaimed, in
a voice worthy of a Ravenette, but Diana was busy going into rapture on
her side of the room.  It wasn't long before the Visa Gold was once again
put into practice. 

The two friends exited the shop with their, rather large, bundles and
hopped back into the car.  Wyndi turned from pushing all of the maps aside
to see a large, gothic church on the courner of the far street. 

"Um, Di?  Could that be it?" she asked, her voice hushed.  Diana turned
and gaped. 

"I knew it was big and old, but I didn't expect THAT big and THAT old!" 
Diana exclaimed, her jaw wide.  She glanced sidelong at Wyndi, then looked
back at their bags.  "What do you say..." 

Wyndi marked the church on their fifth map as they pulled away to head
back to the hotel to change. 

###

ON TO TORONTO
by Sonja Launspach

Time: Midafternoon

(scenes from a merc's journey)

Nov 2
Time: Late evening
Place: Columbia, SC.

It was the end of a long day that started at 9 am and didn't end until 8
pm. It had been warm all day threatening to rain, which it eventually did
with a vengeance and a light show. Tornados invited.  So it was nice to
get home in one piece. Sonja unlocked the door and put down the book bags
and assorted stuff and went to get the mail. Mostly junk mail per usual,
lots of catalogues and one mystery envelope. No rattles, nice thought, but
with war rumblings afoot who knew what it might contain. Not that she was
really expecting anything being one of the newest mercs and not likely to
be on anyones hit list yet, but still ..... one could never be too
careful. 

She opened the envelope and turned it upside down and out floated a single
piece of paper, a Chuck E Cheese token.  What in the world is that??  Why
would anyone send her such a thing, there is no such animal in this part
of the country.  It could only mean one thing--War.  which will call for a
change of this weekend's plans. 

Friday
Nov 3rd
Time: Late afternoon

Finally got everything arranged with the department. It took some
sweet-talking to convince that I needed to go earlier and stay later than
the Language Conference would have originally taken. But she convinced
that the opportunity to do research was worth the extra time (and expense)
and getting someone to cover her classes.  Now the one final task
remained. Where was that phone number?? 

Sonja listened to the phone ring and then it picked up.

        "Hello" said the voice on the other end

        "Virginia?" Sonja asked

        "Yes"

        "This is Sonja calling, (slight pause)

                uh, your fellow merc. I called last night.

                I've got that flight information

        "Oh right, I remember, let me get a pencil,

        "Ready" I'll arrive on flight 2270 at 1:07 pm from Columbia that
should give us enough time to make our connection, I think. Let's see I'm
tall and thin and I'll have two carry on bags, one burgundy and one canvas
and a backpack. 

        "ok, see you there"

        "Great 'til tomorrow"

Saturday Nov. 4th
Time: Morning

With, Lirrel, her cat safely at her 'Aunt Dorothy's' for the duration,
Sonja headed for the airport and the adventure. After an short uneventful
flight her plane landed in Atlanta. She grabbed her three bags and lugged
them down the rampway to the gate where she hoped to find Virginia waiting
for her.  While Sonja was stacking her bags on her little carrier, a tall
red haired woman in a highlander t-shirt and jeans approached her, "Are
you Sonja?" she asked. 

"Yeah, you must be Virginia."

"Right."

Virginia grabbed her bags and the two women strolled off into the maze
that is the Atlanta airport in search of the gate for their Toronto
flight.  To while away the time while they were waiting for the flight to
depart, Virginia checked the latest war posts on her laptop and Sonja
graded papers. Nothing like being captive in an airport for getting papers
graded. finally their flight was called and they boarded, excited to be on
the last leg of their journey to their first War. 

###

A DAYLIGHT EXCURSION
by Dawn Steele

Time: Midafternoon
Place: Nick's loft

The phone rang again.

The last time it rang it had been Perri telling him a frustrating story of
dead ends, and a locked up Raven. 

Nick stepped gingerly through the piles of sleeping bags and air
mattresses. Talk about the living dead. Half of his... followers had
disappeared when the sun came up, and half had collapsed with exhaustion
at dawn. They had all disappeared after that phone call. Nick was worried.
If something happened to one of his followers he'd feel so <guilty>. 

But he was trapped in the loft.

He hurried over to the phone and caught it before the answering machine
kicked in. 

"Nick Knight."

"I know you are, but who am I?" The voice on the other end was
sing-songish in rhythm, but Nick didn't get the bad joke. There were
benefits to not growing up in the twentyish century. "Sorry. This is...
*cough* *cough* ... Die Hard headquarters. We have some information that
needs to go to Perri Smith or Catherine Boone." 

Nick looked at his empty loft. //Was this what I'm reduced to during a
war? A message board?// His voice was abrupt when he continued. "Give me
the message. I'll pass it on." 

The voice on the other end hesitated. "I don't know. You might get upset,
and it's not as if you can do anything about it." 

Nick straightened up. All he'd done the past few days was go to work and
try to fix one computer error after another. Maybe this was something <he>
could do. "Tell me." His voice was commanding. It demanded compliance with
the practice of 800 years of practice. 

Unfortunately for Nick, the person on the other end was quite used to
ignoring what she didn't want to hear. "Never mind. I'll call back later.
It's not like its life or death or something like that." The voice paused
again. "Well... maybe it is, but its probably too late to do anything
about it now. I'll call back later." 

The phone connection clicked in Nick's ear. He stared at the receiver in
again. //Not able to do anything.... //

With a move faster than an eye could see he moved up into his bedroom
upstairs. He carefully checked for any Knighties hiding in his bedroom
before taking off his red robe. Some of these Knighties would do virtually
anything to see him take his pyjamas off, and he didn't want to take any
chances. 

In only a few minutes he was, literally, dressed from head to toe in heavy
black cloth (see "Dying for Fame", 1st season), and was out the door. He
winced slightly at what his caddie looked like. but it still ran so he
jumped in. 

He was going to get some answers from the Die Hards if it killed him.

Hours passed as he fought through the Saturday afternoon traffic.
//Christmas shopping has started already?// He also got lost twice, trying
to find the Headquarters building, and then he'd had to voodoo the guard
at the desk to call upstairs... 

He recognized the figure approaching him from somewhere. Nick wracked his
immortal memory, but... no luck. It had probably been when he was really
distracted. 

Dawn was still wearing her worn out green sweater, and absently tossing a
plastic film case in the air. She looked at Nick in resignation. //I
wonder if he remembers me throwing knives at him in the last war.// She
moved closer. //I don't suppose it matters that much.//

"The ozone layer too thick for ya?" She muttered under her breath.

Nick caught it, but refrained from commenting. "Tell me why you called
earlier. I recognize your voice." 

Dawn just stared at him for a minute, coming to a decision. The Die Hards
had been planning on a full scale assault themselves, but... //Why not let
Nick handle it? Then we can order some pizzas and have supper. I'm
starving.//

"Sandra."

Nick winced. "What's happened to her?" He was almost afraid to ask. It was
wartime after all. 

"Maybe something, maybe nothing. I've got a very worried husband upstairs
though. It seems he planted a small tracking device on her this morning to
test out, and ... " 

"Yes?"

"He calibrated it out early this afternoon. Apparently it's stuck at the
Raven, and hasn't been moving." 

"I'll check it out." Under the guards careful eye, he replaced the black
scarf with human speed, and swept back out the door. 

"I guess I'll relay that to Bruce." Dawn mused. "Maybe it'll soothe his
worries." She moved back to the elevators. "Maybe." 

###

A CLUE FOR A COUSIN
by Cousin Lisa Prince

Time: Afternoon
Place: Toronto

Lisa had waited with seemingly endless patience for all the commotion at
The Raven to subside.  First the Cousins are thrown out by the
Raven/ettes, then they get it back by getting the Raven/ettes thrown out,
then they lose it again.  Lurking around since the Cousins had been so
unceremoniously thrown out, she was amazed by the comings and goings of so
many people.  All those people milling about made lurking rather
difficult.  And as LaCroix knows so well, Lisa loves to lurk about,
especially when she feels the need for vengeance.  All she wanted to do
was get back up onto the roof of The Raven so she could finish her search
for clues.  But, after being caught once by one overzealous Cousin who
thought she was one of the enemy, she wasn't about to get caught again. 
Especially by Miklos or one of the Ravenettes who looked like they wanted
to kill something or someone when they had been ushered out of The Raven
the day before. 
        
Thinking back over the last few days, Lisa was left with the distinct
feeling that she should have stayed at home and waited for all the trouble
to subside.  After all, she thought to herself, "So far, I've had a case
of cotton swabs dropped on my head, nearly killed myself racing up a fire
escape while plucking swabbies out of my hair, got all the way up to the
roof to try and catch the perpetrator when I got clobbered by Cousin Craig
because he thought I was one of 'them' (as if I'd ever waste my time
sticking Q-Tips in someone's clothes, paaalease); and then, to top things
off, I get dragged into the club like so much garbage.  Jeez, a girl could
get a complex." 
        
Giving her head a quick shake to clear her thoughts, Lisa furtively double
checked to make sure no one was watching, and crept across the street and
into the alley that runs alongside The Raven.  Checking the darkness for
any lurkers, she pulled down the fire escape and, for the second time,
began to make her way up to the roof.

--------------------------------
        
Deciding to start at the edge where the attack had occurred, Lisa moved
toward the edge of the roof overlooking the front of the building. As she
moved forward, she noticed a glimpse of white next to a huge box. "No
surprise here," she thought to herself when she saw the huge letters
Q-T-I-P-S on the front of the box.  But, the white piece of paper was
another story entirely.  Chuckling to herself, she wondered why anyone
would use a credit card to buy a case of Q-Tips and then forget to keep
the receipt. 
        
Racing back down to the street with a devious plan for revenge forming in
her head, Lisa headed for the nearest pay phone.  "Oh, LaCroix is going to
LOVE this," she thought to herself.

__________________________________
        
Finally finding a phone, Lisa called Cousin Chris back in Connecticut. 
        
As soon as the phone was answered, Lisa asked, "Can you get away from work
long enough to get up to Toronto to help me out with something?" 
        
"What exactly did you have in mind?" questioned Chris, "Is it something
really devilish?" 
        
"Of course it's devilish.  Would I ever come up with a plan that wasn't? 
Anyway, I have a little score to settle with the NatPackers and there are
a few things from home that I need.  I figured if you could get away, you
could bring them up and help me put my plan into action. So, here's what I
need you to bring . . . . "

------------------------------------
        
Later that night, Lisa, along with a hired Merc named Elizabeth, who she
had picked up at CERK headquarters and enlisted to help, headed to the
airport to pick up Chris. 
        
"Is she ever going to get here?  I don't want to be waiting here all
night.  I want some action.  Man, I just have no patience for this sh*t. 
Why did I have to come along to pick up Chris anyway?  Couldn't I have
just met you later?" Elizabeth grumbled on as Lisa contemplated killing
this hired Merc instead of getting back at the NatPackers. 
        
Finally, after having listened to a solid hour of grumbling by Elizabeth,
Chris came our of the airport, shuffling along as quickly as possible,
juggling two suitcases and a box.  Seeing Lisa and Elizabeth, she rushed
toward them breathlessly. 
        
"You wouldn't believe the explaining I had to do in order to get these
things through customs.  Man, you would have thought I had a bomb or
something," she said as she dumped her luggage in back of the car.  "So,"
she said as she glanced back and forth between Lisa and Elizabeth, "are we
ready to do some damage?" 
        
"Definitely," said Elizabeth as they dumped Chris luggage in the back of
the car.  "Let's move," she said as the trio jumped into the car and
headed toward Natalie's apartment.  "This is going to be soooo much fun,"
she laughed as the car pulled away from the curb.

-------------------------
        
"Okay, does everyone remember the plan?  Elizabeth, you're on duty out
here.  Your job is to lurk around noticeably.  Try to get noticed, but
make sure you're not too obvious about it,"  Lisa reminded her. 
"Remember, they've just got back into the apartment and cleaned it up
after the last attack.  They're going to be really uptight, so make it
look good." 
        
"Vicki, you and me are going to head in the back way, make our way up to
the apartment, and then wait for Elizabeth to get noticed" 
        
"I don't want anyone to mess this up.  So, Elizabeth, I know you're eagar,
but it's going to take us around five minutes to get set up, so be
patient." 
        
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.  Let's get on with it.  I want some action,"
Elizabeth growled. 
        
As Lisa and Chris made their way toward the building, Chris whispered,
"That's what you get for using a Merc, you know how enthusiastic they can
be."

____________________________
        
Place: Inside the apartment building, around the corner from Natalie's
place
   
"Would you look at those two?  These people need to get some serious
psychiatric help.  Anyway, Elizabeth should be starting some trouble
soon," Chris said. 
        
Just then, a disembodied voice called out from inside the apartment to the
two NatPackers on guard outside the door, "Go check around outside.
There's a suspicious looking person lurking around.  It looks like whoever
it is, is letting the air out of our cars' tires or something." 
        
"We're on it," said the two guards as they rushed toward the elevators as
fast as their earth-toned business suits and fuzzy-bunny, slipper-clad
feet would carry them. 
        
"Okay," Lisa said as she turned to Chris, "we're on." 
        
"What do you want done first?" Chris asked.
        
"First, tie the rope around the doorknob and then run it over to that
other doorknob.  Make sure it's tight.  I don't want them getting out of
there before they have a chance to play with their new friends," Lisa
whispered as she knelt before the apartment's door.  She opened the box
that Chris had brought up from Connecticut and chuckled quietly.  "I gues
 you didn't have any trouble locating these little guys."
        
"Oh, please," said Chris, "it's Fall in Connecticut, all you have to do is
walk into the grove behind my house and you'll see them all over the
place," Chris said as she finished securing the rope. 
        
Lisa began pushing the baby tree frogs under the door.  They went quite
willingly, after being stuck in a box for so long. 
        
"Uh, Chris, I don't remember asking for any gardener snakes or, my God, is
that a slug?" 
        
"Well, I thought it would add a little spice to the party.  And they are
perfectly harmless, although a bit gross." 
        
"Okay, well, you're shoving the slugs under the door.  That's just too
gross for me." 
        
"No problem," she said as she quickly shoveled them out of the box and
under the door. 
        
"All done?  Good.  Shove the towel in there nice and tight so none of them
can crawl back out." 
        
After making sure that everything was secure, Lisa and Chris headed down
the hallway.  Just as they were about to get into the elevator, the
shouting started. 
        
Giggling viciously, they gave each other a high five and went to join
Elizabeth to report back into CERK headquarters. 

###

NEVER LEAPFROG TO CONCLUSIONS!
by Jennie Hayes, Jill Kirby and Valerie Meachum

Time: Afternoon
Place: Natalie's apartment

"Ohh!  Look!  Froggies!  *My* froggies!  You can't have them!  Get your
own froggies!"  Jennie yelled indignantly at Amy. 

"There are plenty of frogs to go around," Valerie observed sternly, eyeing
one that she particularly wanted for herself. 

"We should have frog races!" Amy bubbled. 

Jill swept the pile of blankets and assorted luggage bits aside, clearing
a reasonably large space on the floor.  "Here, I get one too!" 

The excited Natpackers lined their frogs up.

"What the heck is going on?" came a groggy Natalie voice from the other room.

"Shh!" Elaine whispered, "We woke her up!"

"Sorry, Nat," Sharon called, "We just got a little carried away, didn't
mean to wake you!" 

"Did I hear you guys say 'frogs'?" The sleepy voice continued, getting
louder as the speaker shuffled into the room.  "Oh!  How cute!" Natalie's
face lit up at the sight of the jumpy little beasts.  Her gaze shifted a
little.  "However, these would be better off in the garden," she added,
grabbing a paper cup that was lying on the table and scooping the slugs up
into it. 

"I think there were some other critters here, too.  They got under the
sofa," Amparo reported apologetically. 

Natalie regarded them thoughtfully for a moment.  "So we're going to have
to flush them out and catch them?  Refresh my memory.  You guys are
staying here, why?" 

"Because it's a *party*!" Jennie gushed.  "And it's best to all be in one
place for those.  Besides, *we* didn't bring these in here.  They just
appeared. " 

Nat rolled her eyes and handed the cup to Valerie.  "I'm in my jammies. 
Please escort these guests to the garden." 

"Gotcha!  Although Feliks might be able to use them for his plants,"
Valerie suggested. 

"Yeah, whatever.  Just get them out of here so I don't have to clean them
up later.  I'm heading back to sleep," the ME mumbled as she made her way
back into the bedroom. 

Valerie picked up a random set of keys and headed over to the door.  She
turned the knob.  "You're supposed to open now," she told the door when it
refused to budge.  She tried several more times.  "Hey, the door won't
open!" she yelled. 

"Try unlocking it, " GT suggested helpfully.

Valerie glared at her.  "It IS unlocked!"

"Here, let me try," Jill offered.  She walked over, and threw her weight
into pulling at the doorknob.  "Nope, looks like they've secured it
somehow from outside." 

"Oh, come on.  This is a piece of cake.  Now, where's Nat's toolbox?" GT
asked.  "We'll just take the hinges off." 

Betsy obligingly brought the toolbox from the other room.  "Here it is!"

"Pliers, nurse." GT held out one hand.

Betsy found the appropriate tool and slapped it into GT's palm.  "Pliers."
She echoed. 

"Ow!  Don't do that, they only slap tools into the surgeon's hand like
that on TV.  Surgeons need to keep their hands working." GT scolded,
pulling the pins out of the door's hinges. 

"Sorry, doctor.  Will the patient live?" Betsy fought to keep a straight
face. 

"Of course.  It's in my hands," the doctor quipped, dropping the pins
somewhat more gently than Betsy had been into her 'nurse's' hands.  She
carefully pulled on the hinges to loosen the door from the frame, then
leaned the door sideways in the doorway.  "Voila!  Oh, that's cute. 
Simple, but effective.  They just tied this door handle to the one across
the hall.  We'd best untie it so the neighbors aren't annoyed!" She kicked
a towel which was sitting on the floor outside further into the hallway,
then untied the rope from *their* doorknob.  "Off you go, then, Valerie, I
have to put Nat's door back before she decides to kick us out or
something.  I can't believe they thought that would keep us in, though. 
There are far too many MacGyver fans in this faction." 

Valerie slipped out with her slimy charges and GT began putting the door
back on its hinges.  Leslie came over to help hold the door steady for
her, but Amy and Jennie remained where they were on the floor, cooing at
their frogs and keeping the little critters out of harm's way. 

"We need to find an aquarium to put them in, so they don't get stepped
on," Jennie suggested.  "I'll be happy to stay here and keep an eye on
them if someone will go do that.  We can use Brabantian money." 

"Brabantian money?" Amy quirked an eyebrow at this.

"You know, from the Brabant Foundation.  That was just shorter to say."
Jennie shook her head. 

Amy just nodded.  "Uh-huh."

Amparo held out her hand.  "I'll go," she volunteered.

Jennie handed her the car keys and some money.  "Make it a big one.  We
want them to have plenty of room!" 

As Amparo headed out the repaired door, Valerie came back in.  "I just
left them in the garden after all. were hanging around outside have
finally left." 

"What weird women?" asked Amy.

"The two-wardrobe impaired ones out front - you know, the ones in the
business suits with the fuzzy slippers.  Apparently the fact that we'd
noticed them and were calling to them about the car's tires freaked them
out, 'cuz they're nowhere to be seen now.  I mean, who wears a business
suit to just hang around somebody's door? 

"Unless it's for work, you wouldn't catch me *dead* in one of those
things," grumbled Jill, gently petting a froggie.  "They're too much
trouble." 

"Besides, they were wearing slippers with them," said Valerie
disdainfully.  "If you're going to put a suit on, regular shoes don't
require that much more effort."  She glanced around the room at an entire
group of women in jeans, leggings, t-shirts and yes, some still in
pajamas, and giggled.  "I'd guess everyone here agrees with me, too!" 

"Oh, I'm glad they're gone.  They were a little *too* creepy.  I thought
one of them had followed me from home," Leslie shuddered. 

Their heads turned as Natalie came shuffling out of the bedroom, pulling
her hair back in a scrunchy.  She held out her hand.  "I can't sleep -
give me a frog.  Let's race." 

###

FRIED FROGGIE LEGS, ANYONE? (a)
by Cousin Lisa Prince

Time: Afternoon
Place: Outside Natalie's apartment
        
Lisa and Chris were standing in the hallway waiting for the elevator when
they began to distinguish words within the squeals coming from Natalie's
apartment.  They looked at one another, then looked towards the ceiling,
and shook their heads in disbelief. 
        
"Do these people have a life?" Chris asked.  "Please tell me that I didn't
just hear someone say something about . . . froggie races?" 
        
"You heard it," Lisa replied, wondering how such a delicious little scheme
had turned into such a mess.  "But hey, let's remember, the object was to
keep them occupied and distracted, and I'd say that they are definitely
occupied.  So, let them play their little games and set up their aquarium,
as long as they, and their Q-Tips, are out of our hair for the time being.
Anyway, let's go I think I just heard someone mention MacGyver. That can
only mean trouble in the hands of a NatPacker." 
        
Getting a far-off glazed look on her face, Chris mumbled, "Maybe next time
we should send fried frog legs instead of the actual frogs?  Hey, there's
an idea.  Know any restaurants or grocery stores that deliver?" 
        
Groaning, Lisa dropped her head in resignation and said, "Look, you do
whatever you want, just make sure you use your own money and don't mention
my name.  Knowing those NatPackers, they'll just munch away and think it's
half-time at the races." 
        
"I think I'll check into it anyway, you never know. Afterall, would they
be so unfeeling as to eat the legs of their 'cute little froggies?' These
*are* NatPackers afterall," Chris said. 
        
With that, the elevator arrived and the pair began to make their way down
to the street. Once outside, they headed around the corner to where
Elizabeth was waiting with the car. 
        
"Hey you guys, it's about time you got here.  I was just about to head up
to see if you were in trouble or something," Elizabeth said when she saw
them coming. 
        
"We're fine.  The plan went off without a hitch . . . although the results
weren't exactly . . . ummm . . . anticipated," Chris answered. 
        
"So," Lisa said while glancing around, "what happened to the bunny women?" 
        
With an self-confident grin, Elizabeth replied, "Well, they made several
really stupid mistakes.  Ahem, the first mistake was, of course, that they
neglected to hire me themselves. The second was that they came outside to
try and take me on. The third was that they split up to try to find me."
At that, Elizabeth burst out into gales of laughter. 
        
"Dare we ask what you did with them?" Chris ventured.
        
"Take a look," Elizabeth said while pointing to the backseat of the car. 
        
Lisa and Chris leaned in close to see and were quite bemused to see the
two bunny women, tied up securely and apparently unconscious. 
        
Seeing the looks on their faces set Elizabeth off laughing again.  Once
she had regained a bit of composure, she said with an uncharacteristic
sneer, "So, let's go and bring your darling 'Uncle' some dinner." 
        
"No, no, no, no way. You remember what the group said, 'No More
Kidnappings!' That's all we need. Bring in these two and we're more likely
to be dinner than they are," Lisa reminded them. 
        
"So, then what are we going to do with them?" Elizabeth asked impatiently.
"I didn't knock them out and tie them up just to let them go." 
        
"Well," Chris said after a moment of thought, "maybe we could gather a
little information and then let them go." 
        
"Ohhhh, that sounds like fun," Elizabeth said while rubbing her hands
together in anticipation of practicing her interrogation skills. 

###

STAKEOUT AT THE RAVEN (d)
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: 3:55pm EST
Place: Outside the Raven

She was awakened by helpless laughter.

Muzzily, she turned over, to see Dianne clutching her stomach as if in
pain, tears rolling down her face, swaying from side to side. "Wha..?" 

"...show some skin."

Chris sat straight up, fascinated and disbelieving. No, that wasn't
Sandra. Was it? 

"...you're certainly showing enough." And then giggles from the tape
recorder. Dianne fell on the floor, breathing unevenly, unable to stop
laughing. 

Getting down from the bunk, Chris approached the microphone, unable to
grasp what she was hearing. "Are they drunk?" 

"I think so," Dianne panted from the floor. "Oooh, Cousins. When I let you
hear this..." and then she was laughing again. After a while, Chris was
joining her, and then she got another idea. Quickly, she gave Dianne the
details. The other Mercenary sat up, grinned, and said, "Kid, I like the
way your mind works." 

###

STAKEOUT AT THE RAVEN (e)
by Christina Kamnikar

Time: 6:17pm EST (sundown)
Place: Outside the Raven

"Your team ready to pack it in, oh Fearless Leader?" Dianne asked
mockingly over the shortwave. 

"Our work here is done," Maureen replied. "Oh, look, here comes the
cavalry." 

Chris glanced out the window and felt her heart skip a beat. Nick! It was
NICK!! He slowed the Caddy, then pulled into the alley behind the Raven.
"Ohmigosh," she mumbled, then blushed at Dianne's eye-rolling. "Well, he's
awfully cute." 

"He's awfully thick, is what he is. Anyone else would have figured it out
ages ago," Dianne sniffed. She spoke into the radio, "What's going on back
there?" 

"He couldn't get in, so he ripped the door off the hinges," Maureen said,
amused.  "That ability would sure come in handy for a Merc, wouldn't it? 
OK, guys, time to move." 

Dianne shut off the gear, grabbed the keys, and slid behind the wheel just
as Lacroix exited the Raven. 

Chris could feel his eyes on the departing Winnebago as they took off at
high speed down the street; but he didn't pursue them, just observed them
leave with burning eyes. 

"You don't think he suspects who it was... do you?" 

Dianne shrugged. "Hey, if he does, we'll find out soon enough." 

Chris was NOT reassured.

###

QUICK SAVE
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Sunset
Place: Outside the Raven

As she left the van and walked to her car, Dianne rubbed her eyes wearily. 
As soon as this war was over she was going to go home and sleep for a
_week_. 

"Pssssst!" 

Dianne jumped with the paranoia and trigger reflexes endemic to her
faction.  "Don't *do* that!"  she hissed at the Cousin who had crept up on
her unawares. 

The Cousin just grinned.  "I've got a little something you want," she
stage-whispered dramatically. 

"Oh, please!" Dianne snapped, the lack of sleep really showing by now. 
"Can we drop the cloak-and-dagger bit?"  Seeing the Cousin's hurt look,
she relented.  "Look, I'm sorry.  What is it that you have?" 

The Cousin pulled an unlabeled videotape from under her trenchcoat with a
flourish. 

"Uh, I already *have* a copy of the blooper reel, dear," Dianne responded. 

She received a dirty look in return.  "*This,* my dear, Mercenary," she
said in her most patronizing tone, "Is a videotape of your latest
escapade." 

Dianne just stared at her, uncomprehending. 

With a sigh, the Cousin clarified, "Before we pulled our little job last
night...." 

Dianne's eyebrows rose dramatically at the use of the plural possesive,
but she did not interrupt. 

"...I stopped by and added a few touches of my own to that cellar." She
paused as she watched incredulous understanding spread across Dianne's
face.  "I have the whole thing on videotape... six, _slow-play_,
high-quality videotapes, to be precise." 

As Dianne lunged forward with an avaricious gleam in her eye, the Cousin
dodged her neatly. 

"You owe me a freebie, dear." 

Dianne winced, the words striking painfully into her little mercenary
heart.  But this was an offer she simply could not turn down. 

"O.K." she sighed.  "One.  I owe you *one.*" 

At the Cousin's gleeful look, Dianne _almost_ regretted her decision. 

###

THE NAME GAME
by Dianne la Mercenaire

Time: Just after sunset
Place: The Raven's wine cellar

Nick had finally decided to bite the bullet.  With mayhem and chaos
erupting all over Toronto and all the list people running about, it
wouldn't be long before *someone* let something slip to Tracy--and,
frankly, he *really* wanted to avoid that.  It was time to confront
LaCroix directly and get him to call off his minions before it was too
late and somebody got hurt. 

Surprised to find that his key no longer worked, he simply grabbed hold of
the back door, tore it form his hinges, and threw it half-way down the
alley. 

When his brain caught up with his actions he began fervantly to hope that
_LaCroix_ was still the current owner of the club. 

His impending slide towards obligatory angst was interrupted by an odd
sound that struck his heightened senses.  A _chant_ of some kind?  Moving
forward, he determined that it was coming from the wine cellar...which was
enclosed by a new and decidedly odd-looking door. 

Pausing for a moment, he was able to make out the words... chanted over
and over, sing-song, in LaCroix's voice... 

        "Janette, Natalie, Alyce, Erica, Sylvaine, Alexandra,
         Marian, Emily, Katherine, Elizabeth, Amalia, Serena,
         Sophia, Gwynneth...."

Blushing as brightly as a vampire can, Nick hurriedly slipped the bolt and
swung open the door...and stood rooted in shock at what he saw. 

LaCroix was standing, tipped casually back against the wall, reciting all
800 years of Nick's romantic involvements to a Knightie!  Sandra Gray sat
huddled on a cask against the far wall--eyes squeezed shut, hands over her
ears, shaking her head angrily, and singing something that sounded like
"Stand By Your Man" under her breath. 

"*What* is going on here!" Nick demanded, looking back and forth betwen
the two of them. 

"Well it's about time _someone_ came down here," LaCroix snapped as he
stalked past Nick and out the door. 

Hearing the chanting stop, Sandra tentatively opened her eyes.

"*Nick*!"  she squealed, rushing towards her savior.  "You _came_!"

But before she could reach him, her forward progress was halted by Nick's
outstreched hand firmly grasping her shoulder. "_What_ were you doing with
him?" 

Sandra stared at him in confusion, "I was kidnapped!  He was _torturing_
me!  It was *awful*!" 

Nick continued to hold her away as his stare grew colder.  He'd been
betrayed before....  "He didn't kill you." 

"No," Sandra breathed a sigh of relief at her escape.

"_Why?_" Nick asked, his voice suddenly sounding very cold.

"What?" Sandra asked, nervous at his odd tone.  "I don't know _why_ he
didn't," she stammered. 

"I've never seen him that angry without killing _someone_," Nick
countered.  He couldn't believe it!  One of his own Knighties!  "_Tell_ me
what you were doing with him!" Nick snarled, his eyes growing red. 

It took Sandra a moment to realize what he was saying, and when she did,
she was so shocked and outraged that it was almost impossible for her to
speak at all.  "I wasn't doing *anything*!" she shouted right back at him,
convienently glossing over some of her more vague, drink-clouded memories. 

Nick looked meaningfully at the scattered bottles and at Sandra's
blouse...which she suddenly realized was inside out. 

Blushing furiously she continued, "I don't know why he didn't kill me, but
I would *never*!..." words threatened to fail her in her outrage.  "He is
*evil*!  I am a *Knightie*! How could you think I would *EVER*...?" 

Nick's eyes slowly paled, but he did not back down.  Outright _betrayal_
was just one of those things he could not forgive. "There *must* be some
reason!  You are connected to him _somehow_...." 

He abruptly pulled away.  "And I'm going to discover how, my dear
*Cousin*!" he snapped as, with a blur of speed, he disappeared into the
night. 

"Actually," LaCroix muttered with a smile from the shadows by the club's
back door, "'Sister' would probably be more accurate...." 

###

THE BITTER END
by Sandra Gray

Time: Dusk
Place: The Raven

Sandra's eyes filled with tears, spilled over, and ran down her cheeks. 
Nick had *left* her. 

*my dear _Cousin_!*

"Noooo," she sobbed, shaking her head.  "Noooo."  She stumbled blindly to
the open door and grabbed the doorframe. 

*my dear _Cousin_!*

She put her hands over her ears.

*my dear _Cousin_!*

"No," she cried, squeezing her eyes shut.

*my dear _Cousin_!*

She opened her eyes again and began to run blindly down the hall. 

A black and white shape loomed blurrily in her vision.  She blinked and
the image cleared...LaCroix! 

He was standing near the back door, which looked open to the growing
twilight, his cold blue gaze glittering at her.  "Faithless, isn't he?" he
said with a slight smile. 

Sandra became enraged.  She lunged at him, hands clawed, not caring what
he did to her.  He caught her wrists before her hands could reach his eyes
and thrust her back from him.  She hit the wall and fell.  And he strode
away, leaving her there. 

*Faithless, isn't he?*

*my dear _Cousin_!*

*Faithless, isn't he?*

Sandra began to sob again.

She pulled herself up.  A gust of cold air hit her from the doorway that
froze her even more once she staggered outside.  She pulled her pantsuit
jacket together.  The back door to the club lay off to one side.  Nick
must have ripped it off to get to her. 

*Faithless, isn't he?*

*my dear _Cousin_!*

She shivered and tried to get a hold on herself.  Nick had left her,
*left* her, and thought she was a *Cousin*.  An image flashed through her
mind of kissing LaCroix.  "I'm not a Cousin," she said. 

She walked out to the street.  But what to do now?  She couldn't--
*wouldn't*--go to the loft.  Not after what he had said, what he had
*implied*.  *Not without reason,* a voice inside her said.  She pushed
that thought away. 

But she didn't know where else to go.  Her purse was gone, and her jacket. 
The tears were icy on her cheeks.  *Bruce,* she thought, then remembered
her blouse and clutched her jacket tighter around her. He couldn't see her
like that.  She needed to get to a phone. 

And somewhere *warm*. 

There was a hotel up ahead.  She ducked into it.

The desk clerk was busy with a customer.  Spying a sign that said,
"RESTROOMS", she headed for it and the Ladies' Room.  Once there, she
looked in the mirror.  *God, I look awful!* she thought.  Her face was
streaked with dirt and spilled wine.  Some of the wine had dribbled on her
ivory blouse.  Her blouse!  It was still wrong side out.  She hurried to
correct that and then washed her face and tried to smooth her hair.  That
done, she took a few deep breaths and walked back into the lobby. 

Now what?  She had no money, no identification, on her.  There were
several pay telephones on the opposite wall.  What she needed was the
money to use one.  As luck would have it, she did find a coin. She dropped
it in the phone and called the only other number she could other than the
loft.  The phone rang and a woman answered. 

"Die Hard Headquarters?  This is Sandra Gray and I need sanctuary." 

###

EMBRIS GETS A NEW PET
by Cousin Candice and Embris (transcribed by Diane Echelbarger)

Time: After sunset
Place: Uncle's Digs, Toronto Canada

Candice was dragged half-awake by someone firing up a lawnmower right
outside her window.  <Stupid idiot,> she thought, burrowing deeper into
the blankets.  <Doesn't he know people are trying to sleep?> It had been a
long day, slinking around the CERK station.  She hadn't wanted to be
noticed when she'd followed erica and Bianca on their little escapade, so
she'd had to work -extra- hard at being quiet.  Candice had fallen into
bed around 7pm and didn't plan on waking up till the next day.  Apparently
someone else had other plans. 

It wasn't until the rumbling sound moved *much* closer, and something
fuzzy began brushing up agains her face, that Candice remembered she was
in Uncle's third-floor apartment--- and the nearest grass was in a park,
three blocks away. 

Very cautiously, she opened her eyes... and looked directly into a pair of
sapphire-blue orbs, surrounded by fur the color of dried blood. 

She bolted upright, images of carouche cats dancing in her sleep-fogged
brain.  <No *WAY* this is happening!>

The cat-- a gangly adolescent-- stared a her in puzzlement for a moment,
then climbed into her lap, kneading with all four paws and purring loudly. 

Candice looked the animal over cautiously, trying to figure out how it had
gotten there and what, if anything, she should be doing about it.  It was
undeniably a tom, if only a young one.  He had the long-legged, small-
pawed, elegant build of a purebred Siamese, with thick, pale cream fur and
typical Siamese markings on tail tip, paws, face and ears-- except that,
instead of being the familiar brown, the markings were rusty-red.... 

Hesitantly, she reached a hand toward him-- and he responded by stepping
the purr up a notch and leaning into her hand, bumping imperiously to be
scratched.  She obliged, and within a few seconds the half-grown Siamese
had manouvered close enough to rub his jaw on her face. 

Right, left, right and left again, the smooth, mink-like Siamese fur slid
against her jawbone.  Candice cuddled with the cat, glad for some company
that was warm, in fact she was grateful for any company at all. Then, as
if completing some ritual, the young cat stretched upward and gently
touched noses with the puzzled-but-delighted human. 

"Hello," Candice said softly, somehow feeling an instant kinship with the
beautiful animal.  "What's your name, hmmm?"  She scratched under his chin
and the cat leaned into the caress, eyes slitted with pleasure. <Wonder
when Uncle got a cat?> Candice mused as she gathered the purring bundle of
fur into her arms and slipped out of bed. "Wonder where Uncle *is* for
that matter," she mumbled, wraping a blanket around herself as she rose
from the bed.  Normally she didn't worry too much about not seeing a great
deal of LaCroix, but he was usually home at this hour. 

She entered the living room, and was surprised to see Uncle, slightly
blistered and a bit more aggitated than usual.  She ahdn't even heard him
come in ..<Big surprise there...>.  LaCroix looked up from the dining room
table.  A small, tooth-marked wooden box sat in front of him, and a
water-stained piece of computer paper was held in one pale hand.  The
vampire rose and approached her. 

Candice waited for him, reflexively petting the cat when he nudged her
hand. 

"Who," LaCroix inquired in a dangerously quiet voice, "told you to order
Tuppence to participate in this War?" 

Candice gulped, suddenly wide awake and very much afraid.  True, LaCroix
hadn't *told* her to contact the cat, but she'd thought.... 

"Well, I thought Tuppence might be useful for us, and after we lost the
Raven I forgot to rescind the message.  No one *ordered* me, I just
followed my...insticts?"  Candice felt the beginnings of a tension
headache, but was afraid to move for fear that Uncle would,..well...
decide to have an early snack. 

Before LaCroix could form a reply that woudn't heighten his anger and end
with Candice becoming breakfast, the cat twisted in her arms.  Somehow, he
managed to arch his back and face the annoyed vampire without scratching
her or dislodging himself.  He snarled, lips curled and mouth open wide,
and his fur stood up along his spine.  Words, curiously clear, echoed in
Candice's mind. 

*The human is MINE!  *I* have Claimed her!  You will *not* harm her,
Fanged One!*

<Scata!> Candice nearly dropped the cat.  <What *is* going on here?>

LaCroix's eyebrows rose, and a fain, amused smile twitched the corners of
the ancient vampire's mouth.  "Ah," he purred, sounding very much like a
cat himself, "I see the young one has finally found a home."  He extended
a finger, slowly, and the cat sniffed it warily.  "Her name is Candice,"
the vampire continued, as naturally as if he held conversations with cats
every day, "and I have no objection to your-- adoption, so long as you
realize that *I* have a prior claim."  He shifted his cool, blue gaze to
the thoroughly confused Cousin.  "Is that not correct, -cherie-?  Your
first loyalty *is* still to me, is it not?" 

"Y-yes, Uncle." 

"Good."  The vampire turned away then, and Candice breathed a sigh of
relief as he sunk onto the leather couch.  "His name," LaCroix continued
calmly, "is Embris.  You should consider yourself fortunate.  Few mortals
are ever Claimed by a Temple Cat.  It is a very great honor-- for a
mortal." 

<Temple Cat?  What the hell is a Temple Cat?> Candice wondered. Then,
remembering some of the more-- *creative* things Tuppence had gotten up to
in the last War, she stared at the small, purring creature in her arms. 
"You mean he's like that?  Like Tuppence, I mean.." 

The half-grown cat raised clear blue eyes to meet her own, purring loudly,
and nodded.  Definitely nodded, and squinched his eyes shut in pure, catly
pleasure.  She'd swear he was smiling, too... 

Candice decided she did *not* want to think about the implications of this
right now, and moved quickly over to the fridge.  Embris felt awfully
thin-- she could feel every rib-- and she'd stashed some left-over salad
from diner the night before in the fridge.  It wasn't much, but it would
have to do for now. 

As she thought of the food, Embris' purr grew louder, and he rubbed
approvingly against her shoulder. 

<This is gonna take some getting used to,> the Cousin thought.  <At least
Uncle seems to have forgotten to be mad at me...>

"So, umm...where've you been all night?  I haven't seen you in days..."
Candice went about the kitchen making a meal for Embris, not noticing how
quickly LaCroix's burns were healing, "and why are you burned?" 

LaCroix snarled under his breath and practically spat out his next words,
"Your -precious- Cousins had me locked up in the cellar of the Raven with
a *knighty* all day.  And of all people, ..Sandra.."  He got up and
started pacing and rubbing at his tender skin. 

"*MY* Cousins?  MY Cousins???  Why is it that whenever they do something
wrong, they become -mine-?  They're YOUR followers.  Not mine." 

"And you're the one who's supposed to be organizing them, aren't you?" 

Candice was silent.  She looked to Embris for suppost, after all, he was
supposed to be her guardian, right?  The tom just stared at her, and then
stuck his nose into the salad.  Candice just stared at her hands, trying
not to attract attention to herself at that moment. 

"Well young lady, what do you have to say for yourself, hmm?"  Candice
could feel the heat of LaCroix's stare even though she couldn't make
herself look directly at him.  It *was* true, she *had* been slacking off.
Candice summoned up her courage and began to ramble as fast as she could. 

"I...I, ...I went shopping yesterday!  Can you blame me?  There's a
zillion antique stores here and it's good for business back home, and
..and then there were all these cute boutiques, and since Susan Garrett
took all the stuff from my room in Alfred, I just -had- to buy new things
for it, and then I had to get some new things to wear ..I didn't pack
enough, and..." 

"Enough!"  LaCroix glowered at her.  He walked to the bedroom and muttered
"..mortals.." and slammed the door. 

Candice looked at Embris, happily chowing down, and gave the cat a
decidedly evil look.  She quickly got dressed and stormed out the door to
buy cat food and some breakfast/diner for herself. 

###

PLOT TWISTS (Part 3a)
by Wyndi and Diana

Time: 7pm EST
Place: Vachon's Church
        
Diana and Wyndi pulled up stealthily about three blocks from the church. 
Both of them swathed in dark cloaks, the walked silently through the
streets of Toronto.  Finally, they reached the front doors of the church,
and entered. 
        
There were a number of lit candles around, illuminating enough for the
devious duo to see the cow paraphenalia.  "I guess Vachon didn't get
around to cleaning up, huh?" Wyndi said softly.  Diana just shook her
head.  They crept around a little more, listening carefully for creepy
sounds, when they realised that no one was here. 
        
"Damn!" Di said angrily.  We're missing all the fun.  Wonder where they
all are..." 
        
Wyndi began to investigate the various boxes around the perimeter of the
church.  She found piles of sleeping bags, back packs and the rest strewn
around on one side of the room.  "Well, they were here, anyway.  Look at
all this STUFF!"  She dug out the tarot deck and dropped it as though
she'd been burned, yelping. 
        
"Wyndi, what is it?"  Diana rushed to her side and looked
uncomprehendingly at the Tarot deck lying on the floor. 
        
"Wanna move that thing back into the bag," Wyndi said in a pained voice. 
"It bit me."  She sucked on her hand.  "Ouch...  I knew Tarot decks didn't
like me, but this is going a bit far...."  She reached a hand beneath her
belt and touched the large pouch there, then glared at the deck.  "If you
don't watch it I'll sick my runes on you," she said to it as Diana stowed
it safely back in the bag. 
        
"Stop playing with the deck," Diana said smoothly.  She wandered over to
some of the cow paraphenalian and began taking it down.  "And don't touch
any more of their stuff.  It isn't nice." 
        
Wyndi made a face and went back to exploring...  She had always thought it
odd that Vachon had chosen a holy place to live...  She found it even more
odd when she discovered a small cashe in the far side of the church,
farthest away from all the stuff.  "Hey Di, look at this," she called,
drawing Diana away fromt eh guitar she was admiring.  Wyndi pulled out a
cloth-wrapped bundle from under the old, wooden alter pushed against the
wall.  "I wonder what it is," she said, the curiosity rampant in her
voice.  Curiosity had always been one of her gravest faults.  She opened
the wrapped package carefully and found...  a cross?  She gaped at it a
bit, then stuck it inside her thick, metal belt in case she would need it
later.  There was also a bible in there, but she left it.  "Unless YOU
would like it, Diana," she said evilly, bringing back Diana's memories of
Catholic School. 
        
"Not on your life," Diana said, rewrapping the book and puuting it back,
"though the cross may come in handy, given that neither of us ever wear
them." 
        
"And that our holy symbols tend to be a bit...obscure," Wyndi agreed. She
got up and began looking for doors.... 

###

NICK!
by Amy Denton

Time: Early evening
Place:  Nick's loft.
      
The Knighties were lounging around Nick's loft doing nothing in
particular, waiting for the next volley to be launched in the WAR.  So
far, four Knighties had been kidnapped and while three out of the four had
been returned unharmed, Sandra was still missing and the other Knighties
were worried. 
        
Nick had been gone when they'd come back from searching; He had left a
note with strict orders *Not* to leave the loft for *any* reason until he
returned, so there they were.  Amy D. sat on the floor talking to Amy P. 
Scottie was leaning over the couch talking to Perri, who was sitting on
the couch.  Dottie and Matt were in the kitchen doing something and the
rest of the Knighties were sprawled across the loft in various chairs
couches and the floor. 
     
The tv set was off and the stero was softly playing the new R&B c.d.'That
River'by Jim Byrnes that Karyn Swanson had sent to Amy D. The Highlander
fans were in heaven. 
     
The loft was calm and almost quiet for the first time since the WAR had
started.  It was not to remain that way for long. 
     
When the elevator started, all eyes turned toward it and conversation
ceased.  Hopefully, that would be Nick with Sandra in tow.  That hope was
partially right.  It was Nick but he didn't have Sandra with him and he
looked *pissed*. 
     
As the elevator stopped, the door flew back and Nick stomped into the
room. He glared at everyone present and spat out. 
      
"*Sandra* is Cousin now!!"
      
To say the room was shocked, would have been putting it mildly, the only
sound in the room was Perri choking her on drink.  Scottie, used to this
from Perri, reached over and smacked her on the back for a few seconds
untill she stopped. 
     
Pat Bozis was the first to find her voice.  "Nick, you can't be serious." 
     
Nick looked at her for a long moment.  "I'm *dead* serious."  He said.
     
"What happened?" Perri had finally gulped in enough air to speak.
     
He turned to look at her.  "I went over there to see if Sandra was
anywhere in The Raven.  I heard voices coming from the wine cellar, so I
went over and listened at the door.  I could hear Sandra and someone else,
so I tried the door handle, it wouldn't budge, so I yanked the door opened
by force." 
     
"I bet The Raven goes through more doors that way," someone in the
background muttered.  Nick didn't move. 
     
"Guess what I saw when I was finally able to see inside?"  He paused, no
one said anything.  "Sandra sitting on the floor with her clothes
*inside-out* surrounded by wine bottles while LaCroix lounged against the
wall and recited *all* of my loves for the past 800 years.  Neither of
them looked surprised to see me." 
     
There was silence for another moment then Amy D. spoke from the floor.
     
"From that you got the idea that Sandra was a Cousin?"  She looked
dubious. 
     
"How else could she have survived in that wine cellar unless she was one?
Hmmm?  Explain that!" Nick shot at her. 
     
Amy stood up, thinking before she spoke "I don't know, maybe it's finally
dawned on LaCroix that the way to get you back is by *not* munching on
those you care for?  Ever thought of that?  Maybe that's why Nat's still
around."  She shrugged her shoulders. 
      
Nick did not buy her explanation.  "I know what I saw.  She looked
perfectly happy to be there."  He convientlly left out the part about her
jumping up and running to him.  "She is no longer welcome here."  He
stated, then turned to leave. 
      
The Knighties were shocked.  Sandra?  A Cousin?  There *had* to be a
mistake.  There just *had* to be.  Amy jumped in front of Nick before he
could reach the elevator. 
      
"Now wait just a minute Nick.  *Never* in a *million* years would Sandra
become a Cousin.  She is your most ardent defender.  She would *never* do
that to you." 
      
"Wouldn't be the first time someone betrayed me."  He snapped, glaring at
Amy with a look that could melt steel. Fortunately for Amy though, she was
too mad for it to take effect on her. 
      
"Oh, come off it Nick!  Sandra would *never* do that to you!  You know
that!" 
      
"I know what I saw."  He repeated softly.  His eyes started to turn
yellow. 
      
The other Knighties watched in amazement.  Amy was ticking Nick off in a
major way and one thing you never did when you followed a vampire, was to
tick him off.  He could have you for lunch, literally. They hoped he'd be
able to control himself.  It wouldn't do to have to explain to Amy's
family how she wound up as lunch for a vampire. 
       
Amy was however, was just warming up.  "You know what you *think* you saw. 
How could you ever even let such thought cross your mind?!  Do you know
what Sandra had to do to get *up* here?  Do you know what *any* of us had
to do to get up here?" 
      
"I never asked you to come up here."  Nick stated flatly.
       
Marcia stepped in before Amy could answer and make things worse. "You
didn't *have* to Nick. We did it willingly, cheerfully and we would do it
again because of you. But Nick, *none* of us would betray you. Please just
talk to us and help us figure out what happened." 
        
"We *know* Sandra was kidnapped," Allison put in. "We talked to someone
who was with her when it happened. They were both knocked out, so you know
she didn't go willingly." 
        
"And you said yourself the door was locked," Judith put in, "So neither of
them could get out." 
     
Nick crossed his arms, the fear-turned-anger keeping him from really
listening to them.  "Then explain to me what she was doing with LaCroix in
that wine cellar, hmm?  Why didn't he feed on her? Explain that." 
     
Amy just wanted to cry. <Doesn't he listen to anything?> "She was
surviving Nick!  What would have done if you were in her place?  You would
have gone along to get along as the saying goes. Sandra can't stand
LaCroix and frankly I'm surprised he *didn't* feed on her. And.." 
        
"Amy," Perri said quietly beore the other woman could get going again.
"Nick, please calm down and listen to us. I know this is hurting you, let
us help you work it out. Please." 
     
"I know what I saw."  Nick repeated, alittle less certainly. He looked at
Perri and Amy, then at the other people in the room.  *Why couldn't they
have just stayed where they belonged instead of coming up here and getting
into trouble?  Why?  Why?  Why?* He knew the answer and he didn't like it. 
     
Without saying another word, he stepped around Amy, walked into the
elevator, slammed the door shut and left the loft. 
     
Silence reigned, for the moment at least.  Everybody just looked at Amy,
who was now shaking slightly. 
     
"Damn." Someone whispered. Someone else started crying.
     
"And *I* get accused of lacking tact," Perri muttered at Amy, looking a
little sick. "What was that all about?" 
        
"Perri." It was Catherine's turn to play peacemaker. "Let it go. You're
the one who always says Nick has to be hit with a 2X4 to get his
attention. Maybe what Amy...ah...said will get through whatever it is he
thinks he saw." 
     
"I hope so."  Amy said, looking up from where she had collapsed on the
floor.  "I don't think I want to do that again." 
     
"If we figure out what happened, you won't have to," Scottie said firmly.
"At least Sandra's probably safe. Where would she go?" 
     
"Bruce," three people said. "The Die Hards."
    
"Okay," Scottie said. "Let's call 'em."

###

I FINALLY MAKE MY ENTRANCE
by Linda Gail Walters

Time: Early Evening
Place: Toronto, ON

I had managed to find the building despite the rather sketchy directions
that I'd been given.  It looked like what it was, an old commercial
building converted to loft apartments.  I found the front door and was
about to press the buzzer for Nick's loft and then thought better of it. 

The messages that I had gotten on my computer back in San Diego said that
there was a war on and I'd been out of contact for more than half a day
while traveling.  The brief times that I'd had to login with my lap-top
and cellular modem had been laughable, interferrance at the airport in
Chicago, roaming connection problems when I landed in Toronto, trying to
balance lap-top, backpack and everything else while standing on a street
corner. Right! 

Anyway, I'd been out of touch a long time and I knew from my years in
military intelligence that I was in a very vulerable position because of
lack of current information.  For all I knew the Cousins could have gotten
here before me.  Pressing the buzzer was not a good idea.  I'd have to
find another way of getting passed the locked entry door and into the
elevator. 

I slipped my backpack off an pulled out a small black plastic box with a
single red button on it.  "I hope this thing still works" I thought to
myself.  I held it near the door lock and pressed the button.  I heard the
'click' of the bolt being withdrawn.  "Goddess! I'm good!" I thought to
myself as I gently pushed the door open with my shoulder while stuffing
the box back into the backpack. 

Inside I closed the door quietly and looked about.  I was in luck, the
elevator was down. If it had been up, anyone upstairs might have seen it
go down.  I got in and pressed the up button.  The upper floor was clear.
I found Nick's door. It was closed and a gentle check of the knob told me
it was locked.  That was a good sign; invaders would not have cared if it
were secured.  I decided nonetheless to make a surprise entry. 

I fished about in my pack for the little pouch of tools. Then came the
hard part.  Working with the EW gear was easy; picking locks took practice
and I was out of it.  Still, I managed to open the lock quietly.  I put
the tools in my pocket and then pushed the door open while jumping into
the room and landing in a ball and rolling out of the way before standing
up. 

The room was pitch dark.  I pulled out my flashlight and looked about for
a light switch.  I found on and turned it on.  The place was really
deserted, and it was intact.  That meant that everyone had gone to the
Church. 

"Darn!"  I turned off the light, relocked the door and headed off for the
Church. 

**********

Place: Outside the Church

As the taxi drove off I looked up at the church steeple.  "So, this is The
Church," I said to myself.  "Not much to look at is it?"  I pushed the big
wooden door open and went in. 

I went as quietly as I could and nobody heard me until I was within range
and tossed the mooer into their midst.  It landed with a thump and rolled
over. "Mmmooooooo" it said.  "Anyone one care to tell me what the heck
this is?" I said as everyone jumpped to their feet. 

Torrey, who I recognized from the yard long red hair came up to me as I
slipped out of my backpack and undid the scrunchie and let my long brown
hair tumble free. 

"Hi, I'm Linda, from San Diego" I said, extending my hand to her. "My
partner Karol couldn't make it; too much work.  But I'm here with my
lap-top and some old electronic warfare equipement that might help." 

As I was introducing myself to Torrey, HE walked into my line of sight.

Vachon.

I dropped my hand from Torrey's grip and just looked into those eyes. It's
really awefull to see a confirmed dyke going ga-ga over a man.  Even for a
man as gorgeous as Vachon. Even for a vampire. 

###

A PARTIAL RECOUNT
by Sandra Gray

Time: Early evening
Place: DieHard Headquarters

Bruce comforted his wife.  "Honey, are you hurt?" he asked.

"No.  Not physically."

"What happened?  Why did you come here instead of go to the loft?"

"Because he wouldn't want me there.  He thinks I've become a Cousin!"
Tears welled up in her eyes again, hurt, but angry tears. 

"Honey...why would Nick think such a thing?"

She looked at him.  "Because..."  She looked away. "Because he found me
locked in the wine cellar with LaCroix." 

"What?"

Her face took on a haunted expression.  "I was in there for *hours* with
him.  I don't know how long because my watch--"  She looked at her wrist. 
"Gee, it's running again," she said a bit absently. 

Bruce looked at the watch.  It was several hours slow and the case
covering Mickey was cracked. 

"Sandy, you've been missing since last night.  Do you remember who
kidnapped you?  Was it LaCroix?" 

She frowned at him.  "No, not directly.  I--and the other woman--were
overpowered at the ROM by some people.  They chloroformed me and her too,
I think." 

"Do you remember what they looked like or names or anything?"

"I came to once in a car and they put me out again.  There was a woman in
the back with me that I didn't recognize, brunette, I think, wearing
sunglasses.  She said that I was coming out of it to Dianne, Dianne
DeSha." 

"The mercenary?"

Sandra nodded.  "She was driving.  Someone else in the front wanted to hit
me over the head, but Dianne told the woman...someone called Chaos...to
give me more chloroform." 

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know.  The next thing I remember was waking up in the wine cellar
with LaCroix." 

"Locked in with him, you said."

"He claimed!" she said, eyes flashing.

"But you don't believe it."

"No.  Oh, there was holy water in the door, but...  I don't know why that
should have stopped him.  And if he *wasn't* behind it, then why wouldn't
he..."  Her voice trailed off, and her face paled. 

"Kill you," said Bruce.  "Or worse."  Sandra's face reddened and he
frowned.  "You don't remember anything else about the kidnappers?" 

"No."

Her face was a normal color again.  "Ron the Enforcer is helping the
Die-Hards.  Maybe he..." 

"I don't want to see any more vampires!" she shouted at him.  Then her
voice softened and she said, "Please."  Tears welled up in her eyes again
and she looked away. 

"Okay," Bruce soothed.  "You remember Dianne being involved, so that's a
place to start."  Maybe later, after she'd calmed more, she would let Ron
try to help her remember more.  He hugged her. "You're safe now.  That's
what counts."  He released her and looked at her.  "I'll pass on what
you've said to Dawn and..." He looked at her blouse and noticed the wine
stains on it.  "See if someone can find you something to eat?  You're
hungry, I guess."  Her face reddened again briefly. 

"There...wasn't any food there, no."

"Okay.  Just try to relax."

Bruce rose from the couch.  Then he walked over to Dawn to let her and the
other Die-Hards waiting a short distance away know what he had found out,
willing himself to keep calm until he did so. 

###

This is the War that never ends
it just goes on and on my friends
Some people started playing it, not knowing what it was
And they'll continue playing it forever just because
this is the War that never ends...
 (apologies to Shari Lewis)

MISSION: IMPROBABLE
by e.m. and Bianca Hall

Time: 11 pm EST
Place: Fe-Malefaction HQ
       undisclosed location
       Toronto
   
Jamie trudged up the last few feet to the large, blank-faced gray
building, cursing Natpackers, road maintenance, the Toronto City Council,
and gravity under her breath. Her one, sparkling consolation at the
moment, though, the image that made her smile despite her aching body, was
Sharon and all that salt. 
   
She ws still chuckling to herself as she made her way around to the side
of Stage 37 and, as it was clearly written on the slip of paper erica had
given her in our second-to-last installment, "Cousins Unbound", she
knocked thrice upon an emergency exit door, paused, then pounded out the
opening bars to the "Beer Barrel Polka" and stepped back. 
   
The grey door swung open, blowing a welcome warm breeze towards her. {Oh,
good, they've got a heater going}. She started to step in...  and, at a
deafening thud, found herself staring at the broadside of a 3-foot high
blade - one that had slid straight down before her, down the door frame,
guillotine-style. 
   
"Jamie! Jamie! You okay? Nothing snipped? Didn't get your nose trimmed,
did ya?" 
   
"Agg! Are you trying to off me?!" She raised her walking stick and
seriously contemplated putting it to use. 
   
"No, no! 'Course not!" erica cried, struggling to raise the blade back up
by its chain, eying Jamie's cane nervously. "i'm going to need someone to
switch off composing duties with! i've been spending way too much time in
the campus computer labs, fighting with their mailers! i'm not going to
get rid of a potential War relief! Well, not if i want to continue this
story line..." 
   
Jamie lowered her weapon and, having learned quickly to deal with the War
and its insanity, shrugged off the incident and ducked inside. "Well, no
harm done. You're not allowed to kill me, after all." 
   
erica re-cocked the guillotine and bolted the door shut. She led Jamie
around a pile of oak beams and PVC pipe shreds which lay immediately
before them and which were quite invisible in the darkness. erica swung a
pen light about, manoeuvering about with easily. "Sorry about the mess.
We're actually completely done. i think you'll be pleasantly surprised." 
   
"When you turn on the lights and show me."
   
"Patience, patience," erica urged, mumbling something about little Ms.
Unwellness Face. She grabbed Jamie's hand and dragged her further into
what Jamie could only guess was the center of the pitch-black,
loudly-echoing room. There, erica forced her into a swiveling chair.
"Now...," erica ran back into the darkness "... what do you think of...
this?!" 
   
With the stubborn screech of a wall lever and the wicked zzzap of
electricity, the interior burst into brightness - an invading light which
blinded Jamie for a moment. The first things she managed to make out, as
she peeked through her fingers, were a gargantuan console set into a wall
with a smooth, dove-gray keyboard near her lap, and a single 27-inch
computer monitor immediately above and set back from the keys. She sat in
a sleek, modern black chair, bolted to the floor. Above her were more
screens - television screens, one for each faction, all ready to reveal
private scenes of plotting and conspiring. 
   
"Do you have spy cameras hooked up? Can you show me Sharon?" Jamie
demanded. 
   
"Well, no. i went by Radio Shack and decided that 15 cameras, satellites,
remote transmitters, and everlasting battery power are way out of our
budget." She pulled a remote from her pants and TVs clicked on "... But we
get HBO, TNT, CNN, Nickelodeon, MTV, the Sci-Fi Channel, couldn't live
without that..." 
   
"Uh huh. Mouse?" Jamie asked, looking under the table for the tell-tale
cord. 
   
"Voice-activated and voice-responsive technology," erica gushed through a
belated Halloween grin. 
   
Jamie noted that, on the many parts of the walls that weren't painted
black in this hangar-like building, the surfaces had been stripped to
their jagged, blackened insulation underneath. Cavernous, black, rugged
like stone. Making HQ look like... the Batcave. 
   
"What's this? The Vampcave?" she asked. Could erica be so unoriginal? 
   
"Yep," erica returned. "But if you think that's bad, wait until you go see
what Bianca's got in the lab." 
   
"Um... What lab?" Jamie looked around to see if she'd missed anything.
"This is just one big, empty room... except for this console, that wood
heap I almost tripped over... and that bust." She *had* missed something.
But it was just a decorative statue, right? 
   
"Au contraire, mon frere. That isn't any old bust." erica pulled Jamie
from the console. "See? It's one of the spare Luciuses from AMPH!" 
   
"Why is it splattered black, white, and green?"
   
"We saved it from someone's lawn. But that's a different story. Now,
watch!" erica rubbed the bust's bald spot and suddenly the ground dropped
from beneath the feet of the two Cousins - one screaming obscenities and
the other whooping and raising her hands above her head gleefully. They
slid through life-sized, life-wide PVC tubing, quickly coming to rest upon
a semi-soft bed of Q-Tips. 
   
"Q-Tips?! What kind of sadist are you?" Q-Tips were for ridiculing,
blasting through car doors in a single shot, and providing cover when a
bladder most needed it. They were *not* to be taken lightly and certainly
*not* for lounging about in. 
   
"Relax! i've used them here in conjunction with Bianca and my War cry..."
she pointed to a placard hanging above the hole they'd just emerged from.
'Remember the Q-Tip!'
    
"Good for you. I'll keep with mine though. SAAALT!" Jamie kicked herself
free from the dreaded sticks and leapt to her feet, whipping her own
fuzz-gun out, ready for whatever else erica had rigged her Headquarters of
Horrors to do. She looked around and gasped. 
    
"Oh my god - is this Natalie's apartment set from "Only the Lonely"? And
that the replica of Stonetree's precinct? Are those Schanke and Nick's
police lockers?? And is that Nick's leather jacket hanging there? Ah! And
bottles of peroxide?? Ha ha!!" 
     
Jamie scurried about, picking up this and that - including a cat who
remarkably resembled Sydney, and a guy who had been looking a bit forlorn
and neglected until now. He enjoyed the attention immensely. 
     
"This can't be Sydney, can it? You didn't steal him from Natalie, did
you?" 
     
"No, i've had no time. This is Ralph, the feline actor who portrayed him." 
     
"Ooo, hi sweetie! I can't believe they just left you behind! Would you
like to come home with me? You could meet my Elfy-Welfy! Hm? Wanna be my
Walphykins? Yes, you're a good widdle kitty, aren't ya? Yes you are! Yes
you are! What a woozy little mooza waga waga..." She fell into utter
unintelligibility. 
   
"Jamie? Jamie? Attention, please. Come on, Jame, come back to us.  Don't
go into that light just yet. That's it, yeah, you're coming around now.
Just take it slow." 
   
"Wa?" Jamie appeared dazed. "Oh, sorry. Cats, you understand."
   
"Actually, Bianca and i are rabbit people and are pretty wary of ca...
Could we get back to the story, please?! 
   
"Deep breaths, Bud!! Deeeeeep breaths!" Bianca called from a distance. She
emerged from behind the OTL partition, face and denim overalls smudged
with grease. "Hi, Jamie!" she said cheerily, pulling out a red hankerchief
to wipe herself clean. 
   
"Hey, Bonk. What've you got back there?" Jamie nodded towards the
rice-papered balsa frame. 
   
"Behind there," Bianca said, "is our..."
   
erica ran over, pushing away the screen to reveal a long, black, finned...
Caddy. 
   
"See?" Bianca cried. "The Vamp-mobile! It's like Nick's car's antithesis,
non?" 
   
"Interesting..." Jamie and Ralph exchanged looks. "Don't you think a
Porsche or a tank or something would have been a beter idea?" 
   
"We aren't *that* generous with our money," erica started. "And most of
what we *did* have went to that fancy stuff upstairs. So we had to make do
with the rental car." 
   
"You got this from Hertz?"
   
"It's all they had left! The hundred other listmembers ("Who came early,"
erica muttered) took all the decent cars," Bianca explained. 
   
erica stepped forward impatiently. "This is what we have and this is what
we're going to use. The 1959 Cadillac from "Nick Knight". Now pay
attention, please." 
   
The three gathered around the car.
   
erica cleared her throat. "Windscreen - bulletproof. At the side and rear
window. Revolving number plates, naturally. Varied - all factions..." 
   
A dial on the driver's door flipped the plates about: LCRULES, BRICKLVR,
NATPACKR, VACHGRRL, RAVENET, MIKIFINS, IMAGDCOP, ALMAZON... it went on for
a while. 
   
erica continued, holding up a metal rectangular cube in her palm. "Here's
a nice little transmitting device called a 'Brick-stick', 'Schank-flank',
'Nat-rat-on', 'Janette-magnet', 'Vachon-cherchant', or simply 'Uncle
Homer'. You prime it by pressing that back like this." She slid one hinged
edge back, causing the homer to beep. She opened the passenger's door and
felt about for a hidden panel. "Reception on the dashboard here.
Autovisual range - 150 miles." The radar beeped incessantly at its cue. 
   
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "Genius. And useful, too. Allows a girl to stop
for a quick one en route." We can only imagine what kinds of visions
danced through her head here. 
   
"'Tis not been perfected after years of patient research entirely for that
purpose, double-oh... i mean, Jamie." erica shut the car door firmly. 
   
Bianca piped in. "And, incidentally, we'd appreciate its safe return along
with all your other equipment. Intact, for once when you return from the
field." 
   
"Well, you'd be surprised with the amount of wear and tear that goes on
out there in the field. Anything else?" Jamie rubbed Ralph behind his
ears. 
   
erica sighed, "Well, i won't keep you for more than an hour or so if you
give me your undivided attention." She walked around to the driver's side.
"We've installed some rather interesting modifications. You see this arm
here?" She reached through the window and tapped the armrest between front
seats. "Now open the top and inside are your defense mechanism controls -
smoke screen, oil slick, rear bullet-proof screen, and left and right
front-wing Q-Tip/toothpick guns. Now this one i'm particularly keen about.
<touches stick-shift> See the gear level here? Now if you take the top
off, you'll find a little red button. Whatever you do, don't touch it!" 
   
"Why not?" Jamie looked bored.
   
"'Cause you'll release this section of the roof and engage and enfire the
passenger ejection seat." 
   
"Ejector seat. You're joking." She smirked and Ralph murraowed,
incredulous. 
   
erica frowned and looked at the both of them sternly. "i never joke about
my work, double-oh... i mean, Jamie." 
   
Jamie was the first to break from their collective Bond reverie. "You
really did all that?" 
   
"Well, no," admitted erica. "Just the ejector seat part. But, at least, we
have something to cruise around in." 
   
"Plus it has more trunk space than any car made in the last 36 years,
according to a reliable source," Bianca asserted, opening the trunk. 
   
Indeed, there looked to be enough room for a body or two. Vampire. Male.
   
"Vachon and Nick? They'd be easier to handel than Uncle," said Bianca.
   
"Hey, quit reading over my shoulder," erica snapped. "Actually, i was
thinking of Uncle and Nick. The real LaCroix and Nick would have the worst
time in there - hissing and spitting at one another. But then we'd be sure
that they were who they're suppose to be and not Ger and Nig, or their
stunt-doubles, or their stand-ins..." 
   
Music (the Mission: Impossible theme to be exact) booted up over some
hidden sound speakers - unless she was hiding Fred Mollin and a
Kurtzweiler in Stonetree's office, who knew? - bringing erica back into
virtual reality (har har). 
   
"Now, if you'll follow me, please?" The party moved over to one of Nat's
first season red walls. erica drew a collapsible pointer from her pants
and smacked it onto a map mounted upon the wall. "Here <tap, tap, tap,
tap...> are all the other factions, as marked by the extra affiliation
pins Bianca and i have been hoarding. Here," She struck the pointer
elsewhere, arbitrarily, "is where we are. Or maybe here. Well, i can't say
where 'cause it's secret anyway. Suffice it to say we aren't here, here,
here, here, here, here, or here. That's everybody else. We think. We sorta
pick those spots arbitrarily, too." She pulled out three legal pads out of
those bottomless pants. "i have written up missions for each of us. Those
<tap, tap , tap> are our targets. That <tap, tap, tippity tap> is what
you'll do to them. Gentlemen (and feline), our aim is to confuse, dismay,
befuddle, and above all...," She frowned and looked from Cousin to Cousin
to cat. "... to make them suffer. *That* will teach them to start a War
during midterms. Gentlemen (and cat)!" She folded up the pointer, slipped
it back into her jeans, and laced her hands. 

###

WHAT'S A LITTLE THEFT BETWEEN FRIENDS (b)
by Cousin Zillah

Time: Evening
Place: The Raven

It's no mean trick to scale a building in a trenchcoat, but it can be done
with persistance and not a little stupidity. Oh, and some clever tucking.
The crampons were tucked into existing cracks, or rope had been looped
around available outcroppings with screw-rings but they're designed for
mountains not concrete. 

'Trust Bryan to believe me and send his repelling equipment as I asked,'
Zillah thought as he changed his grip. 'I just hope that no one at work
notices the "Same Day" shipping charge on the corporate UPS shipping
account.'

He had to lower himself head first down to several windows. When they
turned up being the wrong ones, he left little post-it notes on the
outside of the glass on which he'd written the message "Sleeping Well?" 
He loved to give good prank. 

Finally, he found the bedroom he was looking for. The bedroom with *the*
briefcase in it. He had seen the briefcase in the Raven the day the
Cousins had been evicted. It had the deed in it. If the deed disappeared,
any dispute against the Cousin for possession of the Raven would vanish.
Uncle's claim would be undisputed. 

He hoped. The only real laws he knew well were the ones he broke
regularly, but this line of reasoning seemed sound. 

Screwdriver for the storm windows. Razorknife for the wood around one of
the panes of glass... the pane above the lock. Suction cup from a Garfield
doll to pull out the glass. Window up. Inside. Slack on the rope. 

Zillah walked across the room to the table and the briefcase. He searched
it and found several documents, including the cursed contract.  These were
removed and tucked into his waisteband of his jeans in the small of his
back, under his shirt. Into the briefcase he placed the ace of spades from
a deck of cards he bought from a toy store. Let them ponder *that* one. 

He walked back to the window and was surprised when there was a sound
outside the door. A sudden shaft of light silouetted a figure, who was
equally surprised

*Oh, Hell*

With a pull to collect all the slack possible, Zillah sat on the window
sill and rolled backwards and out into the empty air. All the sillouette
saw and heard was a figure in black and a flapping sound. 

(perhaps they thought it was a vampire. ::chuckle::)

Above there was screaming. Falling through space, he felt a hard tug which
stopped his falling briefly and righted him. Then crampon failed and he
fell a second time, the ground rushing to meet him. A second tug.  He
stopped, his legs a mass of pain. 

>This really sucks.<

The last of the repell and jog around the block did nothing to help the
legs. He landed too hard and he got winded too fast. The gloves were a
memory and the mask was just a handkerchief again, but the deed was in his
possession. 

But what to do with it?

###

OUR SATURDAY EVENING POST
by Susan M. Garrett

Time: Well after sunset
Place: The Raven

"It's ours!  It's ours!  It's ours!" crowed Lorelei happily, dancing
through the empty club. 

The other Ravens and Ravenettes were a bit more hesitant, stopping by the
bar.  Miklos and the Inspector stood in a corner, quietly talking.  Susan
thought she saw an envelope pass between them, but wasn't certain.  The
Inspector walked back to the Ravenettes and turned toward Vicki,
presenting his clipboard for her approval. 

"All taken care of," he said.  "You've passed with flying colors.  Um--you
might wanna get that back door fixed.  And the door to the wine cellar. 
But other than that, you're fine.  Just sign here and I'll hand over the
permit." 

"I'd like to read it first," said Vicki casually.  Her eyes on the form on
the clipboard, she grabbed the Inspector's arm and led him away, to a
booth, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "Could someone bring this
man a drink?" 

"I'll--"  Miklos glanced at Susan, who was glaring at him.  "I'll find
someone." 

Susan gave him an approving nod.

David walked over to her and gestured toward the back door.  "Think we
should check out the damage?  It <could> have been cousins." 

"Yeah, right."  Susan clapped her hands together to get everyone's
attention.  "Look, we need to go over this place with a fine-toothed comb.
Check for bugs--electronic and real--and anything else suspicious.  We
need to get this placed vetted before we open to the public."  Then, as
the Ravens and Ravenettes scattered, she glanced sheepishly at Miklos. 
"Sorry Boss-Pro-Tem.  That should have been your job." 

"I'm learning to delegate," answered Miklos, with mock-severity.  Then, he
smiled wryly and asked, "Anything I can do?" 

"You might want to check out the office and Janette's room--see if
anything's been moved or taken.  I know this place has some hidden
cubbyholes, but I'm not certain where.  The Cousins might have left some
surprises.  And if we find anything that we can use against LaCroix...?" 

Miklos leaned over, lifted her hand to his lips, then headed for the rear
of the Raven.  Sheryl popped up from behind the bar (she was checking the
gun supplies) and let out a low whistle.  "Now <that's> class." 

"And he's great to have around to move heavy objects," added Susan
thoughtfully.  She smiled at David and nodded.  "Let's check that back
door." 

*******

The Inspector was right--the door had been torn off the hinges.  Susan
eyed it thoughtfully. 

"Cousins?" asked David.

Susan hesitated, then ran her fingers along the one hinge that had been
twisted beyond recognition, "A vampire for sure.  I'd guess Nick . . . but
there's no broken glass involved.  He usually goes through windows." 

"Could have been LaCroix--"

David got no farther before Tara appeared in the doorway, shaking her
head. "Guess what?  Someone switched the doors on the wine cellar--there's
bits of wood all over the place, holy water, blood on the floor--" 

"Blood?" asked Susan anxiously.

Tara held up her hand, before Susan could become too upset.  "Don't worry,
just the stock.  A couple of bottles broken and more than a few
drained...blood and wine mixed and separate.  I'd say we had a visitor
stay overnight and part of the day.  Maybe even a mortal." 

Susan looked at David.  "That doesn't sound like Cousin work.  What the
heck was going on around here?" 

But David didn't have the answer either.  He just shrugged and picked up a
piece of door.  "I'll take care of this." 

"Good.  Thanks.  Get the biggest, baddest door you can find.  And--" 
Susan met Tara's eyes.  "Maybe we'd better change the locks one more time,
just to be sure." 

###

BUT IT WAS WHAT SHE ASKED FOR
by Vicki Jean Merriman

Time: Well after sunset
Place: The Raven

"All taken care of," he said.  "You've passed with flying colors.  Um--you
might wanna get that back door fixed.  And the door to the wine cellar. 
But other than that, you're fine.  Just sign here and I'll hand over the
permit." 

"I'd like to read it first," said Vicki casually.  She was back in the
silver grey double breasted power suit - elegant but no nonsense.  Her
eyes on the form on the clipboard, she grabbed the Inspector's arm and led
him away, to a booth, pausing only to call over his shoulder, "Could
someone bring this man a drink?" 

The inspector politely declined.  After all, he had the envelope and he
didn't need or want any overt indications of impropriety.  The inspector
gave Vicki the permit, they shook hands and he took his leave. 

Tension in the room immediately went down a level or two, and Vicki headed
to the bar for a drink.  First, however, she took at the top of the stairs
and looked at the place, really looked at it. 

It was The Raven.  The *old* Raven, looking exactly as it had in the last
War!  No tacky lights, no scantily-clad table-dancers.  Just dim light,
cutting-edge music, and cool, cool clothes.  Of course, Raven\ettes always
dress well no matter _where_ they are. 

<And the good news is that Miklos has decent wine by the glass;  I don't
have to drink beer.  The bar is back in Miklos' and Raven\ettes hands and
all is right with the world.> Vicki was feeling pretty euphoric. 

Alma came over and asked what Vicki needed.  <When in Canada. . .> she
thought, <I've heard a fair amount about Canadian wines and haven't had a
chance to try any yet.> "Have you got a good Canadian red by the glass?
I'd like that." 

Alma gave her a glass of rich red wine.  <hmm, nice legs.  It clings to
the glass> As usual, Vicki stuck her nose in it, swirled a bit and
sniffed. <Ack.  Fruit but there is sharpness. . . vinegary?  In the
Raven?> She sniffed again and looked at Alma, who was looking back, a
little confused that Vicki hadn't even tasted the wine yet. 

"Anything wrong?" Alma asked. 

"It's earthy, but metallicky... Oh my God! What did you give me?"  Vicki
hastily placed the glass on the bar and shoved it away.  Half the Raven
probably heard her. 

By this point Miklos was aware of a problem.  He picked up the glass, took
a sip, and stared hard at Alma.  She stared back defensively. 

"Well, I knew she was important and a friend of yours so I thought you
wouldn't mind her having some of the private stock.  And I distinctly
remember Janette telling me before she left that this bottle was
Canadian..." 

"Miklos, can I have a gin and tonic, double lime?"

###

KNIGHTIES (AND OTHERS) TAKE THE ROAD
by Sandra Gray

Time: Early evening
Place: Nick's loft

Perri dialed the Die-Hard headquarters.  When the phone was answered, she
said, "Dawn Steele, please."  There was a pause and her Die-Hard friend
came on the line.  "Dawn, it's Perri.  I'm looking for Sandra Gray." 

"She just called here asking for sanctuary," said Dawn.

"Where was she calling from?"

"A hotel downtown.  Someone's gone to pick her up.  But, Perri, why isn't
she there?" 

"Long story.  Bruce went to pick her up?"

"No, he's on his way to the loft.  That's where he figured he'd find
Sandra once Nick went to rescue her." 

"What?  How did he know Nick was going to rescue her?"

"I tried to call earlier and Nick answered the phone.  He came over here
in the *daytime* to get the information that Sandra was in the Raven." 

"Why did you-- Never mind, you can tell me about it when I get there." A
few more quick words and an exchange of goodbyes and Perri hung up the
phone.  "Amy, you're with me.  Catherine, Bruce is on his way over here. 
Tell him that Sandra's gone to Die-Hard headquarters." She pulled on her
coat, as did Amy. 

"Are you going to bring her back here?" asked Catherine. 

"I'm gonna try," said Perri.  "But if she was afraid to come here, then
that must mean that Nick--" 

"Put his foot in it.  Big time," said Amy.

"Don't try to do much explaining to Bruce.  He might not want to hear it
anyway." 

Catherine nodded and Perri and Amy left.

About five minutes after Perri and Amy had gone, the doorbell buzzed.
Catherine looked at the monitor and saw Bruce Gray waiting.  She took a
deep breath and pressed the button that would let him in. 

                                * * *

When the elevator opened, Bruce stepped quickly into the room, his eyes
sweeping across the Knighties.  "Where's Sandra?" he said. "She's...all
right, isn't she?" 

"As far as we know, she is," said Catherine.  "She's gone to Die-Hard
headquarters." 

"Die-Hard headquarters?  Why?"

"For sanctuary."

"What?  Why?"

Catherine sighed.  "We don't know all the details yet.  Perri and Amy have
gone over there.  You should too.  Sandra can explain, I'm sure." 

Bruce's eyes swept over the Knighties again.  He considered asking more
questions, but decided against it.  "Okay." 

"Give her our best," said Catherine.

Bruce frowned slightly at her, then said his goodbyes and left.  He drove
back to Die-Hard headquarters as quickly as the law allowed, used his
security card to get in, and went up to the second floor. When he entered
the main office area, it was to see Dawn, Perri, Amy, and a few Die-Hards
clustered in front of his wife, who stood a few steps away from them.  "Go
away and leave me alone," Sandra was saying. 

"Sandra, come on, we're here to help.  If you'll just calm down...," Perri
started. 

"Nick doesn't want me there.  And after what he said--"  Her voice cracked
and her eyes filled with tears as she turned away and choked out, "I'm not
a Cousin." 

Bruce pushed through the people to put an arm around his wife, who was
shaking.  He looked back at the people behind him and said, "Look, I don't
know what's going on here, but it's obvious that Sandra doesn't want to
talk about it right now with you, Perri." 

"Yeah," said Perri.  "Sandra, we believe you.  And I'm sure that once Nick
thinks it over, he will too." 

"Maybe we should all give Bruce and Sandra some space," said Dawn and
everyone moved away. 

Bruce looked at Sandra to see tears running down her face.  He led her
over to a couch and sat them both down. 

                                * * *

"Maybe you both should leave for now," said Dawn.

"Yeah, I think you're right," Perri sighed, running a hand through her
hair in exasperation.  "Goddess, if it's not one of them it's the other." 

"Let me walk you out," said Dawn.  As the three of them left the room, she
added, "Nick thinks Sandra's become a Cousin?  Why?" 

"He found Sandra with LaCroix in the wine cellar of the Raven and... well,
the circumstances made it seem to him like Sandra had gone Cousin." 

"She hasn't, has she?"

"Yeah right, that'll happen.  But Nick assumes that since LaCroix didn't
feed on her that..." 

"Are you sure she hasn't become a Cousin?"

"Of course not.  But I can't wait to hear the explanation."

"So, I take it Nick flew off the handle when he saw them together."

"Yeah.  To say the least.  He was chucking a *major* spaz when he came
back to the loft, and refused to let us talk to him, just took off."  Dawn
nodded.  "But you said you called the loft this afternoon." 

"Yes.  Bruce managed to track Sandra to the Raven.  I called the loft
trying to find you or Catherine to tell and got Nick.  I...well, it was
daylight so I didn't think he'd be able to do anything.  I told him I'd
call back.  But he showed up here anyway.  So I told him where we thought
Sandra was and he left to rescue her, I thought." 

The three women had reached the front door of the building.  Perri sighed. 
"Well, I wish I had Sandra's explanation of what happened. Will you let me
know when you get the story from her?" 

"Of course," said Dawn.

Dawn watched Perri and Amy leave, then went back upstairs to see if Sandra
was ready to talk about what had happened. 

###

SEATTLE STRIKES BACK (Part 2)
by Berg Oswell

Time: 8pm EST
Place: Nick's loft

Knighties were clustered all around, reading, chatting, playing with
Nick's computer, you know, doing Knightie things.  Suddenly and without
warning, the doorbell rang. 

Dotti Rhodes got up to answer it.  Minutes later, she returned, bearing a
small, fist-sized package, wrapped in brown paper, addressed simply to
'Knighties'.  No sooner had she gotten through the door, howqever, than
the package announced, in a deep, metallic voice "Hi, I'm a 5 second foam
grenade, loaded with protein drink.  4 seconds...  3 seconds... 2
seconds... 1, and you'd better drop me!"  Dotti, taken by surprise by the
voice, finnally recovered enough to toss the grenade back into the
elvator, and slam the door.  A muffled voice issued forth "0. Have a nice
day."  **BANG** Oddly, the elevator was unharmed, if you don't considera
pint of protein shake plastered around the inside harm. 

After the blast, Dotti opened the door to discover a small business card,
wrapped in plastic.  The card read

"Hi, I'm a merc, and I'm looking for a job.  Feel free to retaliate for
this, since it's technically unpaid work.  On the other hand, I can do
similarly nasty things to the Cousins, or anyone else for that matter, if
you have a target worthy of it.  Contact berg@mail.eskimo.com

Rates reasonable, will work for chocolate."

###

FRIED FROGGIE LEGS, ANYONE? (b)
by Cousin Lisa P. & Cousin Chris O.

Time: Evening
Place: Toronto
        
"Honestly, we're not in the NatPackers. We were trying to get in, but they
didn't seem to want us around," the more vocal of the pair of prisoners
whined. "We showed up and they took one look at us and told us to wait out
in the hallway. When they told us to check downstairs, we thought it was
some kind of test for acceptance.  But, if what you overheard was right, I
guess they didn't trust us after all." 
        
"And Natalie always seemed so nice," the other one whined, which touched
off the sobbing and moaning again. 
        
Lisa, Chris, and Elizabeth looked at each other, rolling their eyes,
thinking about these poor pathetic little wretches. Motioning for Chris
and Elizabeth to huddle in close, Lisa asked, "What are we going to do
with these two?" 
        
"A quick painless death would be good," Elizabeth said matter-of- factly. 
        
When the other two turned to look at her, Elizabeth said, "Well, they are
totally pathetic and it would certainly put them out of their misery." 
        
Lisa replied, "That's true, but Uncle would never do a thing like that. 
He likes for people to suffer. He'd leave them to wallow in their misery
and just turn up now and then to rub it in a little and remind them how
pathetic they are." 
        
Nodding in agreement that that would definitely be worse, they set to
thinking about what to do with their prisoners. 
        
"I Got It!!!" exclaimed Chris. "Since they're so disillusioned with
Natalie, couldn't we possibly use them for something?  Maybe convert
them?" 
        
"I don't know," Lisa replied wearily, "this could be an act you know. A
rather pathetic, degrading act, but an act nonetheless." Let's check in
with headquarters, see if they have any objections.  Chris, run out and
find a phone booth, call CERK headquarters and check with Deb, if she's
totally against this, we're dropping them on a corner and getting out of
here." 

**half an hour later**
        
"Hi all, I'm back," Chris called as she came through the door. When no
acknowledgment came back she said, "Jeez, someone die in here?" 
        
"No," Elizabeth snarled, "but while you were gone, we've had to listen to
these two whine about the heartlessness of the NatPackers and how
disappointed they are and blah, blah, blah, boo-hoo-hoo.  I need major
amounts of chocolate and I NEED IT NOW!!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND!!!!!" 
        
"Okay, okay, sorry I took so long. No need to get so uptight," Chris said
with a total lack of sincerity.  Looking up, she saw Lisa holding
Elizabeth, who looked like she was about to kill something, back. The look
on both of their faces spoke to the extremely serious nature of the
current situation. 
        
"I think you better just tell us what Deb said," Lisa growled.
        
"Well, here's the weird thing. Deb wasn't there. She's sick, got the flu
or something, so I couldn't talk to her. But, I asked the person who was
taking the calls, and she said that Uncle's so pissed off now that there's
nothing we could do that could possibly make it worse," Chris explained. 
        
"And *this* is supposed to be GOOD news?  Why is Uncle mad? What
happened?" Lisa asked. 
        
"It actually pretty bad," Chris said with a shudder.  "I almost don't want
to even repeat it, it's so horrible." 
        
"WHAT HAPPENED?" Lisa and Elizabeth shouted in obvious annoyance.
        
"Ah . . . someone . . . spliced into Uncle's radio show and played . . .
(mumble, muble)" 
        
"Played what?" Lisa and Elizabeth asked while straining to hear what Chris
was saying. 
        
"The Barney theme song," Chris replied in a whisper that was barely
audible. 
        
After a moment of stunned silence, Elizabeth burst our laughing, just
about rolling on the floor, and Lisa simply stood there with a totally
astonished look on her face.  "The Barney song?" Lisa moaned. "They played
the Barney song on Uncle's radio show? That's sacrelige. We'd better get
back there quick. I think the sh*t is going to be hitting the fan in a
rather major way." 
        
The trio began moving towards the door when they were disturbed by the
sound of sobbing behind them. "Wait, what about us? Are you just going to
leave us here?" the two tied up captives asked. 
        
"Well, that still leaves the questions of what we're going to do with
them," Chris said. "Oh, by the way, I found a store that carries frozen
fried frog legs.  They deliver," she said with a very un-Cousinlike
giggle. "I'm having a case sent to our froggie racing friends." 
        
"Great, back to frogs," Lisa said in exasperation. "Well, even though they
said they liked black and found Uncle rather attractive, they don't have
the required Cousinly distance and disdain. We'll drop them off a on a
corner somewhere. If they ever decide on an affiliation, they know where
to find everyone.  At least there won't be two more NatPackers out there
on the loose.  Let's move." 
        
As they untied their captives and the group headed towards the car,
Elizabeth hummed the Barney song under her breath.  Lisa and Chris looked
at each other and tried to figure out whether or not they were going to
make it through this seemingly endless day. 

____________________________
        
After having dropped off their captives in a sufficiently well-lite area
of downtown Toronto, Lisa, Chris and Elilzabeth pulled up and parked
outside of CERK headquarters. 
        
Lisa turned to Elizabeth and implored, "Would you please stop humming that
song?!?  If Uncle hears you, he's going to go absolutely ballistic, and
although I can't think of a better way to die, I'd rather not be his
dinner at this particular point in time." 
        
"I'll try, "Elizabeth replied, as the group got our of the car and headed
toward the entrance of CERK, "but you know how it is when you get a song
stuck in your head. It's impossible to stop until something else takes its
place. 'I love you, you love me, we're a happy family.' It's just so
catchy!" 
        
"How did I get myself into this," Lisa moaned as the group walked in the
door CERK. 

###

A TAROT READING
by Linda Gail Walters

Time: Evening
Place: Vachon's church

Linda had not quite been the same since one of the Vaqueros had broken the
initial eye lock with Vachon by walking between them. She was just now
starting to be able to really focus her eyes on things. 

"What's this?" somebody asked.

"Huh?" Linda said snapping out of her fog.

"What's this thing?" the woman asked again. "It looks like some kind of
binocular or something", she said turning the object over with her toe. 

"They're night vision goggles" Linda replied as she picked them up and
slipped the device over her head. She flipped the goggles down over her
eyes.  "With these on, you can see in pitch dark almost as well as a
vampire can." 

She pulled the goggles off to find that she had the one thing that she
really didn't want here: an audience.  Reluctantly she gave a quick tour
of the rest of her gear.  "night vision goggles", she said as she put them
on the floor. "Electronic lockpick, crypto lock code grabber, lock picks,
lineman's headset for taping phones" she said pointing to each item in
turn.  "Old fashioned lock picks, assorted electronic parts and stuff and,
most importantly, Tarot cards" she said tapping a small wooden box. 

Some of the people who had gathered about shook their heads and walked
away.  Others stood looking at the odd gear.  Linda ignored all of them.
She cleared a space in front of her, opened the wooden box and withdrew a
package wrapped in a piece of silk.  She unwrapped the silk, removing the
Tarot deck from it.  She spread the silk out in front of her while holding
the deck in her right hand.  She placed the deck in the center of the silk
square.  She meditated for a while before laying out the cards in an
arcane Tarot pattern. 

Linda sat in a semi-lotus position studing the cards for a long time. She
didn't notice anything until she saw a pair of shoes just inside her field
of view.  She broke her near trance and looked up into the face of Vachon. 

"There is something strange about you" the vampire said to her.

They stared at each other, two deer caught in each other's headlights.
Linda turned over another card from the deck. "You will learn my secret."
Linda finally said to Vachon in a flat, matter of fact tone. 

Blink.

Blink.

"I will?" said Vachon with more than a little surprise in his voice. 
"What secret?  I already know that you are not a vampire.  What secret
could I possibly know of yours?" 

Blink.

Blink.

Linda stared back at the vampire, matching his deep unfocused gaze that
sees into the soul.  She reached out and turned over another card.  "And
you will tell it to others" she said flatly returning her eyes to look
back at Vachon. 

Blink.

Blink.

"Perhaps the secret" said Vachon finally, "will be an explaination of why
you are so strange." 

Now it was Linda's turn.

Blink.

Blink.

"You are all odd", muttered Vachon to nobody in particular.  "But this
one.  There is something very strange about her" he said as he walked
away. 

###

"SLEEPING WELL?"
by Tara O'Shea

Time: Night
Place: The Raven

Miklos didn't bother turning on the lights. He padded into the living room
on bare feet, soundless on the plush oriental rugs they'd laid down the
day before. They weren't exactly the same ones Janette had had before. If
LaCroix had stored those, they had no idea where. He filled a wineglass
with blood and took the liberty of popping in the copy he'd made of the
tapes left here. Fiddle music filled the loft as he leaned against the
wall. 

He hadn't been quite prepared for it. Certainly, as a bartender, he'd been
approached by mortal women before. But this was different. He wasn't sure
quite what to make of it. Perhaps it was the novelty of all of the women
in question knowing exactly what he was. How had it been put once? Having
an 'understanding.' He seemed to remember Lisa McDavid had coined that
term, but then, it may well have been the Zombie Beachcombers talking. 

No, this was different. Tara intrigued him, though they had spent little
time together. She certainly seemed fascinated by him. She also seemed
curiously relaxed around him, less manic. Mercurial didn't even begin to
cover it. Multiple personality disordered, maybe... perhaps that would
explain her plethora of names. He contrasted the quiet, almost deeply
disturbing, meal they'd shared months ago to her dance of joy and
unexpected hug when he'd arrived at the Revenant. He was certainly not
used to anyone, even companions of hundred of years, *hugging* him. But
these women seemed particularly fond of it. 

Susan appeared ever in command of the situation, even when she knew she
wasn't. He admired that about her, and knew the Janette did as well. Susan
also had the good sense to fear LaCroix, a survival skill that had so far
eluded Tara. He for one was glad she'd had little to no contact with the
vampire this visit. And then there were all the new children popping up.
Ari had explained the concept of--what had she called them? Mikis? That
amused him. He would have to keep an eye out for the Vaquera, Torrey, if
the stories were true. Ari seemed *quite* pleased with his company and
actually seemed upset when they'd parted. And there was Tami and the "Mai
Tai Incident." He shook his head. 

Women. *Mortal* women.

A dark square against the window, blocking out a portion of the night sky
caught his eye.  He'd gone through the suite *quite* thoroughly earlier to
make certain nothing had been taken, or any electronic devices planted
during the 24 hours they'd been forced out. And he'd not noticed it
before. Unlocking the window and sliding it open, he pulled the yellow
square of paper off the surface and held it up to the light. 

"*Sleeping well*?" he read it aloud, and his brow furrowed. He stuck his
head out the window, and strained to the very limits of his sight, but
there was nothing. 

A vampire could easily have flown up and left the missive, but he couldn't
easily picture LaCroix or Nicholas doing such a thing. And Urs had spent
the day in the suite with him, and had been here the rest of the night. 

A mortal would have had to have gone to considerable trouble to place the
note there, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. 

He crumpled the note in his hand and frowned. This was potentially a
problem. 

###

SCHANKE IN THE BLACK HOLE
by P. (Aerin) Hanson with help from Lois Palmer & D.L. Powers
(The Lone Pack)

Time: Late night
Place: Lost in time & space, aka downtown Toronto
      
"D.L., you supposed be helping me find that stupid wharehouse, but
noooooooooo this is the 3rd time we've passed the Eaton's Centre," Aerin
griped. 
       
"It's not my fault.  Lois gave me an out of date map."
       
"You know I can't read in a moving car with out getting sick. Don't forget
you're sitting rightin front of me." 
        
"Why did we have to come NOW?  I gave up tickets to Skate Canada for
this," Aerin complained. 
        
"We know!", the other 2 yelled in unison, having heard it 20 times too
many. 
         
"Couldn't we have waited one more day for goodness sake? Just long enough
for me to watch the competition.  Would that have been so much to ask? 
Even just 6 more hours would have made me happy." 
      
"We're not the ones with the black hole surrounding us with a 5 metre
radius.  I mean losing assignments is one thing, but people? This time
you've gone beyond... What's the word I'm looking for?" Lois asked. 
       
"Look Aerin, I am not, repeat NOT putting up with Tracy for one more week. 
We have got to get Schanke back," D.L explained. 
        
"She's not that bad, she's improving, they should just take all the focus
off of her.  Give her a chance," Lois said, the eternal peacemaker. 
        
Aerin just stared through the windshield, hands gripping the steering
wheel hard. 
        
"You know," Lois piped up from the back, "I would like to get to the point
where we could no longer see the CN Tower." 
         
"It is the tallest free standing structure in the world," Aerin put in
while looking at the surrounding sidewalks, the ever ready source of
pointless trivia. 
        
"It's not my fault," D.L growled.
         
"Uh, guys, haven't you noticed an overwhelming number of Q- tips lying on
the ground?" 
          
There was a suspicious silence emanating from the back seat.
          
D.L & Aerin looked to see a look of discomfort on Lois' face. 
          
"Aerin, where the heck are you going?!! Watch the road!" D.L yelled. 
          
Aerin swung the car over to park in front of the World's Largest
Bookstore.  "Alright Lois, give the details or alse you walk home." 
           
"Hey, with out me you can't pay for gas."
           
"OK, I'll stuff you in the trunk."
           
"Nick does it all the time."
           
"Yeah but he has a Caddy, not his mother's Dynasty."
           
D.L. snickered.
           
Aerin merely waited for Lois to cave, staring her down.
           
"You know that doesn't work on me.... come off it Aerin.... Aerin...don't
bother trying it won't work." 
           
Aerin raised an eyebrow. That was the final touch.
           
"Alright already", she caved, "the Natpackers have declared war.  Haven't
you guys recieved anything strange yet?" 
           
"You've brought us into a war zone?" D.L asked in a low, dangerous voice. 
           
"I'm just along for the ride.  It's not my fault."
           
"I wanted to be watching Shae-Lynn Bourne & Victor Kratz. You're the one
who made us come." 
            
"I'm not the one with the blackhole around me," D.L responded to the
accusation. 
            
"I'm not the one who got us lost," Aerin defended herself. 
            
D.L switched the focus to Lois, "You knew ahead of time & you didn't warn
us." 
            
"It's nothing to do with us.  We just find Nick and see if he can helps us
find a way to bring him back." 
            
"I still think we should ask Lacroix, he's been around longer." 
           
"You're a Cousin, of course you want Lacroix."
           
"Have you ever thought what he might do to us?  After all I'm an FoD, and
Lois is a Natpacker." 
            
"Who have you declared war on this time?" Aeirn asked quietly. 
           
There was no answer forthcoming so Aerin reached over & popped the trunk. 
            
"Alright, everyone recieved something but the main focus seems to be the
Cousins." 
            
D.L. slumped in her seat, "We're in trouble."
            
"Yeah, I'm thinking," Lois replied.
            
"Alright then," Aerin put the car in gear with purpose in her eyes. "Let's
go." 
            
"Haven't you forgotten something?"
            
"What?"
            
"Shouldn't you put the trunk down?" Lois wanted to know.
            
Aerin slanted her a look, "Do you want to get out & put it down?" 
            
"You need me to protect you from the Natpackers."
            
D.L. got out, fed up with the bickering, to put down the trunk. 
Immediately Aerin pulled in to traffic when she returned. "OK where are we
going?" 
           
"Nick's"
           
"How? Did you forget something else? Like the fact that we're lost." 
           
"I recognise where we are now."
           
"Why Nick's?"
           
"If there's a war the Knighties are bound to be there aren't they?" 

"Well, yeah." 
           
"So they're all a bunch of do gooders.  They are bound to help us." 
           
"What about the Cousins or the Natpackers since those are your factions? 
Or the FoD's?" 
           
Aerin & Lois both hit her over the head.
           
"OK, stupid question."
           
"We need an uninvolved faction & the Fod's would lynch me if they find out
I'm responsible for schanke disappearing.  You'd be stranded with out a
way home. 
            
"What if the Knighties are already involved."
            
"Then we're all in trouble."
            
"We're not already?"
             
Aerin growled.

###