***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 Lamber