***Sunday, November 5, 1995*** LADIES OF THE KNIGHT by Perri Smith Time: Dawn Place: Nick's loft Nick opened the door to the loft quietly, trying not to wake the Knighties. They'd had a long couple of days, and deserved all the sleep they could get. At least they didn't have to work. He was just glad his shift was over for the night. He crossed the floor at a hover, avoiding footfalls, and checked on the children as he went by. *Children. What a word to use.* These followers - many of them were older than he had been when he was brought across. They were women (*and men,* he reminded himself, looking at Matt and Tim) of the world, most of them. Still, they looked up to him, depended on him for protection. . . and were more than willing to yell at him, he reminded himself, without regard for who was older. They had proven that when they'd stood by and let Amy holler. No, not children. But part of his life, now, all the same. He was even starting to put names and personalities to faces. Marcia, shy until she got going, then there was no stopping her. Scottie, the veteran, unflappable unless it involved nicotine or cola. Marge, the dramatic one. Allison and Susanne, the quiet ones. Amy Denton, the hothead. *Is she ever. Haven't been cussed out like that in centuries.* Catherine, the sneaky, calm one. Perri, the enthusiastic, innocent one -- he smiled ruefully. *If I ever called Perri that to her face, she'd bite my head off and enjoy it. Innocent, but mean.* Sandra -- *I don't want to think about that.* He'd thought her to be one of his most loyal followers, but how could he not believe his own eyes? Still, something inside nagged at him, that maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong. *Amy believed in her. Loudly.* He shook it off and went to the refrigerator, forgetting for a moment that they'd moved the blood. He stared at the food for a minute, wondering for a moment. *What the devil is in tofu? And why does Scottie drink so much of that 'cola' stuff?* He shook his head and retrieved blood from the mini-fridge under the bar, *They may have a point about blood in the main fridge,* poured a glass, and took it back to the table, turning on one small light for company more than anything. "Nick?" Perri appeared from the darkness behind the couch, rubbing her eyes sleepily. A fuzzy blanket with a picture of a tiger was wrapped around her shoulders, trailing on the floor behind her; feet clad in blue socks poked out from beneath it. "Yeah, it's me. Go back to sleep, Perri, it's still early." She yawned and came to the table anyway, slipping into a chair. "Naw, it's almost 6:30 in Texas. That's when I usually get up." He smiled at her; he couldn't help it. She was curled up in the chair with her legs under her, her hair falling into her eyes, her chin propped on her hand. And she looked maybe twelve. *Compared to her usual 16. Another thing Perri "I'm 21, dammit!" Smith would kill me for pointing out.* "Have you noticed we always seem to wind up like this? Sitting in the dark talking?" he thought out loud. "Mmmm," she answered with a sleepy smile. "I usually plan it that way." She shrugged when he looked at her questioningly. "I never get to see you except in wars, and I like talking to you. So shoot me." "What's going on?" another sleepy voice asked before Nick could respond. Catherine appeared from under the stairs. She was wearing a huge shirt with a black cartoon duck -- *Daffy,* he remembered -- and her hair was standing on end. She didn't seem to notice as she walked towards the table, narrowly avoiding stepping on several Knighties, and took another seat at the table. "Nothing, Cath," Perri answered, "just talking to Nick without fourteen other people around eavesdropping." "Tell me about it," Cath groaned. "I love them all, but man, we take up a lot of space." Nick declined to comment. "Yeah, they're all great, but it's nice to have some quiet time," Perri agreed. "It's sure been a helluva war." She looked up at Nick. "Remember that mess in New York, at the Jekyll & Hyde and the Jack the Ripper?" "I remember your friend Dawn trying to skewer me." "And I remember you *leaving* me with her, Nicky," Perri pointed out. "I think you two are even." "You yelled at me." "You deserved it." He saw Perri and Catherine exchange glances. For a moment, neither of them looked quite so sleepy. *Uh-oh.* "And you deserved it this time, too." Perri.." he started warningly. "Nick," she stopped him, "remember how you asked me that night why we follow you?" "Yeah," he answered slowly. "I told you we love you because you're not perfect, but you try to be. So we follow you even when you're being a jerk." "Your point?" They exchanged glances again. "Nick," Catherine said, "you're being a jerk." *Ouch. So much for children.* "Oh really." "Yes, really," Catherine continued. "Nick, you're acting like an industrial-strength idiot about Sandra, and you know it. She's the most loyal Knightie that ever came along; she would never do *anything* you'd disapprove of." "Unlike you two." "Don't change the subject," Perri caught him. "Sandra is the farthest thing from a Cousin there is in the world, and she wanders around with a target on her back because of it. I'm amazed she hasn't been kidnapped more often." "You didn't see them, Perri," Nick said defensively, barely remembering to keep his voice down. "She was practically drunk, sitting there like she was his best friend. If she was a Knightie, LaCroix would have used her for prey in the first few minutes he had her alone." "And you're so great at figuring out LaCroix's motives," Catherine muttered under her breath. "Yeah, I think I am, after 800 years." Even to his own ears, it sounded like he was protesting too much. Perri's voice held the patience normally reserved for very small children. "Nick, LaCroix has his own reasons for everything. I have no clue why he left Sandra alive. But I know, and you know, that you went off like a hothead and accused Sandra, thought better of it two minutes later, and now refuse to admit to yourself that you were wrong, because it's easier to sulk." "Not bad pop analysis," Catherine said, biting back a smile. "If not exactly tactful." "Thank you," Perri said. "And I'm only tactful when it'll do some good." "Are you two finished?" Nick asked icily. "Are you going to admit you were wrong?" Catherine asked in return. He set his jaw and stared at them. They sighed. Perri looked sad as only Perri could. "You know, Nick, we love you. But you can't betray us like this and expect us to take it lying down." "Me? Betray you?" "Yes," Perri said. "You wouldn't listen to Sandra's explanation, never gave her a chance, just assumed the worst and turned your back. And she's the most loyal of us." "If you'll do that to her," Catherine picked up the thread without a pause, "Who's to say you won't do it to us. Won't turn your back on us when we need you the most, then refuse to even listen to us. Or admit you were wrong." The words hit like swords. The women were holding up a mirror, and he hated what he saw. Hated that they were right. They saw their scolding take effect, and saw that he wasn't going to say anything. They sighed again, and stood almost as one. "Go to bed, Nick," Perri said tiredly. "We'll be out most of tomorrow; you'll have the loft to yourself again." They trailed back to bed, refusing to look at him. Catherine detoured just long enough to find the remote, and close the shutters. He watched them go, wanting to speak, but not finding the words. A gleam of light caught his eye; he looked into the eyes of a Knightie, looking silently at him. As the shutters closed out the breaking dawn, he saw several other pairs of eyes open, looking at him silently, with no accusation, but disappointment. Then, one by one, they turned over and closed their eyes again. ### ROLLIN', ROLLIN', ROLLIN' by Gabrielle Stendell Time: Early morning Place: Toronto "Yes!" thought Gabi as she manuevered the '94 Caddy DeVille, affectionately dubbed 'Cruella,' through the deserted early-morning streets of Toronto. "I finally made it!" She was lucky she had managed to convince her mother to trade cars, Gabi reflected. 'The Stinkmobile' would never have been able to make the three-day-long drive, especially in the cold. Gabi shivered and pulled her thin coat more tightly around her shoulders. "Sheesh," she muttered. "And I thought it was cold in the bayou!" Within a few short minutes, Gabi was hopelessly lost. "Typical. Just *perfect*!" She parked next to a rundown building and pulled out a tattered map. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "I'm only a few minutes away!" Three hours later, Gabi managed to locate Merc Central. She slipped in the elegant front door as quietly as possible--the last thing she wanted to do was disturb the others right off the bat. She gracefully arranged herself on an antique settee and immediately fell asleep. ### BUTTONS, BUTTONS, EVERYWHERE-- (a) by Partly Time: 7am EST Place: Toronto Partly closed another e-mail with an angry stab at the mouse. People were certainly moving right along in the war, and here she had spent the entire weekend shopping. All right it was true that she had needed to go shopping, she couldn't very well keep up with the war with out a computer. The new powerbook sitting in front of her was a *wonderful* toy, and she loved all the cool clothes she had bought, but she came to Toronto to do more than just shop. Besides there were a lot of people who still had a bad attitude when it came to Tracy (and by default, the Perkulators). While she could handle honest criticism, some of the posts seemed downright mean-spirited. Still, what bothered her most is that everybody seemed to be simply *ignoring* her. While she was only a one-person faction, that didn't mean that she was simply here to be the comic relief. A more aggressive stance needed to be adopted. Perhaps a little reminder that she was still around. It should be small and subtle, something that wouldn't overwhelm the others right away, but that would build over time. And above all it had to be perky and annoying. Her eyes fell to the small pink button on the desk next to her computer, and she smiled. Perfect. Besides she couldn't let them think that the name "button" annoyed her. Might as well turn it to her advantage. All she needed to do was make one small addition, and then get someone to help deliver them. And she knew just the people too. Despite their inability to become actively involved in the war, they had offered to help her out if she needed it. She thought she might take them up on it now. Besides, she needed some more money, everything was costing a lot more than she thought. And soon she'd have to pay for some help. ### SICK DAY (Part 2b) by Diane Echelbarger Time: Morning Place: Toronto Diane packed her luggage, called a cab, and gave the driver the address of Die-Hard Central. "Can I help you, ma'am?" the guard asked. "Dawn Steele, please," Diane said, dropping her blue atheletic bag to the floor. "Tell her it's Diane Echelbarger." Dawn arrived a moment later. "I've come for sanctuary," Diane told her. "Until you've got that--bread recipe--back from your friend." ### CHOCOLATE, CAT LITTER, AND MISSED COMMISSIONS Or: Sara on a Grey Day by Sara E. Orel Time: Morning Place: Toronto Floating, _that's_ what the feeling was. Sara had spend the last several days walking around in a daze, trying to keep a bit of a watch on what was going on with the War, in the meantime haunting used bookshops and trying to get back issues of journals. She had wandered around the ROM last week (probably missing Sandra's kidnapping by not very much), but hadn't looked up anyone she knew there. Actually they were laying off a lot of people there and she didn't really want to find out who still had a job and who didn't so she just avaoided the whole thing. But the Egyptian section (the new installation) was really quite spectacular and she did need to get that coffin published... Actually Sara had been feeling rather sorry for herself as she had been offered a commission at the beginning of the war and written back enthusiastically (yes, sure -- I'll take the job) and then never heard from them again. Perhaps some other merc has also been approached... Maybe we need to make sure that there is a time limit to the recruitment offer (get back to me by 12:30 or I'll go to someone else), because she had waited to drum up work while hoping to hear back from the potential employer. Now there was another offer that she had contacted someone about, but it probably had been taken by another merc as well. She was simply not as young and agressive as some of the other mercs. perhaps she was a FOD? They had a good life, a relaxed life. But no, that was not lucrative enough (and she didn't want to live in a place that smelled of garlic most of the time). Oh well, she thought as she cleared out the cat litter again (why were payments virtual and the cats not? she grumbled), at least I don't have to worry about retaliation (although strictly against the code, it was always a concern). And she had a nice place to stay in Toronto, with lots of coffee shops around. And at the moment merc central was quiet -- there had not been as many mercs wandering through the place as they had expected, making Sara's job as house-mistress/mother and cat-sitter much easier than anticipated. Except for the feather torture conducted in the house earlier in the week. Sara had been very uncomfortable with that, her honour code background showing through rather strongly, but not strongly enough that she interfered with her fellow merc's commission. She just was slightly concerned with how much the wars had warped her morality. Still she had a feeling that the world was passing her by. Should she post asking for commissions? Perhaps she would buy some ad time on a local tv station, or she could try to talk her way onto the air at CERK, or she could spam the lists... That might work... Of course if they were being held again it would be a problem. Where was that list of war leaders -- she could send an ad to each of them and ask them to post it on to their followers. Hmmm... Must think about it, and give the person who most recently was advertising for a merc a fair shot to respond. Tea and a book and some President's Choice lemon cookies, and a warm fire. Toronto in November is cold. ### WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GO SHOPPING (Part 1) Or: Veni, Vedi, Visa by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Time: Morning Place: CERK Elizabeth got up from her uncomfortable bed on the floor of CERK Central and stretched. She'd been in Toronto just over a day, and had only done one job for the Cousins, and that had been child's play, distracting the NatPackers while the Cousins had done--something, she wasn't sure what. Rolling up her sleeping bag, Elizabeth shook her head. She got the impression that the Cousins didn't quite trust her even though she was *trying* to fit in. She had acted all tough and obnoxious last night when annoying the NatPack (which was completely against her personality) and all it had gotten her was glares from Cousin Lisa. Oh, well. At least they were kind enough to make sure the NatPack didn't *see* her, and she used her aggravating "Courtney" voice, so no one could recognize her. But if the Cousins didn't make us of her soon, she was going to go looking for other contracts. But some vestage of loyalty demanded that Elizabeth stay with the Cousins for at least a few more days. (Not being precognative, Elizabeth did not know that her best move might be to get her butt out of CERK before Julie was shipped to Mexico, let alone before she got back...) Elizabeth dressed, making sure that her clothes were both stylish and easy to get in and out of. Where she was going, she had to make a good impression but she wasn't going to try on clothes if it was a pain to undress all the time. And then she stepped outside, stepped inside, and put on about three more layers. Toronto was COLD!!! Only when she was well away from CERK did she pull the lovely, gold colored item from her wallet. Erica had told everyone that she had paid for the Merc out of her own pocket... which was true, in a sense. Surely at *some* point LaCroix's credit card had resided in Erica's pocket. Now, however, it was Elizabeth's, and while the sun was up, and the so-called "vampires" were sleeping, she was going to work it. First she had An Incredible Stroke Of Luck (tm) and managed to guess LaCroix's PIN number on her first try (I'd tell you what it is, but it's a spoiler for Trophy Girl), which allowed her to withdraw money from an ATM. *Lots* of money. *Lots and lots* of money. All of it was converted into American dollars and deposited in her checking account in California. *Hah* she thought smugly. *Now all my bills are paid. No matter *what* happens in this war, I'm ahead of the game.* Then she hit the streets. Sunday was a bad day for shipping--all the really good stores were closed--but she was able to find an computer store and purchase a PowerBook (she'd been dying to have one, and so what if she couldn't explain to her parents how she got it? "Uh, it fell off a passing car, and I couldn't flag it down in time.") with an internal modem, and picked up a cellular phone at the electronics store next door. (She couldn't think of even a lame explanation for that.) Then she wandered around for a long time, looking for the right place to shop. PowerBooks were all right, cash in multitude was enjoyable, but when Elizabeth wanted to *really* shop, clothes were what she was after. She never had the time, money or figure to do so before, but having finished midterms, dropped thirty pounds and snagged Uncle's credit card, she was free, she was rich, she was Julia Roberts on Rodeo Drive. And she was also lost. ### THE LONE PACK by Patricia (Aerin) Hanson Time: Morning Place: Toronto Aerin spotted the warehouse down the street & started lookung for a place to park. She wondered if the street was always this crowded, considering it was Toronto, or if it was the large influx of Knighties due to the war. Knighties - they sounded like a bunch of women's sleepware. "Looks like Nick's got a lot of company on his hands," D.L. observed. "You think he'll be upset with us showing up on his doorstep?" "He'll probably be on duty, so he won't know we've been here until the morning," Lois replied. "I hope he doesn't get mad at me for losing Schanke. Maybe he'll think I did it on purpose being a cousin and all." "Who knows, let's go find out, he might be grateful he's not dead. At least we might be able to get him back from the abyss." Aerin pulled into a parking place that was just vacated by an old broken down VW. "Blue punch buggy, don't punch back." D.L looked at her like she'd just lost her mind. "What, you've never played that game? First you don't know what a pediddle is now a punch buggy. You have lived a very deprived life." "You're wierd, you know that?" "Yep, and don't you forget it. That's what makes me fun to be with." D.L. just grinned, used to Aerin's antics. Lois got out of the car to stretch her legs. Tyler thrust his nose over the seat to lick Aerin's ear, begging to be let out too. "You just had to bring along the dog didn't you?" "He was a good dog. Besides, I had to bring along someone who loved me. Isn't he cute?" Aerin got out to open Tyler's door. He jumped straight into her arms and started to wash her face. "There's a baby, you're just so cute. Oh yes you are. And you were the best passenger." "You know, you're not much of cousin. Who ever heard of a cuddly cousin?" Aerin frowned, "I know but Lacroix is the only one on the show I can respect." "What about Nick?" "He's so dense he makes gold seem bouyant." "Natalie?" "She puts up with Nick." "Tracy?" That didn't even deserve an answer. "Vachon?" "Who ever heard of a hero with split ends?" "Schanke?" "I lost him." "Reese?" "That brown noser, puh-leeze." "Janette?" " She put up with Nick." "Cohen?" "Maybe, if she ever learned how to use verbs." The other two grinned, unable to resist, "Schanke. Knight. My office. Now." All three smiled fondly in remembrance. At least until the noticed that Tyler was halfway through the door of the warehouse. "How'd he do that?" "Shelties are on of the smarter breeds of dogs." "Guess we have to go after him, eh?" "Let my poor baby go into a potential war zone all by himself? Not in this lifetime." "All right, let's go in after him.," D.L. said with a resigned shrug. ### HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE AMY? by Susan M. Garrett Time: Morning Place: The Raven The bellow started Susan straight out of the lovely little dream she was having about upgrading her computer--she'd just managed to get all 32 meg running and the two gig hard drive was humming along. Unfortunately, she sat up quickly and bumped her head on the underside of the table top. Rubbing her head, Susan disentangled herself from the blankets and sat there a moment. She was in Janette's office, sleeping beneath a table she'd dragged in from the Raven. After all the going back and forth and vampires breaking in and out of the place all night, she'd decided that it might be better if the Ravenettes who wanted to moved into the Raven for the duration. They were scattered throughout the back rooms and Miklos had taken up semi-permanent residence in Janette's bedroom in her old flat, once it had been cleaned up and they'd installed a few deadbolts inside the door so he could protect himself from wandering Ravenettes. Shaking her head, she wondered what other protective measures she might be forced to take. Poor Miklos couldn't get a minute's peace--there was always someone hanging off him. It was interfering with his work. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy the situation. Maybe if she stashed a few more water pistols around the bar in strategic places . . . ? She'd found nothing as quick a damper on mortal puppy love than a squirt of cold water right in the kisser. That, of course, meant changing and reapplying makeup, and by the time the lovelorn in question was finished fussing and preening, they'd fallen completely out of their momentary lapse of judgment. "Miklos!" came the bellow again. The outraged and angered cry made Susan sit upright again, so she smacked her head once more. "Damn!" she muttered, crawling out from under the table. But it was while she was slipping into her big, woofly bathrobe that she realized--with a sudden chill--what that voice entailed. Could it be? Had the boss returned? Was Janette back in Toronto? Hurriedly, Susan ran out of the office and out toward the bar. No one else seemed to have awakened yet, but she heard vague stirrings as she passed various rooms. Once outside, she stopped dead in her tracks. It the boss . . . or the Boss' back. Her hair was up in a chignon and she was wearing that red velvet number with the straps. Susan blinked and took a step forward. "Boss?" she asked softly. "There you are!" But it the Boss. Oh, sure, it was the Boss' attitude and hair style and dress . . . but the body inside was Nat Packer Amy Hull. She pointed at a line of glasses on the bar top. "There a war on, isn't there?" asked Amy, voice dripping with disdain. "You may ask how I could tell--I couldn't miss glasses glued to my bar and shelves. Someone pay for this." Susan walked over to the bar and sat down on a stool. She tried to lift one of the glasses--Amy was right, it was stuck square in place. "Damn. Not the Knighties, cause they usually end up breaking glass if they're anywhere near it. And the FoD's would mess with anything related to food. Probably the Cousins. Unless--" She glared at Amy. "What the hell are you guys playing it? You're not equipped to start a war. It's just not part of the Nat Pack ." "," corrected Amy sharply. She leaned her elbow on the bar and pulled an empty ashtray over to herself. "What about the Nat Pack?" "Joke's over." Susan rose from the bar stool and turned up her glare a notch. "Just because the Boss is gone, you don't have to rub it in. You know, that was some mean stuff you pulled, but this has got to be the cruelest--" "But I'm not --I'm right here.," Amy said evenly. With a slight smile, she picked up a packet of cigarettes from the bar and eyed them. "This isn't my brand--Tara's, I assume?" Susan watched in wonder as Amy lit the cigarette with far more grace and elegance than should be expected from a non-smoker, and a smoke-allergic non-smoker at that. "I don't think you should--?" "What? Smoke so early in the morning?" Amy simply smiled. "You forget--our schedules are different. This would be the equivalent of your late evening." The cigarette went to her lips. She took a puff-- And then began to cough, violently. "Watch out!" Susan ran forward, put one foot on the stool and scrambled over the bar (taking some glued glassware with her). She stamped on the fallen cigarette before it could burn the floor or Amy, then took the bowl from one of the broken wine glasses, put water in it, and force-fed the Nat-Packer. Amy sputtered for a second, still coughing, then got a sip or two of water. She pushed Susan and the glass away. "What are you doing?" "Are you nuts? You know what smoke does to you--it's like Superman and kryptonite. Amy, I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but this has gone way too far--" "I am Amy." Susan stared as Amy spoke, enough of the inflection coming through. Amy wiped the ash from her dress in a very un-Amy-like fashion, then put down the broken glass. There was a slight line of blood on her palm, where the broken edge of the glass had cut her and Amy licked it delicately, almost . . . . Hungrily. "What's wrong with you?" asked Amy, staring at Susan, who was well aware she'd passed the point of pale a while back. "Where's Miklos? This place is a wreck! I'll have Alma's hide for leaving dirty ashtrays out." She pushed aside a pack of cigarettes. "Filthy habit! Perhaps I'll give it up, make the place non-smoking." Susan swallowed, suddenly becoming very, very frightened. It was Amy, but Amy was acting like Janette and doing very un-Amy types of things. She knew very well what that meant. "Have you, uh, seen any vampires lately?" asked Susan, in a very small voice. Amy smiled, one of those 'you're an idiot but I'll humor you' smiles Janette was so good with. "Every time I don't look in a mirror." "I mean--" Susan swallowed nervously. "I mean, have you seen anyone else, any other vampires? Like Nick? Or LaCroix?" "No." Amy pouted and turned away, running her hand down the length of glasses glued to the bar. "I haven't seen Nicola in ages. As for LaCroix--" There was a growl to her voice as she turned, "I think I want to have a word with him about what he's done to club." "Oh, good heavens," muttered Susan. She walked around the bar and pulled up a stool, then sat down on it heavily. "You've been hoodoed." Amy followed her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you well? You look as if you're about to faint." "I'm about to be royally ill, is what I'm about to be," answered Susan. She looked over at Amy. "And you think you're Janette?" Amy pulled herself up to her full height and stared down at Susan regally. "Have you lost your senses? I know who I am." "That's it," agreed Susan. "I've lost my mind." She rubbed her hand over her face. "At least it wasn't me this time." "It's all this war business," said Amy almost kindly. She quickly lifted her hand from Susan's shoulder and took a step away. "Perhaps you should lie down." "I should. But I can't. Not--not right now." Susan took a deep breath--God, she hated making it up as she went along. "You see, we think you're in danger." "?" asked Amy, eyes widening slightly. "How could I be in danger?" "Someone's stalking Janette--uh--." Susan slipped off the bar stool. "That's why we've got so many Ravenettes here, we need to keep an eye on you. Look, I'll go get Miklos and he'll explain it. Just, stay right here, okay? Don't move. I'll be right back." Turning tail, Susan ran into the back rooms and headed up the stairs. The door to Miklos' room was closed and dead-bolted--although she noted a few scratches on the exterior lock, indicating that there were probably still a few Ravenettes in serious need of hosing down. Rapping hard, Susan called, "Miklos! Get up. It's me. And we've got trouble." Susan pressed her ear to the door and heard nothing, so she started pounding again. God, these vampires slept like the dead! A few seconds later, she heard the scraping of the deadbolt. The room was pitch black, but she saw the security chain gleam in the hallway light as the door was opened slightly. "Yes?" "Miklos, we've got trouble. Someone hoodoed Amy Hull and now she thinks she's Janette." There was a pause. "Amy--?" His brain cells weren't up yet. She hoped his had a better kick-start ratio than Nick's--she needed him on a fast burn, full throttle, ! "The Nat Packer? Looks like the Boss?" "Oh. one." The door closed, the chain scraped out of the lock, then the door opened again. Miklos stepped into the hallway wearing a long striped nightshirt and Mickey Mouse slippers. "Where is she?" For a moment, Susan was fixated on the slippers. She looked up at him, trying to keep a straight face. "They were a gift," he said defensively. "Something to do with this 'Miki' thing." "I'll bet." Then she grabbed his arm and led him downstairs. "You have to un-hoodoo her or we're in big trouble." By the time they'd reached downstairs, Amy had swept up most of the glass behind the bar--very un-Janette-like, but old habits die hard. "How did you let this happen?" she accused, catching sight of Miklos. Then her eyes narrowed. "And are you wearing on your feet?" "I told him there was glass down here." said Susan quickly. Catching Amy's arm, she steered her to a stool. "Boss, I think there's something in your eye. Miklos--come take a look. I don't have that nifty vampire-eyesight like y'all." Miklos walked over obediently. As he passed, Susan asked softly, "Can you tell who did it to her?" "I may," he whispered. "It's very much like a signature." He placed one hand on Amy's bare shoulder, after getting her approval, then looked into her eyes. Susan closed her own eyes and put her hands over her ears--after being hypnotized left, right and center, the thought of hoodoo made her queasy. Besides which, she seemed very susceptible to that sort of thing and the last thing she needed was to be hoodoed into think she was Amy. A loud bang and a thump made her open her eyes. Miklos was sitting on the floor and Amy was barely holding a barstool over him--the weight of it eventually swung it to one side and caused it to drop to the floor. "Sorry, Boss," said Susan quickly, getting between Amy and Miklos (Amy seemed pretty intent on kicking Miklos in the ribs . . . or somewhere more vital). "We just had to check that you hadn't been tampered with. I told you, there's some funny stuff going around. You sort of just dropped in on us and--do remember where you were, before you got here?" "I'm always here," said Amy quickly. "This is club." "But you sold it to LaCroix, remember," pressed Susan. She advanced on Amy, making her move back and away from Miklos. "You went away." "I sold--yes, I did." Amy blinked. "I woke up in a booth an hour ago. I'd had . . . too much to drink." She leaned back on the bar and closed her eyes, as if thinking so hard was hurting her. "You need a nap." "I . . . do. Yes." Amy straightened and shot her a quick glare. "I'm going to bed. Clean this up--I want the bar spotless when I wake. And have Miklos help you." Susan watched as Amy turned in a very un-Amy like fashion and stormed up the stairs. She leaned down and offered Miklos a hand up. He took her hand, then dusted himself off. "She may think she's a vampire, but she doesn't have the strength of one--if that had been Janette, I would have been across the room." "Who hoodoed her? Can you undo it?" Miklos shook his head and picked up the overturned bar stool. "I don't know who mesmerized her--the signature's not familiar. I don't think it was Nick. And I can't seem to get through to her. As long as she's Janette, she thinks she's a vampire, which means she thinks she's immune to being hypnotized--" "So she can't be 'un' hypnotized?" Susan sighed. "Aw, great." Seating herself on the bar stool, she looked up at him sadly. "Well, let me work on it a while. I can't give her back to the Nat Pack like this because they'll think did it to her. It's not wise to incur that kind of unwarranted karma in war time." "I'm going back to bed," announced Miklos. "Um--wait!" He paused when Susan called to him and she gestured upstairs. "Methinks the lady has taken your sleeping quarters. I don't know--I don't to know--what kind of relationship you had with Janette, but if Amy thinks there was something going on between you two . . . ?" Miklos frowned. "Then where am I supposed to sleep?" "There's a nice spot under a table in Janette's office that isn't being used right now." He glared for a moment, then sighed. "All right." Susan watched him leave (he really look cute with those mouse slippers), then leaned her head on the bar. Morning wasn't her best time for thinking, but she had to come up with something. When the Ravenettes awoke, and before Amy came to, they'd have to have a war council n what to do with a hoodoed Nat Packer who thought she was the most stylish vampire club owner in Toronto. ### FOSSILS TO THE RESCUE by "Angus Midhir" Time: Morning Place: Brandon My name is Angus Midhir. It's a good name. In fact, Its a better name than my two-legs Kimberley knows. She named me Midhir because it was the name of a fairy lord in Celtic legend. She thought it was cute the way I talked to and played with people who _she_ thought weren't there. So I have to work on her a bit. Why is it such a good name? It all has to do with the fact that _I_ don't have direct access to my two-legs' e-mail account. Its based at the university and I'm stuck eight blocks away. But there's power in names. I give my messages to my friends, they send it up on of the trees outside the Brodie Building and to the elves who live in the organic lab. (At least she's starting to acknowledge their existance.) They then take my message down to the Folk on the basement computer labs. (She believed in those guys a couple of days after she got her computer account.) They get my messages across. They have to. I told you there was power in names. I can get help whenever and where-ever I want. Not a bad trick for a kitten to have. Yes, I'm a kitten. So how did I become a FOSsiL? Through Halloween. He's my hero. Next to Sydney, of course. He had my two-legs before she came to university and now he's claimed ownership of her parents. He got in touch with me just after I moved in with Kimberley. Through e-mail. I asked him how he did it. He just said, "Strange things happen around Halloween." But now I have a problem. Sydney had dissappeared and my two-legs had gone off to Ballymoresk without me. Now I have to find my own way there. WEll, _someone_ has to rescue Sydney and I'm surely not going to leave it up to those two-legs! They couldn't keep him in the first place! Halloween can find his own way there but how an _I_ going to get there. No one travels between Samhain and Beltane. Except.... Someone has to be coming from that Vancouver place back to Toronto after the Harvest Fair! I can probably travel with them! Now where's a hob when you need one. *Hob! *HOB! *Good. Your here. Is there anyone coming in throught to Ballymoresk today? Good. Can you get me an introduction and an invitation to travel with them? Thankyou. Tell them I'll join them soon. *And two more things. See that note on the table? Forge the handwriting and add, "PS. I know you're planning to go home this weekend so I'm taking Angus with me." I know it's difficult. But you're a hob. You can handle it. *And take my bowls and food and hide them in the first bedroom's closet. Perfect.* *** Place: Toronto (outside Nat's apartment) Where is he? The Folk have brought me to Sydney's place but Halloween hasn't shown up yet. I don't like being all by myself in a place this big. I'm small. I could get stepped on! And I still haveb't grown into my collar. What if it falls off? No one will know who I am or how to contact Kimberley or DD! *What's the matter Kitten?* *Halloween! Your here! I thought you'd never show up!* *Well, I'm here. What have you found out?* *See that guy over in that tree? He's on the second branch on the left, wearing a lot of brown but with a red hat?* *No.* *Oh. This could be a problem. I wonder what you'd look like in a red hat. If we could get the hob to give his up. Then there's the problem of getting it to stay on your head. Maybe he could sew on ties or an elastic or something...* *MIDHIR! About Sydney?* *Oh, yeah. Well, that guy-you-can't-see said that a few days ago, just after Samhain, the woman-who-lives-here came out with the cat-who-lives-here and gave the cat, that's Sydney* *I realize that.* *Yes, well, she gave Sydney to a dark-haired, female visitor who hasn't been back since.* *So we have no idea where Sydney is.* *Yes we do. Y'see, _Sydney_ can see that guy up in the tree. In fact, they're friends. So when the visitor took Sydney away, he followed. So, if you're polite and don't make to big a deal about not being abe to see him, Toggle's going to take us right to Sydney.* *Toggle?* ### DEVIL WITH THE DEED by Cousin Zillah with thanks to Toni C. Holm Time: Morning Place: Zillah's room In which our hero decides on a change of living arrangements, the dead provide the means to an end, and decisions concerning deeds are pondered. ------------------------------------------------------------ Consciousness came slowly. That was as it should be. He didn't like mornings. The only thing he liked about mornings at all was being able to mention in great detail that he didn't like them. He liked that and sleeping through most of them. He sat up slowly, his legs and lower back complaining from the movement. overworked calves stretched and relaxed in an effort to loosen the tension and bring a little relief. It helped. A hot bath and he would be good as new. First, room service would be nice. "Hello, yes. This is Hunter Rose in room 666. I'd like the breakfast special with the eggs scrambled, toast with grape jelly, ham, and orange juice. Yes, and pepsi. A six pack, if you have that available. Fine, thank you." Zillah put the phone back in the cradle and stood up. He smiled at the thought of passing himself off as a comic book character, particularly one with this much style. True, it wasn't a child's comic... it had been dark and full of violence, and the "hero" had been a criminal of the highest order. But Grendel had been a tragic figure, brought down by his only act of kindness and his mortal enemy Argent the Wolf. The story had epic proportions... a myth for the 90's generation. Maybe. He also acknowledged that he was a romantic at heart too. He grinned a boyish grin. The food arrived, was consumed, and the remains carted away with quiet efficiency. A long soak in the whirlpool bath wiped away the memory of pain. Clean clothes put on. Black. That much was still necessary... who knew what today would bring. He sat in front of the plate glass in a red plush victorian chair, feet propped on an oak coffee table polished to a high gloss. He read the deed for the Raven, occasionally looking out over the Canadian skyline. He couldn't really make any sense of it, with it's twisted language and jargon. It could be a fake for all he knew. He folded it and put it away, pondering it. What to do with it? His first impulse was to give it to Uncle. Why not? It was rightfully his. Maybe he could get him to bring him across in exchange. Probably not, it didn't really sound like LaCroix, but who knows. Maybe he'd just lose the deed and see what happened. That could be fun too. A sly smile spread over his features. Maybe he'd sell the Raven to the "Hooters" chain where busty scantily clad coeds served cheap appetizers to drunk heterosexual men. He thought of bottle blond sex kittens wearing tee-shirts cut down into halter tops serving chicken tenders to beer guzzling college guys. He thought of the cheap sex and the gaudy atmosphere. Then he stopped. Who would notice the difference? In his mind he heard LaCroix shout over and over "Let's get naked" and he shuddered. One thing for certain, he'd have to decide soon. The room was being funded via computer transfer from a mastercard belonging to a dead man. All meals and expenses were automatically charged and the funds transfered... but the card would be cancelled at some point. It would be best if he were out of the room before that happened. Acknowledgments: All thanks to Matt Wagner for the loan of his character "Grendel/Hunter Rose" which appeared as a "Grendel" comic published by ComiCo. ### SURPRISE, AMY!!! by Felicia Bollin, through contact with the Ravenettes/NatPack Time: Noon Place: Toronto "What a lousy assignment," Urs thought, poised to take flight. The Ravenettes had sent her off on a "special mission", and since they had been nice enough to save her from what looked like a lifetime of degradation spent as a stripper ("Janette would have done just the same," that nice Susan Garrett had assured her. This Janette sounded like her kind of vampire) and given her a new lease on her unlife as lead singer for the new Raven band, she had acquiesced with pleasure. But she didn't understand the first thing about what they wanted her to do, or the concept of this whole "war" thing. Javier was off somewhere with the cow people, and frankly, she couldn't have cared less at the time. A girl had to eat, after all. "I can't always be where you expect me to be, Javier Vachon!" she yelled angrily, through the threads of their connection. She got no response. "If that's how much he cares about me, then to hell with him," she thought again. "One hundred and fifty years of playing Wendy to the little Lost Boys there, and he can't even take the time to let me know where he goes or who he's with! Not even Screed respects me!" Vampires got quite used to having conversations in the form of interior monologues. No, Susan had taken her under their wing for this Janette's sake, declaring her an honorary Ravenette sympathizer, and if there was one thing Urs knew Javier respected, it was honor. As a matter of fact, he could be downright tiresome at times, droning on for long bloodlaced marathons about the concept. She'd show him she could be at least as honorable as he could. Besides, that mortal policewoman was trouble enough for a girl to have to handle, she hadn't liked the way Javier had looked at that Torrey person one bit. "Men!" she humphed aloud. Sailing off in a perfect takeoff, the fairly young vampire headed for the campus of Toronto University. "You're looking for a young man.... " the missive had begun. Urs had, of course, memorized it. She was no fool. And if there was anything about the vampire lifestyle she excelled in, it was hypnosis. + + + + (around half an hour later) Ari looked furtively down the hall. "Come on guys, coast is clear so far. Ugh, I still can't believe you talked me into buying this camouflage sweatsuit, Chanda. You know all the colors that don't look good on blondes? Well, they're all in here." "Yeah, but it could be worse," Chanda suggested. "Sure. Orange," said Ari succinctly. This was supposed to be a sober occasion, but she was still buoyed up by her earlier conversation with Miklos--- while Susan and Vicki went through the closing drill at the Raven, she had had him all to herself for a glorious forty-five minutes. Of course, she would still rather, she admitted shamefully, spend some time with Nick, but there was just... something about Miklos. He was just so delightfully.... *gloomy*. And just imagine; he had told her he held a degree in theoretical astrophysics! Wouldn't Ravenette Kathy be pleased! Of course, she knew Miklos' heart (at the rare times it beat), beat only for Tara--- they did have that special relationship, after all. But that was all right, she only wanted to be able to... borrow him, for the odd hour here and there. In the extremely doubtful event that each and every one of the other Ravenettes got too cheery about the new season. Hey, you never knew. "Guys, remember why we're here," David Dean hissed. "We're here to move in, deliver, and move out, not discuss fashion." He was in charge of the envelope, black with red sealing wax (Ari's) and the handy Raven seal found in an earlier shopping spree (Lorelei). They had chosen him because the scarcity of male Ravens (not quite as scarce as male Natpackers, but almost) would make him less conspicuous if seen, and because Catherine had felt a sudden undeniable urge to sit in the suite alone and get her Yo La Tengo fix for the day. Because Ari often had urges to spend an hour a day alone communing with herself or risk going nuts, she understood completely. Besides, the fifth was Chanda's birthday, and they didn't think there was a way to make mj inconspicuous if they tried, so David was the obvious choice. "All right." Ari gave one last furtive look both ways and whispered, "Now!" David strode quickly forward with the letter in his hands and thrust it under the door. Shouts in the general vein of 'Hey, what just came in underneath the door?" rang out. David scurried back and he, Chanda, and Ari flattened themselves against the wall, not daring to look. The door creaked open, and the Natpacker in question apparently looked both ways. Another voice, higher and piping. "Hey guys, there's a Raven seal on the back. Break it and see what it says!" Ari, Chanda, and David weren't vampires, but the words on the letter, written in white type on black paper in careful script, were burned into their brains due to the hundreds of rewrites it had undergone along the way. Ari mouthed the words along with the NatPacker: Dear Amy Hull and the NatPack, In retaliation for certain unsavory actions taken upon defenseless, unprovoked Ravenettes (Heather Parks and Tara O'Shea, by name), we the Ravenettes have implemented a contingency plan: As a result of the University of Toronto-sponsored symposium, "Deafness and Political Correctness", a young man very important in NatPacker Amy Hull's life is currently attending as weekend interpreter. We have sent a vampire emissary to introduce Ms. Hull's beloved Jody to Ms. Hull's replacement (who happens to resemble Ms. Hull to a shocking, yea almost interchangeable, degree, you may remember). The talented vampire emissary has already succeeded in hypnotising Ms. Hull's significant other. As of this moment, Ms. Hull's love is touring Toronto with said replacement in full belief that she *is* Ms. Hull. Either the NatPack sees fit to return Heather Parks' wardrobe, or heavens, who knows what Ms. Hull's replacement might do to (or with) this poor young man? Certainly not the Ravenettes. (And in case Ms. Hull is thinking of showing up on campus and trying to "convince" him of his mistake, we must warn you: We have increased the resemblance by dint of instructing said actress to dress exclusively in tent/peasant/oversized denim dresses and to eat only one meal a day: namely, a single peanut-butter granola bar topped with three scoops of chocolate ice cream. We mean business.) If you return Ravenette Heather's wardrobe, we will have our vampire emissary de-hypnotize Jody. Sincerely, An Unkindness of Ravens p.s. Ravenette Tara would like a carton of her favorite brand of cigarettes as well. We're sure at least one of your number knows the kind of which we speak. ### TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME... by Catherine Boone Time: Midday Place: Nick's loft Catherine wrenched open the elevator doors and dragged herself into the loft. All the other Knighties were out and about, doing their own little dastardly deeds, but she was beat. Sleep was the only alternative to total and immediate body shutdown, standing or no. Nick had the right idea, and was out cold on the couch. Probably figured it was safe to hit the couch since everyone was gone for the day. Personally, Catherine didn't quite understand people who preferred sleeping on couches to beds, but Nick was by far not the first to do so in her experience, so she just shrugged and found her corner of floor, on one of the few mattresses in the room. She crawled into her blanket, wrapping herself up tight. She sighed in contentment and settled in for a long nap. Just then, a particularly loud and noisy truck decided to roll by. Catherine propped open one eye for a moment in annoyance, then snuggled in closer. Another truck rolled by. This time she attempted to ignore it completely. And another. She winced, and pulled the covers over her head. And another. "God!" Catherine burst out from her covers and, careful not to wake Nick, padded over to the window. "What could they be doing out there, moving Toronto Stadium brick by brick?" She winced at the unintended pun, and peeked out the shuttered window. There was nothing there. Then she heard the rumbling again, like a heavily-burdened truck going by. But this time, it was coming from the other side of the room. Wide-eyed, Catherine crept slowly up to the couch, and stood over it. She caught the sound again. Nick was snoring. No, actually, snoring was a bad word. Nick was re-creating the Northridge earthquake in his nasal passages. Catherine couldn't help but stare in morbid fascination. "Good god..." (No. No! I am *not* going to laugh! I'm not! I'm NOT!) Nick snored again, and the window frames vibrated very, very softly. Catherine clapped a hand over her mouth, bolted up the stairs and managed to get the door to Nick's room closed before she fell down and laughed fit to tears... When she had laughed herself out (which took surprisingly long, considering she started up all over again, every time Nick inhaled, for a good ten minutes), Catherine wondered what to do. There was no way she was going to be able to get to sleep with that racket. "Well, there's always poking him into rolling over..." But wait. Catherine, being a good little vampire fan, knew her Rice, and that baaaad things happened to people who woke up vampires, even normally friendly ones. That whole lethal instinct thing was something she just did not want to see in action. (Oookay. Alternatives?) She eyed all the pillows and stuffed animals scattered over the room, and grinned. She tiptoed downstairs, and collected as many as her arms could carry, then walked back up the stairs, and peered over the railing. (Well, I'm no major league, but here goes nothing! Bombs away!) She began bombarding the couch with pillows in an effort to wake Nick up. Unfortunately, not only was she not major league, but Catherine also didn't have her contacts in, so only one teddy bear even hit the couch, and that just hit the arm, nowhere near Nick. She pouted for a moment, but only a moment. This was far too much fun. She ran back downstairs for more ammunition, giggling softly all the way. (Okay, it's the bottom of the ninth, the Indians are tied with the Jays, they bring Lacroix up to bat. The catcher signals for her to bean him with a fastball, right on the honker.) Catherine smiled grimly. (It's a dirty job...) She wound up, tiny stuffed elephant firmly in hand. She could hear the crowd roaring in the distance, see the Cousins taking long leads off of first and second bases. But all her attention was fixed solely on Lacroix's sneering face, as if daring her. Taunting her. She launched the elephant with all her might, the bells tied around its neck jangling wildly. Yup. You guessed it. Right on the honker. "And the crowd goes wild!!" All her cautions forgotten, Catherine danced around while a very sleepy, very confused, and generally very non-lethal vampire groggily opened his eyes. "Cathrn? Wattr yu doin?" Oh, yeah. Nick was supposed to wake up when she did that, wasn't he? Catherine crossed her arms in front of her chest and managed to look exasperated. "Nick, did you know you snore like an air raid siren in heat?" Exotic analogies. Never fails to wake people up, if only to figure out how to respond to what you just said. Nick's eyes shot open. "What?!" "Nick, I'm sorry! I just didn't realize you guys flew by use of jet engines on your face!" "WHAT?!" "Come on, Nick, I know you just woke up, but let's try to be original here. Don't make me come down there and make up your retorts for you. You *know* how much fun I would have with that." "I'll show you retorts!" Nick chucked the elephant back at her. Then another, and another. "Hey! Hey!!! No fair! You can see better! Aaaaaa!!" Catherine dove for cover in Nick's bedroom against a flurry of stuffed animals and pillows. And realized her good fortune. "Oooh! Satin sheets! All *mine*!" "NO!! No sleeping in my bed!" Nick was there in a heartbeat. "Out out out!" "Ha! Made ya look! The couch is mine!" She bolted out the door, but Nick was already lying on it before she got to the top of the stairs. She pouted, "That is *so* unfair! You know I can't fly!" (Whoever catches the reference is a closet Knightie, I don't care *what* y'all say. :) But Nick was still pretending to be asleep. So she came down and curled back up for her long awaited sleepytime. And if Nick beaned Catherine in the back of the head with a fluorescent rhino, she didn't notice at all. And if Catherine stuck her tongue out at Nick, he didn't have his eyes open to check. Much. ### BUTTONS, BUTTONS, EVERYWHERE-- (b) by Partly Time: 1pm Place: Airport Partly was waiting at the airport when the small plane she had charted arrived. She stood by the hood of her car, the cold wind blowing her new leather duster and the scream of the jets pounding in her ears. She grinned. God, this is fun. She couldn't wait to see her friends' faces when they got off. She didn't have to wait long. "What the hell is going on here?" Robin was the first one off the plane. Ray followed. "I just needed a little reinforcements that's all." Partly answered. "Did you stop and place the bet like I asked?" Ray gave her a disgusted look. "How did you know he was going to win? He went off at 40 to 1. The guy who took the bet just about died when I came back with the ticket." She handed Partly an envelope. "It's all in the name," Partly answered. "Come on, get in the car before we all freeze. I just have to let the pilot know that you're flying back later tonight. Oh, and I've got to pay him." She waved the envelope of money at them, and walked over to the plane. Ray and Robin just exchanged puzzled looks. "If you ask me," Ray said, "Tracer Bullet is the stupidest name for a horse I ever heard." They climbed in the car. A half hour later they were seated in Partly's hotel room, drinking coke and catching up in the war. Finally Partly, pulled out a bag of buttons and showed them off. Each button proudly sported a bright, yellow smiley face. When she dumper a handful of them on the table, they were disturbingly cheerful. "Well, what do you think?" She prompted. Robin found her voice first. "They're hideous." Partly nodded. "I wanted to have them say 'Have a Nice Day', but the buttons were too small." "Thank God for small favors. What do you plan on doing with them?" "I'm going to give them away." "You want us to put them in the cars like they did to you?" "No, I want to spread them out more than that. I want one in every pocket, every purse. I want them mixed in with loose change, put in coffee cups, drawers, dropped in jewelry boxes. I want *one* button *everywhere*. I want *everyone* to get some. I just want them spread out. I figure, at first they'll just ignore them, but after a while..." She grinned. "After a while, they'll get *really* annoying." Robin filled in. "That's my goal. I figure that you two are unknowns and will have the best chance to walk around without being hassled. Do you think you can help me? I'll buy dinner after we're done. In the tower?" Robin shrugged. "What the hell. With my new job starting, it'll be the only time I can get in the war. I'll do it." Ray nodded. "If you need my help, I'll be glad to do it." "Good." Partly stood. "I rented cars for you both, they are parked on the street. Each one has twenty bags of buttons in it. I have more if you need them. Here's a list of people, their factions and where I think you can find them. Please note that the people circled in red have been unnecessarily nasty as of late and the one in blue are friendlies. Distribute buttons accordingly." "There seems to be a lot more red than blue." Ray commented. "Why do you think I'm a one-woman faction?" She held up her hand to stop any comments. "Wait, forget I asked that. Let's go." ### RAVENS AND MERCS GO SHOPPING! HIDE THE CATS, ER, VALUABLES! by Felicia, Maureen the Merc, Raven Cynthia, Legal Counsel Vicki, and assorted others Time: 2pm EST Place: Toronto "Oh, I'm so totally confused!" Ari groaned to herself, pushing hands through her hair till it all but resembled Janette's on a bad day. She was starting to totally lose all chronological grip on this War. And where on earth was the anticipated defensive move from the Nick&Natpack? It was really starting to worry her. It meant either one of two things: the Nick&Natpack was planning something really terrifying and gory--- or; they were tacitly conceding the current skirmish to the Immortal Beloveds. Which would be more than fine with them. They had been strangely quiet almost all war--- what could it mean? Nothing good to be sure..... They had all been so busy that it was extremely much like "hi/ bye" between them, and Urs was also putting in all these extra hours with the band. Ari would hate to lose her in the shuffle--- she could be damn entertaining. With a few occasional exceptions, it seemed as though Tara, Catherine, and herself were the only ones who actually really *liked* Urs. Quite a few members of the other factions were nice to her only when they wanted something, and Ari had a feeling Urs had heard so much of that particular song during her relatively short un-life from "the boys" that such tactics probably left her stone cold. "Chanda!" Ari bellowed, thumping on the tabletop. A tinny sound emitted from the headphones as Chanda tried to simultaneously listen to country music and work on more of the Nick-to-Janette French composition. "What?" Chanda mouthed, leaning out from under the table. "Time for your birthday present!" Despite having been born in Buffalo, Ari knew very little about Toronto, and didn't have the time right now to find out. But surely it was safe to postulate that Eaton Centre had a pet store. Today was Chanda's twentieth birthday, a milestone if ever there was one, and Ari wasn't going to let it go unnoticed. "Maureen's gonna be here any second, and we don't want someone mistaking her for a working Merc and taking a pot shot. Have you done any more looking through "Cat Fancier" to see what kind you might like?" "A black one," Chanda pronounced definitely. "All cats are *not* black after midnight. Infinite variety..." Catherine murmured from her napping position. Ari rolled her eyes. Hanging out with Cousin Jamie was certainly improving Catherine's science fiction quote stash. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, the stores await." Ari whipped the covers off from Catherine's head. "Come on, it's not that cold in here. We put insulation in." "Go *way!" Catherine punctuated this statement with a very definite thump of the pillow, throwing an arm grandly over her face. Vicki tried to coax her into wakefulness by by reciting a long boring lecture on the true meaning of the Rule Against Shelley's Case, then moving on to the joys of The Rule Against Perpetuities as Catherine shuddered down to her very marrow. While this technique would have put a normal person to sleep, on Catherine it had the effect of fingernails on a blackboard. She reluctantly abandoned her pillow. "Come on, time's a-wasting. Before I forget, Chanda---" Ari whipped around, "you are NOT to let the cat run free throughout the Raven unless you want Tara in allergic torment. Kittycat stays in the wine cellar. At least until Tuesday's party is over." When Chanda made a faint sound of protest, she overruled it. "Nope, not until after the party. Because if you keep her up here on Tuesday night, then Tara will start sneezing like a fiend, and then she'll have to go lie down in Janette's apartment, and *then* we won't be able to do the *you-know-what* in the apartment." Chanda felt a definite thrill run up and down her back every time she heard those words. "Do you really think it'll work?" "Well, we'll see, won't we. Cynthia, Vicki, you ready?" "I still don't understand why you don't want an Abyssinian," Cynthia declared as they walked out the fire door and let it swing shut, waving goodbye to everyone. "I wouldn't be caught dead with any other kind of cat. *None*. If you had one, you'd see how fun they are, Chanda. It doesn't matter how old they get; they're like having a perpetual kitten around!" Maureen joined them, waving a white handkerchief jokingly in the air. "I come in peace!" she called. "You'd better. No one would be evil enough to use a cat shopping trip as a weapon." Chanda wished violently for a steaming mug of tea to wrap her hands around. No way did it get this cold in Tennessee. She wasn't even sure it got this cold *anywhere* other than in Toronto. Oblivious to the extremely attractive picture they made, the women squeezed into the bus, chattering all the way. There it was-- the Eaton Pet Emporium. Two floors' worth of things that crept, swam, flew, undulated, and slunk on their stomachs (remarkably like LaCroix, said Catherine, studying the Gaboon viper, as Vicki shushed her with a warning finger to the lips). But the girls truly had eyes only for the feline section. With 'oohs' and 'ahs' worthy of the Natpack discovering frogs, they began making fools of themselves leaning against the wire doors and crooning. "Oh! How darling!" Chanda admired a little black puffball of a thing that sat grooming itself. Cynthia wrinkled up her nose. "No way, you'll get The Hairballs From Hell with that albeit adorable little guy." "Oh, but long-haired kitties are the greatest!" Vicki commented. "Guy?" Chanda asked, her face falling in disappointment as Cynthia and Vicki both nodded. "Okay, that settles it. I want a girl." "She wants to name it after Janette," Ari confided. "I told you, Chanda, if that's the case, you don't want a black cat. You need an Abyssinian. Why, even Janette couldn't fail to be impressed by their provenance," Cynthia said persuasively. "Did you know they were the kind of cats the Egyptians put on their tombs to guard them? Why, they're royal. And you have to admit, knowing Janette, I'm sure she's had the Cleopatra fantasy more than once in her un-life." The females nodded wisely. Chanda looked temporarily uncertain. Maureen took advantage of that moment to plug *her* choice. "Listen to me guys, you want a Siamese. You see," she warmed to her topic, "one of their qualities makes them perfectly suited to be the Raven mascot. The great thing about them is; they're actually *bred* to attack!" "G'wan!" Vicki said with arms folded across her chest, a lawyerly eyebrow raised skeptically. "No, really! They were harem guards..." Chanda snickered, "Does that mean they were eunuchs?" Maureen continued, "The doors into the harems were constructed so that you had to bend over to pass through them," bending over to demonstrate, "and the cats would sit on perches above the door on the other side. If someone that they didn't recognize came through the door, the cats would pounce." Maureen started to straighten up when there was a flash of fur from the open cage beside her, and suddenly there was a cat on her back. Maureen went "erp!" and tried to stand up straight, but when the cat felt itself start to unbalance, it dug its claws in, effectively stopping the mercenary in her tracks. "Hey, cat! Get off!" Maureen tried to shake the cat off, but it just dug its claws in deeper. She stopped trying to rid herself of the creature with a wince of pain. "Hey, guys, take the cat off me, will you?" The sound of laughter made her look up, to see her fellow shoppers doubled over in hilarity. "Guys! C'mon! Guys?" she thought as she felt some warning twinges from her lower back. "If I throw my back out, and wind up in traction, *you're* paying for the hospital bill! Help! Someone help me..." "Stop wiggling, Maureen. You'll hurt the cat," someone with a familiar voice protested. Much to their shock/ merriment, when the listmembers turned, it was Alikhat! Laughing almost too hard at ths new development to be of any use, Catherine and Vicki rushed forward and attempted to pry the cat off Maureen's back. "Oh, where's a camera when you need one," laughed Ari, holding her stomach. "Oh man, if we had photographic evidence, they'd throw you out of the Guild, Maureen! We'd have favors coming to us for the next two Wars! Hey Chanda, where's that Fun-Saver you tucked in your bag for taking party candids?" "I think I left it back at the house. No wait a minute..." Chanda rummaged through her satchel as Maureen's voice rose from a plaintive wail to an out-and-out shriek. Vicki, Catherine, herself, and the cat resembled some exotic beast of burden long since extinct as they tried to extract the cat's claws without all falling onto the floor. If they had been paying attention, they would have heard Cynthia, leaning against the wall and watching all the hilarity with a jaundiced eye. "I *still* can't figure out why anyone would want a black cat when they could have an Egyptian Goddess cat," she muttered, shaking her head. "Listmembers." By the time they had managed to extricate the very persistent cat's claws from Maureen's back, a swarm of other kitties had escaped from the communal cage. So they were all having a darn fine time scampering around, crawling into small spaces underneath furniture, and calling to each other. The cats weren't having such a bad time either. The pet store owner had some very choice words for them as he eventually wandered over and chased cats as well; in response to said phrases, Ari had first turned slightly pale with shock, then drawn herself up imperiously and tried to use hypnosis to suggest that he just forget the whole thing. Unfortunately, it just didn't pack the same wallop it had had when Miklos was doing the demonstration, so they had to retrieve each and every one of the kitties. "I can't understand it!" Ari muttered to Catherine as soon as she could manage to sidle somewhere into her vicinity under the shopkeeper's watchful Simon Legree eyes. "It worked like a charm when Miklos was showing me! I had him under in twenty seconds!" Catherine smothered a small smile. "I think he was probably pretending to make you feel---" she thought of saying "better", then switched it hastily to "powerful. After all, he *is* the vampire, you know. You haven't had nearly as much practice," she comforted. "That's so endearing," Ari said, touched. "I must remember to tell Janette if she shows up. She can give him a raise." Catherine sighed, lifting eyes to the heavens. Then, she smiled. "Felicia?" she asked in a low voice, nudging her. Ari was almost too busy watching Cynthia surreptitiously trying to sneak into the back room with the tiny Aby kitten she held to notice this shocking slip of the tongue. She turned. Catherine was smiling. "I think Chanda's found her cat." Ari turned. Chanda was crouched down by the cage, staring in almost mesmerized fashion at the one cat who was patiently remaining in position, not the least bit seduced by the open doorway and the promise of freedom. She propped her chin on both hands and sat nose-to-nose with the cat, who was looking back at her with a remarkably human expression, caught somewhere between patient waiting and poised hauteur for those poor cats who just so happened to think themselves somewhat less on the evolutionary scale than humans. This cat looked exactly like she was thinking 'Why would I want to be running around on that floor, getting all filthy?' Since she largely held the same opinion, Ari thought this to be a sensible Ravenette determination. Very well, Chanda should have that cat. She crossed over to her. "Is that the one?" she asked. "I think so," Chanda replied, gazing raptly and cooing at the cat. "It's female, right?" The two girls did a quick check. "Could she be anything but?" smiled Ari, lifting her out and settling her into the cradle of Chanda's arms. "What a *sweet* little youngling, oh yes oh yes!" she crooned in an off-center manner. "Why, you-ums can't be more than six months old!" The cat, little sleek black whippet that she was, arched her head against Ari's hand with a smug "yes-aren't-I-wonderful" expression. Already won over, Ari pulled out the bag of Raven/ette contributions, including a large Western Union wire sent by Chanda's Aunt Ruth when she heard of the plan, not bothering to ask the price first. She placed it into the startled shopkeeper's hands, whose expression warmed at least ten degrees. He abandoned the great cat chase and went to the register to select a proper carrier, as well as food and water dishes, blank tags, flea collar (jeweled, of course, rhinestone on black faux velvet), and even threw in a leash. "Come on," Ari hissed, taking advantage of his thrilled flurry of avarice and corralling all the Ravenettes. "Time for us to get going." She pulled at Maureen, who was sadly inspecting the rents in her sweater and back. "Come on, while he's busy. We'll buy you some mercurochrome later. Time for clothes. Alikhat coming with us?" "She left," Vicki volunteered. "Said something about not wanting to spend the night in jail." "Can't fault her for that one," Ari muttered. Detouring over to the counter, she said, "Meet us in front," under her breath. Chanda was so engrossed in the cat, she gave only a small inclination of her head, so she had to be content with hoping her words had penetrated. Out in front, counting heads-- Maureen, Vicki, Cynthia, Catherine-- Ari asked, "Okay, anyone for clothes-shopping? Maureen, we'll buy you something too." "With what?" Maureen asked practically. "This." Ari, grinning, pulled out a very pretty charge card with an embossed logo of a raven on it. Vicki whistled. "How did you get a hold of *that*?" "Miklos slipped it into my hand as I was leaving. He said something about not telling Susan, it would be between us. So we're on the honor system to only get one outfit. Not complete Jackie Kennedy ensembles, so don't get too excited. He said, and I quote, 'Buy yourselves something pretty for the dance.' Then I think he leered at me, but I'm not sure about that part because you know how rarely he uses his smiling muscles." "Nice of him, but I've really got to run," Catherine said. "Legal stuff to think up, and all of that." "And someone had better take the kitten back to the wine cellar," said Cynthia, eyeing the cat as she and her person now appeared. "We'll go later, how about that, Catherine?" "Then you guys take the car," Ari bossed. "No sense in us taking the cat on public transportation. No, Chanda, we have to leave puss-ums now, so stop drooling with ownership. She'll be fine with the others. I doubt Cynthia is going to exchange her for an Abyssinian in our absence." ### A PLAN IS BORN by Shirl Cline Time: Afternoon Place: Shirl's hotel room Somehow she'd never thought war would be like this. She'd spent the days since her arrival helping the other Cousins to clean the old CERK offices, move LaCroix's things, and trying to stay out of his way. Nervous as she'd been before, she did *not* want to meet him when he was annoyed. She'd do anything for him, but she'd thought that things would be a little more exciting than this. Waiting for someone to include her in their nefarious plans was getting tiresome. She wanted to *do* something! she thought glumly. she thought. She selected a shirt and a pair of jeans from the clothes she'd brought. All but two of the shirts were in cooler shades of blue, except for her black CERK shirt and a green shirt that brought out her eyes. As she undressed, she thought about what had happened thus far in the conflict. It was beginning to look like the Natpack was responsible for starting the war, but why? Cousin Julie's comment at the meeting had stung a bit, but she couldn't help her inquisitive nature. Nat just didn't seem like the type to do it. With the intense battle over possession of the Raven, she thought that Janette's followers were a much more likely prospect. she thought as she adjusted the water temperature. As she stepped into the shower, she had a thought that made her begin to grin devilishly. She'd have to check with the other Cousins, and buy some more equipment. As she began formulating her plan, she began to giggle. She finished her shower quickly, she had some calls to make... ### WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GO SHOPPING (Part 2a) Or: Veni, Vedi, Visa by Elizabeth Lewis Time: Afternoon Place: Toronto Elizabeth had been wandering around for a while trying to find a decent clothing store. Every taxi she had flagged down had offered to drive her to the nearest mall, which she had refused. Malls were fine when she was in Los Angeles--they were required, in fact--but she wanted something... different here. Elizabeth was about to give up and head back to CERK Central when she saw a jewelry store that was open. Stepping in for a few moments to browse, she saw a woman casually dressed in a warm leather jacket and jeans, but who had the sort of attitude that made any store owner foam at the mouth at the opportunity to help her. After she had sent the clerk to the back for the third time looking for just the right set of sapphire earrings, Elizabeth said hello. "You know, if you could bottle that imperious attitude, you could make a fortune." The curly-haired woman looked amused. "It's a learned response. I was taught by the best." A faint, far-away, wistful look entered her eyes, and then she shook herself and continued with her perusal of the jewelry. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to disturb you," Elizabeth said politely, "but I'm new in town and I wondered... do you know any good places to shop?" The woman looked at her thoughtfully, and then a delighted gleam entered her blue-grey eyes. "I'd love toshow you! I need a new outfit anyway, after what the Na... uh, I lost my luggage. Follow me!" ### COPY, COPY by Wendy Kelley Time: 4pm EST Place: Wendy's apartment Wendy walked into the bedroom of her apartment and glanced idly at the computer screen. With her roommate out of town this weekend, she'd spent almost the entire time logged on, trying to read the War messages as they appeared. Now, however, she was waiting for her beta-reader to get back to her with the critique of Part 7 of her story. Wendy had been meaning to go to Toronto this weekend to join the diehards. In fact, she was *supposed* to have been there on Friday. But things kept coming up. The most recent occurred that night when the server that carried her fledgling Tomorrow People Creative list crashed, and she had to spend most of the night trying to reconstruct who had been on it. With only twelve names, it shouldn't have been that difficult. But she hadn't bothered to keep a written off-line record, and that meant she had to scour all the newsgroups looking for the addresses. The glance at the screen revealed a half-dozen messages waiting. *Probably all WAR posts,* she thought. She hit a key to get a listing of subjects, and there it was - the critique. She sat down to read it, prepared for the worst, only to be surprised by the Reader saying it was ready to go, no changes necessary. *Well, now that I've got part 7, I guess I should post the other six as well.* She uploaded the parts and sent them out, then turned to the TV to better pay attention the Tomorrow People episode playing. The computer beeped. Loudly. Several times. *Seventy messages,* she noted, turning back to the computer. *Good gods. The FKFIC list must have been held again.* Then she hit the return key and noticed 10 copies of each part sitting in her mailbox. *What? Did Mark mess the TPFICT-L list up again?* A quick phone call revealed that this was, surprisingly, not his fault. Which meant.... who else had access to the list? Selma. She was the only one on the TP list who was also on the FK list. *And* she was a Natpacker! It had to be her. Wendy growled at the computer screen, then decided it was way past time to get to Toronto. She grabbed her trenchcoat, oversized leather backpack, and purse (the combination thereof when worn made her look like a refugee from a gypsy camp) and headed out the door. Anything she would need would be in there, except... she ran back into the room, rummaged through the tape collection and threw one in the backpack. *This one could come in real useful.* She paused at the door, then grabbed her sword before heading out. This may not be a highlander war, but one never knew when swords would come in handy. Besides, after having a wear a sword for all of Halloween and All Saint's Day, she had started to enjoy having the sidearm, even if it draw a lot of strange expressions from the other students in her classes. She left for real, again. She hopped in the car and sped all the war to O'Hare, getting there just in time to catch a plane to Toronto, her mother's credit card once again coming in very useful. ### WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GO SHOPPING (Part 2b) by Elizabeth Lewis Time: Late afternoon Place: Toronto Heather regarded her new-found shopping companion with approval. Elizabeth was a confirmed shop-a-holic, and had an unerring eye for what looked good. They had hit five of Janette's favorite stores, and neither Heather nor Elizabeth showed any sign of slowing down. "Ooooooh," Elizabeth drew a reverent breath at the dress she was currently fingering. It was deep forest green velvet, with a off-the-shoulder neckline that was embroidered in gold thread. The long skirt fell in folds to the floor, and the whole effect was decidedly medieval looking. "I want that dress," Elizabeth said, rampaging lust in her voice. Heather nodded. The deep color of the fabric would suit her short new friend. "You know," Heather said slowly, "there's going to be a party Tuesday night at a club I know. If you want to come, you could wear that." Elizabeth considered. "I'd love to come, but I might have another job... I mean, I might be busy." Casually, Elizabeth turned over the price tag on the dress and Heather felt her jaw hit the floor. Not only was the price on the dress outrageous, but Elizabeth had been racking up quite a bill all day. "Uh, Elizabeth... are you sure you can afford that?" Elizabeth nodded as she handed over the credit card. "Sure. My Uncle is paying for it." Looking past her smug little smile, Heather noticed the name on the credit card for the first time. Lucian LaCroix. Gadzooks! She was with a Cousin! ### DECEPTION UNVEILED by Christine Hunt (with input from the N&NPack and Dianne the Merc) Time: 5 p.m. EST Place: Toronto Hilton They sat impatiently around the table in their Toronto Hilton Suite, mulling over the apparent silence of the last few days. They'd heard nothing from Perri, and could only imagine what had happened to Erika at the hands of her kidnappers. Yet according to their last contact by e-mail, a cease fire was in effect. So they'd waited, and waited, unsure of what their next move would be. Even their planned retaliations for the rubber hearts had been put on hold, as the'd left negotiations for Erika's release in the hands of the Knighties. "Are you sure Perri was going to take care of it? Shouldn't we be doing something?" Mary Margaret asked again. "I agree," Marie Saville said with certainty. "Erika isn't just a Knightie. She's one of us. This is an attack on *us*." Christine Hunt shook her head dubiously. "We can't act. The Warmistress called a cessation of hostilities. Although I wish we could---" A knock at the door. "Who is it?" Christine asked with a tinge of suspicion borne out of nerves that had become shattered over the last few days. A quiet voice. "Dianne." The others looked on in curiosity as Christine smiled and went to the door. A young woman entered, giving Christine a hug. "Great to see you, Chris." "Too bad it takes a war to get old friends together," Christine replied wistfully. She turned to the others in the room. "Dianne, this is some of the Nick&Nat Pack--Marie Seville, Mary Margaret Lowe, Paula Hurley, Cindy Brewer, Lisa Wolters. This is Dianne--" "The Merc!" Lisa finished for her, recognition and respect in her eyes. "I've heard a lot about you." Dianne nodded her head graciously, then turned to Christine. "What about Judy and Maryanne?" "They won't be here until Monday," Chris explained. "But by then the ceasefire should be over..." There was more concern than puzzlement in Dianne's eyes as she asked, "What ceasefire? The war's been going on non-stop!" Christine's eyes opened wide with realization. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, and rushed to her laptop. "But look, Dianne, I had e-mail from the warmistress saying that there was a ceasefire until Monday!" She called up the file and Dianne read it, shaking her head. "This is bogus, Chris. Someone's been intercepting your e-mail, and sent you a fake. There never was a ceasefire!" "The Immortal Beloveds..." Christine murmured under her breath, absolutely livid. "It's gotta be them," Lisa chimed in angrily. "Not unless they've taken over the Raven," Dianne said, looking up from the laptop. She'd been fiddling with the PC, trying to determine the source of the spurious note that had kept the Nick&NatPack out of circulation for the past three days. "That's where this note came from..and I'd bet someone there tampered with your e-mail connection." She spent a few more moments working at the software with an expert hand that none of the others had, despite their varying levels of computer literacy. When she was done, she set the laptop on the table. "You should be back in business now." "So let me get this straight," Chris said, trying to push aside her anger long enough to work the problem through. "LaCroix--or Cousins?" "No way of knowing," the merc replied. "That place has changed owners so many times in the last few days that even I lose track of who's in control. It could be the Ravens--" "The Immortal Beloveds," Cindy said with conviction. "Or the Cousins," Mary Margaret differed. Her dog Worf barked in agreement, startling Dianne, who hadn't noticed she was there. "Keep her quiet!" Christine warned. "We're pushing our luck just having her here...." "Yeah, good thing we have the terrace for her to go out on," Mary Margaret replied, calming the dog with a loving pat. Lisa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, if I'd have known we were bringing pets, I would have brought my horse," she said sarcastically. "Worf is our Chief of Security," Mary Margaret pouted defensively. "Stop it, you two. We have a more important matter at hand." Christine turned to Paula. "I guess it's about time we carried out Plan A, huh?" Paula grinned. "I've just been waiting for the word," she said, grabbing the computer disk and cassette Christine had given her. Christine grinned slyly as Paula and Cindy head out the door with the excitement of kids getting out of school. "Plan A?" Dianne asked in amusement. "A is for Ari," Christine explained. "We've been waiting three days to make our attack on the IB's. Since there's no ceasefire, there's nothing keeping us from acting." Dianne laughed appreciatively. "I was wondering what was taking you so long!" "And now," Christine said, with an evil gleam in her eye, "This is where you come in. Lisa and I have a little plan for LaCroix....and it seems the Cousins may have just given us a reason to go ahead with it." "Hey, I only work for payment, you know the rules," her friend warned. "Hmm. You don't take plastic do you?" As Dianne shook her head, a new thought struck Christine. It had failed to get information from Sharon in jail...but Sharon had been especially difficult. Maybe it would work on Dianne.... "Do you like Sushi?" "Never had it." "You don't know what you're missing!" With that Christine and Lisa took Dianne by the arms, and led her to Toronto's best Japanese restaurant. $400 worth of Sushi and Sapporo beer later, they had a deal in the works.... ### TORONTO THE GOOD?! by Kimberley Low Time: Afternoon Place: Canada Well, I'd gotten the message back from Jennie. I was to go to Toronto. Now Canadian opinion on Toronto tends to be split. The relative minority thinks, "Ah, Toronto. A Canadian Mecca of culture and people." The majority tend to think, "Toronto. Are we sure its still Canadian?" And then there are those that believe that the Quebec federalists would have had a much higher majority if their campaign had run: "We stay, but we kick Toronto out." I tend to fall in the mid group. A little suspcious, but not overty hostile. But I was going. For starters, I could plead for protection from a vengeful, sadistic vampire with out having to worry too much about having to spend an extended vacation on the North Hill, or in Selkirk, or at the Royal Ottawa. I barely have time for a war let alone a pychiatric evaluaton! Secondly, I have enough curiosity to take a dozen cats through all nine of their short little lives and I was dying (bad choice of words?) to meet everyone. So I was going to Toronto. First I had to find a way out of Brandon. Luckily, a friend had to go into Winnipeg for diving. One reason to be glad Brandon doesn't have a proper pool, I guess. We spent a white-knuckled ride looking at all the cars spun into ditches after the snowstorm, but we did make it. To the airport and into the Emergency Fund (sob) and I had a student standby ticket to Toronto. I felt kind of guilty about leaving Angus Midhir at home but my roommate was there and I really couldn't afford the extra 60 dollars to transport the cat. Anyways, I really didn't know these people. For all I knew, someone could have serious allergies. Like any good Natpacker, I was organized. (HA! If people can get better laptops why can't I get better personality traits? ) So I wasn't exactly organized. At least I had a foolproof way of being recognized at the airport. (Just for that I'm giving myself a much better laptop. ) A Senator's jersey. It stands out and, no matter how good the team is doing or how cute Alexander Daigle is, no one else on the planet would be wearing one. Hey, I _was_ from Ottawa, well, my parents are. Sorta. Currently. Considering the only other option I could think of was to put a large cryptic sign on a hat, I picked the lesser of the two evils. The plane was crowded. I considered myself extremely lucky to even get on the flight. But surprisingly enough, people took one look at my outfit (jeans, red mockneck, and the jersey) and they left me to peacefully go through my laptop. Go figure. I even got both elbow rests. At baggage claim I scanned the crowd for someone likely to be looking for me. I'd e-mailed the rest of the Natpackers with my description but the only person who seemed to be looking was this guy in a chauffer's uniform. Looked very uptight and proper. Definitely could not be him. "Are you Ms. Low?" "You have got to be kidding." "I was told to look for a young woman in a Senator's jersey and to take her to a Natalie Lambert's apartment to meet up with the rest of 'the Pack'." *Well, the Natpack _were_ the only people who knew about the Senator's jersey.* "Uh, in that case it is me. I'll just grab my bags." "I shall handle that, don't worry." *I'm beginning to revise my thoughts on Toronto. What was that again? "Ah, Toronto. A Canadian Mecca of culture and people."* Twenty minutes later we arrived at Natalie's apartment. The weather was great! Ten above! Didn't have to worry about where I'd shoved my gloves and I could take the bulky lining out of my jacket. I got to the door and knocked. Someone frazzled opened the door. "Hi! I'm Kim! What did I miss?" "Hi. Come in. I'm Jennie. That's Amy. Amparo's in the corner. Valerie and Elaine are over there. And Betsy and GT are over in the kitchen. Sharon and Leslie are trying to deprogramme Jill from a certain fixation. Don't ask. I'll explain where Selma is in a second. Nat's curled up in her room. She's had a bad couple of days. First the Jepardy theme song, then the break in, then waking up to find us playing with frogs..." "Frogs? I missed the frogs? But I'm a zoo major. I _like_ frogs! Oh, well, what else did I miss?" ### A PEACEFUL INTERLUDE by Catherine A. Siemann "Who is it?" Ari picked up the phone. "What? What do you want? Well, I'm not sure she wants to talk to you -- what are you selling anyway? Yeah, all right." She waved at Catherine, who took the receiver. "Yeah. No. I had been looking forward to it, too. What? With the war on? Do you think so? Yeah, okay?" Catherine walked to the closet, and pulled out a pair of jeans and an old woolly sweater. "I was supposed to go hiking in Connecticut this weekend with Lane, before the War broke out. He still wants to go -- he said there's a really good place to hike about an hour outside of Toronto. D'you think it's safe to go hiking with a Merc?" "Depends on what you're offering him," Ari grinned devilishly. "Hey, we're just friends!" said Catherine, somewhat defensively. "Doesn't a certain Doctor Natalie Lambert say things like that, too?" asked Ari. "Yeah, and it's true in her case, too!" The two Immortal Beloveds gave each other a high five. Knowing it was unsafe to let a Merc know her location, Catherine arranged to pick him up at the Eaton Centre. As a New Yorker, she didn't own a car, but she'd flown to her parents' house in Buffalo and borrowed her mom's car for the two hour drive to Toronto. The battered blue Tempo might not look like much -- but her mom wouldn't be devastated if she had to collect the insurance money on it, either. It was a lovely day, and they had a pleasant hike, forgetting momentarily about the hostilities that they were both a part of. It was such a pleasant day, in fact, that she let her guard down. "Why don't you pose by that tree over there?" he asked. "I've gotten all kinds of pictures of trees and waterfalls, but none of you." It wasn't until after the camera had done its work, that she realized what had just happened. She gasped in horror. "You . . . beast! You low down dirty mercenary! Who hired you to do this?" He smiled. "To get a photo of a Ravenette in a baggy sweater, dirty jeans, hiking boots and no makeup? Gee, I don't know, but I think I can name my price, don't you? Perhaps the Cousins, maybe the Nick&Nat Pack . . . . Just exercising a little . . . freelance . . . initiative." The next thing either of them knew, he was on the ground, flat on his back, and she was standing with one foot on his chest, opening the camera and exposing the film to daylight, so that this little picture would never be seen. "How?" he gasped. "How did you just do that? I'm a trained Merc, a student of the martial arts, a tactician, a marksman . . . . How did you just pin me? You study . . . yoga." He made a disgusted face. "Adrenaline," she smiled. "A complete and total adrenaline rush of horror that I could be photographed like this. Now, if you want me to let you up unharmed, and drive you back to civilization, I suggest you listen carefully. You owe me. You owe me big. No pay. Either the Ravenettes or the Immortal Beloveds will expect to collect." "Okay," he gasped again. "Would you please let me up now? I can't breathe." Ari was *very* pleased, when she heard. ### PEEPING COUSINS (Part 1a) by Shirl Cline Time: Late afternoon Place: Shirl's hotel room and Nick's neighborhood "Binoculars, digital cameras with zoom lenses." "Check." "Assorted B & E tools." "Check." "Sleeping bags, portable heater, coffee, soda, sandwiches, and miscellaneous snacks." "Check." "Flashlights, extra batteries, glass cleaner, and paper towels." "Check." "Munchies and bottled water for Gandalf and Merlin." "Check." "Okay, that's everything we should need in case we have to wait awhile for our opportunity. Let's pack it up and get moving." Cousin Shirl said gleefully. "You *really* seem to be looking forward to this." Cousin Tokaara commented. "So I lust after Nick once in a while. It's not like I want him to be good, become mortal and play house with Nat", the short brunette sounded defensive. "That isn't against the rules, is it? LaCroix has my complete loyalty. If I was a Knightie, I wouldn't be doing this, would I?" Shirl thought. "I'm sorry for being snippy, this is my first plan, and my first war. I'm a little anxious about it. I don't want to disappoint LaCroix." "I understand. Hmmm, I hope we can fit all this into those two duffel bags." They couldn't. "We don't really need the sleeping bags. We can just take a sheet to sit on, instead." "You're right. And I guess we don't have to take all this food. We shouldn't be there for more than a day at the most." "Come on, let's get going. I want to be all set up before dark." Shirl thought. *** "Not exactly the nicest neighborhood to be walking through, but we don't want anyone to see the car." "I've never broken into anywhere before. I hope it isn't too hard." "Around here? I doubt it" The humans and felines began moving more slowly and carefully as they approached the chosen building. The Cousin was right; anyone could have gotten in. They probably wouldn't even need tools to do it. "Just think, when they figure out where we took the pictures from, they might actually consider securing the buildings around Nick's place." "Nah," they both said at once, and began laughing. ### N&NPACK--PLAN A (A IS FOR ARI...) by Christine Hunt Time: Late afternoon Place: Toronto Sheraton The door to the Immortal Beloveds' suite in the Toronto Sheraton was locked, but a little flirting with the impressionable young bellboy had done the trick. Convincing him that this was *her* room, and that she'd forgotten her keys, Cindy Brewer had had little trouble gaining access to the site of the Nick&NatPack's first attack, against Ari, the leader of the Immortal Beloveds. "You keep lookout," she told her companion Paula, as she found what she'd been looking for. Ari's laptop computer. Gingerly, she took the disk Christine had given her from her pocketbook, and got to work. When she was done, she turned to Paula with a sly grin. "That'll get under her skin and good." Paula laughed. "Not as much as this..." And she took the neatly wrapped present from her pocket and slipped it onto Ari's bed..... *** When Ari, Lane and Chanda found their way back to the room, Ari collapsed on the bed in exhaustion...only to find something poking into her back. She jumped up, suspicious at once, and saw the package wrapped in a sickeningly romantic pink.... "It's gotta be from the Nick&NatPackers," she said to her companions. Hoping it wasn't a bomb, she carefully opened the package to find a cassette, marked "Love Songs for Nick and Janette".... "Maybe not," Lane commented in surprise. "Why don't you play it?" Luckily, Ari had brought the mini-speakers that attached to her walkman. This was something they'd all have to hear at once. And if it was from the 'pack.... "Love songs for Nick and Janette?" Chanda said hopefully. "It sounds nice..." No sound. Ari fast-forwarded. And suddenly, Carole King's voice rang out... *"It's too late baby, now, it's too late...."* Ari shuddered, pressing fast-forward again. Her most hated song from "The Sound of Music" rang out.... *"So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, good bye..."* Chanda gasped as Ari hit fast forward again. This time it was Diana Ross and the Supremes.... *"Set me free, why don't you babe..Get outta my life, why don't you babe...'cause you don't really love me...you just keep me hanging on...."* A morbid curiosity kept Ari from throwing the tape into the garbage, fast-forwarding until she had heard all thiry-four songs, each one dealing with failed relationships and good byes. The last, a Jodi Watley song she remembered from the eighties... *"I'm lookin' for a new love, baby. A new love...yeah yeah yeah..." Chanda was too horrified to speak. Finally Ari tossed the tape, wondering why she hadn't done so earlier. "I'll get that Christine Hunt!" "Isn't that the one who writes all those sappy Nick&Nat stories? Yuk!" Chanda commented. "This really *is* war!" Ari cried, running to her computer to e-mail for help from the Mercs. But as her windows came up, the wall paper made her mouth drop wide open. Nick and Natalie. Kissing. "Oh, gross!" But the screen saver was worse, and as she watched the images of Nick and Natalie in various intimate moments, she was sure she'd lose her dinner. Taking control of herself, she went into her program manager in an attempt to delete the hideous images. It seemed all too easy. Christine seemed more intelligent than that. There had to be more than a few images.... On a hunch, she turned up the volume on her speakers, and hit a key.... *"So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen good bye..."* "Argh!" she cried. She went into her audio program, to find the wave files.... *"Set me free, why don't you babe..."* *"I'm looking for a new love, baby..."* Two hours later, her laptop was back to normal. But her nerves weren't. And they wouldn't be until she got revenge on Christine Hunt.... ### CINEMA VERITE by Dianne la Mercenaire Time: Late afternoon Place: Nick's loft Nick was standing by the window of his loft. He had cracked open the shades slightly and he stood carefully to the side as he watched the last few rays of the setting sun slant through the dust motes and onto the floor. He poked the very edge of the beam absently with the toe of his shoe. He needed a drink. But, looking around at the many Knighties strewn about the loft in pursuit of various forms of sleep, food, entertainment, or intrigue, he thought better of it. Nick had finally managed to dig himself out of the hole he'd dug for himself by turning on Sandra so easily. He had actiually _believed_ that Sandra had jumped factions to LaCroix! He had even believed she had gone further... *much* further. And he'd given her no chance to explain.... Thinking of the utter torture those long hours must have been for the poor, faithful Knightie, Nick felt a familiar wave of shame coming over him. Doing his best to push that to the background, the detective in him still struggled with the same basic question that just would not leave him in peace. Convinced as he now was of Sandra's unwavering loyalty, he found himself even harder pressed to explain why his Master had gone all day without even touching her.... Just then his train of thought was derailed by a loud *thump* from the fireplace. Realizing that no one else could hear it, he got up to investigate--moving casually, so as not to alarm the Knighties unnecessarily. Wrapped up neatly in a copy of the November issue of Playgirl --which had protected it in its long fall down the chimney-- and tied with a big raffia bow, Nick found...an unlabeled videotape. Placing it in the VCR and grabbing his New-Improved- Slices-Dices-Purees-It's-a-Desert-Topping-*and*-a-Floor-Wax All Purpose Remote, he dropped down on his surprisingly Knightie- free leather couch and hit "play." Instantly a huge plume of flame erupted in the fireplace, severely startling and very slightly singeing one luckless Knightie and drawing rolled-eye indulgent looks from the rest. Muttering a choice 14th-century Basque curse and looking abashed, Nick moved his thumb over slightly, tried again, and the tape started. Nick's eyes widened. And widened. And widened. Blink. Blink. The other Knighties crept silently closer, drawn almost hypnotically by the horror of what they were seeing... >>>"Drop 'em, Lu." A nearly-naked Sandra said clearly, a salacious grin on her face.<<< It was obviously--*obviously*--a hidden camera of some kind. LaCroix and Sandra were sitting on the floor of the Raven's wine cellar. The tape was videostamped: "4:11 p.m. Saturday, November 4th." As LaCroix slowly stripped off his pants, the sounds of Sandra's improvised burlesque accompaniment faltered...and stopped. Nick and the Knighties were riveted in shock by the look of open _lust_ on Sandra's face. (Well, o.k....*most* of the Knighties were riveted by the sight of Sandra's face....) >>>"No," she breathed. "You win."<<< Nick could hear Sandra's heartbeat begin to race even on the tape. The Knighties needed no such clue--the flush in her face and the gapeing, nearly drooling, stare made her train of thought _quite_ clear. "Nick...," one of the more collected Knighties moved to take the remote from his hand and stop this torture, but his hand was clasped so tightly that it threatened to shatter even the heavy-duty, usually Nick-proof housing of the device. LaCroix was now kissing Sandra. And she was returning the kiss with obvious enthusiasm. Nick felt violently *ill*. As the embracing figures moved to the ground, Nick's eyes began to glow in a dangerous fashion. Knightie Catherine--keeping her lunch firmly in place by carefully averting her eyes--worked even harder free the remote and end the show. >>"Take me!"<<< Nick lost it. The remote shattered to tiny slivers of high-impact plastic in his hand as he vanished in a blur of motion in the general direction of the stairs. ### A MANY SPLENDORED THING by Catherine Boone Time: Late afternoon Place: Nick's loft Nick raced out of the loft, his eyes burning. He couldn't sit in there, with all his Knighties watching him. He needed space, he needed some time to himself, and he needed it right now. He found himself on the roof of an old warehouse, across from the docks. He sat down and glared at the light glittering on the water. This was one of his favorite places to go and think about things. He had ended up here because he had nowhere to go when he didn't want to think. (I can't *believe* she would betray me this way! She and Lacroix...) His mind shut itself away from the thought. (They don't, they *can't* understand what he's really like! Seduced by his lies, they don't see him for what he really is...) Angrily his eyes glittered brighter than the water below. (How can I trust them? How can I even *believe* them, when they are so willing to be swayed, so easily turn from the betrayed to the betrayer?) His eyes raised to the moon, pure and white against the carpet of black sky. His face moved from bitterness to calm. His bitterness remained, he simply transferred it from the outside to the inside, like shifting a heavy wieght such that it rides easier on the shoulders. Better not to think of them individually, alone. That would hurt too much. No, far easier to simply put them away alongside all those who had betrayed him, all those who had hurt him. All those he had loved. (When I return to the loft, I'll tell them to leave. No goodbyes. They may be hurt, but in the end, they'll be better off. They may not realize it, but they will.) Of course they were better off without him. How could he have forgotten? He rose, and took one last look at the water, reflecting sunlight he could never see. Reflecting... Reflecting the sound of taunting remarks to Screed while some of them were tied up in his sewer, not a trace of fear in their voice, sure they would be rescued... Reflecting the sight of Catherine and Perri in the store cheerfully arguing over the virtues, or lack thereof, of Ben & Jerry's Light... Reflecting Amy's anger, that he would blindly assume Sandra's guilt... Reflecting Sandra's devastation, when he turned his back and walked away... Reflecting the fear in their eyes, when the leaders took him aside to try to talk things out... Fear. Yes, that was the word, wasn't it? They had been afraid when they talked to him this morning. * Who's to say you won't do it to the rest of us? Won't turn your back on us when we need you the most, then refuse to listen to us? * They had already known this would happen. They had already seen the end result of the day's events, even if there had never been a tape. And they had also known that there was nothing they could do to stop it, though they tried. They knew he would betray them. But there was no accusation, no shouting. No goodbyes. Sometimes they acted more like him than he did. * I told you we love you because you're not perfect, but you try to be. * ... did he have the right to ask for more? ** ** Nick returned to the loft to find Knighties scattered about. Some had watched the tape of Sandra, the rest had just gotten the bottom line. They all turned to watch him. Half the room looked sad, while the other watched with prearranged calm. They knew what was coming. Or at least, they thought they did. And they waited for him to tell them to go. Nick approached Amy, and took her hands in his. "Amy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got mad when I shouldn't have, and because... you were right, and I was wrong about Sandra. I should have trusted you, all of you." He raised his eyes to Perri and Catherine, standing together behind the crowd, and included them in the look. He looked back down at Amy. "And next time, I'll try not to fly off the handle, okay?" Amy smiled. "Okay." The two leaders smiled, and the entire room seemed to collapse in one huge sigh of relief. In the background, Perri glanced at Catherine, jerked her head slightly at Nick, and quirked an eyebrow. Catherine stared blankly at her for a moment, then a smug grin spread across her face, and she nodded. Perri shouted, "Dogpile on Nick!" at the same time as Catherine's "Yaaaaa!" Nick was stormed by a dozen Knighties, and soon could hardly breathe from all the bodies piled on top of him, giggling hysterically. And, for once, he didn't mind a bit. At least, until someone at the top of the pile wondered out loud, "Are vampires ticklish?" ### WHEN LIFE HANDS YOU LEMONS, MAKE LEMONADE by Cousine Celeste Time: Late afternoon Place: Outside Nick's loft *Brothers in heart, soul-brothers are weeeee!* The fannish filk song Tam's Song', from the tape "Wolf-riders, Songs of Elfquest", blared out from the van's tape deck. "I've always wondered if Julia Eckler meant that wolf riders are `we' as in`us', or that wolf riders are very, very small," mused Cousine Celeste from the front seat next to the driver. "I mean, they'd kind of have to be really wee, to fit on the backs of those wolves." Laurie CF, seated directly behind her, snorted derisively. "Celeste thinks they should do a Broadway musical based on Elf Quest, using Julia's Wolf Rider filks. I don't think it will work, because how do you show full-grown, human actors sitting astride `wolves', on-stage?" "Fun songs, though; about half of them have a nice, professional hook to them," commented Alikhat from her seat behind the driver. Her feet casually propped on the stick-shift island between the front seats, she flipped though the Spring edition of the See's Candies catalog with interest. "I suppose they could dress up largish actors as wolves, a la Cats, and have the smaller, elf-actors sitting on their shoulders or something." The driver, cousin Laura Waskey, didn't comment because she hadn't been listening to either conversation *or* filksong. She'd borrowed the van from her friends on the border patrol, but had not bothered to mention to them the fact that she did not have a chauffeur's license, assuming in a cousinly fashion that what her friends did not know, could not hurt them. Desperate to avoid the notice of the Toronto police force, she was most attentively driving at the prescribed city speed, taking corners carefully and avoiding at all costs knocking down any of the fine, upstanding Toronto citizenry that might find itself in her way. The fact that she really wasn't used to the monster stick-shift was compounded by the movement of the weighty, gurgling contents of the back of the van. Oh, no! *Another* dratted corner. . . slosh, slosh, slosh; the van swayed on its tires as it took the curve. Celeste noticed that the catalog in Alikhat's hands was a good eight months old. "Hey, sweetie, here's the latest one, just dropped into my mailbox last week," she said, digging the See's Christmas candy catalog from her handbag and tossing it to the Merc/Cousin in the back seat. Alikhat was being paid with an impressively hefty gift certificate from See's, and had been happily gloating over her fee since she'd met up with her fellow cousins outside the Raven an hour or so ago. "No, that's OK," smiled the Merc/Cousin at her Cousine employer. "I have this *thing* for chocolate Easter bunnies. Somehow, biting the heads off chocolate Santa Clauses just doesn't do it for me." Laurie edged away a bit from her seat companion and Celeste shrugged dubiously. "Whatever turns you on," she said. "Omigosh, kid, get out of the way, oh, please, please; get out--oh, *good* boy," muttered Laura through clenched teeth to a 14-year-old riding his bike the wrong way down the street, gaining the attention of all in the van. "You OK?" asked Laurie. "Yeah, sure--just a little heart attack-slash-stroke. Perfectly fine." Laura's knuckles were white on the Naugahyde-covered steering wheel, her steely, if panicked, eye fixed to the road ahead. "Oh, come on, Laura! You, nervous of an adolescent git on a bike?" Alikhat sat up straight and peered into Laura's eyes via the rear-view mirror. "The woman who single-handedly kidnapped two Natpackers using only a *cat*? Genius of that sort makes MacGyver bow down and proclaim 'I am not worthy!' I was in awe, myself, when I heard the tale." "The cat caper was *nothing* compared to driving this thing," she muttered. Much to her relief, their destination loomed: Nick's warehouse/apartment. She pulled into the driveway, shifted to neutral, and sat back, heaving a big sigh of relief. Grinning at her cohorts, she spread her hands in a `ta-dah' gesture, her confidence fully restored now that they were parked. "You two are here to provide muscle and chutzpah, should that be needed," said Celeste to Laura and Alikhat, "but frankly, what with my brilliant machinations, we shouldn't need either of them." "Surely they will have *somebody* posted at the door?" said Laura, eyes darting up and down the block. She wasn't worried in the least, she was up for anything. In fact, if she saw no action, she would undoubtedly feel rather cheated. "Maybe. Maybe. Eyes open, Laura. C'mon, Laurie, Alikhat, let's get this road on the show," the Cousine jumped from the van and went `round the back, unlocking the doors, which swung open to reveal: the product of a week's string-pulling. A pair of pristine-white, double-walled, fiberglass tanks on nylon/silicon wheels sat, still sloshing gently, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Bob, the Cousine's husband, had laboured many years as an executroid for the Hood Dairy & Foods Corporation. Although he had recently quit, to go into business for himself, all of his contacts in the dairy industry were still there, *more* than willing to help out the wife of one of their favorite ex-customers. Big Frankie at Core Containers had cheerfully had his boys set a couple of their 3 foot by six foot by eight foot tanks on their sides, perpendicular to the ground, taking the wheels off the old bottoms and re-attaching them on the new bottoms. He had remarked that they looked like standing coffins for a couple of really big guys, and had been surprised when she'd laughed rather harder than he'd thought she would. The liquid contents hadn't been much harder to procure from Canadian sources--Hood had a presence across the border, and suppliers as well. "A thousand gallons of cows' blood, blech," said Laurie, with a grimace. She pulled the ramp on the van down and hopped up into the back, getting on one side of the left-hand tank. "Uh, well--I had a *bit* of trouble getting that much cows' blood, actually," the Cousine admitted ruefully. "I could only get enough cows' blood for *one* of my tanks--500 gallons." She got on the other side of the tank, preparatory to getting it down the ramp and was surprised when Laurie stepped back to look at her quizzically. Alikhat and Laura were staring at her, too, then everyone's eyes turned to stare suspiciously at the tanks. Alikhat leaned forward and sniffed. "Sweetish. Cloying," she said. She touched the door of the tank gently with one fingertip where a jewel-like drop of something red clung, then touched it to her tongue. "Oh, I don't believe it, you didn't, you couldn't. . . .!" "I did and I could," said the Cousine proudly. "What the heck *is* it?" asked Laura. No way was she gonna taste it, `til she knew what it was. Celeste shrugged. "Did you know that Hood Raspberry Sherbet is one of the company's biggest sellers? Did you know that the same people who sell the vats of raw raspberry necessary to make the sherbet are the same people who sell vats of currant juice to *another* company, one that makes a vile currant-juice concentrate that you can buy in fine stores in Asian communities all over America and Canada?" "No *way*!" "Oh, gross!" "Its. . . !" "Yep, it is!" confirmed the Cousine. "It's a 500 gallon tank of *RIBENA*!" *Let us run from this safety, and once more be free!* The tape played on in the parked van's cab. * * * * * Place: Nick's loft All the Knighties who had been scattered about the apartment, killing time-- playing hand-held videogames, writing in journals, hacking on the internet, chatting, poking about the kitchen making a late lunch--all were now plastered in front of the wide screen TV, fascinated still, though the Infamous Videotape had played through more than a dozen times. Someone had thought to slave another vcr to Nick's vcr and, each time the tape played through, a fresh tape was popped in for yet another Knighties' library. The elevator started to life, descending to ground level. One of the Knighties tore her eyes from the screen for a moment to look at the doors of the elevator, but her friend said, "It's just what's-her-name, I sent her out for some more Vachon cakes and milk." * * * * * The elevator lock had opened by the code that Alikhat had finessed out of someone. "All part of the service," had been her only comment as she'd punched the code and the door had swished open. "Open sesame!" Laurie CF and the Cousine had man-handled the tank of Ribena down the ramp, the difficulty being in keeping it from rolling too quickly as opposed to getting it to move at all--those nylon/silicon wheels were *smooth*. Soon, they had the tank securely nestled in the wide door of Nick's elevator, with than enough room for the second tank. Five hundred gallons of cows' blood would fit like a proverbial glove right next to the five hundred gallons of Ribena. "This is thirsty work," said Laurie CF. "Laura, I have a big bottle of Polar seltzer water in my bag under the seat, could you get it for me? Thanks." "What do you *people* think you're doing!" came a voice. A tallish girl that the Cousine did not recognize stood there, arms wrapped about two brown paper bags of groceries, frowning mightily. Alikhat stepped forward. "Excuse me? Are you one of those `Knighties'?" The girl nodded, but didn't stop frowning. The Merc/Cousin smiled at her. "Thank *god*! We desperately need your help! We have a couple of friends of Nick's in these boxes, we rescued them from some Cousins. We have to get them into his loft, and out of the sun, for their own protection." The girl's eyes went wide. As brick-like as her leader, and as foolishly good-hearted, she was buying it. "Who's in the boxes???" she breathed. "Feliks Twist and Aristotle!" said Alikhat with some satisfaction. "Really? Wow!" "And *here's* my friend now," continued Alikhat, still smiling broadly, looking over the girl's shoulder. The girl turned. . . . . . . and got a face-full of warm seltzer. She went down, hard, landing on her bags of groceries. The bags were filled with boxes of soft cakes, but her head hit the bottle of milk and she was knocked unconscious. Laura stood, nearly empty bottle of seltzer in her hands. "Good blarney, Alikhat! Help me get her in the back." Soon she and Alikhat had the benighted Knightie stashed in the van, while Celeste and Laurie slid the second tank into the elevator bay, next to its sweeter brother. ******* The elevator came to life again, but none of the Knighties noticed. LaCroix was in the process of dropping his pants on the wide-screen at that moment. There was a collective in-take of breath. They leaned forward, trying to . . . uh, catch the make of LC's underwear. The elevator reached their floor. Click. Whirrrrr. The doors slid open. One thousand gallons of mixed Ribena and cows' blood came pouring out, engulfing the entire apartment in a tidal wave of sticky, smelly, icky liquid yuck. ******** The Cousins and Cousin/Merc stood, staring up at the blinds protecting Nick's apartment. They could barely hear the shrieks and cries from within, but enough to know their little gift had hit home. "Why did we do this, Celeste?" said Laurie. "Because we *can*," was the Cousine's response. "For the chocolate, actually," added Alikhat. "Oh! That reminds me, I have to post a thousand-dollar See's gift certificate off to LaMercennaire. She wouldn't sell me the tapes, but knowing where and when a large concentration of Knighties would be at one time *was* quite useful. When life hands you lemons, you gotta make lemonade." "Let's make tracks, m'dears," cried Cousin Laura. The four women leapt into the van and pealed out. Stopping only to gently deposit the unconscious, unnamed Knightie on a Toronto park bench, Laura drove to The Raven, parking the van as near to the front of the bar as traffic would allow, per her arrangement with her friends from the border patrol. One of them would pick it up there--and in the meantime, any Knightie passing by would see it and assume the worst of the Raven/ettes. The cousins scattered. ### CLEANING UP...AGAIN by Perri Smith Time: Night Place: Nick's loft Perri was beyond being mad. Actually, between Nick's earlier rampage, Amy's rant, the damn tape, the apology and ensuing wrestling match and the blood, Perri was beyond just about everything. She just stared blankly. Catherine, sitting next to her on the stairs where they had taken refuge in the mad scramble to avoid the deluge of ribena/cow's blood, watched her with anxious eyes. They had saved the matresses and most of the sleeping bags, all of the stuffed animals (the Knighties knew where their priorities were), and Perri's fuzzy tiger blanky, which she clutched around her shoulders. Everything else was soaked. "Thank God Nick already left for work," Catherine said, looking down at Scottie, sitting on the step below her. "Scottie, is it just me, but did the attacks used to have a bit more class than this? A little more style?" Scottie nodded judiciously. "That they did; although I seem to remember something about a ton of tuna in New York." "Mmm," Amy remembered. "I remember Tara having a cow." Several Knighties looked pained; Amy looked at the blood-soaked carpet. "Sorry." "What are we going to do about this mess?" Karyn asked. "Clean it up," Dottie said suddenly, firmly. They looked at her blankly. "But..." Amy Potter started from the back. "No buts," Scottie said. "Dottie's right, we have to get this cleaned before Nick comes home and freaks for real." "Yeah," Paula said, "or he really will throw us out!" That got a weak laugh. Perri sniffed loudly and stood up, still clutching her blanky. "Okay, let's get organized." *** "We need another person if we're going to get all of these sleeping bags to the laundromat." "Heck with people, we need quarters." "All pockets, empty 'em." "Where can we rent a carpet cleaner?" "*A* carpet cleaner?" "All right, two." "Try three." "Hey, what happened to the Vachon cakes?" "Patricia isn't back yet." "We sent her two hours ago!" "Perri, keep it clean and in English. Search party, at the door!" "Agh, they got my teddy!" "Get a rope!" "Get another washing machine." "All right, who the hell was dupin' The Tape?" "Umm.." "Erase 'em. Now." "But..." "Now!" "We've got her! She was on a park bench a few blocks away." "Take her up to Nick's bed. If she doesn't wake up, we'll call...Natalie." "Grrr.." *squish* "New pillows." "On it. CostMart, here we come." "Don't forget to clean the elevator." "Mop brigade, reporting for duty." **** It took three hours, but they got it done, and collapsed. "What next?" Catherine complained out loud, looking at the spotless apartment. "I don't want to hear any ideas," Perri groaned. "they've probably bugged the place; don't give *them* any ideas." "Who's them?" Perri just looked at her co-leader. "Yeah, I know," Catherine sighed. ### REHEARSAL by Susan M. Garrett Time: Early evening Place: The Raven Susan set the ashtrays down on the smoking end of the table while Tara wiped down the length, singing cheerfully and mangling songs from Beauty and the Beast. "--No one sucks like Vachon--" "'Sucks'?" asked Susan, unable to keep the squeal from her voice. Tara paused in mid-wipe and blinked innocently. "Yeah. Sucks. Like in 'sucks blood.'" "Oh. Okay." Another ashtray was set into place. "--Scorns big bucks like Vachon--" Another ashtray. "And between the sheets, nobody f--" "It's a PG list, for Chrissake!" cried Susan, drowning out the rest of Tara's verse. "Watch it, will you?" "--Like Vachon!" finished Tara gleefully. She waved the cloth in triumph. "Done!" "You will be, if you keep that up." Susan put the last ashtray in place, then sighed. "You might as well go get Amy. And don't teach her that song!" Tara simply grinned again and swept out of the room, altering lyrics as her voice faded away. "No one's thick as Nick Knight--" Groaning, Susan sat down in a chair at the head of the table. was going to be interesting. Introducing Janette to the troops was usually a trip (a.k.a., a delicate situation requiring the utmost diplomacy to avoid bloodshed), but introducing a Janette was going to be downright difficult. Kathy poked her head into the room. "Ready?" Susan waved her in. "Sure. Bring your own drinks. I want to bring everyone up to speed before Amy comes in, anyway." The other Ravens and Ravenettes started wandering in, several with shopping bags. David had the club's receipt book under one arm and a calculator in his hand. "Seven and nine do NOT equal thirteen," he muttered, passing by her. Susan grinned. "They do when you're living in the twilight zone. Just do the best you can. I don't want LaCroix getting any ideas about setting the tax or liquor people on us--if they want to see the books, we'd better have books to show them." "I just don't think they'll appreciate the 'Mothra battles Godzilla' doodles along the margins." "Really?" asked Lorelei, leaning across the table. "Can I see?" Susan caught sight of Ari. "How'd the cat-shopping go?" "Great!" She seated herself at the table, beaming like a proud parent. "She's sleeping right now--I thought this might get a little loud." "Might?" Jasmine laughed as she took her seat at the table, next to mj. "Well, I guess it depends on her mood." Rising from her chair, Susan leaned forward on the table. "Okay, guys and gals, here's the deal--somebody hoodoed Amy into thinking she's Janette." Cynthia laughed. "You're kidding?" She stopped when she saw Susan's serious expression. "You're kidding?" "I wish I was," said Susan sadly. "You know how I feel about that kind of stuff." "Have we figured out who's responsible?" asked Vicki. Leaning against the wall, she gestured toward the door. "I'm guessing Miklos and Alma are clear." "Alma wouldn't bother. And Miklos . . . he's been spending far too much time avoiding certain predatory members of the opposite sex." Susan noticed several wide-eyed and innocent stares--never a good sign. "He tried to unhoodoo her but says that because she thinks she's a vampire, Amy also thinks she can't be hoodoed, so it won't take. He's cleared Nick of the dirty deed--" "Like Nick would ever get Amy to stand still long enough to hoodoo her?" commented Kathy. "Whoever it was must have caught her off guard--those Nat-Packers have lots of energy." "And the attention span of a ferret on a double-expresso," Cynthia added. "I'd guess LaCroix." Susan shook her head. "No. Amy would have fainted dead away if he got that up close and personal--I think you have to be conscious to get hoodoed. And LaCroix wouldn't do anything that stupid. We're looking for someone who works on the sly, doesn't think a lot about what they're doing, pretty much goes with the flow, is looking for a quick fix . . . and chose to hoodoo her rather than munch her." Susan waved her hand as the Ravens and Ravenettes gazed thoughtfully into their drinks. "But that's not our problem. Right now, we just have to deal with Amy and, believe me, she's in full Janette mode. Which means she's bossy, spiteful, arrogant, irritating, condescending--" "But well dressed and stylish!" protested Ari. "Just like the lady we know and love," mj said, w