***Thursday, November 9, 1995*** DOWN AND OUT by Cousin Candice Time: A tad past midnight Place: The Raven Candice was on her way out the door of LaCroix's apartment when a loud stoped her and a small furry thing wrapped itself around her ankles. "Embris, not now, I cn't play with you, I have to go." The cat just stared at her. Realizing she'd left her purse, she went to the counter to grab it, nearly tripping over Embris. She checked the contents, license, lipstick, pen and passport, and stalked off to the Raven. After a hellish ride across town in a cab, Candice reached the club a little after midnight. She paid the cabbie (tip? what tip? *cackle*), slammed the door, and was greeted with a waiting-line that wound itself half way around the building. she thought to herself and wondered if her name would still be on the 'guest' list. "No way in *hell* am I waiting in this line." Candice took a quick look at the properly gothicly dressed girls and boys (men and women they were certainly not ..no clubbers ever were), and she adjusted her black leather vest, smoothed down her slightly rumpled palatzo pants, and headed directly to the front of the line. Putting on her best I-Belong-Here Attitude, Candice strode up to the bouncer. "Excuse me, is there a line for those on the guest list?" The bouncer looked up from his clipboard and stared down at her. He was a rather large man and it didn't look as if he was opposed to throwing her to the back of the line. When he didn't answer her, Candice looked nervously over to the two people at the front of the line -they didn't look amused -the rings through their eyebrows were raised in question at her. She looked away again and suddenly became quite impatient with the bouncer. They were never this slow in New York City. It was time for plan B. Candice leaned in close to the bouncer. "Listen, I'm what you call a "ravenette", and if you dont let me in, you just might find yourself without a job at the end of the night." The bouncer blanched. He had been told to get an assistant to pick the Raven/ettes out of the line (if any had the timidity to stand in line) and let them in. But he hadn't been able to find anyone last minute. He figured they'd just walk in -afterall, he'd been told they owned the joint. "I...Iii..I'm sorry Miss...go on in, I..oh hell..." The bouncer opened the door for Candice. "Don't *EVER* let it happen again, oh, and just so you know --everyone with eyebrow rings are Ravens. You should let them in -immediately-." Candice sauntered in past the bouncer who was frantically scanning the line for the other "Ravens." She chuckled to herself and went to the bar. It had been one hell of a day and responsibility was being thrown to the winds. "Bartender!," she shouted to the tall dark figure of a man with his back to her, "Can I get a MudSlide down here?" The bartender finished making a wine spritzer and walked down to Candi's end of the bar. "Miklos?! What are you doing tending bar?" "Old habits die hard," he chuckled "..and besides, it keeps Tara from attacking me, as well as everyone else! Now what can I get for you?" "A MudSlide --pretty simple, kinda like a chocolate shake, but with cream and Kaluha. Got it?" "I'm ..well we wont discuss my age ..I think I can handle it." "Thanks, Miki." Candice turned to the thumping crowd and tapped her fingers nervously on the bar. Would they notice that she was here? Would they throw her in the cellar? Not that she didn;t like dark places, but that cellar gave her the creeps. "Hey you ..here's your drink, on the house." Miklos winked at her and smiled. "You know, you've got balls walking in here like you did, just be careful, there are still a few Ravens that dont like the idea of Cousins being free to walk about here." Candice just gaped at him "How did you.." "His heart was beating a mile a minute! Kinda hard not to notice." Miklos rushed to another customer and left Candice, who was too embarrsed to speak. She found a nice (relatively) quiet spot to drown her sorrows and hostilities in a drink. Sinking into a booth, she sipped at her mudslide and watched the throng of people on the dance floor. The lights were flashing in brilliant colors, spinning around in the smokey haze. What a nightmare this week had been. Candice felt like she'd totally failed LaCroix. What kind of a Cousin was she? "Certainly not a leader..." she mumbled to her drink " I'm not even half as good a babysitter." Candice sighed miserably and downed her drink in one gulp. She waved over a waitress, told her to runa tab, and ordered another mudslide, double on the vodka. What could she do? Goind back to CERK was out of the question. No way could she face all the Cousins. She hadn't made one really good attack yet, (not including tonight's little fiasco at the door) and she was more than a little disappointed that she'd never been able to give the NatPack an ear-full last night. She sunk even lower into her seat and sipped. *** Candice kept staring at the crowd,.lookng for familiar faces, but she didn't see one --not even Risha's. That no-good, kidnapping, little Ravenette still had hers coming. Her drink arrived before she had time to formulate a plan of attack, and Candice nestled the glass into her palm. Depeche Mode blared out of the speakers just as Candice finished her second drink. She got up and joined the other dancers, mixing in with the anonymous crowd. Spinning and turning with other men and women on the dance floor (guess they let them in before the boys and girls ;), Candice was suddenly face to face with a rather handsome stranger. Moving around the dance floor, he followed her rather aggressively then grabbed her wrist, feigning a closeness he had no right to, pretending to dance. "We *need* to talk." The Stranger said, half whispering into her ear. Candice wasn't as alarmed as she should have been. It happened all the time at clubs -Goths were like that, mystery was a game they were good at. She smiled up at him (Brian wouldn't approve of the smile she gave the man -that was for *damn* sure) and yanked her arm from his grip. "Maybe we do, and maybe we don't." Candice twisted away from the guy and strolled over to the bar for an Amaretto sour. Drink in hand, Candice retuned to the table she had claimed for herself earlier that evening. She scanned the crowd again for the man that had approached her, but he had vanished. "No, I don't think you understand, you and I *need* to talk," a voice said harshly. Candice nearly jumped out of her seat. She hated it when people snuck up on her. After regaining a hold on her heartbeat, she started to speak. "Oh? And why is that? Is thre some sign on my forehead that says -Talk To Me-? Or am I just special?" The stranger came out from his hiding place and sat down in the booth across from Candice. Getting a better look at him, Candice decided he wasn't as good-lookng as she'd first thought (though he was cute). "There's no sign, but you definitely are special. Tell me Candice, do you believe in such a thing as living forever?" "What???" "I'm sorry, maybe I should have been clearer in my question, how much do you know about the man you were here with on the night of the 7th?" "Oh, you mean the night of Lillian's transition? That was just a list thing. She won't be a knightie forever...she's a Die-Hard through and through. But I didn't see you at the party, what are you?" Candice polished off the rest of her drink and set the cup carefully on the center of the table. "Oh, I...umm...well, I was hired to clean and serve..Need another drink?" He smiled at Candice and waved over the waitress "What'll it be?" "Umm...a rum and coke, please." Candice stared at the guy, trying to place his face with the people at the party that night, but she just couldn't do it. Maybe it was the alcohol. "Anything for you? "No, thanks." He turned his attention back to Candice. "So, how did you meet that guy you were with the other night?" "Which one? What night? I'm sorry I.." "The *transition*!, The tall guy with the white spikey hair! How did you meet him?" "Oh! Well, we met last year on a stage set, he wanted me to do some writing for a t.v. show. He called me up, I'm listed with the Writer's Guild, and we only met then." That seemed like a logical answer to Candice. How else was she supposed to answer a question like that to a complete stranger? He would think she was crazy if she told him about the War and the Factions. And vampires, who else believed in vampires? Candice didn't want to scare him off, company was one thing to keep her mind off her troubles with LaCroix and the Cousins. "So, are you dating him?" Candice almost spit out her drink in his face. Not that it was a funny thing, but it ws the most unfeasable thing she'd ever heard of! "Ahh,...no, Lucien and I have ...and understanding. That's his name, Lucien. He's more of a ..close relation. Almost like, ..an Uncle." "I know. So you're not dating him. Well, has he ever taken you out to dinner? Movies? Late night drinks?" The stranger leaned in closer to Candice, making her a little uncomfortable. Candice had to slow down the rate of her speach, else she get sloppy and slur her words."No, we've never gone out to eat together. I'm a veg and I think he thinks my eating habits are just as distastful as his are." It seemed to Candice that the guy snickered that last comment, but she couldn't tell anymore. Things were getting kinda fuzzy. "Is there anything else you wanna know about my friends or is this all some weird way to get to know me? Cause I...think I need to go home...now." Maybe he snarled, maybe he growled, maybe he just said something soothing, Candice couldn't tell. "..need ..home..cab...,please?" Candice remembered giving LaCroix's address to the cabbie and the guy from the club getting into the cab with her. What she didn't remember was getting into the apartment, changing into her p.j.'s and passing out on the floor. Sensing that she was awake, Embris padded softly over to her and nudged her hand until she scratched him behind the ears. "Cat, I think we've got some trouble." Embris just purred. ### KICKED! by Maureen Wynn Place: The Happy Souvlaki Deli "Christina! Oh, Christina..." "Whaddya want? I'm busy!" "We gotta di-, divest-, um, we gotta remove ya from office." "Huh?" "Well ," Maureen said, "You're not the Poobah Pro-Tem anymore. It's time for the tearing-of-the-epaulets." "Oh, OK. What do I do?" Chris said. "People, people..." All the Mercs continued partying (which they do so well, after all), oblivious to their soused leader. Maureen frowned, then gave a piercing whistle which cut through the noise. When they all turned toward her, she said, "It's time for Chris to be de-throned; everyone gather around." Once everyone had quieted somewhat, Maureen turned to Chris and said, "Um, repeat after me: 'I, Christina...'," "I, Christina..." "'Do hereby repent me of my sins...', oops, sorry, wrong ceremony." Maureen thought for a minute, weaving slightly, then her face brightened, and she dipped her fingers in her wine glass, then sprinkled Christina's head. "I now pronounce you un-Poobah-ed!" She turned to the assembled guests and raising her glass, said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Chaos! You may now party." ### THE CASE OF THE DISAPPEARING CORONER by Sharon Himmanen (with input from Jennie Hayes) Time: In the wee hours Place: The Toronto Morgue Natalie leaned away from the microscope and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She'd been at this for hours, and felt like she'd only made a little bit of progress. Making a face, she took another sip of coffee, possibly the last in Toronto (which made her think about Sharon and she made a mental note to pick up some Coke and Vivarin. The caffeine was really the issue for Sharon, rather than coffee itself.). Rising, she stretched her muscles and rubbed her neck, then paused as Grace poked her head into the lab. "Go home!" Grace ordered sternly. Nat smiled gently. "Can't," she said. "I still don't have all the answers I need." Grace moved all the way into the lab and looked at Natalie with no small amount of concern. Then she glanced at her watch. "By my reckoning, you've been at this for over 24 hours. You're exhausted. Go home!" Natalie picked up her lab notebook and waved at the microscope. "I will," she promised, though it was more to appease Grace than anything else. "I just want to run a few more of these samples." Sighing in exasperation, Grace glanced at the notes. "So, what have you found?" she asked. "Well," Natalie said, glancing down at her scrawled handwriting. "It's some kind of LSD derivative. That's hardly surprising, given the types of hallucinations they were having." "LSD?" Grace echoed quietly. "Who would do something like that?" Natalie shrugged, her mouth settling into a grim, hard line. "I have some idea of *who*, although I can't be sure, and I can't say right now," she added hastily at Grace's questioning look. "I need to figure out *why* and *how.*" "And when?" Grace asked. Natalie shook her head. "I've got that sort of narrowed down. Amy was hypnotized into thinking she was Janette on the 4th. As far as I can tell she wasn't affected. The worst of the symptoms showed up on the afternoon of the 7th, so it must have happened sometime between then." "But how?" Grace asked. "Something they ate?" Natalie frowned thoughtfully. "I was just starting to come up with ways to get the drug in, and that's a possibility. I doubt it's airborn. It's not that volatile. Food is a possibility, but I don't think so, given *who* was affected." "Meaning?" "Meaning," Natalie reasoned, "that Sharon was the *least* affected, and Valerie was one of the most affected. If it was something in the food, I'd have expected Sharon to be more affected since she tends to eat more, and she wasn't. So I'd have to rule that out." Natalie paused, staring thoughtfully into space for a moment, then she straightened abruptly. "Water," she said. "Water?" "Sharon hardly drinks any, except in coffee. But the others, "Natalie paused, excitedly, grabbing her pencil and scribbling on the paper. "The others drink it all the time. *Especially* Valerie and Jennie. *That's* got to be it." She looked around for a moment. "I'll give you a hand," Grace offered. Natalie paused. "No," she said. "You've been here longer than I have. Besides, if I'm right the tests won't take long. I promise I'll go home and get some sleep after that." "No way," Grace said emphatically, crossing her arms and giving Natalie an I'm-taking-no-prisoners look. "I'm not leaving until you leave." Natalie sighed with mock exasperation. "You're really such a pain," she admonished. Grace grinned. "But you love me anyway, right?" Natalie couldn't help but smile at that, then nodded. "OK, you win," she said, grabbing her purse and slipping off her lab coat. "I'm going home." Satisfied, Grace nodded, and the two women headed out together. ***** Natalie didn't mention to Grace that she'd needed to go home for a water sample from her apartment anyway, then had rushed back to the deserted morgue building. Dawn was only an hour or two away. She was about to prepare some sildes and new samples when she heard a door slam and the sound of feet shuffling outside the lab. Wondering if it might still be Grace, Natalie set the slides down and moved to the door, sticking her head out into the hallway, intending to admonish her assistant. Instead, she saw several tall men dressed in impeccable black suits heading down the hallway in her direction. Recongizing them as the men who'd approached her earlier, the same types most of her friends had described to her, she ducked quickly back into the lab, twisting the lock. It would buy her only a few minutes, but she had to at least try to hide her notes and samples. Frantically she looked around the lab for a place to conceal the stuff. A scratching noise sounded at the door, and Natalie realized they were picking the lock. She dropped the notebook into the waste paper basket next to her desk, hoping they wouldn't think to look there, and that Grace spotted it before it got taken out with the garbage, and grabbed the phone. hitting 911. Before it could connect, the door burst open and three men moved quickly inside. The phone was grabbed from her hand and replaced back in its cradle. Two of them grabbed her arms and shoved her back against the wall. Before she could draw breath to scream, one of them pressed close to her, leaning so close to her face she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. "Don't scream," he whispered, and the pressure of the knife increased slightly on her throat in warning. Natalie swallowed and nodded, noting that one of them was obviously searching the lab, starting with her desk. He paused briefly to glance over at them. "Get her out of here before the guard makes another round." With that, Natalie was whisked out of the lab, out to the street, and into a waiting van. ### THE KIDNAPPING by Torrey Harris ed. by SL Campbell Time: Early Place: Toronto It was time...the plans had been all worked out and everyone knew what was to happen. The group watched from the shadows as Partly said her goodbyes to Tracy. "Ok. Sherri, get ready..when she comes by, grab her and get her to the van before she starts to scream", Torrey said, never taking her eyes off of her prey. < Thump> < Bang> < Slam>...It was done.... one Perkulator blindfolded, gagged, and hog-tied in the van in nothing flat. It went about the same for the rest of them...well except for the darn Ravenette and the Cousin. Johanna, our Ravenette victim, could still be heard complaning about her dress...even though we had gagged her...and then gagged her again. Cousin Cherri was another story...Torrey was still suffering from some very sore places on her anatomy where she had received the brunt of the Cousin's counter-attack. Pulling back up to the church the Vaqueros quickly unloaded their new guests and hearded them all into the old Choir Room. Linda and Crystal quickly tied them all to their respective chairs and removed their blindfolds. " Now...you all just sit tight, we will be back in a minute." Linda said to the glaring group of faction members. Stepping out of the room, Crystal and Linda closed the door and faced Torrey. "OK, what now?" they both asked. "Now...." Torrey said, looking at Vachon. "It is time for our guests to meet Vachon and to give us some answers." "I still don't know if this is a good idea." Vachon said looking around for a way out. "It will work just fine," Torrey said, "as long as you try to look a little mean and don't do that 'Deer in the headlights' thing." "Me?" Vachon asked, "Do What?" Blink. Torrey ignored him. Torrey opened the door and let Sherri and the others go inside. She stops Cindy at the door. "Remember, you promised if you are going to lose it in here, you have got to leave before anyone sees you. This will never work with you rolling on the floor laughing!" "Yes..OK..I will", Cindy said, already suppressing a giggle. Torrey walked in, followed by Vachon. "Well, let me introduce you to the group, Vachon. " Torrey said, never looking away from the very surprised looking women tied to chairs. "This is Cousin Cherri, and this is Partly, our member of the Tracy faction, Hmmm...this is Johanna..our lucky Ravenette, and this is Elaine, our Natpacker. Oh, and last, but not least, this is MaryAnn, our esteemed Knightie. Now that you have all been properly introduced, they are all yours, Vachon!", Torrey said, pulling up a box. Vachon looked at the group of women tied up in the choir room and wondered again what he had let himself get talked into. \\Ok, just look mean, get the information, and then we can let them go.// He stood there and looked at them quietly. \\I can't believe I'm doing this...// "I want to know which one of your factions is responsible for destroying my church", Vachon said in his best 'I mean business' Voice. No response. Nothing. Not a word. From behind the victims, Crystal and Sherri waved their hands at Vachon and indicated their mouths. Vachon looked from her to the group in the chairs and realised that he had not taken the gags off. \\Augh, this will *never* work//, Vachon thought, as he reached over and pulled the gags off. Immediately the room was filled with shouts, curses, and threats from all of the victims. "Silence!!" Vachon thundered, and was pleasantly surprised to see that his order had been followed. "I am sure that you all heard my question?" Vachon said, looking down on them. "I want an answer." "I don't know what you're talking about!" Partly said, looking very confused, and completely non-perky. "What would I want with this old Church!" Johanna chimed in, still looking miffed about her dress. "It's not stylish *at all*!" The others just sat there, glaring at him. Torrey motioned Vachon over to the corner. "Vachon...its' not going to work...they just don't buy the tough guy act", Torrey said, shaking her head. "I know what will work!" Sherri chimed in. "Have you noticed how they keep trying to sneek a peek at him when he's not looking?" Torrey, Sherri, the Vaqueros, and Vachon all turn to look at the group, and catch them all trying to sneak a peek at Vachon's derriere when his back was turned. Blink. Blink. "Geeezzz, why didn't I think of that before?" Torrey said, hitting herself on the forehead. "Ok, Vachon...how good are you at flirting?" Blink. "Flirting?" Vachon said, with that 'look'. "I *can* flirt." "I just bet you can", Sherri said drily. "Leave this to me", Vachon said with a slow smile. Stepping over to Partly, Vachon spoke in a low, intimate tone. "I know this has to be very uncomfortable for you." Before he could say anything else, he was interrupted. "She's uncomfortable!" shouted Maryann, "What about me?" "Oh, be quiet, you big baby!" moaned Cherri, "He wasn't talking to you." "Why don't you both be quiet", shouted Johanna. "I can't believe I am stuck in a room with you guys," Elaine said, rolling her eyes. At this point, the Vaqueros and Vachon stepped back and just listened. It was obvious by now that all Vachon had to do was take the gags off, and they would take care of the rest. "YOU can't believe you are stuck here!" shouted Maryann, "It's your fault we're all here. You Natpackers and your 'little pranks'." "Oh...yes, like we did it all!" snapped Elaine. "What about her?", motioning with her chin at Cherri. "Yeah, yeah, drag me into it", Cherri snarled, "you just can't take the rap by yourself." "Well, you guys deserve each other!" snapped Johanna. "I didn't do a thing, and now just look at me", she said, motioning to the ropes holding her to the chair. "Yeah! Well, at least you weren't kidnapped by someone who is supposed to be on your side!", MaryAnn said, glaring at Torrey. Torrey stepped forward, and motioned for silence. "OK, I think I have learned enough. Partly, Johanna, and Maryann...I think we need to get you all back home." "Hey, what about us!!", shouted Cherri and Elaine. "Oh, you'll be going back home also...when we're done with you." Torrey's smile sent shivers down everyone's spine, even Vachon. Torrey went over and untied Partly, Johanna, and Maryann. She motioned them out of the Choir Room. While one of the other Vaqueros replaced the gags on Cherri and Elaine, Torrey led the released kidnappees outside, and turned to talk to her released prisoners. "Listen guys, I am sorry for having to bring you here, but we just had to find out what was going on. If I see one more cow disaster in this church, I will go nuts", Torrey said, trying to sound reasonable. "You are supposed to be on my side in this war! Or did you forget that?" Maryann said hotly. "No...I didn't forget. You have to understand, Maryann. I knew it had to be someone inside of our alliance. You guys are the only ones who know where I live. My place is so far out in the middle of nowhere nobody else would have been able to find it." "OK...I guess I can see where you're coming from with that...but kidnapping us?" Maryann asked. "Well, it worked didn't it?", Torrey said with raised eyebrows. "Listen guys...I am sorry for anything I did to you, and I am going to have Linda take you all directly back to your respective homes. If you want she can even stop and get some lunch for you. Ok?" "Yes, I guess so", Johanna said, reluctantly. "Sure, fine with me." Partly answered, becoming perky again. "I am ready to go back to the loft", Maryann said. "Listen, Maryann, tell Nick that I will stop by a little later and talk to him.....I kind of need to apologize for the stake in the heart thing...", Torrey said. Linda got the group back into Sherri's van and headed back toward their homes. Now it was time to deal with the other two. Torrey and Sherri went back into the Choir Room, where Crystal was watching over the captives, and opened the closet. Pulling out their implements of torture they set to work. *************** "Hmmm...not bad", Sherri said, looking over their work. "I rather like it myself!", Torrey said, leaning back with a smile on her face. Vachon had been hiding his head for the last five minutes trying not to laugh to death. Cindy was rolling helplessly on the floor, attacked by a severe case of the giggles. Crystal was sitting on the floor, attempting to maintain some sort of control. It wasn't easy. "Well, where do we drop them off?", Sherri asked. "We don't." Torrey said with a smile. "We let them walk." Torrey, Sherri, and the Vaqueros stood at the door to the Church and watched the two walk away. A faint "Moooo" could be heard every other step. "You know..." Sherri said. "I always knew I would have a use for those old cow costumes." "Yes..." Torrey said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Where did you find a cow costume with udders?" Torrey asked, starting to giggle again. "Well, you know, you live in cow country, and the darned things have to be uh, anatomically correct.... or you get boo'd udderly off the stage... I liked your idea of attaching the Mooers they sent us, that was great." Sherri said, starting to lose control of her laughter again. "Yeah", Torrey said, sitting down so she could hold her sides."I wish them luck getting out of them...you put enough super glue on the zippers." "Me? Hey, Vachon was the one with the tube of glue!" At this point, all of the Vaqueros are reduced to fits of laughter on the steps of the church. ### JAMIE FINDS HER TRUE CALLING, OR TRIES TO... by Jamie Melody Randall Time: Early early morning Jamie sat and watched her bodyguard sleep atop a tarpaulin. It didn't look very comfortable -- then again, Christina looked too tired to care. Considering that she'd stepped into this mess because she'd needed *protection*, it had certainly been an exciting day... Tired as she was, her words from earlier that night echoed in her ears, resembling a flashback: "Oh, and thanks for letting me sit in on this, all of you. It's enough to make me want to be a Merc!" And the response: "Hey, anytime you want to join..." Hunh. Something soft and furry twined itself around her ankles, and Jamie picked Elfy up and plopped her in her lap, stroked her fuzzy little head and thought hard. //Y'know,// she thought idly, //it's a great thing to stick your neck out for something you believe in... but it's an even better thing if you can get PAID for doing it...// She consigned the thought to the back of her mind, reached out and shook Christina awake -- or at least partially. "C'mon," she said,"let's get you back to the Raven." "Don't wanna," Christina mumbled incoherently. "Bed," Jamie coaxed persuasively. "A real bed, with a nice soft mattress, and pillows..." "Pillows," the Merc repeated, almost reverently, as Jamie led her stumbling from the building. ==========Not too much later====================== Having driven (slowly and carefully, so as not to attract notice) back to the Raven and deposited her 'bodyguard' (hard to think of her that way, after driving the getaway car! -- but sleeping or not, Chris would awaken and come to her rescue at the faintest sign of trouble; Jamie and the cats were all wired) safely in bed with the cats, both her beloved Elfy and guest-cat Ralph The Sidney Ringer, Jamie made herself a cup of coffee courtesy of the Secret Raven Stash and thought, hard. Came to a decision, made a few phone calls... cursed a little, then hung up and went off to meet with her associate... "Why HERE?" were the first words out of Jamie's mouth. The one she'd come to meet with chuckled wickedly. "I wanted to see how serious you were about this," she said. "You must be, to come ALL the way up here..." Jamie glanced out of the windows -- lovely view from the top of the CN Tower, but a looooooong way down. "Get to the point," she growled. "So let's see," replied her companion, not allowing herself to be rushed, "you started out as a Cousin, tried to make a deal with the NatPack, sought sanctuary with the Ravenettes and have now declared Merc. Hmmmm." "I didn't try to make a deal with the NatPack," Jamie disputed. "Merely offered assistance. As if everyone didn't already know that I have NatPack sympathies! Not to mention my embarrassing tendencies toward Nick&NatPackdom. And you're forgetting Honorary FoD by Virtue of Having Achieved a State of Sublime Brunch..." "I haven't forgotten," sighed her companion. "So now, on top of all of that, you want to be a Merc..." "Only if I can do it properly. I have to prove myself to the Guild-- more importantly, I have to prove myself to *me*." Jamie's eyebrows raised. "Not that the um, situation you've outlined should cause me much trouble. At least, I don't think so. But before we go any further, we have something to discuss." "Let me guess. Payment?" "How'd you know?" Jamie grinned. "There will have to be chocolate, of course, so that I can bribe... uhm, I mean, persuade the Guild that I'm worthy. Lane doesn't like chocolate, but the fact that I didn't bang up his car oughta count for something." "Just chocolate? That's awfully reasonable," commented the other. "Sure you're really Merc material?" "Hey, it's my first job, y'know," Jamie reminded her, "and there's the matter of personal sympathies... and besides, I haven't finished naming my terms yet." The other woman waited, suspicion growing within her; and the worst of her fears were confirmed when Jamie, grinning even more widely, tossed something at her... It was white. Rectangular. Made of paper. And contained many many many little crystals of NaCl. "Now put down the salt," Jamie directed, "and let's talk..." ### LOOSE THREADS by Kimberley Low Time: 9am EST Place: The Raven, Nat's apartment, all over the city "One more time. Jennie, Leslie, Betsy, Jill, and Valerie are in the hospital recovering from LSD delusions. Selma's catsitting. Sharon, GT, and Kim just unhoodooed me because I've spent the past couple of days believing I was Janette." "Sounds about right," said Kim. Actually it came out closer to "Zoundsboutright." She and GT were not looking good and they were feeling worse. "Then where's Amparo!" That would be Amy again. "Good question." Sharon glared at GT and Kim. She'd been playing babysitter all night and wasn't happy. "Hey, don't look at us! You were the sober one!" Kim leaned over and stage whispered, "GT, you're not helping." And a little louder, " 'Kay, you guys phone around, I'll leave you the van and take a cab back to the apartment to see if she's there. Besides, I really want to change these shoes." "Why? You were hardly in them last night." "Cool! Sounds like the most normal thing I did all evening!" She flashed Sharon a grin as she walked off in search of a phone. ************************************************************************ *Ah, normalacy, sweet normalacy,* Kim thought as she walked in the apartment door. Open door. That didn't quite register as something to be wary of. There were benefits to arriving late to a war. So she'd missed the original plotting and the tree frogs; she'd also missed the Jeparody challenge and the fish sandwiches. She'd come to think of Nat's apartment as a sanctuary of sanity. At least when it was empty. "Maria Amparo Bertram! Y'here?" The tv was on. That was a good sign at least. Wierd show, though. She found her boots amid the chaos they'd inflicted before going to the Raven. *No wonder Sharon's mad! She must have put that plastic stuff over the tv for protection. Now where is Amparo? The coach looks slept on, maybe she decided the bed would be more comfortable.* And there she was. All curled up in the bed looking as sweet and peaceful as can be. A grin spread across Kim's face. *Who says the Cousins are the only ones that can mess with a person's mind.* She put on her most irate posture and shook Amparo awake. "Great move, Amparo. Just leave the front door open, so ELVIS can come strolling in." Amparo sat bolt upright. "Whowhatwhenwherehow? ELVIS?!!" Kim started laughing and received the most patently evil look from Amparo. "I'm sorry. I just figured that if you were as bad off as the rest of us are/were/are recovering from you'd give a good reaction. So where did you go last night? And why was the door open?" "I haven't a clue. I don't even remember getting into bed. Where is everybody?" "Well, Jennie, Jill, Leslie, Betsy, and Valerie are in the hospital, they got caught by Nick and Vachon after giving a noncommand performance of _Phantom of the Opera_ at the Raven. Selma's still with Sidney and the rest of them are at the Raven organizing your search party. I want coffee. Do you want coffee?" "We ran out. There's tea though." The Natpack had come to realize since Kim had shown up that lightning quick subject changes were an integral part of her personality so Amparo wasn't too worried. Kim walked off to the kitchen. "POD! WHAT IS THIS!?" Amparo walked in looking smug and a little different. "My my my. The 'Pack's been frogged. Won't Uncle be pleased to hear of this." "WHAT?" "I wonder how they managed to get all those boxes into the kitchen. Whoever did this was good!" "Amparo. Maria! What is the matter with you!" "What are you talking about? And why am I here? I should be with Nick! You're the ones who started this war!" "Amparo! Snap out of it!" "Snap out of what? And why are there all these boxes of frozen frogs' legs in the kitchen?" "I give up. You are going right to the Raven. Sharon's getting good at taking care of the insane. I'll give you to her. Meanwhile, where did you take those fish sandwiches someone sent. I want to get these frogs' legs out of here before they start to dethaw too badly." It took five trips to get all those boxes into Jennie's car. (Someone who's going into the hospital for an indetermined length of time should not leave her keys in plain view.) As it was there was barely enough room to fit Kim and Amparo into the front seats. (Jen! Get a bigger car!) Amparo was sent off into the Raven and the loving (exasperated?) care of Sharon, Amy, and GT. Kim continued onto the shelter to deliver her goodwill gift. "Hi! Uh, a couple of days ago my friends received an incorrect order of fish sandwiches and they donated them to you. Well, it happened again and I was wondering if you could use any more?" "You have more fish sandwiches? That's amazing! We really appreciated the last donation. It was really generous." The woman looked so happy it hurt to let her down. "Well, actually, it isn't exactly fish sandwiches. We were actually given ten large boxes of frozen frogs' legs." "Oh. Well, we might be able to take one box. There isn't really that much a demand for frozen frogs' legs, even in a shelter." Just getting rid of one box was good enough for Kim. For a start at least. In the meantime she still needed to get ahold of some coffee. *YES! A Timothy's. A little more expensive then Second Cup but definitely worth it. Da da da da dada da dada da da dada! Don't worry! Da da da da da dada! Be happy! Da dada da da! Don't worry, be happy now! Where did that come from! I haven't heard that song in ages!* "Hi! I'd like coffee. Any type of coffee you have." "I guess you haven't heard. There isn't any coffee in all of Toronto. Something about a health scare." "No coffee? Not even any of that Mochachinno slush you make?" "Sorry, that's seasonal." "Seasonal. Right. So you have the hot, mulled cider and cranberry juices right?" "Well, we have the cider but there in't any cranberry juice to be found either." "Cider's good. Cider's very good." Puzzled but happy (Hot drink GOOD! Hot drink HOT!) Kim went off in search of some poor shelter to take the frogs' legs. ### TOMORROW MAY NEVER COME by Selma McCrory Time: Morning Place: Nat's apartment Selma was humming happily as she unlocked the door to Nat's apartment. She'd come back with Sidney, along with two other cats who seemed to have attatched themselves to her. She let Sidney out of his carrier and the other two followed. One of them looked pretty cute in a red hat. The TV was on. She semi-glanced at it, moving her stuff back to where she had been sleeping over a week before. That was, before everyone seemed to be allergic and she had been elected to catsit. That done, she went to look at what was airing on the TV. Evidently, someone had left a tape on. And someone didn't want the TV being bashed in. Wise choice. She didn't recognize the series, other than the bunch obviously were having some kind of problem and had very British accents. 70's British SF, she decided. Nobody else was in, otherwise she would have asked what they were seeing. So she, being a science fiction fan in general, sat down and watched. The tag to the episode had come on. The credits weren't familiar, so she waited to see what was on next. And then she knew. Despite having never seen the 1970's version of the Tomorrow People, she recognised the credit sequence from a video-only MPEG that she'd found. And then she recognised the episode that had come on. "A Man for Emily," she muttered. The *worst* episode of the series, ever, shunned so completely that even new fans knew about it. She watched as Peter Davison, in silly silver wig, ran around in his underwear. She went to turn it off, or at least change the channel. She found out that it was the VCR, but since it was enclosed too, she couldn't do it. She had a sneaky suspicion of who was responsible. Wendy. The only person who knew she was a big TP fan. And that would mean that neither the TV nor the VCR would have a remote. She sighed, and went to go out - only to find that she was somehow locked in. Same with the windows. No phone, either. But no one had blocked the phone outlet. She took her computer and her phone cord out of her bag, connected to Nat's account, then to her own, and then started to send out S.O.S's. Wendy had underestimated her. She had food, she had books, she had her walkman and tapes, and at last she could see that version of the series. And the list was still spewing 10 copies of everything. Of course, so far that had meant only Wendy's story and Jez's fragments, but maybe it would get worse. She hoped so. And someone, she hoped, would come to her rescue soon. ### COFFEE CLASH by War Correspondent Celeste Hotaling-Lyons Time: Morning Place: The CERK office that Cousine Celeste took over, that she hasn't given up yet because it has a really nice Mac in it. ___________________________________________________ (To the tune of "Rawhide") "Perkin', perkin', perkin'; Keep them beans a-perkin', You won't catch me smirkin', Caffeine! For a cup, I'm yearnin', Never set it burnin'! Keep that coffee churnin'! Caffeine! Serve it up! Pour it out! In a cup! Drink and shout! Serve it up! Pour it out! In a cup! Drink and shout! Yeah-- Keep that coffee pourin'-- Here's my cup, put more in! Caffeine!" Cousine Celeste popped the audiotape playing "Songs of FK War V" in mid-lyric with a savage punch to the eject button, replacing it with another tape. As one of the last people in Toronto with a bag of fresh-ground Hazelnut coffee, the song "Caffeine!" usually gave her great joy, but today she was in no mood. She pushed "go" and the new tape started to play. <"Thank God Nick already left for work. Scottie, is it just me, but did the attacks used to have a bit more class than this? A little more style? "That they did; although I seem to remember something about a ton of tuna in New York."> It rankled. <"Thank God Nick already left for work. Scottie, is it just me, but did the attacks used to have a bit more class than this? A little more style? "That they did; although I seem to remember something about a ton of tuna in New York."> Foolish Knighties, chatting in front of the empty tanks still standing in Nick's elevator. *Of course* they'd been remote-wired for sound! Heck, if she'd been given a mere 24-hours more in her window of opportunity, they'd have been remote-wired for video, too. She'd enjoyed their screams of outrage amid the splash-gurgle of the Ribena and cows' blood, but had been mightily affronted at the conversation that had come immediately after. <"Thank God Nick already left for work. Scottie, is it just me, but did the attacks used to have a bit more class than this? A little more style? "That they did; although I seem to remember something about a ton of tuna in New York."> The Cousine's fingers tapped aimlessly on the desk, brain cells working furiously, but fruitlessly. How the hell does one top 1,000 gallons of sticky red fluid cascading from an elevator? She felt like Stanley Kubrick. Suddenly an idea began to form in her mind. When you need sneaky, vicious, and downright nutsy, you call a pro in those fields of endeavour. No, not the Lurkers. Ex-Cousin Jamie; Raven-not, Honorary FoD. . . and now Jamie was trying to become a Merc. Besides, *who* was a classier broad than her friend and fellow New-Yawker; who was better suited to teach a Knightie a lesson in style, but The Illustrated (ex-)Cousin, Jamie? No one, that's who. . . . "Jamela, sweetie." "It's your friend, Celeste. Cousine Celeste." "How did you know I'd be here. You're out to get me, aren't you. There's a SWAT team of Cousins on wires hangin' off the building, they're gonna come crashing through my window when you give them the 'hi' sign that I'm here, right?" "Moi? Never. I happen to agree with you about The Raven, I hate it when Uncle plays bar-keep, I don't think it's good for him physically or mentally. And I like it here at CERK, much better. I got a Mac I don't have to share, a phone I can use for long-distance, and a Braun coffee-maker. Oh, and I've got the phone on 'scramble'--this place is full of eager young college guys who just graduated with sound-engineering degrees. They're *interns*; it's great, they're working for the station for free and they do *exactly* what you tell them to do! Just like they're *slaves* or something!" "Sounds choice. OK, what's the deal? Why're you callin'?" "I don't have time to pull a caper on someone, I'm too busy mailing out `Songs of FK War V' to everyone, but I just can't let a bit of slander from a certain Knightie pass. I wanna hire you." "You *do*?" Jamie's usually casual demeanor actually seemed to perk up at the offer. "Cool." "Let's meet." "There's a coffee-bar I go to, though it's just selling dessert, tea and fruit juices now that there's no coffee." "Sounds perfect." The Cousine got the address from the would-be Merc, threw on her coat, and took off; heavy bag on shoulder, thermal carafe of coffee in hand. ******************************************************* The two conspirators huddled at a table in a dark corner of the nearly-empty coffee-bar, commiserating and working out terms, snarfing down a couple of slices of chocolate fudge cake all the while. "The tapes of 'The Songs of FK War V' have a computer chip in 'em," said the Cousine. "If you play 'Can You Feel The Love, To Knight' out of sequence more than fifty times, it melts the tape into a puddle of goop that ruins your tape deck. Now, no one but Knightie or a Nick/Natpacker would play that song over and over, out of sequence, especially since it's nestled on the tape between two really great LaCroix songs." Jamie nodded sagely. "But you're saying that that just isn't enough vengence to be visited on this one Knightie, right?" Celeste stabbed at her slice of cake angrily. "She insulted me. No soft-toy-toting, puppy-piling-the-vampire, beknighted Knightie calls *me* classless and gets away with it. These people have no style and would not recognize style if it came up and bit 'em on the bum. Just 'cos she didn't recognize the brilliant, dramatic re-creation of the elevator-full-of-blood scene from Kubrick's "The Shining", well that's not my fault, is it?" "It was totally evil. She's nuts." The easy-going would-be Merc closed her eyes, enjoying the deep, dark flavor of the double-fudge chocolate. "*You're* gonna have to come up with a great trick--like I said, I just don't have time to kick my imagination into gear," sighed the Cousine, sipping a cup of the Sacred Brown Liquid, hazelnut coffee, which she'd brought with her. Jamie sipped at her cinnamon schnapps. "Oh, I don't think imagination is gonna be a problem for me. I can money-back guarantee you that you will *love* whatever I come up with." The Cousine didn't doubt it, and shivered. She almost felt sorry for the victim. Almost, but not quite. "OK. How much?" "Ten pounds of the *finest* chocolate." "Easy-peasy. I can send you the chocolate. Someone who blithely hands out gift certificates to See's chocolate in the $1,000 amount can certainly get 10 lbs. of the best chocolate." "*AND* something else. Something special." This got Celeste's attention. "Uh, OK, I'll bite. What?" "I want a photo of Uncle. A photo of Uncle. . . . *NAKED*." The word 'naked' said with relish, Jamie grinned her most insane grin. Celeste put down her fork, contemplating the mad woman before her. "Now let me get this straight. *Here*," and she held out her left hand, "here we have the task of trashing a Knightie--on a scale of one-to-ten, let's give it a five. No, we're talking a Knightie here. Give it a three. Now, *HERE*," and out came the Cousine's right hand, "here we have the task of snapping a photo of Lucien LaCroix, in the buff. Scale of one-to-ten, it's, oh, about *A GAZILLION TRILLION BAZILLION MILLION*!" The Cousine stood, eyes bugging out of her head. "Are you *bloody* *insane*, Jamie?" Jamie waved a negligent fork at the Cousine. "Oh, siddown. I got it all figured out. You know how to do it." Her foot came out and gave a little kick to the bag the Cousine invariably carried with her everywhere. Her Blake's 7 teleport bracelet was snuggled deep within, inside a secret pocket, and Jamie knew it. "And nobody can complain. They let you get away with teleporting at the beginning of the war and nobody raised a peep." "Oh, I think that was just because nobody wanted to read yet *another* in a series of plane and/or train stories about How This Fan Got To Toronto," said Celeste. "But I swore I wouldn't resort to teleporting. I mean, I just can't call the Liberator everytime I need a favour. I mean, a *favor*." She was damned if she was gonna slip into B7 Brit-speak so easily. "Yeah, but you swore that before you knew you'd have to take a pic of Lu, butt-naked," argued the would-be Merc persuasively. "It's *buck*-naked, why the heck does everybody and his brother keep getting that wrong?" but it was obvious her mind was not really on her vocabulary list. "No. No way. No, if I had the time to bamboozle LC, I'd have to time to get the Knightie myself." Jamie took a long slurp of her yummy cinnamon schnapps and considered her friend over the edge of her glass. "What's a matter? Chicken?" Now, when someone you don't know calls you `chicken', you flip him the bird. When an enemy calls you `chicken', you wonder what he's trying to get you to do, and then you do the exact opposite (then you have Pizza Hut deliver 25 pizzas-with-everything to his door.) But when a friend calls you `chicken'. . . well, there's nothing for it but to prove them *wrong*. The Cousine sat back in her chair heavily, all the fight gone out of her. "This is just like Dorothy being told to get the witch's broom, innit? Geez, I had no idea meeting LaCroix was gonna be along these lines. I thought I'd just get introduced to him by some Cousin or other, at a party or something. I thought he'd say, `how do you do, my dear, I've heard wonderful things about your work', not `come here, you horrible little mortal, I'm gonna rip your throat out!'" Jamie just smiled a Chesire cat smile, and had another bite of the velvety chocolate cake. ********************************* ### WORKER'S COMPENSATION by Jamie Melody Randall Time: Daytime As Christina slept peacefully, Jamie called home... "Hi, Mom. What's new? Did I get any mail?" She listened. "Really? Okay... open it." And listened some more. "State Insurance Fund sent me a check for HOW much? Well, it's about time... the claim's been going for nearly three years, after all... Do me a favor, huh? Put my account number on the back and deposit it. It's a New York check; it oughta clear by the 15th..." And Jamie hung up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. //This oughta be useful,// she thought... ### FUN WITH KITTENS by Chanda Keith Place: The Raven "Maybe she'll actually eat this one." I thought optimistically as I started down the steps to the Raven's wine cellar. I had been trying for four days since I got my adorible and *extremely* picky new kitten to find a cat food that she wouldn't turn up her nose at after one taste. "Janey!" I called before I remembered who I was dealing with. Of course she wasn't going to come running just because some mere mortal called. The kitten expected me to come to her. You know, if I didn't know better, I would think that my kitten really was Janette in disguise instead of just named after her. I started across the room towards the kitten, who was lounging on one of the new velvet dresses that I had picked up for the Die-Hards' party. I was halfway across the room when I stepped on something soft. "What in the world? Oh, great! A dead mouse with its head bit off! Have we been letting Screed in here? Wait a minute! What's that? I said as I saw a flash of white behind a rack of wine bottles. A minute later a black and white kitten came strolling out with a mouse in his teeth and deposited it at Janey's paws. Janey just looked bored and turned up her nose at the sight of the mouse. "What do you know! So you have a little friend! Now how did he get in here?" I said as I walked over and looked at the strange new kitten. "So, what's your name, kitty-cat? Nichola, by any chance? Well, Nicky-poo, you're going to have to come up with something better than dead mice if you want to impress Janette here. I can't even get her to eat five dollar gourmet cat food. Oh great! You aren't going to eat this one, either, are you? Well, it looks like it's back to the store for me. Have fun guys, and try not to destroy the wine cellar." ************** "I can't believe that I just paid twenty dollars for fresh salmon! If she doesn't eat this then I don't know what I'll do!" I said as I started down the steps to the wine cellar. I was on the next to last step when my foot landed on something round and slid out from under me. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor of the cellar with the kittens in my face. "Well, at least she'll come if she thinks I'm in trouble." I said as I checked myself over and saw that I hadn't done any permanant damage. Now to find what out what I had stepped on. "What in the world?" I thought as I checked the step and spotted a pearl. "A pearl? How did a pearl get down here? Hey Nicky-poo, what do you have there?" "Oh, no!" I cried when I saw the rest of the pearl necklace in his mouth and quickly snatched it along with the loose pearl before either of the kittens could swallow them. "Now where did he get his paws on that? I hope that it isn't one of the other Ravenettes'" "At least you come up with better presents than Nicky-poo the vampire." I told the black and white kitten as I gathered both of the cats up and carried them over to Janey's velvet bed. "I still don't know how you got in here but I think I'll let you stay. Now eat your salmon like good kittens and don't leave anymore suprises on the steps. I'll be back after I find a hot tub someplace to soak my aching back." I tucked the necklace in a pocket as I headed up the stairs. I hoped that it didn't belong to one of the Ravenettes because if it did I would be in big trouble. Okay, so Nicky-poo wasn't really my cat but he sure was acting like he belonged to me and I would get the blame for the necklace if its owner found out. "Oh, well. Maybe it belongs to a cousin or one of those crazy Nat-packers." I thought. That was when a terrible idea hit me. What if it belonged to Mistress Janette? I decided that I better pospone that bath and go find someone to help me. ### A PRESENT FROM THE KITTENS by Chanda Keith Time: The Raven "This is terrible!" I thought as I hurried back down the steps to the wine cellar. "What am I going to do? If this really is Janette's necklace and she sees what the kittens did to it then..... What am I going to do? Oh, no! Not again!" "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!" I cried as I ran over to Janey, who was playing with what looked like a diamond necklace. "I'm doomed! I'm breakfast if she finds out! Hey! Wait a minute! Wher did Nicky-poo get himself off to?" Just then the black and white kitten came strolling in and deposited what looked like a pair of gold buttons at Janey's paws. She purred and wrapped her tail around him in a sign of approval. "Oh, no! He did it again!" I cried as I snatched the gold things up. "Janey, stop purring at him! He's about to get me killed and..... Wait a minute! These are cufflinks! Why would Mistress Janette have a pair of cufflinks? Nicky-poo, where did you get this stuff? Come show me. Blast! Nicky-poo, stop purring at Janette and come show me where you got this stuff! Come show me and I'll give you some nice salmon!" A few minutes later I was knelling down by a wine rack with Nicky-poo twining himself about my ankles and Janey perched on my shoulder so that she wouldn't get her nice clean paws filthy. "I can't believe this!" I said as I pulled out a box from between the racks and looked inside. "Some silly little fledgling must have left this stuff here! Matchbooks forty years old from thirty states. You know, I might have a use for those. While I'm thinking, I better have this jewelry checked to see if it's real. Maybe I could...." "Stay here, guys." I said as I hurried up the steps with the box under my arm. "I'll be back as soon as I get these checked. Don't get into any trouble!" ### PEEPING COUSINS (Part 3) by Shirl Cline Place: Wherever the rest of the Cousins are... Cousin Shirl thought with a frown. She'd come to Toronto to help in the war, and hardly gotten to do anything. Her one plan had gone from merely challenging, to falling flat on it's face. She'd gone to all that trouble; buying equipment and enlisting the help of Cousin Tokaara and the Merc, only to mess up. She'd carefully sorted the photos into three stacks; the ones that didn't come out, the ones that had, but weren't that great, and the few really good shots they'd gotten, then placed them in an envelope for them to take to Millie, the Merc. By the time she'd realized she'd given her the wrong stack, it had been too late. she thought with a sigh. The tape of LaCroix and Sandra might have distracted them for awhile, but as time passed with no word, she wondered if they'd ever even seen them. She sighed again. Shirl thought. ### EVERYTHING GOES BETTER WITH WHIP CREAM by Maddog Time: Early evening Place: Toronto Maddog polished off her third diet coke of the hour. She was bored. Bored, bored, bored and then bored some more. There was tons of work to be done but the unseasonably sunny day had left her with no desire to do any of it. All right, she never had a desire to do any of it but normally she concentrated on the "paycheck" aspect of things and did it anyway. Not today, today she was bored. Rastro, her fellow Lurker, partner in crime and cheesecake eater supreme, hadn't answered any of her e-mail so there was nobody to play with. Standing up, she walked to the coke machine and got another of those delicious beverages. What to do, what to do, she thought. Then an idea hit her, splat. Picking herself up off the ground, she dug the tesserect out of her backpack (picking off a rather old piece of gum) and teleported out of her office. Dianne la Mercenaire sat on a comfortable chair reading a book entitled "Destroying Europe in Seven Days and Getting Paid for It". It was the best seller on the merc book list for the month of October. The hot runner up was called, "People That Have Been Killed, And the Mercs Who Don't Feel Guilty About It". Her reverie was broken by the sound of the tesserect depositing its traveler in front of her. "What?" She greeted the woman before her. She recognized the woman from the last FKFIC war. It was one of those Lurker people. "I'm bored," Maddog pouted, taking another sip her diet coke. "You want me to kill you and end your misery?" Dianne suggested with a smile. "Nah, I have an idea!" "Callooo-callay! How frightening. What's in it for me?" "This whole bag of M&Ms!" "I'll take it as a retainer. My expenses are extra you know." "Yeah, here's the plan," Maddog leaned forward and quickly explained her most righteous idea to the Merc. "Sounds doable, not to mention fun. Why don't you do it yourself?" "Cuz I'm a Lurker and I only watch. Besides, I am not supposed to get involved, rules of the contract and all." "I'll do it. You have to set up that Vetter woman though." "Sure, just remember, I get 50% of the proceeds from picture sales," Maddog nodded. Both women then spit in their palms and then shook hands. Dianne decided to charge the Lurker hazard pay since her spit was probably toxic from all that diet coke she drank. ************************************************** "Excuse me, are you Detective Vetter?" Maddog asked the blonde woman sitting at the desk. "Yes, can I help you?" Maddog brought her hand out from behind her back. She was holding a diet coke can with Groucho glasses, nose and mustache taped to it. There was a pair of eyes also stuck to the can. "You have a problem?" Tracy asked. "Many people think so, but that's another story. Look into the diet coke's eyes," Maddog thrust the can into the detective's face. "You are getting sleepy, very sleepy. Close your eyes." Tracy did as the Lurker instructed, her mind totally controlled by the diet coke mojo. Maddog grinned, pleased that it had worked so well. She sat down in a chair beside the desk. Fortunately nobody had noticed that Detective Vetter had fallen into a trance. "Okay, Tracy, now listen carefully. You are in the power of the great diet coke mojo and have to do exactly as I tell you. Now, repeat after me. I am a moron. I am dumber than a squirrel." "I am a moron. I am dumber than a squirrel," Tracy muttered, drooling slightly onto her desk. "I hear voices and do as they command. I have broccoli in my socks." Detective Vetter repeated the words exactly, convincing the Lurker that she was mentally helpless. "Okay, Tracy, I have two commands for you. The first is long and complicated so pay attention," Maddog ordered as she went into a long detailed plan whereby Tracy was convince Nick that he was to go on a special undercover assignment for her Father, Commissioner Vetter. She was to tell him that her father suspected a deep police cover-up and needed somebody from another division that he could trust. There had been a shocking series of male transvestite attacks in the city and Detective Knight needed to go out and gather evidence. He was to meet his contact, one Detective Dianne, as the supplied address. He was to do what she told him. "You got that?" The Lurker asked, wiggling the diet coke can in front of the Detectives Face, the mustache wiggled in an amusing fashion. "I understand." "Good, now here's the second command. You are to eat six frozen Twinkies every morning for the next three months. You should wash them down with, uh, three diet cokes. Every evening before you leave work you should consume a Moon Pie with an entire can of whipped cream on top of it," There, Maddog thought, she wouldn't be a skinny blonde for long on that diet. Not to mention the reaction of all that caffeine and sugar. "When I pop the top of the Diet Coke can you are to awaken. You will remember nothing of our conversation but go about your business until you meet Nick tonight. Then you are to put the plan into motion. Got it?" "Got it." Maddog stood up and popped the diet coke. Tracy awoke with a start and stared blankly around. She spotted Maddog and asked if there was something she needed. "Yeah, could you tell me where the restrooms are?" Detective Vetter pointed and the Lurker made her escape from the station. **** "Your father wants me to do what?" Nick asked. "Go undercover. Nick, I'm sure my father wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Tracy explained as she fished around in the grocery bag she had with her. "He knows I trust you. He must be afraid of some leak in the department," She pulled out a can of whip cream and a moon pie from the bag. "All right, where's the address?" Nick decided he'd at least go check it out. It sounded strange to him. He didn't remember any attacks on transvestites being mentioned anywhere. "Here," Tracy handed him a piece of paper. She then began to shoot the entire can of whip cream onto the moon pie. Piling the cream higher and higher until it was leaning very precariously. "Thanks," Nick said staring at the food in front of his new partner. Even Schanke had never eaten anything like this and Schanke had done some mighty strange eating in the years they'd been together. "Uh, you're going to eat that?" "Yeah, I've got a craving," Tracy explained as she took a huge bite of the whip cream. Knowing that asking a woman about her cravings was a dangerous area to go, Nick merely nodded. "I'll go check this out. You finish your snack." "Op-kaay," his partner mouthed around the moon pie. ### MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY FACE by Dianne la Mercenaire Time: Early evening Place: A random Toronto shopping mall Nick pulled the Caddie over at the address Tracy had given him, only to realize that it was a shopping mall. Leaving his car in the red zone (but surreptitiously flipping on the mysterious vampire detective "no-ticket" cloaking field), he walked towards the entrance. As he neared the door, he saw a tall redhead dressed in jeans and a CERK t-shirt with an X-Files bag slung over one shoulder. She was absent-mindedly snacking on M&Ms while she chatted with a blonde woman wearing too much makeup and holding a clipboard who was similarly attired. Nick smiled vaguely and kept walking, not wanting "free movie passes" to anything at the moment, but the quiet, authoritative voice behind him stopped him cold. "Detective Knight?" He turned around to find himself addressed by the red-head, who did not wait for an answer: "I am Detective Dianne. I believe Commisioner Vetter assigned you to my investigation?" "Um...yes," Nick agreed. "Sorry, I was just looking for someone who looked more... uh... well 'professional'." He smiled around the foot in his mouth. Dianne gave him a cold look. "If I looked 'professional' I'd hardly be 'undercover,' now would I, Detective?" "Oh, no. Of course not," Nick agreed, his gaze shifting to the other woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but it was hard to tell under the large sunglasses, distractingly-pink lipstick, and what looked, quite frankly, like *really bad* hair extensions. She was giving him a decidedly unprofessional--one even might say "appraising"--look. "And you are...?" "This is Cath...uh...Cathy," Dianne interrupted hastily taking the clipboard from the women in question. "She's my...um... 'assistant,' " she added, as she took Nick by the arm and turned him so that they were both facing the street. "Don't mind her." "Oh...o.k...." "Now _this_," Dianne began, gesturing at the street before them with the pencil, "Is where the first attack.... Ooops!" Her vague, yet vigorous movements had apparently caused her to drop the pencil. Nick, being the chivalrous kind of guy he was, immediately bent down to retrieve it for her. "Why thank you, Detective," she smiled in what he thought was an odd sort of way as he handed it back. Unfortunately, it again slipped from her grasp. "Oh! How careless of me," she intoned in a surprisingly insincere fashion as he again bent over to retrieve the lost pencil. "And thank you again." Nick made sure she had it this time, but she had apparently lost her train of thought. "Now, as I was saying...." her voice drifted off. "You said something about the first attack...," Nick prompted. "Oh, yes...right!" Dianne agreed. "Well, as I was saying, the first attack happened...oh for heaven's sake!" she sighed, as the pencil fell again. As Nick bent to retrieve it a third time, he started to grouse to himself. I mean, 'helpful' is one thing, but this was ridiculous! Straightening up and turning around, he was surprised to see Dianne and "Cathy" muttering in apparently heated negotiations <"No, it's too much, Catherine!" "*Pleeeeeeze*!" "No, you got your three gratuitous closeups--one bar of gold bullion, if you please! A pleasure doing business with you."> "Cathy" handed over a small package and, sh*t-eating grin now firmly in place, waved goodbye and disappeared from the scene. "What's going on?" Nick demanded. "Oh nothing that concerns you, Detective," Dianne assured him in her most professional manner taking him by one arm and steering him towards the door. "Where's your assistant going?" "What? Oh Cather...y?" Dianne paused. "She's running...um... errands for me," she concluded dragging him closer to the entrance. But to her surprise Nick dug his heels in. "But what about the 'first attack'?" "Oh, right!" She conceeded. Turning briefly to face the street again she gestured vaguely (without the pencil), "It happened out there in the city somewhere. Now come along, Detective, we're wasting time!" Nick, completely confused by this point, merely complied. ************************************ Nick stared around uncomfortably as Dianne pulled him into Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique(tm).* "Are you sure this is what Commissioner Vetter wants?" Nick asked timidly. Dianne rounded on him with a fierce look in her eye, "What Commissioner Vetter wants is a Toronto in which _all_ citizens are safe! In which anyone who wants to wear a mini skirt and garters can do so proudly! In which _anyone_--without regard to race, color, creed, _or_ gender--can wander about in the dark in garish, tacky outfits without fear of injury or bad lighting!" Nick stared at her for a moment, half-expecting patrotic music and a large Canadian flag to appear behind her. Shaking off the thought, he looked chagrined, "Oh, sure!" "That is why he assigned *me* this investigation and you as my assistant." "Right. Sure. O.k." Nick blushed, not wanting to be thought medieval in his outlook. In fact, to prove what a nice, PC kinda guy he was, he marched into the store under his own steam, head held high... ...and collapsed to the floor gasping and choking. Dianne hauled him to his feet with an exasperated look. "If you can't stand the perfume, then don't breathe it already!" she hissed in his ear. "There's no need to make a scene!" ********************************************* Having steered him around and around the racks of frilly, silky, perfumed bits of fabric, and having loaded up with ...um..."items"--some of which Nick wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to know the purpose behind--they were finally headed towards the dressing rooms. With a sigh of relief, Nick ducked towards the nearest shelter. "No, not that one," Dianne muttered, pulling at Nick's arm once again. "This one's better," she assured him, shoving him into the cubicle, thrusting the pile of garments into his arms, and closing the door firmly. "Start trying them on," she ordered, her voice becoming slightly muffled. "Where are you going?" Nick called after her, but there was no answer. Sighing, he started to study the flimsy pieces of satin and lace in his hands. He, of course, had had a great deal of experience with women's lingere over the centuries-- Janette alone had given him quite the education. But in general it had been from the other side...his training was in _removing_ various garments, not putting them on... well, _most_ of it was... Nick eyed the lacy, ribbon-strewn Merry Widow on the top of the pile with a shudder and remembered... *Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique(tm) appears courtesy of Darkangel herself...check out the last war :-) ### BELLE OF THE BALL by Dianne la Mercenaire *flashback by Diane Echelbarger* Time: Early evening Place: Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique(tm) Nick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It had all seemed so simple. His master's old friend, the Comte du Girard, had decided to throw an all-vampire fancy-dress ball on All-Hallow's Eve. Nick, in a moment of recklessness induced by too much vodka-laced cow blood, had declared that he could come up with a costume so good, even LaCroix would not be able to recognize him. His master had promptly decried the boast, and offered a wager: if Nicholas could keep LaCroix from recognizing him until the unmasking at midnight, he, LaCroix, would allow the younger vampire to leave, go where he wished, and not even *attempt* to locate him for ten years. If, on the other hand, LaCroix successfully identified his protege, Nicholas would be honor bound to spend those same ten years at his master's side, living his life according to LaCroix's wishes. Nick had agreed immediately, but now... now he was dreadfully afraid that he would lose, and LaCroix would spend the next decade dragging him back into the hell he was trying so desperately to escape. What was he to do? It was at this point in his silent soliloque that Janette entered the room. "Mon cher," she purred, "what is the matter? Why are you not dressed? Do you not know that the festivities begin within the hour?" Nick turned to her in despair. "It's no good, Janette," he wailed. "I'll never come up with a costume that will let me fool LaCroix for three minutes, let alone three hours!" Janette sighed. "Really, Nicholah, is it so important? What is a decade in our long lives?" Nick just stared back at her, with the helpless-little-boy look he knew she couldn't resist. After a moment, she gave in. "Would you like my assistance?" she offered "I warn you, you may not like what I will suggest." "Yes! Thank you, Janette," he said, eager to dump his problem on someone else, as usual. "What did you have in mind?" Half an hour later, Nicholas du Brabant wobbled across Janette's dressing room in a spring-steel corset, a pair of two-foot-wide panniers, and six-inch, jewelled heels. "How do you-- ouch!-- walk in these things?" he gasped, as his ankles wobbled dangerously, threatening to catapult him through the window into the street below. He hadn't intended to gasp, really, but Janette had laced him so tightly, he had trouble drawing enough breath to talk. "Practice," she responded crisply. "Now come over here, Nicholah. I need to do your makeup before we lace you into your gown." ----- LaCroix prowled the Comte's salon, holding his growing frustration in check with difficulty. *Where was Nicholas?* The younger vampire was somewhere in the room, he could tell that much. Unfortunately, there were too many other vampires of Nicholas' approximate age in attendance for his master to be able to locate him more precisely-- and despite scrutinizing every costumed figure in attendance several times, he could *not* identify his wayward protege. As the hands of the clock neared midnight, Lucien passed, once again, by the young vampiress who had been flirting with him all night. A charming child, dressed as Marie Antoinette in full court costume, she fluttered her fan at him from beneath her high, powdered wig and smiled coyly from behind her jewelled mask. He was looking forward to finding out who she was, when the unmasking took place shortly. Perhaps she would wish to take an evening flight with him, afterward.... As the clock struck the quarter hour, the master vampire ripped his attention away from the luscious young beauty-- whose voluminous skirts completely hid the couch where she had semi-reclined for the whole of the evening, giving occasional delightful glimpses of dainty ankles and feet clad in high-heeled shoes with ruby buckles-- and continued on his search for his wayward son. Not the pirate-- too tall. Not the mandarin-- the face was entirely the wrong shape. Not--- When the clock struck midnight, and the masquerade ended, LaCroix's scream of rage echoed through the streets, sending mortals to hide under their beds in terror. For the beautiful young woman who had so caught his eye was revealed, when her mask was removed, as none other than-- Nicholas de Brabant. [end flashback] ************************************* Nick shook off the memory, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. As he began to strip he heard a soft _thud_ from the adjoining cubicle. He almost asked if the person was all right, then realized that he wasn't sure he really wanted to draw attention to himself. Just his luck, he'd have to go rushing to the rescue with pantyhose twisted around his ankles. Listening carefully, he could hear the mortal heartbeat of the woman in the next cubicle and decided everything was fine. As he removed his pants, he heard a sharp click and a split-second of bright light temporarily blinded him. The snarling face with the glowing eyes staring back at him from the mirror gave him a start. He shook his head, trying to clear the vamp out--this _always_ happened when he was startled. It was so..well...it was _embarrassing_! He sighed and wondered again where Detective Dianne had gotten to. ********************* It had taken him nearly five full minutes to fasten the snaps on the black lace teddy with the hot pink bows (*Whose* idea was it to put the snaps down _there_?!?) and the matching merry widow he'd put on top was cutting off his circulation...and he hadn't even laced it up yet! Dianne was nowhere in sight and one of the lights in the next dressing room was apparently defective, because it just kept clicking and flashing every few moments. It was making him jumpy. He tried to lean over to fasten the seamed, fishnet stockings to the garters, when he realized that he was stuck. He wasn't sure exactly what had gone awry, but he was pretty sure he should be able to move better than this. "Oh for heaven's sake!" he was startled yet again to hear an exasperated voice from almost right beside him, "Hang on." Before he could locate the voice or make any protest, Dianne had barged into the room, unhooking the tangled straps. Nick was blushing a very pale pink from his head to the tips of his chivalrous toes (encased neatly, if quite _tightly_, in the four-inch, bright-pink, heavily-sequined, spike-heeled pumps Dianne had thoughtfully brought along in his size). "Now we just pump up that air-support bra *real* well...," Nick instinctively tried to cover himself as Dianne continued to poke and prod his ensemble into shape, shifting the falsies and tightening laces until he could hardly breathe. Handing him a long black wig and a pair of giant hoop earrings, she pulled out her makeup kit and took a _deep_ breath.... ******************************** Fifteen minutes later, two figures stepped out into the night... (well, _one_ stepped...the other kinda, well, "wobbled"...). After a moment's heated conversation, the tall one in jeans headed for the Caddie. The one desperately clutching a sheer, feather-trimmed dressing gown close for warmth, wobbled slowly off down the street. ### LARGE TRACTS OF LAND by Maddog Time: Early evening Place: The Raging Hormone Nick glanced at the name of the bar Detective Dianne had given him. The Raging Hormone, what a name for a bar, he thought to himself as he resisted the urge to adjust his newly inflated chest. It seemed, so, so, so big to him. Sighing, he tottered into the bar not even noticing that Detective Dianne had taken the Caddie and driven off. "What'll you have?" the bartender, a rugged, broad shouldered man who answered to the name Alice, asked his newest customer. It had taken him a moment to ask because, even though he'd worked at the Raging Hormone for ten strange years, he'd never seen anybody look more like a total idiot. The outfit the guy wore was okay but he'd forgotten to shave and frankly, arm pit hair waving in the wind was not going to win the guy any dates. Not to mention the fact that, while big breasts, no matter how fake, were always in style, the ones the dude had on could pass for life preservers. "Uh, a glass of red wine," Nick mumbled as he looked around the dimly lit bar. It was populated by some of either the biggest women he'd ever seen in his life or by transvestites. Looks like I'm in the right place, he thought, now if I can only get some clues in the next five minutes and get out of here, everything will be all right. "Here you go," the bartender put the glass of wine down on a pink, breast shaped coaster. "Thanks, would you mind taking a look at the this picture," Nick pulled out the picture Detective Dianne had given him of one of the transvestites that had been attacked. "You ever seen this guy before?" Alice looked at the picture and then took another good look at the man who was holding it up. The picture he recognized, it was of Patrick Swayze from the movie, "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar." Alice had liked the movie though he preferred "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert." He now recognized the bozo in front of him, too. Had to be a cop, he decided. A cop that didn't own a razor. Alice wondered if he was a vice cop and decided to play along. "Sure, he comes in here all the time, a regular." Jackpot, Nick thought, this isn't going to take long at all. "Did you know that he was attacked last week?" "No, really?" Alice exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. "Javier, Tootie, come over here, quick.. Poor, dear Patrick has been attacked!" Two people got up from the a table near the bar. One was a small man dressed very nicely in a tailored, blue dress, the other was taller and dressed in black jeans and a shirt. Nick recognized him instantly, it was Vachon. He didn't have time to wonder what Vachon was doing in this particular bar before the two men were standing right next to him. Vachon looked at the man who was talking to Alice. He had to be one of the silliest looking transvestites that he'd ever seen. Who'd picked out those clothes, and those fake boobs were just, just, well, there just weren't any words to describe them. And the guy looked familiar, really familiar, not to mention the fact that he was a vampire. Suddenly, Vachon's eyes bugged out, it was Nick. Stifling a laugh, he took the picture that Alice was handing to him. It was Patrick Swayze in "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar." He caught a gleam in Alice's eyes as he handed the picture to Tootie. "Attacked? Patrick, when?" "Last week," Knight explained, "He was hurt rather badly. I'm a good friend of his." "Of Patrick's? Really," Vachon nodded, "This must be really difficult for you, then," He put a hand on Nick's shoulder and squeezed it. "You poor little thing." Tootie and Alice exchanged a glance and then chorused, "Its so sad for you!" "Oh, poor Patrick, he was just in here last week, sniff," Tootie snuffled. "Yes, I remember," Vachon agreed and took a seat right next to Nick's, scooting the chair as close as he could to the other man's. "Do you remember if he left with anybody?" the detective asked, starting to feel very uncomfortably surrounded. "Hmm, let me think," Alice scrunched his eyes up. "You poor dear, you must be worried sick," Vachon said consoling and began to stroke the hair on the back of Nick's head. He felt his fellow vampire stiffen instantly. Heh, heh, this is fun, he laughed to himself. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Nick was saved from replying by Alice, "I remember now. He left with some fellow I've never seen before, a little guy, Latin looking." "The one with that hat with fruit on it," Tootie agreed. Alice shook his head vehemently. "You wouldn't happen to know his name would you," Nick said, trying to arch away from Vachon's stroking hands. "Ummm, no," Alice replied. "Me either, but you know," Vachon leaned closer to Nick, "I think he hangs out at a bar called The Raven." "Really?" Knight managed to squeak out before standing up abruptly. "I think I'll go check it out. Thanks for all your help." He stumbled towards the door as fast as his four-inch, bright-pink, heavily-sequined, spike-heeled pumps would take him. "Good luck, sweetie," Alice called out after him. "Give our best to Patrick!" Tootie added. "I love a man with large tracts of land on his chest!" Vachon added loudly. The three men looked at each other until they were sure that Nick had left the area and then they collapsed in laughter. Nick stepped outside, nearly tripping over the curb. He was so relieved that Vachon hadn't recognized him that he didn't realize what was missing for several seconds. Glancing around, he didn't see the Caddie anywhere. Fear shot through him, his car had been stolen and he desperately needed to pick his underwear from his butt. ### PAYMENT IN FULL by Maddog Time: Early evening Place: Toronto Nick heard the roar of a familiar engine. The Caddie pulled up in front of him. In it sat, Detective Dianne sipping on cocoa and a pastry. Crumbs were all over the front seat. Normally he would have been furious at the abuse of his car but he was too relieved to do anything but get into the car. "Where have you been!" he yelled at the undercover detective. "Had to get some photos developed," Dianne explained, holding up a six-inch thick pack of photos. Sensing Nick's growing anger, she added, "It was work related! Did you get any leads?" "Yes." "Really?" "Yes, really," Nick snapped. "Do you know where The Raven is?" "I know everything," Dianne retorted, smiling at the dirty look Nick shot her. "Uh, your breasts are slipping down." She informed him and then drove off towards the Raven in silence. Dianne entered the bar ahead of Nick, he was trying to hide behind her with no success. He'd managed to get a shirt and pants over the outfit that he had worn to The Raging Hormone. But he'd been unable to get the falsies off and Dianne had told him that it didn't show, really. Dianne had refused his suggestion to stay with the Caddie, saying that she had business in the bar and needed to do it immediately. Halfway down the stairs, Nick spotted LaCroix. Rubbing his forehead in aggravation, he decided just to get it over with. This was police business, he had every right to ask these questions. Marching over to his maker, he held the photo up. "Do you recognize this man?" "And good evening to you, Nicholas," LaCroix replied, then he did a double take at his favorite child. He seemed to be wearing eye shadow and lip stick. He also seemed to have developed breasts. "Do you recognize this man," Nick repeated, in no mood to be polite, especially when he'd noticed the area that LaCroix's eyes had begun to stare at. LaCroix took the picture and glanced at it. It was Patrick Swayze in 'To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar.' "Yes," "Have you seen him in here with another man, possibly wearing a hat with fruit on it?" "Hold that thought, Nicholas," LaCroix stated, as he turned away and walked over to Detective Dianne who was ordering a drink at the bar. "Hello, Dianne," LaCroix purred, "I take it you're involved in this little escapade?" Given the Mercenary's uncanny access to information about his past, LaCroix thought the safest thing was to play it cool. After all, there had been plenty of even *more* embarrassing moments in his past than any she had found out about...*yet*... "I do what I'm paid to. I'm a mercenary, after all," Dianne smiled, accepting the truce. "Would you be interested in buying some pictures?" Dianne held up a few of the choicest pics of Nick getting changed. "Interesting," the vampire responded, nodding his head. "I'll definitely take a complete set, however, I'm still very interested in knowing what you're doing with Nicholas. I would be very... upset, if you were involved in anything that would hurt him." "Oh, I would never do anything to hurt Nick," Dianne stated sincerely, mentally adding, 'not unless I was paid to', to the sentence. "Good, we understand each other then. How much for one, no, two complete sets?" ************************************************** Nick watched nervously as Detective Dianne and LaCroix conversed. He wondered how they knew each other. Nothing about this case was making any sense and he still needed to pick his underwear out from his butt. "Hey, Nick, you know that's a really great eye shadow for you. Really brings out your eyes!" Tracey Vetter skipped down the steps over the Raven over towards her partner. All the sugar in her blood stream was making speak very quickly. "Thanks Tracey, that means so much coming from you," Nick retorted sarcastically. "But you can get out of it now. My father just called, the case has been solved! Isn't that great! I think it's great!" The detective babbled. At least she thought it had been her father that had called. The image of a diet coke can with eyes kept intruding upon her thoughts. "Wonderful," her partner sighed, "Dianne, its been... wonderful working with you. Do you need a ride?" Nick called out. "What?" Dianne looked up from her negotiations with LaCroix, dollar signs, gold bullion and M&Ms were all dancing in her head. She was going to make a *fortune* off this deal. "Do you need a ride?" "No, no, thanks, this is going to take a while. Been really wonderful working with you!" ************************************************* Nick and Tracey left The Raven and got into the Caddie and started driving through the mostly deserted streets of Toronto. "Hey, Nick," Tracey asked as she eyed his chest. "Do you have a breast fixation or something? That's an awfully large set of gazangas you're sporting there?" Nick wondered if was considered bad police etiquette to push your partner from a moving car. ************************************************** Maddog took another sip of her beer at the back of The Raven. It had been a good day. She'd make a fortune off her share of the photos of Nick in that outfit and she'd started that Vetter woman on road to fat thighs. All in a good day's work for your average Lurker. ### FLASH OF THE TITANS by War Correspondent Celeste Hotaling-Lyons Time: Early evening Place: Wherever LC is hanging out at the moment, his apartments at CERK, at The Raven, at a really, really nice hotel to escape his followers--I don't care where. But it's plush, it's opulent, it's expensive, and it's got one hell of a nice bathroom. Un-life was good for Lucien LaCroix. Nothing really bad had happened to him for some time, well, at least for several days. These crazed war-celebrants who had somehow wrangled their tedious little ways into his life and the lives of those he held near and dear--and *not* so near and dear--seemed intent upon attacking one another at the moment. That is, when they weren't embarrassing dear Nicholas. Ha, ha! The sight of Nicholas, semi-dressed as a common harlot! Oh, my. . . to be played back over and over again in one's perfect memory. He popped another blood clot into his mouth ("Blood Clots: The Official Vampire Party Snack. Crunchy on the outside, with a soft, liquid center" (TM)) then went into his bathroom for a long soak. LaCroix hummed to himself, readying his bath. The cast-iron tub was a huge one. He found a jar of his favorite bath salts and dumped a hands'-full into the steaming water. There, all was as he preferred it--plush white Turkish towels, French-milled soaps, the water almost-but-not-quite scalding. And privacy. Blissful privacy and a chance to unwind from the ghastly events that had been occuring with horrifying regularity since the beginning of this obscene little war. LaCroix draped his black silk wrapper on the back of a plump, over-stuffed brocade chair and tentatively dipped a toe in the tub; then, finding the temperature perfect, dropped his leg into the steamy warmth. This was his one, true indulgence--aside from the bloodlust, of course. His eyes grew glassy as he began to slip into a flashback from before the day of his death, the one about the Roman bath house and the vestal virgins. . . . . . . when suddenly he became aware of a heartbeat. A human heartbeat. And it sounded in the room he now inhabited; yes, even poised as he was, naked, with one foot in his tub. He turned his head-- And beheld a most extraordinary sight. An odd, hooded figure stood before him, enswathed in several layers of black coats and cloaks. Head-to-toe black scarves further hid the shape of the mortal's body, a black scarf covered the bottom of the face. Black, wrap-around sunglasses covered the eyes. And, in the black-gloved hands, horror of horrors, a small camera was held. *FLASH* "*Gaaaaaah!*" cried out the master vampire, blinded by the light. He fell back into the tub, sending great gouts of scented water washing over the sides and on to the polished marble walls and floor. "Mumble, mumble," he could hear the bulky figure murmering through the heavy face-scarf as he cast about, taking on water. "Mumble, mumble, mumble!" Still blinded, the master vampire grasped the sides of the tub and launched himself, vampire-speed, at the place where the figure stood. With a roar, he clutched at--*nothing*. The human, if it had been human, was gone. He could hear no heartbeat anywhere in the vicinity. ********************************* A bulky, black-enswathed figure formed on the teleport pad of the good ship Liberator. "Gaaaah!" the creature pulled the scarf from its face and breathed deep. "I nearly suffocated!" The wrap-around glasses came off, to reveal the cheerful face of Cousine Celeste. "Did you get what you wanted?" asked Vila, amused. He'd never really believed her story of vampires, and had assumed she'd pulled this stunt for reasons she would not share with him. She held up the camera. "Yep! And believe me, it was all I could do to keep from getting greedy. I needed a single picture, and a single picture is what I took. I gotta return this Atomic Flash camera back to Die Hard Lana Soward." She pushed back her hood revealing a cheap, tacky blonde wig, which she pulled off. It was the wig Ravenette Catherine Siemann had worn that time she and the Ravenette had gone to a Halloween party as Edina Monsoon and Patsy Stone, from AbFab. Catherine was going to toss the tacky wig, but the Cousine could see further uses for it. "And what was *that* horrible thing in aid of, if I might ask," said the Delta thief, refering to the wig. "Oh, this little thing? Just little moi, planting a seed." ********************************* LaCroix sat in his tub, pushing the feelings of paranoia that threatened back into the well from which they'd sprung. Hands steepled, elbows on the edges of the tub, he considered the facts as his perfect vampire memory presented them. Black-wrapped figure, wrap-around glasses. *FLASH* "*Gaaaaaah!*" "Mumble, mumble. Mumble, mumble, mumble!" //Oops? What was that? Play it again.// Black-wrapped figure, wrap-around glasses. *FLASH* "*Gaaaaaah!*" "Mumble, mumble. Mumble, mumble, mumble!" //Yeeees. That was definitely a whisp of blonde hair peeking from the edge of the hood.// *FLASH* "*Gaaaaaah!*" "Mumble, mumble. Mumble, mumble, mumble!" //And those words. Slow them down, pay attention now.// "*Gaaaaaah!*" "Mumble, boss. But I always mumble, mumble!" The master vampire shifted irritably in his tub. //Try again. Slower, now.// _*"So-reee, boooossssss. Buuuut I alwaaaaays dooooo whaaaat I thiiiiink iiiis riiiiiight. . . .!"*_ Oh, he'd heard that one before. LaCroix smiled. He sank back comfortably into the still-warm water. "" he said in Latin to no one in particular. It was a lesson so old, he'd learned it before he'd died, before he'd been a General, before he'd even joined the armies of Rome. //"Sorry, boss. But I always do what I think is right!"// The one who'd betrayed him and gone over to the Raven/ettes had been there tonight. He did not know how she'd done it, but if anyone could do it, it was she. He wondered what her next move would be. He *knew* what his next move would be, when next he saw her. ********************************* Cousine Celeste, otherwise known as She Who Will Not Be Trifled With, stripped off the last of the heavy black coats with which she'd covered herself, dropping them to the floor. She grinned cheekily at Vila, but he just shook his head sadly. "So this was all to set up a friend to get in trouble, was it? Tch, tch, tch; and you seem such a *nice* girl, too," he sighed. "Oh, not *just* to set up a friend. I got back at some other person who insulted me, too. And anyway, you didn't hear Jamie. She so casually sent me into the lion's jaws. She thought it was quite a hoot-and-a-half! I paid her for a trifling task with a fairly gargantuan one, and it was Jamie's very first Merk job, too. You'd think she'd have cut me a deal, not raised the ante like that." "Yes, but you agreed. . . ." "Oh, Vila! I agreed, I agreed--ha!--she just knew how to push my buttons, that's all. There's a lesson I learned from Blake's 7, Vila 'airlock fodder' Restal. *Nobody*, but nobody can screw you over half as well as a good, true friend can screw you over." Vila said nothing. There was nothing he could say, really. He, of all people, knew how true it was. ********************************* Jamie smiled. Her lap-top computer on the table in front of her, she finished tapping out a message to Catherine Boone on her E-mail. "Thought you might like to know that the reason there was a blood-soaked Milk-Bone chained to your neck is so that when/if Perry caught up to you, he could go crunch! through the chain with those vampire doggie jaws and scamper happily away with his Scooby Snack (no permanent damage, y'know). And while I'm at it... would you like to hire me to avenge the attack? ;-) ---------------cheers!--------------- Jamie M.R. * - The Illustrated Cousin; Initiate, Mercenaries Guild " She posted the message to Knightie Headquarters. Smiling, she took a slug of her favorite drink, cranberry juice, from a pure-pak she'd had smuggled across the Canadian border. No truer word was spoken than this, she considered to herself: "All's fair in love. . . and *war*." ### COUS... UHHH, JAMIE GETS A JOB by Jamie Melody Randall Time: Early evening Place: Toronto Knightie Catherine departed the mall floating about a foot above the ground (such was the effect of the three gratuitous closeups she'd obtained, and well worth the price!) utterly oblivious to the world around her... which was a terribly unsafe thing for her to be doing, in the middle of a war... As she shortly discovered. Something whizzed past her ear, and she whirled around, startled -- and found herself facing a woman she'd never met, but who (from the Forkni T- shirt and the demented grin she was wearing) appeared to be in the War... The woman muttered something under her breath, did something to the ridiculous-looking plastic gizmo in her hand, raised it again and fired; Catherine cringed reflexively, there being no time to duck, and... ...found herself abruptly ensconced in something white and fluffy. "Q-tips," said a satisfied voice from outside her cocoon of cardboard and cotton. "Never underestimate the power of Q-tips." Catherine tried to move her arms, to no avail; the Q-tips were interlocked, forming a neat cage. "And now," said the demented woman in the Forkni shirt, "for a *truly* tasteless attack..." ========================================== "Classless," muttered the disgruntled Cousine, "without style. How dare she?" "The rest of my pay, if you please," Jamie prodded. Her client reached into her purse and withdrew the requested item. "What are you going to do with this?" she wanted to know. "I'm gonna look at it," said Jamie, "and I'm gonna savor it, and I'm gonna drool over it; and I'm going to keep it as an ace in the hole, just in case the Cousins decide to to come after me. One look at this puppy oughta stop 'em in their tracks. And hey, if I ever have to contend with the Jills..." She glanced at the item in question. "Ooooh, look, he has a birthmark on his thigh; isn't that cute? Say, how'd you get this anyway?" "That's a whole other story," said the client, with a scowl (for it was a story she hadn't written yet). "So..." she said eagerly, "what'd you do to her, huh?" Jamie grinned, looking more demented than ever. "Something... unfriendly," she said. ========================================== Freed from her Q-tip prison, Catherine ran down the street, as fast as she could. Her chest was heaving, her legs aching, yet she dared not stop... The heavy chains clanked as she moved, and the blood-saturated Milk Bone was a foul-smelling weight around her neck... And behind her, eyes glowing, tail wagging, Perry the Vampire Dog bounded along, anxiously seeking his doggie treat... =========================================== "I did something nasty," Jamie announced, as she entered Merc HQ, "and I got paid for it. Can I be a Merc now?" She dumped the ten pounds of chocolate that had been her payment-up-front for the job in question onto the table in front of her would-be allies (the other item was safely nestled in her backpack, hidden from prying eyes) and awaited the Mercenaries' verdict... ### ANOTHER ONE BROUGHT ACROSS by Maureen "The Mad" Wynn (additions/revisions by Jamie M.R.; input by Lane & Chris) Time: Early evening Place: Merc Central Merc Central was actually occupied tonight. After several days of intense activities - parties, and plots, and rescues, and then more parties, several mercs had decided to spend a night resting and recuperating. Maureen and Sara were lounging about in the living room, and trying to decide if they wanted to stay in and watch TV or go out to a movie. Maureen had the newspaper, and was trying to check out the entertainment section, somewhat hampered by the cat in her lap. "How about 'Get Shorty'? Dianne said that every merc should see that movie - she said it actually gave her some good ideas." "I don't want to *work* tonight! How about that Holly Hunter movie - what is it, 'Home for the Holidays'? That sounds like fun." Maureen shuddered. "No, it sounds too much like *my* family's holidays! Definitely NOT." She looked at the paper again, pushing away an intrusive paw. "How about 'Vampire in Brooklyn'?" "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna believe Eddie Murphy as a vampire! No way!" "Well, there's that other vampire flick - 'Nadja'. I don't know if I really want to see it, though. I think it's supposed to be kind of depressing..." Just then the front door banged open, and Cousin Jamie stomped into the room carrying a bag. "I did something nasty," Jamie announced, "And I got paid for it. Can I be a Merc now?" She dumped a large amount of chocolate on the table in front of the startled mercs, and waited for them to say something. Maureen spotted a dark chocolate truffle and reached for it, only to be beat out by Sara. Maureen glared at her for a moment, then settled for a dark chocolate covered cherry. "Congratulations," Lane said; his nose wrinkled at the smell of the chocolate. "Welcome aboard," he tossed over his shoulder as he departed. "Mmmm! Well, you know, Jamie, you don't exactly have to *prove* yourself or anything like that to be a Mercenary..." "Well, I felt that I did." Maureen picked up another piece of chocolate and started to nibble on it. "It's kind of like being a Cousin," she concluded. "You don't *become* a Merc, you just *are* one." "Then I guess I are one!" Jamie declared, smiling mercenarily. "There is just one more thing..." Maureen added thoughtfully, thinking about Jamie's avowed code of behavior. "To join the Guild, you *do* have to swear to abide by the Guild Charter. You do seem to have some trouble playing by the rules at times," she added, trying to put it delicately. "I wouldn't want you to feel, um, constrained or anything like that." "Oh. I guess I could try to follow the Charter. What do I have to do?" "Well, you can't take money for a job that you have no intention of finishing," Maureen said, frowning slightly in memory of Wars past. "Not my style," Jamie affirmed. "You have to keep Guild business confidential, you can't tell anyone outside the Guild who your clients are, you can't attack other Guild members..." "Not even for fun? Not even if I write 'em an easy way out?" Maureen sighed. "I'll give you a copy of the Charter, and you can read it and see if you'd be willing to follow it." "Okie-dokie!" Jamie said, settling herself on the couch and reaching for a piece of chocolate. "You know, it feels good to finally decide what I am! I've waffled around enough. This way," she said, chewing, "I can indulge all my sympathies without having to worry about betraying any given faction. And get paid for doing fun things I'd be doing anyway!" "*Now* you have the right idea!" Maureen held out her hand, Jamie took it, and they solemnly shook on it. "Welcome home!" ===============sometime later============== "Christina?" "Mph." "You still sleeping?" "Mmmph." Jamie sat down on the bed carefully, so as not to jar the near-unconscious Merc. "I brought you chocolate," she said, and held out the bag she'd gotten for the *other* job, as an advance. "Mmmmmmph," and a hand shot out, snagged a piece. "I'm in," Jamie said triumphantly. "I've been accepted into the Guild." "Mmph," Christina said, eyes half-open. "Anfagwacrinmygook." "What?" The new Mercenary handed her companion the cup of coffee she'd brought. Chris took a sip. "Anybody who drives my getaway car is in, in my book," she said with a wicked grin. "As long as she shares the chocolate... this time." Jamie grinned, scooped her cat off Christina's pillow (//little slut-kitty sleeps with anyone,// she thought, without rancor) and went to her own bed, fell instantly asleep with Elfy nestled beside her head. ### PERRIDOG Or: Am I Ever Gonna Get An Earful Tonight! by Catherine Boone Time: Early evening Place: Toronto God, did she hate dogs. Catherine kept running. She was sliding around all over the place on the icy sidewalk, but she kept going, while that dog, the little (okay, not so little) monster, was loping along behind her like this little game was just the best thing since sliced butter. Hate dogs. *Hate*. And of course, this being the one point where Catherine would actually need his help, Nick was probably off getting a cat out of a tree. Or a dog. Probably a dog. And so it was, while running in the middle of downtown Toronto, chains rattling to and fro, a blood-soaked doggie biscuit around her neck, and a flying dog after her, Catherine pondered the meaning of it all. Unfortunately for her, yet very fortunately for all of you, it was a very short ponder, because after about five minutes of running, Catherine's asthma decided to come up and strangle her. She wondered briefly whether it would be better just to run herself into unconciousness, or go down fighting. She decided that just stopping was a pretty neat idea in and of itself, and she'd figure the rest out later. Collapsing in a heap on the sidewalk, she waited for the end. Funny how your death can come in wierd bits and pieces. She could hear crunching noises, yet she couldn't feel a thing. She peeked one eye open, to the sight of Dog chowing down on the doggie bone, happy as a clam. Catherine frowned in annoyance. "Look, man, are you gonna do this or not? Chop chop! I got places to go, people to see here!" Leave it to a dog... But Dog ignored her. Apparently she was about as important to him as the hand... the hand that feeds him... Catherine snatched up the end of the bone and cooed and petted with all her might. "*Goooood* doggie! *Niiiiice* doggie! You don't want to eat me, now do you? Of coooourse noooot..." Dog quickly scarfed his meal, and looked up at her expectantly, wagging his tail. Catherine hoped dearly that that wasn't an "I want more" wag, "You wanna play, fella? Hmm? Here, this should be good." She handed him a section of chain. "Okay, now bite down real hard, okay? Pretty please? Oh, no. No no. *No* tug of war! *No*! Oh, sh..." Dog took off down the street, chain still firmly in his teeth, Catherine dragged quite unceremoniously behind, for several blocks. It was when he started to take for the air that she grabbed a nearby lightpole and hung on for dear life. "*NO*!! Bad dog! No flying! You are *not* takin' me up there!" But Dog thought this tug of war was just too cool. He hung in midair, pulling with all his might, while Catherine wrapped both arms and legs around the lightpole and prayed. But Dog got pretty bored after a while, even though he did figure out that, while Catherine didn't go out, she did slide up and down fantastically well. He let her sink back to the ground, and came up to lick her face. "Ewww! Blood drool! Back off!" She looked down at her chains split neatly in two. "Ooh, but aren't you a niiice doggie? You got me out of my chaaaains!" Dog sat petiently while Catherine extracted herself from the maze of chains around he her. "So what should I do with you, Dog? Huh? Well, I guess first off, you need a name besides Dog." "Let's see... carrying me off with you, where angels fear to tread, all in the name of a darn good time..." A dog and his girl walked off into the moonrise. "...I guess I should call you Perri..." ### ANONYMOUS CALL by Bruce Gray Time: Late Evening Place: Toronto Bruce shut the door of the pay telephone booth, glad to be out of the icy breeze. He inserted a coin and dialed the number of the precinct where Nick and Tracy worked. When an officer came on the line, he disguised his voice and said, "I have information about the young women who were drugged with LSD. The ones from the States who were taken to the hospital the other night." "Then you want to speak to a vice detective, or Detective Vetter or Knight." "Can't risk that. But the people responsible are at..." He gave the address of Merc Central. "The evidence is there." Then he hung up. He smiled slightly. The packets the police would find at the Merc headquarters would *appear* to be LSD. But it would take some lab time to discover that it was not. In the meantime, some (or maybe all) of them would be arrested and questioned. He almost wished he could be there to watch. As Bruce walked away from the pay phone, he thought to himself how useful it was to be able to mimic LaCroix. ### ON BECOMING THE KIDNAPPEE, AND THE AFTERMATH THEREOF by Tara O'Shea Place: The Raven Tara slipped out the back door, shivering. "Should have brought my trench," she muttered as she flicked her lighter. Janette might not have minded her smoking inside the club, but Amy was deathly allergic, no post hypnotic suggestion was going to change that, and so Tara had taken to smoking in the alley behind the club while the Natpacker was present. And now that she was gone, other non-smoking Ravens had indicated gently that perhaps this was a custom she should keep. Tara could take a hint. As she touched the sputtering flame to the end of her cigarette, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Before she could react, a hand shot out to cover her mouth, the cigarette flying to land in a puddle in the alley and sizzle out. Strong arms--preternaturally strong--dragged her backwards despite her kicking and scratching, and she found herself dumped into the back of a van. "What the bloody hell--" she spat out before a gag was stuffed in her mouth, and she looked up to find Vachon, Sherri and Torrey revealed by the lights of a passing car. Torrey wrapped a rope around her as she spat out the gag. "Mind the dress!" "Don't worry Johanna," Torrey patted her head as she did the knots. "It won't be for long." "My name isn't--" another gag was stuffed into her mouth, and she was forced to staring daggers at her captors. But they ignored her. * * * "I want to know which one of your factions is responsible for destroying my church." As soon as the gag was removed, Tara started cursing. "Silence!" Vachon thundered, and Tara resumed glaring at him. This was not how she pictured their meeting "I am sure that you all heard my question?" Vachon said, looking down on them. "I want an answer." *An answer?* Tara's eyes narrowed. *Fine. I would have told you if you hadn't resorted to the tactics of a sneak thief and thug. Forget it, pretty-boy.* "What would I want with this old Church?" Tara snapped, deciding to play the fool for now. The miffed fool. "It's not stylish *at all*!" The others just sat there, glaring at him. Torrey motioned Vachon over to the corner. Tara worked her jaw, trying to remove the taste of the gag, and struggled with the robes. No luck, they were tight. Nothing to do but wait this one out. * * * Tara tried to calm down. No real harm had been done. Well, her dress was a mess, but she'd live. "Hey, you okay?" Urs took in the sight of rumbled, torn dress and smeared makeup. "What's a little kidnapping between friends?" Tara tried to shrug it off. "If Javier listened to me, well, these things wouldn't happen," Urs sighed, and then took Tara by the arm. "Where--?" "I think you are in the need of a loaner, dress that is. It'll make you feel 100% better, I promise." * * * Tara twirled in front of the mirror, and laughed. The green silk Suzy Wong number slit up to there did indeed make up for the past few hours. "I've always wanted a dress like this." "Susan will have to turn the hose on the boys for a change," Urs raised an eyebrow, and Tara laughed, slipping on the heels. "I should be so lucky." "Now then, I think you need a drink." "Think there's a bottle of Bushmills around here someplace?" They linked arms and headed back out into the club. "I think we can lay our hands on some." "I think we've got quite a party ahead of us," Tara surmised, pretending not to notice Miklos's eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. It probably had more to do with the fact that Urs had changed into a smellier dress, however her dress was a pearl silver mini, and the blonde vampire had the legs to make it work. "Hey Urs, you know what?" "What?" "I really do like you. Now, let's get some fine Irish whiskey for me, and a little of the red stuff for you." ### COUSINS, COUSINS, EVERYWHERE by Susan M. Garrett Time: Evening Place: The Raven Standing behind the bar, Tami had to twist sideways to look at Susan's laptop screen. "Writing a story?" "Trying to figure out what the Nat-Pack cost us in glassware," said Susan crossly. She clicked the off button and closed the laptop with a small sigh. "I can't write in the middle of a war. Not with LaCroix around. I swear, he's got some sort of 'anti-Nick' field--he talks such a good game, anything I write turns out to be pro-Uncle." The two glasses Tami held in her hand by the stems clinked together as she shivered at the thought. "Ick." "Exactly," agreed Susan. She took a drink from the mug on the bar beside her, made a face, then replaced it. Tami peered suspiciously at the cup. "Irish coffee?" "Naw, just coffee," said Susan. Frowning, she pushed the cup away. "God, that stuff's worse than beer." "I thought you didn't drink coffee." "You're right, I don't." With a sigh, Susan lifted the cup and brought it to her lips again, then swallowed and shuddered. "But as long as it's here and we've got the last coffee in Toronto, I might as well rub it in, right?" "War is hell," intoned Tami solemnly. "Amen." Susan rubbed her eyes wearily. "Since LaCroix took over Janette's office again, I haven't gotten a wink of sleep. That's my table in there, darn it. Who does he think he is, keeping me from sleeping underneath my own table?" Tami coughed politely. "Uh . . . we've got plenty of tables out here. You could have any one you wanted . . . ." "I suppose. But . . . it's not the same. The little wad of gun stuck at one end, 'Nick is a heartless bastard' incised just under the lip by somebody's fingernail, and you don't even want to know the stuff written on there in lipstick. It reminds me of the good old days." "When Janette was around?" "Yeah." With another sigh, Susan rose from the stool. "Time to make my rounds. Miklos has been missing for a half-hour, I'd better reload the water pistol ag--" She stopped in mid-sentence as a very annoyed and more than slightly disheveled Tara shoved aside the bouncer and came barreling through the door. "," she announced loudly, "have been kidnapped!" Tara's loudest was pretty loud, but couldn't quite compete with the ambient noise level of the Raven. Only a few people even looked up at her pronouncement. Susan, however, gave the high sign to Tami, who immediately poured Tara a glass of their best Scotch. Catching Tara's arm, Susan led her to the bar and pulled over an ashtray seconds before the cigarette in Tara's hand was set alight, the bright red fire at the tip matching the unholy gleam in her eyes. "Not the Cousins?" asked Susan hesitantly. She glanced around the room, knowing that the Cousins had been, more or less, on their 'as best as they could be and still live up to their membership obligations' behavior at the Raven. "Oh no." Tara shook her head, took a slug of the Scotch with the cigarette still dangling from the corner of her mouth, and said bitterly, "The Vaqueros." "The cow people?" Susan looked at Tami, who shrugged. "Why would the personas de vaca kidnap you? Tara, did you do anything to Vachon?" "Me? Perish the thought. Just because he's got a cute ass--" "They didn't hear about that song you made up?" "How can they hear anything, with all that hair hanging all over the place." She flicked her cigarette ash into the tray dismissively. "Would you believe that they interrogated me? They wanted to find out what we knew about the war starting and who started it." Tami waved away a patron who was banging on the bar and leaned forward. "I thought the Nat Pack was responsible." "Of course they are," agreed Tara. After sending another plume of smoke aloft, she shook her head. "God, you would have thought everyone had figured it out by now. They went nuts and started the war--that's it, that's all . . . hello baby!" Susan turned and followed Tara's gaze, catching sight of Miklos across the room--oh my God, he was waiting tables! But she forced herself to attend to the matter at hand and tapped the holster of the water gun strapped to her waist meaningfully. Taking the hint, Tara turned back to the bar, grinning slyly. "You know, you've gotta run out of water sometime . . . ." "Let's hope it lasts until the war's over." Susan nodded as Dave approached and added quietly, "Well, no harm done. At least you're in one piece. After that party, I'm not up for the white hats and heigh-ho silver rescue detail." "Silver we got. In spades," said Dave. He gestured toward the laptop. "Mind if I borrow that? I want to keep up on the receipts. Oh, and we're down to six cases of Amaretto. Should I order more?" Now that Dave had taken over the Raven's bookkeeping, things were running pretty smoothly. Susan paused for a moment and did some mental calculations. "Why bother?" said Tara sharply. "In a week, the club, all the stock, goes back to LaCroix. Why make it easy for him?" Tami frowned. "Makes you feel like drinking everything you can, till you burst." Susan smiled and touched a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Hang on, that's not such a bad idea. Not the bursting bit," she added quickly, when Tami stared at her, "but that drinking idea's not half bad. Look, we have to bring in our three new Ravens anyway, right? So why not run them through the initiation and have a black-tie blow-out on the 17th? We can invite everyone, drinks will be on the house--" "Sounds great." Dave picked up the laptop and tucked it under his arm, grinning. "But we'd better watch that underage drinking thing. Designated drivers should get some sort of cash prize or something. And I guess we'd want to avoid alcohol poisoning." "We do this," said Susan. "I don't know how good an idea it would be to have loaded vampires and loaded mortals hanging around together. And I don't want the place trashed--I want to give this place back to LaCroix the way Janette left it, just to remind him." Tara dismissed her worries with a wave of her cigarette. "Are you kidding? It would be great. Make sure you invite the Vaqueros. I bet they can't hold their booze worth a damn. Be interesting to see what Vachon thinks of his little groupies when they get shit-faced and he ends up fighting them off." "Assuming Vachon doesn't get shit-faced as well," noted Dave, with a certain amount of sagacity. Susan looked at Tami, who headed back to the clientele at the bar, but gave her a thumbs up in passing. "There's one vote. As for me, well, it's dangerous . . . but it be a gas." She gestured toward the laptop under Dave's arm. "Get that back to me as soon as you can, okay? I'd like to compose the invitations and send them out as soon as possible." "What about the computer in Janette's office?" asked Tara. She looked down at the floor, scowling. "Where do you think my table is? LaCroix's got his maps on it--he's been playing Myst. And boy does get in a foul mood when he gets stuck! Makes you wonder why anyone would be a Cousin." Then Susan grinned as she looked up. "Gee, I guess what LaCroix doesn't know won't hurt us." ### MOON OVER TORONTO by Leslie and Jill Kirby Time: Late night Place: Nat's apartment "I need like *three* Extra Strength Tylenol for this headache," said Jill as she unlocked the door and ran to Nat's bathroom, nearly tripping over a sleeping bag in the process. "Grab a couple for me," called Leslie. Leslie surveyed Nat's living room. <> The Natpack, despite their reputation for organization, could do some serious damage to their living space. Nat had been more than gracious to put up with not only suitcases and sleeping bags all over her living room, but stuffed animals, crumbled T-shirts, plastic water bottles, left over fish wrappers, pieces of make-shift costumes, and old Kleenexes. <> "Here you go." Jill handed two Tylenol to Leslie. "Thanks. Let's see if Nat has something to drink left in her frig so we can take these. Then, we *clean* this place. I don't want Nat coming back to this mess." "You're right. It's clean up time. Why don't you get started, and I'll find something to drink," said Jill. "Was it just me or did that taxi smell." Leslie called after Jill, who was already rummaging through the refrigerator. "Yeah, which is really odd because cabs here are usually so clean," yelled Jill. "Maybe it's just the after effects of the drug," sighed Leslie weakly. "What did you say?" Jill came out of the Kitchen holding a Diet Coke. "Nothing. Is that it?" Leslie looked at the can in Jill's hand. "You know I don't drink soda." "Well, this is it, girl. Take it or leave it," said Jill flatly. *** After just an hour, Leslie and Jill had manage to pick up all the trash in the apartment, place any dirty clothes in Nat's laundry basket, and straighten the sleeping bags so the floor was actually visible. "There," sighed Leslie as she plopped down on the couch, "we just have one more thing." "What? This is the best we can do without the other's," said Jill, who'd just finished her Diet Coke. "Where is everyone anyway?" "I don't know, but I'm sure we'll hook up with them later," said Leslie. "Now, we have one more clean up job." "And that is?" Jill looked at Leslie suspiciously. "I think it's time we returned Laura's Moon Over Miami tapes and arrange to have the tattoo removal solution delivered to Jamie." Leslie rose from the couch and picked up the phone. After several rings, her brother answered groggily, "Hello?" "Brooks, it's me." "Leslie, it's after 1 am. This better be good," said Brooks angrily. "It is. I need you to retrieve something for me and deliver it to Laura's...." Leslie told Brooks where he could find the tapes and gave him directions to Laura's. "Thanks, Brooks." "You owe me big, Les," said Brooks, "and I'll collect." Leslie hung up the phone and turned to Jill. "Your turn." *** Shortly after Jill and Leslie crashed for the night, weary Natpackers filed through the door of Nat's apartment. Sharon and GT entered first, followed by Amy and Elaine. "It's not a good sign when anyone can just walk into Nat's place, and nobody moves," said Sharon catching sight of Leslie and Jill in their sleeping bags. "I'm surprised they were released so soon," whispered Amy. "Let's try not to wake them." "That won't be hard to do," said Sharon wryly. ### ***Friday, November 10, 1995*** NO SIGNS OF STRUGGLE by Sharon Himmanen & Jennie Hayes Time: Morning Place: Natalie's apartment The shades were drawn, the room was in semi-darkness, and over half a dozen half-asleep bodies were strewn all around the living room of Natalie Lambert's apartment. When the sound of a phone ringing shattered the preturnatural quiet of the room, nearly all its occupants winced in pain. Elaine was the first to silence the offending sound by rising quicker than she should have and snatching the phone from its cradle. "What?" she mumbled into the phone. "Who's this?" a feminine voice demanded. "Elaine," she managed to mumble. "Who's this?" "It's Grace. Have you seen Natalie?" "Have I seen Natalie?" Elaine repeated, wincing. "Don't talk so loud," Jill moaned from somewhere nearby. "Yeah, Natalie. You remember her, medium hight, hazel eyes, lots of curly brown hair. Ring a bell?" "I hope not. My head hurts," Elaine replied, her mind still fuzzy. Most of the NatPackers, while they'd been released from the hospital after overnight observations, were far from their best, most suffering from dizziness, headaches, or both. Grace sighed in exasperation. "Look, this is serious. Can you put someone on who's more awake?" "More awake?" Elaine asked. Just then Sharon emerged from the kitchen and took the phone from Elaine's hand. "I've got it," she said, then ducked back into the kitchen, closing the door. "Grace, it's Sharon." "Good! Have you seen Natalie?" Sharon thought for a moment. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Not since I saw her at the hospital early Wednesday morning. Though I think she stopped by here yesterday sometime. I vaguely remember her coming in for a glass of water or something, but I was pretty tired." "*When* was that?" Grace asked. "This is really important." Sharon thought for a moment. "It was still dark. Thursday morning I think. I remember she almost tripped over Amy. I don't remember her leaving, though." Grace sighed. "She must have gone home for a water sample or something." "Grace, what's going on? Water samples?" "Natalie said that someone slipped you guys an LSD derivative and she thought it might have been in the water." Sharon nodded. "She's probably right. When we got home yesterday, all the faucets were running. We just figured someone had attacked us. Maybe whoever it was was flushing out the system." "I think you'd better get over here," Grace said solemnly. "Natalie hasn't been in to work for 24 hours and you say you haven't seen her since yesterday. I don't like it." "Have you called Nick?" "Yeah, just a little while ago. He says he hasn't seen her either, but he thinks she might be avoiding him." "OK, I'll be right over." Just as she was about to hang up she heard Grace's voice over the phone, trying to get her attention. "What?" "I don't suppose you'd have any water there we might test, left over?" Sharon thought for a moment, then looked down at the garbage can next to her. "I might." She hung up the phone, took a long sip of Coke, wondering for the hundredth time just who had cut off the coffee supply. She'd searched Nat's apartment and found half a bag of beans and a jar of instant which she was hoarding, making do as much as she could with Coke and caffeine pills. If things weren't so crazy right now she'd try to get to the bottom of the coffee situation, sure that one of the factions was behind it. But there just wasn't time. Rooting quickly through the garbage, which they'd also not had time to empty for the last couple of days due to the ensuing chaos, she dug out several old coffee filters and dropped them into plastic bags she found in the cupboards. Then she went out into the living room and threw the curtains open, which earned her several loud protests, and Amy sat up, her eyes closed, and began signing frantically at her. Sharon walked over several groggy bodies and grabbed her hand. "Nat's missing," she all but yelled. "Get up! We've got to meet Grace at the morgue in a few minutes." That seemed to rouse everyone but Amy, who tried to lie back down sleepily. Sharon grabbed the top of her sleeping bag and yanked it back. "I'm serious, Amy! Up, up, up! Nat's missing. This is very, very bad!" ***** Time: Morning Place: The Morgue With one a quick detour at the hospital, the group tr