A Call To Arms - The First Forever Knight War
 
 
Laurie M. Salopek,  Margaret A. Newman,  John E. Dencoff
 
 
 
  There it was on their readers blaring at them like a voice from hell. The
return address on the note said, "lacroix@toronto.freenet.edu". In separate
parts of the United States, the three cousins stared at their monitors in
disbelief each wondering what could "Uncle" want now? Cautiously, they read
the note cc'd to each.
 
     "It has been a long time since we have talked and an urgent matter
      has arisen in Toronto. I expect to see you tomorrow night at the
      usual place."
 
 
  Margaret blinked in dismay. "Toronto?! It's fricken cold up there!" But
she knew she had dare not defy Uncle. One didn't defy Uncle and live to tell
about it. Phone receiver in hand, she called the airport to make her
reservation. She could get as far as New York tonight, and could take a shuttle
the rest of the way tomorrow.
 
  She got up from her computer to retrieve the liquid refreshment that had been
warming in the microwave. The large picture window of her apartment looked out
over the city of Tucson. At night, it sparkled like a jewel in a crown. She
sipped her drink thinking, wondering what the meeting with Uncle would be
about. He was such a tense fellow, always making her nervous.
 
  Well, there was no question about going. She walked back to the computer to
send her reply.
 
 
  John looked over to the ancient VAX that kept beeping for attention.
He put aside his pH electrode, pulled off his sterile gloves, and settled
into the uncomfortable chair.  "It might be nice if the government actually
provided quality computers," he thought angrily for a moment.
 
  "At least it has UNIX," he mused, logging into his remote account.  But all
trace of humor vanished from his face when he saw the e-mail prompt.  It was
LaCroix.  He had no choice but to go...but it would take a long time to
get to Toronto from New Mexico.  His day hadn't gone well at all, and
he was working late to correct a problem from work rather than studying
with his friends.
 
  He logged out, and glanced over to his friends.  They started studying while
he was finishing up his work, but he wasn't anywhere close.  How was he going
to explain this to them, not to mention his co-workers?
 
  But LaCroix came first.  He never forgot that.  Quickly, he jotted a note
to his boss, something about being sick.  He tried to think of something to
tell his friends, but decided better and left out the back door so he
wouldn't disturb them.
 
  It was going to be a long night.
 
 
  Laurie reread the note again and again, with a habit of digesting her email
like junk food, she had to be sure of the words. "Tomorrow! Damn, I am out of
vacation days. How the hell does he expect me to get off work at this late
date?" She could see Uncle's face now sneering at her in contempt. There was
no question of vacations days, transportation or anything when Uncle wanted
something. If he wanted you to be somewhere, you had better be there.
 
  Her fingernails clicked on the top of her desk. "It would be easier if we all
just grabbed a channel on IRC and settled this." She had tried to suggest
something to that effect before. The resulting effect from Uncle was one she
was still trying to forget. The only problem being that her cousins took great
pride in *not* letting her forget. "Well, at least it isn't a long drive and I
can manage the loss of one day's pay." Laurie whipped out her Sprint card and
called a hotel in Toronto for a reservation.
 
  The moon was just peeking out from the horizon on its way across the sky as
Laurie pulled her car out onto the highway and headed north.
 
------
 
  He stood pensively staring out the murky window. The building was old,
and had been used as a slaughter house since the beginning. The scents
were old and fresh, fading and ambrosia-like. He had drank his fill upon
arriving. The others, his mortal toadies, would be here soon. If they
knew what was good for them.
 
  Over the centuries he had had many mortal servants. Most had ended
up, unceremoniously, becoming a snack. No doubt that would happen to
these as well. Yet for the time being they amused him, they did his
bidding, and they showed great potential. Laurie was a leader, and
could manipulate the others nearly as well as he could. John was the
brains, quiet and thoughtful. Margaret giggled too much but had an
uncanny knack for torment.
 
  LaCroix cocked his head, listening. In the distance, despite the
huge building and the storm outside, he heard a car pull up. Ah, the
first arrival. It would Laurie, he was certain. Good, he nodded to
no one but himself. Soon the three would be about their tasks, and
his bit of revenge would be well underway.
 
--------
 
   Laurie parked her car on the street and stood by the alleyway. The wind
howled as it raced between the old stone buildings. If she closed her eyes she
could swear it carried traces of Uncle's voice. He was there already, it wasn't
hard to tell. With her thick coat zipped up tight and her scarf coiled around
her neck, Laurie stepped into the alley.
 
  Each footstep was muffled by the newly fallen snow. Walking with her head
down, she noticed no marks in the snow before her. She was the first to arrive.
She imagined how Nick felt when he answered the same call from LaCroix, only
Nick had the strength to defy him; they did not. She continued on.
 
  As mortals all three cousins were slaves to LaCroix's whims and forced to
carry out his orders. It was a sad fate born from their blind admiration of
him, but for some unusual reason they never seemed to mind. In fact, Uncle's
little jobs were often quite fun and amusing. Laurie hoped that whatever he
had in store for them would be fun.
 
  She turned the corner of the alley and looked up the metal staircase to the
door. It was probably colder up there with the wind screaming around almost
as mean as Uncle when he got mad. Shoving her hands deeper into her pockets,
Laurie waited under the stairway for the others.
 
 
  Margaret sighed, and rubbed her forehead. She could feel her sinus'
starting up. She had taken a Dimetapp pill, but it hadn't taken effect
yet. Great! Just what she needed when facing Uncle. One needed clear
wits around him.
 
  What was this meeting about? It had been a long time since the last
meeting of the three with Uncle. He hadn't been in a good mood then.
Well, 'good mood' with Uncle was rather a contradiction in terms. The
only time he was in a 'good mood' was when he had a victim in his arms.
The willing or un part didn't matter. Not with Uncle.
 
  Driving in the snow with icy streets was not something she enjoyed
doing. Snow on television was fine. Snow butt deep and soaking into
one's Reeboks was another matter entirely. Grumbling, she peered through
the windshield at the large building looming up on her left. She saw
a car in the alley just before she pulled up in front of the building.
She turned off the car, and the wonderful heater, gathering herself
mentally. Alright, she steeled herself, let's go!
 
  It was terribly cold. The coat Margaret wore seemed paper thin. She
snuggled deeper, stumbled over nothing, and nearly fell. She paused,
trying to catch her breath but the freezing air burned her lungs.
Continuing, she turned the corner and went into the alley. Down past
the car she could see a lone figure standing under the metal stairwell.
It had to be Laurie. She was always first.
 
  "Mmmfffhi." Margaret bobbed her head to her Cousin. "Mmmmcold."
 
  "Missing the sunny weather in Tucson?" Laurie smiled, her eyes
sparkling maliciously.
 
  "Mmmmfkmmmmymmmyes." Margaret's blue eyes shot sparks, but Laurie
couldn't quite hear the retort clearly. She had a good imagination,
though. "MMMnnJohn?"
 
  "No, I haven't seen dear Cousin John yet." Laurie glanced up the
stairs above them in the direction of the door. "We'd better not make
*him* wait much longer. Just like Cousin John to be late, and slow
us down."
 
  "Hemmmmademmmusmmmlatemmmlasttttime." Margaret stammered. "Uncle
wwwasss pisssed!"
 
  "Yes, but it was enjoyable watching Uncle 'punish' John." Laurie
glanced down the alley beyond Margaret. "Well, here comes our dear
cousin now."
 
 
  John could hardly believe the cold when he'd stepped off the plane, but
by the time he neared the Slaughter House it seemed his body was numb.
"How can he stand the snow?" he thought.  It occurred to him then that LaCroix
was technically dead, and there wasn't much that was colder than death.
 
  He shuddered suddenly, realizing that the others would certainly be here
by now.  He was late, and they'd probably gang up on him for making them
wait in the cold.  He started to run toward the alley, his boots sloshing
in the mushy snow.
 
 "You're late!" they hissed in unison.
 
 "Who, me?" he replied innocently.  "It takes a long time to get here from
where I live!"
 
 "Like I live any closer." Margaret replied dryly.
 
  Laurie rolled her eyes. "What am I going to do with the two of you?"
 
 "Who...us?" they chimed.
 
 "Let's just go inside.  I may be used to this kind of weather, but that
doesn't mean that I like it." she said.
 
 
  The three cousins ascended the stairway and entered the Slaughter House.
Odors of decaying flesh and fresh blood fill the air and their lungs as they
walked along the catwalk and down the stairs to the floor. The mixture of
scents was not something any of them could appreciate, but it was easy to feel
how the entire atmosphere would excite any vampire-- especially LaCroix.
 
  Little bits of light from various sources illuminated the far corners of the
room. It was difficult for the three cousins to see, but LaCroix liked it
that way. He watched from the roof as Laurie and Margaret picked apart small
bits of John's personality like vultures descending on an carcass. They were
learning well and the fact that neither of them let up when John arrived
pleased him even more. These two females showed great potential. He watched
again as inside they worked their way down the metal catwalk, down the stairs
and onto the floor; Laurie and Margaret chiding John and John managing to hold
his own against the two women. LaCroix would have loved to toy with each of
them a little but pressing matters elsewhere commanded his immediate attention.
The meeting would have to be quick. He slowly stepped from a shadow and faced
his three servants.
 
  "I see you have all made it safely. Good. Now to business."
 
  A devious grin across his face, his arms loose by his sides and his tall
slim figure before them, the three huddled like scared kittens trying
desperately to hide their fear. They did not speak a word, they didn't dare
speak a word until they were addressed by LaCroix to do so. Slowly with
deliberate steps, LaCroix circled the group as he spoke.
 
  "Several, let's say-- 'friends' from the list, have placed their loyalties
with rather undesirable people. They need to be shown the error of their ways.
They need to be made an example of, so others will not follow."
 
  Completing his circular path, LaCroix was again in front of the group. They
watched as he reached inside his coat and withdrew a single sheet of paper.
 
  "Here are the names. I want each of you to choose two from the list. Give
the names you do not choose to the other cousins. My remaining instructions
are on the bottom. Do not disappoint me."
 
  Their focus on the long list of names, not one of three noticed the departure
of LaCroix.
 
  Laurie read over the list and thought to herself, "This could have all been
handled over the net." But past experience taught her to hold her tongue,
especially around Uncle's acute hearing.
 
  Margaret giggled a bit at the list. Three names caught her attention, two
could be dealt with in one blow.
 
  John poured over the list several times and smiled, he found three names on
the list that were to his liking.
 
  As usual, this would be fun.
 
 
 **********************************************************
 
 Allen Braunsdorf's Torment
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Allen's ski jacket hung loosely across his shoulders while he tapped
away at his keyboard. With the Siberian express bearing down on the
midwest, everything was too cold to move. His car wouldn't start and his
neighbor's car wouldn't start, so he figured he would just stay inside
and work on his Infocom presentation.
   Over the last several months interest in his Forever Knight computer
game was picking up enough so that six weeks ago Infocom contacted him
asking for an outline of the game. Allen was amazed when one week later
the head of development called him and asked if he could have a
presentation done by the middle of February. The gentleman felt that
if the game looked as good as it sounded, it could be what Infocom was
looking for to turn the company's fortunes around. Allen had managed to
stammer out a 'yes'.
   That was all weeks ago and no one counted on this weather to bring
life to such a screeching halt. Four more weeks and he would face a
a wall of dreary suits waiting for some miraculous transformation of
digital colors to appear before their eyes. He had to dazzle them.
It had to work. He was not about to spend the next several years stuck
at some dead-end university job. Even if it killed him, he was going to
make this work.
   He thought his one fingertip had just frozen on the F key when the
phone rang.
  "Hello?"
  "Allen, love, it has been too long. Anyway, I called to tell you
Merlin managed to pull a few strings and your, oh what was it, --
Atari? Should be arriving soon."
  The purr of Janette's voice could thaw a frozen body with a whisper.
  "Great, what do I owe you?"
  "Don't worry. I won't ask for your blood" Janette whipped off the remark
with her usual flair tinge with little hints of sarcasm. "Just
remember, you owe ME a favor."
  Allen didn't mind. Owing Janette a favor was a lot safer than owing
LaCroix a favor. "Thank You." he said, and hung up the phone.
  The cold return to his body. "Well, at least when the Atari arrives
I will be so wrapped in it, that my mind won't be on the blasted cold!"
  Allen returned to his computer. A few bugs to find and his
presentation would just about be ready for testing. But, he decided to
check his mail first. A good Forever Knight story would help take his
mind off of the falling temperatures.
  He scanned over the notes in his mailbox. One stood out a little from
the rest, 'lms5@psuvm.psu.edu'. "I wonder what Laurie wants now." He
mused as he command the system to display the note.
 
      'I just remembered about your presentation coming up and I
       wanted to wish you the best of luck. I know you will do fine.
 
       Cousin Laurie'
 
  Allen almost brushed the insignificant note aside until logic caught
up with him. Why was she sending him a good luck note now, when the
presentation wasn't for four more weeks? He thought, maybe she just
wanted to send it before she forgot. It wasn't important.
  There were no other notes on his reader that caught his attention.
 
 
  Laurie sat on her couch pouring over the latest crits of her story,
when the phone rang.
  "Hello?"
 
  "Hi Cuz, how goes? Are you done setting up for your two names?"
 
  "Margaret! Good to hear from you. Almost, One is done. I still am not
sure what to do about the other, so I emailed a few other cousins to see
if they had any suggestions. I am not going to worry about it yet. I will
bide my time, the last thing I want to have happen is for the person to
get wind of my intentions."
 
  "True. But still, you didn't pick the toughest name on the list."
 
  "Neither did you."
 
  "Yeah, but I picked one that was really good!"
 
  "Ahhh, that one ... yes, Uncle will be very pleased with that one."
Laurie glanced up at the clock on the wall, "hmmm, a few more hours and
it will be one down and one to go for me. Later Cuz!"
 
  "Hasta-la bye bye!!"
 
  Laurie smiled at her cousin's closing remark. It was true, no one had
picked a name of a 'Schankite'. There were still plenty of cousins who
had yet to choose.
 
 
  Allen stuck his arms through the sleeves of his coat and zipped it up
tight, "Damn drafts." He had sealed up most of the house but there was
always that one really nasty thermal leak that defied being located.
  He was just about to sit back down at her terminal when there was a
knock at the door. Carefully, he opened it just bit until he saw that it
was UPS. Janette had come through on her promise and managed to get him
one of the first Atari Jaguar prototypes off of the line. Allen signed
the receipt and closed the door. Today was his lucky day.
 
  The tall figure dressed in the brown uniform of UPS had no truck to
return to. Well, the truck was not his, but belonged to the UPS person
he had permanently borrowed the clothes from. Uncle smiled, Laurie did
manage to come up with some good plans, once in awhile.
 
  Impatiently, Allen hooked up the Atari with all its wires and cables,
to most of the electronic devices in his house. He knew this baby could
cook and he really wanted to see it perform.
  He turned it on and listened to the whirls and buzzes as the machine
came to life. Next he set up his presentation for Infocom on the Atari.
It was now time to see if all his efforts paid off. He started the
program.
 
  Loud snaps and crackles followed by puffs of black smoke filled the
room, just before a huge power surge generated by the machine blew
every fuse in the house and fried a few wires along the way.
  Coughing, Allen made his way to the kitchen for a candle and the
telephone. With the faint glow of the candle and the illumination of
the numbers on the phone, Allen found the number of the electric company
in the book.
 
  "Hello?"
  "I am sorry, all our lines are busy now. Please leave you name, number,
address and problem at the sound of the beep. A service rep will be able
visit you place sometime within the next five hours...Thank you...click."
 
  His lucky day had come crashing down around his frozen feet. His
presentation was fried, his Atari was fried, his other computer was
fried, he had no electricity and wouldn't for hours. His life was doomed.
There was no way he could recover his loses and finish the presentation
in time. There was no way he could afford a new Atari Jaquar. There
was no way he was ever getting out of the university. What had he
done to deserve all this? Maybe he could get Janette to do him another
favor, but he doubted it. If he wanted to finish his presentation in
time, there was only one immortal that could help him.. LaCroix.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Call To Arms: California Cousins (1)
 
 Karin Welss
 
 
Meanwhile, far away from the ice-swept Toronto streets...
 
The sun was just setting behind the wildflower-covered Dublin, California
hills as Cousin Karin's blue-splashed Honda Civic came screeching into the
confines of Kildara, also known as "Yuppie Hell."
 
Her black-leather jacketed form sprang lightly from the imported subcompact,
and she eagerly approached her mailbox. What unexpected delights awaited her
there? Another beautifully photographed vampire book sent by Susan Garrett?
A Geraint Wyn-Davies videotape lent to her by Sharon Scott? ("Damn!" exclaimed
Karin, as she remembered the birthday gift she'd promised Sharon during their
last telephone conversation. "I forgot to buy those fur-lined handcuffs for
Sharon's next FK con attendance!") An "inspirational" card featuring a
scantily-clad, beautifully proportioned young man, courtesy of Cousin Margaret?
 
Or maybe just a phone bill from hours of brainstorming and revisions with her
co-author Marian?
 
To Karin's delight, there was a Federal Express envelope awaiting her. She
grabbed it, and walked jauntily back to her tiny pink townhouse, throwing her
leather jacket over her black leather armchair, and absently booting up her
Macintosh with one hand while ripping open the FedEx package with her other
hand and her teeth (Those sharp, sharp teeth of hers...).
 
She was breathless with anticipation. Who could have possibly sent her the
package, she wondered as a small jewelry box tumbled out. She opened it eagerly,
and was mystified to find a single, beautifully crafted jewelled frog earring.
Mystified, she removed it from its backing in the box, and held it up to the
light, admiring the play of light over its sparkling surface.
 
Then, Karin saw the small slip of paper tucked into the cover of the jewel
box. She carefully unfolded it, and read the following message:
 
        Dearest Niece
 
        I have need of your services. Nicholas has seduced away the
        loyalty of followers who should rightfully be mine. By
        this earring you shall know your prey.
 
        Do not disappoint me.
 
                                LaCroix
 
Karin gasped, the frog earring dropping from fingers numbed by shock. The
infernal bargain she had struck with the master vampire in return for fame
and fortune as a writer had finally caught up with her. Now it was time to
pay the fiddler.
 
But Sharon... how could she betray Sharon...? How could she defy LaCroix?
 
Karin's mind raced with a dozen thoughts. Suddenly, she remembered her allies
-- Valery, her fearless co-editor; Marian, whose sick & twisted cunning was
more than a match for LaCroix, and of course, Rusty, the Chevalier du Brabant,
who had once pledged her his aid as a true knight.
 
She made her decision, picking up the phone, and dialling...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Call To Arms: California Cousins (2)
 
 Karin Welss
 
 
    Karin waited impatiently while the phone rang three, four, five times.
Her booted foot tapped impatiently against the ivory and pink coloured
linoleum of her kitchen floor, while her free hand played idly with the
large garlic braid (a souvenir of the previous summer's Gilroy Garlic Festival)
hanging on her mauve-painted wall.
 
Finally the line picked up, and a sleepy voice on the other hand spoke: "Ummmmm
  ..hello.... what time is it? What day is it? What century is it?"
 
"Sorry to wake you up, Valery," Karin apologized, suddenly noticing the late
hour. Damn, but being in the software industry did funny things to your
work schedule! "But I've gotten orders... from you-know-who... and he wants
me to take out Sharon Scott."
 
Karin thought about her brief instant of defiance, the bright spark of
rebellion extinguished by the memory of what Uncle had done to her the last
time she... defied... his wishes. She must protect Marian and the Chevalier
du Brabant from the consequences of her ill-considered bargain...
 
"OH?" Valery's voice on the other end of the line was suddenly more interested.
"Well, you know I have my sources..."
 
"Yes," replied Karin eagerly. "That's why I thought of you. Remember what we
did to Sharon during the Labor Day party at my place... the party that lasted
for three or four days...?"
 
"Well," replied Valery, yawning. "I have to confess... the quality of your
infamous Blood Punch was such that I'm sure most of the attendees have really
vague memories of the event... but I *do* remember what we did to Sharon.
Cousin Margaret was in on it as well, wasn't she?"
 
"Yeah," confirmed Karin. "But you came up with the... goods. So I'm hoping
you can help me out now."
 
"Well, let's see..." Valery murmured. Karin could hear the faint click of a
bedside lamp being turned on, and the gentle riffle of catalogue pages. "Ah,
yes-- Ya know, "doing" Sharon would be real easy. We already know her deepest
fear We could send her a "gift certificate" to a new restaurant,
"The Frog and Peach" (do you know the old Dudley Moore-Peter Cook
routine? the restaurant has 2 specialties: Pe^che a la Frog  and Frog a
la Pe^che!) Or maybe a box of candy: "Crunchy Frog!" which has real
frogs wrapped in the finest chocolate (from a Monty Python routine!)
 
"Or: call her up in the middle of the night and sing "Froggy went
a-courtin'!"
 
"Or: send a donation in her name to an organization saving Amazon rain
forest frogs! They'll send her a beautiful 3-foot color poster of the
delightful little critters!
 
"Or: how about a videotape of Kermit singing "Bein' Green!"
 
" The possibilities are endless."
 
Karin shivered deliciously, and giggled. "Oh, cousin Valery," she said,
admiringly. "You're a twisted genius. I must mention that fact to Uncle.
Thanks!  I think I can handle it from here..."
 
Another yawn came through the long-distance line from Oregon. "'kay, then,"
said Valery. "I'll leave it up to you. Bye!"
 
"Bye," Karin rang off, and stood musing for a second. Well, the fur-lined
handcuffs *would* have been interesting... especially in the presence of a
certain male actor... but such a wealth of opportunity awaited her in complying
with Uncle's wishes...
 
She picked up the phone again, noticing how the glossy maroon plastic
matched the mauve decor of her tiny townhouse beautifully, and dialled
(518) 555-1212.
 
"Hello, Operator? I need the address for a Sharon S. Scott, in Waco..."
 
She scribbled down the information, and then went to fetch her VISA card.
Now, which catalogue should she call first. Ms. Scott was certainly going
to be surprised, come Monday morning!
 
<To be continued...>
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Call To Arms: California Cousins (3)
 
 Valery King
 
 
Valery hung up the phone, a bit troubled. She was so convinced that
LaCroix had forgotten her very existence, buried as she was in
Corvallis and figuring she was the only Forever Knight fan in the
entire state of Oregon.
 
But she had underestimated her co-editor, Karin. You could depend
on the woman, that was for sure, which was why she was such a good
production editor for the zine. But LaCroix could depend on her,
too, it seemed.
 
And it seemed a damn shame to do such nasty things to Sharon, too,
a fellow cataloger. Ah, well, I guess it takes one to know one,
Valery mused, which is why LaCroix wanted her in on this one. She
just hoped Nick never heard of her defection, but Nick better than
anyone knew how hard--and dangerous--it was to turn down LaCroix.
Or Karin.
 
Pushing the cat off her lap, she wearily pulled down her "Best of
British Comedy"...
 
        * * *
 
Sharon Scott returned home the next day, weary from eight hours
slaving over a hot OCLC terminal, to find a Federal Express package
on her doorstep. She had been getting so many little cards and
gifts from people she'd never met in person, since getting on the
Forever Knight lists, mostly very thoughtful and delightful. But
occasionally someone's sense of humor got out of hand (I _know_ I
should never have revealed the thing about the frogs, she berated
herself) so she opened the box very, very carefully.
 
Candy. It was a box of candy! It was hard to determine from just
the package if this was a nice or a naughty present, since she was
dieting, and then saw what was written on the box.
 
Crunchy Frog.
 
Just a joke, right? she told herself desperately. No one would
really ...
 
But the listing of ingredients made it very clear that it was not
a joke: "Chocolate ... caramel ... marshmallow ... dead frog ..."
 
Frantically now, she grabbed the box to look for the return
address. "Oregon. Oregon! I'll kill her! I'll--"
 
At that moment the phone rang. Sharon yanked the receiver up, to
hear banjo pickin' and a twangy tenor singing, "Froggy went a-courtin',
he did ride, hu-HUH!"
 
She slammed down the receiver and viciously pulled out the cord,
throwing the phone against the wall...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Jennise Is Targeted
 
 Karin Welss
 
 
scene 1
 
Establishing Shot:
 
Exterior, a Yuppie condominium complex. A white Honda Civic, liberally
splashed with blue splatters, comes tearing around the corner, and enters
a garage.
 
A young woman, KARIN, wearing jeans and a large cable-knit green sweater,
emerges, yawning, from the interior of the CAR.
 
INTERIOR: Condominium garage.
 
KARIN:  <speaking to herself> Boy, these late nights are really killing me.
        At least I've made Uncle happy.
 
She leaves the garage.
 
 
scene 2:
 
EXTERIOR:  Landscaped ground of a condo complex. In the foreground, a large
           bank of mailboxes. KARIN walks over to #13, and opens it. Extracts
           a large Federal Express envelope.
 
KARIN:  <dismayed> Oh, no-- another package from Toronto! <beat> Haven't I
        done enough, already?
 
Her freckled nose wrinkles briefly in distaste, as she extracts the contents
of the envelope. It's a folio copy of a bound SCREENPLAY.
 
KARIN: Oh, no! <beat> I can't-- I won't-- not this time!
 
Flashback:  Sydney, Australia, 1989.
INTERIOR: ORACLE Systems office. LACROIX, dressed in the charcoal colored suit
of an ORACLE software sales manager, leans over the desk of a younger, thinner
KARIN, also dressed in a conservative suit.
 
LACROIX: <softly> So, I hear you didn't make your monthly sales quota, Karin.
        I'm disappointed in you... and you know what that means
 
DISSOLVE on Karin's stricken face.
 
END FLASHBACK
 
scene 3:
 
EXTERIOR SHOT: Kildara Condo Complex--
 
INTERIOR: Karin's townhome. A modestly furnished dwelling, distinguished by
          mauve carpets, several large skylights, and minimalist black furni-
          ture. Karin is standing in her kitchen, impatiently drumming her
          fingers on a large microwave. She's holding a phone to her ear.
 
KARIN: Hi, Jennise? Say, I've got some good news... that Canadian agent who's
       handling scripts for Marian and myself said that he wanted to see some
       of your stuff, too. Wanna come by for a ... bite... to eat after work?
 
<beat> Great. See you at seven pm!
 
 
Scene 5:
 
INTERIOR: Karin's townhouse. Karin is pacing impatiently back and forth in
          front of a merrily blazing fireplace. The doorbell rings.
 
KARIN:  Finally!
 
KARIN opens the front door, to reveal JENNISE, a pretty young woman with black
hair and amber eyes.
 
JENNISE <hugging Karin>: Hi!!! Thanks so much for the invitation! I want to
        hear EVERYTHING!!
 
KARIN <cheerfully>: Oh, yes. I've got a very interesting... proposition
      for you, from my Canadian... agent.
 
FADE on KARIN'S SMIRK
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Lisa Is Relatively Cautious
 
 Lisa McDavid
 
 
 To: Lisa McDavid>d020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 From: president@whitehouse.gov
 Subject: It's done.
 
Sorry, Sis! Had to put somebody's address on the thing, and I
figured if this is intercepted, the Pres will think our fanged
friends are just a couple more press guys.
 
The program you asked for is safely installed. Anybody tampering
with your account or sending anything to your computer which
contains instructions for it to do anything, will find that his or
her sysop has been sent a detailed message from the Internet Board
of Trustees. This will state that whoever it is has been caught
circulating 17 different chain letters on the internet, all of them
pyramid schemes involving money or other valuables. As you pointed
out when we talked over those two chain letters on Vampyres, even
1 letter is grounds for cutting off the offender and/or his site
from net access. Commercial use is another no-no, and of course,
pyramid schemes are illegal in both the US and Canada.
 
Either way, the sysop will have to investigate, with the account
tied up meanwhile.
 
As for anyone who sends instructions to your computer (other than
you, of course :)), his or her local law enforcement authority will
receive an immediate fax of a warrant for his or her arrest in a
really grizzly ax murder in Toronto.  Don't worry, it's a genuine
warrant. I've just told the police mainframe to substitute our
wiseguy's name for the name on the original.
 
Btw, you were right that Det. Schanke would fall for the idea of
playing a little joke on Det. Knight by making him think he'd lost
the warrant. I didn't have to coerce Dr. Lambert at all, which is
nice because that cat of hers has really sharp claws.
 
Love,
Larry
 
Lisa burst out laughing. "Poor Larry!" she said aloud. Now that her
brother was a vampire, his allergies didn't bother him the way hers
did, but his general klutziness was still getting him clawed.
 
 
 To: Lisa>d020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 From: Don>dbassing@epas.utoronto.ca
 Subject: Oh, Brother!
 
I thought you said you didn't have any family?
 
 From: Lisa>d020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 To: Don>dbassing@epas.utoronto.ca
 Subject: Re: Oh, Brother!
 
I said I didn't have any *living* immediate family. Think about it.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Barb's Unfortunate Torment
 
 John E. Dencoff
 
 
  "She won't be able to undo this easily, will she?" he asked.  Steve was
practically a genius with computer programming, and John's best friend since
middle school.
 
  "It depends upon how good of a programmer she is...or how good her friends
might be," Steve replied.  "Are you sure you want to do this, John?  I mean,
it's really pretty cruel!"
 
  John narrowed his eyes, and his mouth started to form a wicked grin.
"Of course!  It's hysterical!"  A thought occurred to him suddenly, and he
lost his smile. "Unless you think that she'll be able to prove that I did
the dirty deed!"
 
  Steve rolled his eyes. "This is ME you're talking to, remember?  The
Supreme Programmer!"
 
  John relaxed and started to enjoy himself again as his friend's fingers
flashed across the keyboard.  "You know, she should have a little clue
that I'm involved.  Just nothing traceable..."
 
  "Hmmm...Ah! I know just the thing!" Steve said.
 
  "What?"
 
  "Oh, you'll see!  It'll be good!"
 
        *               *               *
 
  Barb settled her mug down next to her terminal.  "Nothing like caffeine
to getcha going in the morning!" she thought drowsily.  Moments later,
her programs were up-and-running, and she started thinking about her work
for the day.
 
  "Hi, Barb!" Karin said as she walked in.  "What's up?"
 
  "Oh, not much.  I'm not really in the mood for work today.  If I get the
chance, I may work a bit on some fanfic that I've been mulling over for
the past few days.  It's Friday, after all." she smiled.
 
  "Let me know if you want some editing help, like with spelling or
whatever." Karin offered sweetly, casting a malicious grin to Barb.
 
  Barb didn't say anything.
 
  "This is a strange question, Barb, but do you have a strange feeling?
Like something strange might happen today?  I have had the oddest feeling
all this morning that something was about to go wrong...I just can't
put my finger on it!"
 
  "No, not really.  Why?"
 
  "Hmmm...it's just like I feel something big is about to happen, or like
we're being watched or something."
 
  "You didn't watch that Forever Knight episode with the Enforcers again
last night, did you?"
 
  Karin rolled her eyes.  "Humpfh! *No* I didn't!" she lied.
 
  "It's probably too much coffee, then.  People get all jittery when they
either have had too much or too little coffee.  Since you're on your
third cup o' java, I'd say you've had more than necessary."
 
  "No one can have too much caffeine, Barb." she replied.
 
  Barb settled into her story, since their supervisor was obviously late
coming in this morning.  "This is going to be *good*" she thought.  "All I
need to do is to figure out a way to get..."
 
  Suddenly the computer screen went dark.  "Hey!" she yelled, whacking the
monitor.  "That was an hours worth of work!  You are *not* going to eat
my story!"  She whacked the monitor again.
 
  The screen flashed on, and the sound chip activated.  Really awful
harpsichord music (since it was only a sound chip, after all) started playing,
almost like the piano music from the Lawrence Welk show.
 
  The story she had been working on was still there, thank goodness, but
the music!  There was no way of telling why it was playing the music.
"If this can be called music," Barb thought.  "Why can't it play Heavy Metal
or something sensible?"
 
  Karin walked back over. "What's going on?"
 
  "I don't know!  If this is one of your practical jokes!" she said venomously.
 
  "Not me!  Hey, look what it's doing now!  How cute!"
 
  As they watched, a little computer-generated vampire danced onto the screen,
over Barb's fanfic.  The harpsichord music quieted a little, and they heard
a little voice come over the sound chip:
 
  "How many spelling mistakes can we COUNT?  Nine!  Nine spelling mistakes!
AH-HAH-Ha!"  And his computer-laughter was punctuated by a tiny lightning
storm on the screen.
 
  The little vampire spelling checker enumerated the spelling errors in her
text, one by one.  Each time, a tiny lightning fork would destroy the
mis-spelled word and the vampire would laugh maniacally.
 
  Karin stifled a laugh.  "You know, as much as you...I mean, this could
really get annoying!"
 
  "AARGH!  There's no way to shut it off either!" Barb yelled in frustration.
"It's locked in, somehow!  If I find out you did this, you're in for it!!"
 
  "Not me!" Karin said innocently.
 
  "Even if I turn it off, and re-boot the entire thing, he's still up in
the corner, waiting for me to make a mistake!  See...watch!"
She purposely mis-spelled another word.
 
  The vampire danced down to the mistake and shot a little bolt of lightning
at the word.  "You have mis-spelled 'Natalie' " it said. "AH-HAH-Hah!"
 
  "See?!  It's evil!" Barb choked. "Who did this?!"
 
  "Hang on, hang on..." Karin said.  "Harpsichord music? Vampires? Who else
could it possibly be?"
 
  Fire began to dance in Barb's eyes.  "Ooh, I am going to get him back
for this!  He doesn't know the *meaning* of torment, until he's seen me
at work!  Just you wait, John!  Just you wait!"
 
  Meanwhile, the little vampire happily accessed all of her other files,
busily fixing her spelling and punctuation.  With each correction, the
lightning flashed and his count went higher.  Barb futilely checked her
other systems, but they were all corrupted by the little virus.
 
  "Yep!  You'll get yours soon enough!...As soon as I can turn the bloody
thing off!!"
 
        *               *               *
 
  This was too rich!  She'd never figure it out before it drove her bananas!
John leaned back in his chair, laughing.
 
  "You are too cruel, John." said Steve.  "I thought...hmm...this is odd.
Take a look at this..."
 
  They were still remotely hacked into molecular.com's central mainframe.
It looked as if Cousin Karin was having extensive e-mail conversations with
*Knighties* of all people!
 
  John thought for a moment.  "Could we look into that, Steve?"
 
  "Sure, hang on a sec...okay, there..." and the first flashed up onto
the monitor.
 
  "Hmmm...nothing really incriminating, but...it is sorta suspicious.
I hope she's not thinking of trying Uncle's patience or anything!"
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Empress Strikes Back: Part 1
 
 Barbara Reid
 
 
   It was a cold and unusually non-sunny day on the Californian West Coast.
Barb was frantically typing away on her computer, wrapping up the last
small details of her completed big project.
   This had been a good day, and it looked like the feature team committee
was accepting her project proposal without much alteration of the
specifications.  Well, there were still a few small details involved.
Like whether the ISOMER searches would be handled with a view-time box
MENU on the WINDOWS interface, or whether the user's atom-pair data would
be available to be saved in the same table file as the similarity
co-efficient values.  But these were minor points, and the bottom line
was that the writing was almost over, and she would be able to continue
with the programming now.
   Not that it had been easy.  Nothing is ever as easy as it looks.
And this research round had been rendered especially rank by the unasked
for presence of John's evil, horrendous spelling checker on her system.
   At first it had seemed only a minor hazard.  It would run around
blithfully correcting her memos and documents, hardly affecting her
project and schedule at all.  Then, when she went to do prototypeing,
suddenly she found all her her variables and function names being corrected!
   A good subroutine with a healthy name like ASAMOL ( atom save molecule )
would get corrupted into ASAFETIDA.
   "Yuck," she said to herself.  "I didn't even know that was a word."
   She tried another one.  SAVISO became SAVIOFAIRE.  "Chripes!", she
muttered.  "Should I ask Karin how to pronounce that?"  She though hard.
"No, better not."
   Not only were the new words wrong, as code they weren't even portable
to other platforms.  Assuming you were following the ANSI Standards.
Which they did at her job.  Doom loomed.
   "How about this!"  Carefully she typed in KILJON.  The spelling checker
laughed that insane crackle again.  KILOWAT greeted her eyes.
   "Ok," she growled.  "That's is.  I'm not putting up with this any longer!"
Peering around her cube and checking that the office work area was empty of
co-workers and management, she expertly killed her hard disk drive.
 
      *****
 
   Three days later she was back on line.  Oh, it hadn't been easy, and it
hadn't been fast.  She'd been forced to make a number of later night calls
to the Raven in Toronto.  Jeanette, of course, had been completely supportive.
This project was more important than any old FK List War!
   "After all, Jeanette, you never, NEVER know when a Chemical Searching
program will come in handy.  If you get my drift."
   Jeanette had agreed.  Though not an expect in the biotechnology field
by any means, she understood enough research to realize the importance
of any tool that could bring the Ravenites closer to understanding their
condition.  The 'condition' that some of them had lived under for
_hundreds_ of years.
   It was a pipe dream between the two of them, but one strong enough to
have encouraged Jeanette to pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into
backing the obscure little Silicon Valley startup company.
   "Just what if," Barb had once asked Jeanette, "WHAT IF! _We_ could isolate
the factor that keeps you from walking out in daylight!"
   Jeanette had gently coughed at the idea, and proceeded to rebuke her.
   "I believe that one of us has been trying to make that cross over
for ... several hundred years now."
   "No, no!"  Barb had corrected.  "I don't mean crossing over, I meant
staying the way you are, but knowing why you can't walk at noon, why
the dawn burns your skin, and the sun renders you to dust!  Correcting that!
It has to be scientifically based!  If we could change just that, without
altering the other effects, you'd still have eternity at your fingertips.
And I think we have just the TOOL to find out RIGHT HERE!"
   The next week their stock on the NASDAQ list had soared.
   'Yes,' Barb thought, 'Jeanette wouldn't mind if she stayed out of the
FK Wars.'
 
      *****
 
    As it turned out, Jeanette practically ordered her to stay out
completely!  And then the next day, it had been no surprise, no surprise
at all for Barb when the hardware supervisor walked in with the
requisition order to replace her failed workstation with a new
Silicon Graphics machine with the Indigo hard drive.  Oh, joy!  Oh, life!
( Or unlife, whaterever ).
   "With a full COLOR MONITOR, MULTIMEDIA software, CD players,
and sound speakers!"
   Which lasted two days before they moved off it to the Quality Assurance
department, and gave her a black and white ( still with an INDIGO drive ),
but then you can't have everything.
 
      *****
 
   A few days later another message came through the system.
   "FK War Rules"  Barb muttered to herself.  "Ok, I'll print it off.
Sure hope I have time to read it!"
   A few more days went by.  "Toronto, Toronto.  What's all this about
a meeting in Toronto.  Never mind."
   Things were going well now.  Still, sometimes, the spelling checker
came to her in her dreams, spelling words like DEMAGOGUERY and MALADROITNESS
and IMPERTINENT and PREPONDERATING and robbing her of her sleep.  She
started coming to work with dark circles under her eyes.
   Walking into her office she almost always tripped over the old
workstation.  It was piled by the side of her cube, waiting for
hardware group to decide whether to try to sell it or try to fix it.
   "Getting rid of a virus by changing your hardware is so bogue."
She brightened.  "Though I did get a better system in return."
   And the FK War messages still came in fast and furious.
 
   "I wonder," she said to herself, "I wonder."
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Empress Strikes Back: Part 2
 
 Barbara Reid
 
 
   It was his last day in Toronto, and as John expertly maneuvered around
the international crowd in the airport, he was glad that he had a few
of hours to himself ahead, even if it meant sitting with a couple dozen
strangers in a small waiting area.  Passing carefully down the terminal
concourse to the security check point, he had time to reflect on the
events of the last week.
   So occupied was he that at first he didn't notice the warning
sign to travelers posted at the entrance to all the gates.
   "Warning!  Airport is not responsible for loss of personal property!"
   "Interesting", he thought in an aside to himself.  "In Washington, D.C.,
the signs read 'Beware of Pick Pockets.'  All big cities have the same
problems these days."  Automatically, he checked that the ticket was still
in his hand, and that his bag was still over his shoulder.
   Stretching his legs, he placed his bag onto the floor next to him,
and gently slung the soft black leather coat onto the empty seat on his
left.  He smiled looking at it, and gently touched it with a long slim
fingertip.  It had been a gift from a friend in California,
a woman with a pink condo, who had a coat just like it, and who had wanted
to repay him for his help, _ALL_ his help.  'Help' which had been - too
delicate and too explicit to be directly addressed on the list.
   "And too delicious!", he said running a finger along a silken seam.
   It had been a useful gift, too, because the weather in Toronto was
a lot colder than anything he's expected, even with the constant weather
reports about the record breaking temperatures in the northern country.
In those brief episodes of exposure running from building to taxi and
taxi to building, the coat had practically saved his life.
   As he waited he spent time writing briskly in his journal.
 
      *****
 
   He looked up.  A slim young woman in dark glasses with long blonde hair
was talking rapidly to him in French.
   "What?  What?"  He spoke quickly in English, and suddenly she repeated
her question this time also speaking English, all before he could remember
the French phrases that he did know.
   "This is United airlines?  Yes?  Going to San Francisco?  Yes?
This is gate 12?"
   "Yes," he said, this is gate 12, but it's going to Texas.  You want"
He stood up.  He pointed into the distance.  "You want gate 21, and
it's that way."
   "No, no, gate 12, gate 12."  She held up her ticket and pointed to where
the agent had written in red felt tip the letter 12.
   He peered over at the display of departing flights.  San Francisco was
entered as boarding at gate 21.  "There, over there, see on the board."
   He pointed.  She stepped around him.  He pointed again.  She peered.
They studied her ticket folder again.
   Then she started to walk away.  She stopped, and turned to him.
Her eyes were lovely.  Large.
   "Merci, merci."  She smiled.  "Thank you," she translated.
   And then she was gone.
   "Anytime!", he said gallantlyto her back.  "Toujours!"  He wondered she
heard and liked his accent, but now he was speaking to air.
   He looked around.  Someone was walking away from his bench, someone he
hadn't even noticed come up close to them.  A thread of panic hit him,
and he quickly looked down.
   His bag was there, and the coat was there, though it was almost sliding
off the chair.  Curious.
   He picked up the coat, assuring himself by it's weight that it was still
his property.
   "Boarding for Gate 12, boarding for gate 12, last call."
   'Last call?  How could I have missed the earlier calls, I just got here,'
he said to himself.  Entering the plane he found his seat easily.  It was
overheated and warm, so he tucked the coat in an overhead compartment and
securely closed the latch.  Settling down into the chair he pulled out
his note book and a pen.
   Making entries he cast one last look out the window at the frigid
air of Toronto.  He shivered.  It would be a while before he was in
weather that cold again.  He shivered again.  It would be longer before
he was in a place like the Raven again.
 
      *****
 
   Myra excitedly punched in the phone number.  ( Spike kept grabbing
the calling card away from her, but she finally got it long enough to
run in through the magnetic stripe reader.)  It rang.
   "Hello, hello, yes, it's me, Myra.  You're all set.  We did it,
we made the switch.  He _never even noticed_."  A distance voice cheered
with glee over the receiver.  "Everything went fine.  We even checked the
pockets while he was going though the crowd.  They were empty."
   There was a significant pause on both ends of the phone line.
   Spike yelled into the speaker end.  "They're having a heat spell.  He
might not notice for weeks!"
   In California at her desk, Barb listened with complete bliss.
Nudgeing the old workstation with her toe, being careful not to disturb
the empty Taiwaneese Leather Coat Company box that now lived on top of
it, Barb had only a few comments to make.  The first was, "Ok, you can
go ahead and tell Janette now.  Yes, I _know_ it's a long, drawnout
story."  The second was, "Spelling checkers, HA!"  Then she remembered!
   "Thanks!  And, hey!  I've got another package in the mail to you.
Let me know what you think.  I'll be in touch."
 
      *****
      Several weeks much later...
      *****
 
   It was a cold spell like the kind that ends up in the record books.
It made it easier to study because the heavy heat was gone, but their
electricity bill was going to be up, way up, this winter.
   The house was quiet except for the sounds of someone pushing hangers
around in a closet.  John was going to be late for his meeting and it was
freezing outside.  Best wear the coat, which he hadn't touched since
arriving back from that trip out of the states.
   There it was, way in the back.  Why had he put it there?  He couldn't
remember, anymore than he could remember why he's put off wearing it
until now.  The leather was lovely to caress.
   Casually he put it on.  What's this?  Were the arms a little tight?
He moved to snap it closed.  The snaps, they did meet didn't they?
Why couldn't he close the front?  He took it off.  He checked the inside.
   "To John.  For everything."  The beautiful label which he was so
proud of showing everyone.  The coat looked as intact as before.
But ... now it wouldn't fit!
   Problem.  Did he wear the coat anyway, holding the front closed
with his hands?
   Or did he put it back into his closet, and live on bread and water
and tuna until he fit back into it?
   He didn't look any different, but the coat said the opposite.  Back
into the closet with it.
   He sighed.  He wouldn't say anything about this to his friends,
especially not the ones in California.  No, especially not the ones
in California.
 
      *****
 
   Barb walked around her office.  The top of the dead workstation now
rested a fern plant, the old leather coat factory box long since gone.
She paused in her phone call.
 
   "Glad you liked them.  Sorry I'm always so slow here, but I've finally
got my mits on those other CD's.  You should get them really soon, I'm
calling to let you know I've sent them already.  Oh, and this time I've
got a bootleg copy of Black Leather Garters ( the early LA all girl band),
a set of cuts by JockStRapp, the cheaters complete set of lyrics and riffs
to the first three Asbestos albums, and ( last but not least ) four
holigram Michael Jackson photos for your collection.  Yes, you still owe
me money.  _I_ can't afford any of this!  HEY, I'm kidding!  This is great,
thanks again for the help!"
   "By the by, want a spelling checker program, too?  I once got one from
John in the mail.  He still wants me to put this _right_ on my system.  HA,
I DON'T THINK SO."
   Deftly she tossed the untouched floppy disk into her vertical filing
system.  Also called the waste basket.
   She smiled.
 
 
                           ( CURTAIN )
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Call To Arms: Laurie
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie paced around her apartment with the nervous gestures of her
cat Trouble. Word had gotten out about Uncle's plan and now things were
getting difficult. Well, at least she had taken care of Allan. If he
ever hope to sell his game now he would have to turn to LaCroix for
help. But the next name she picked, that was going to be tough, even for
a cousin. What was it that she said she hated? Oh yeah, right. Hmmm,
that might not be too hard.
   The carpet was matted down in a path from her balcony doors to the
edge of her aquarium. Even if it would take her a lot time to plan her next
move, she still had to make sure all the other cousins understood what
Uncle wanted. She hoped he would appreciate the end result of her last
torment. That is IF Allan decided to approach Uncle about a new Atari.
Who knows, maybe Janette would bail him out again, but she doubted it.
   She turned on her stereo and tried to find inspiration among the
five CDs loaded onto the carousel. With the sound as background for her next
adventure, Laurie turn on her computer. She had to warn the other cousins
that the Knighties were gathering forces and the Raven regulars were
beginning to count their masses. She had to think of something quick.
Uncle would never forgive her if his plan was not carried out fully.
  "Two down, too many to go. Let's see, Karin is taking care of Scott and
Allan doesn't have much of a choice. Sandye is pretty much all set with
her torments and Cousin Margaret and John now what they have to do."
   She almost wanted to scream, "Oh why didn't I follow Nick! Just because
he reminded me of 'What's-His-Face' is no reason!" But she had cast her lot and
a demanding one it was.
   One more to go and then what? The list was too long and the cousins too few
she was going to have to pick up the slack. "No problemo, as long as no one--
egad, I don't want to think about those things! I left them behind me a long
time ago and I never want to see another one again as long as I live!"
   She would worry about that later, right now she had one more name to take
care of....
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little Schanke Went to Market
 
 Don Bassingthwaite
 
 
"Ah!!"  thought Don, bracing himself as he leaned into the biting
wind, "Minus eight degrees Celsius!  Or seventeen degrees Farenheit!
Either way, it's a beautiful day!  And tomorrow is supposed to get up
to minus two.  I must check to see if I have any suntan lotion left at
home."
 
The wind followed him into the grocery store, ruffling the leaves of a
pile of flyers near the door.  Don lunged to prevent them from
scattering across the floor, but a side-burned figure coming the other
way caught them first.  The figure smiled at him.  "Days like this are
enough to make me want to join my mother-in-law in Florida."
 
Don smiled back.  "Evening, Detective Schanke.  Remember me?"
 
"Umm..."  Don Schanke wrinkled his brow in concentration and snapped
his fingers.  "Tom.. John.."
 
"Don.  The intern from the police museum.  We met briefly last
summer."
 
"Right!"  Schanke shifted a package of sugar doughnuts into his other
hand and shook hands with the young man.  "Listen, I'd love to stay
and talk, but I gotta run.  My partner's waiting for me - he's acting
funnier than usual tonight."
 
"Say hi to him for me."  Don turned and continued on into the grocery
store.  This was only the first of his stops tonight and he had a
number of things to pick up.  He stopped in the produce section,
scanning the shelves.  Finally his eyes lit up and he reached out to
take several bulbs of garlic...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Janet Joins In
 
 Janet(te) Dornhoff
 
 
     Janet scanned through the message of the day.  The NeXT computer
was busily printing out the last few Highla-L Digests, in 6.5 point
font, double-columns, for her to read back in the dorm, but her uxa
account was nestled in its own little window, its network connection
undisturbed by the rest of the system.  Keeping an eye on the site
manager, in case she noticed how many pages the laser printer was
collecting on its little tray, she called up the old 'mail' program.
Not as versatile as 'elm', nor as easy to use as the NeXT's mailbox
window, but comfortable and familiar nonetheless.
     Tara had finally started posting her next crossover story - Yay!
And there were amusing discussions of blood candy, Nick and Nat, and
other Forever Topics.   Even a few messages personally directed to
her, amongst all the mailing-list traffic.
     Then one message, at the bottom of the list, caught her eye.
 
      From: lacroix@toronto.freenet.edu
 
     Was it a joke?  She read it, her blood chilling as she realized
that, no, this was no joke.  She started to compose a reply but, wary
of drawing attention to herself too soon, put off sending it until
she'd finished with her printouts.
     Janet slipped the stack of pages off the printer's tray, even as
another page reeled out, and hid them between notebooks in her bag.
Just in time, as the site manager began a slow patrol.  She clicked
on the NeXT mail window to hide her note, and began scanning.
 
      From: janette@raven.toronto.com
 
     Janet did a double-take.  Calling up the message, she realized
it was, indeed, her namesake who sent it.  As she read, a corner of
her mouth quirked upwards.  This could get interesting...
 
     When a new message appeared, Janet never even doubted that the
sender calling himself "nick" was the genuine article.  The other
side of her mouth rose even with the first.  As she read the message,
a burst of giggling laughter escaped, earning her several stares and
curious glances from other patrons of the lab.  For once, she was
glad she'd never made up her mind about declaring an allegiance.
     "This will _definitely_ be fun," she muttered to herself, as she
opened up three separate Compose boxes and began writing.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Torontotex
 
 Sharon Scott
 
 
Toronto, Jan. 21, 1993
 
"Nick, wake up. Answer the phone."
 
The detective came awake with a start at the sound of that
nasal twang.
 
"NICK! Get your buns out of bed and pick up the phone. DO IT
NOW!"
 
"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Give me a chance, wouldja? I'm not
Superman." He mumbled to himself as he threw back the covers
and started down the stairs. He ran a hand through his hair
and yawned as he picked up the phone.
 
"Yeah, I'm here."
 
"Are you awake? Nick? Are you listening to me?"
 
"Hey, I'm up, I'm awake. What?" He hated being awakened by
the phone, and it showed in his voice.
 
"Well, while you've been getting your beauty sleep, it's
been a bad day at Black Rock here in the real world. And
it's liable to get a lot worse if we don't get busy."
 
Now he was awake. She wasn't the sort to panic without good
reason.
 
"What's up?"
 
"Oh, nothing much. LaCroix's on the rampage again. And this
time he's enlisted a couple of members of a computer list to
help him. You know how he is--never do anything yourself if
you can get some fool to do it for you."
 
"Yeah, I know. What's he up to?"
 
"They're calling it a war."
 
"Yeah, right. And you woke me up for this?"
 
"I'm not kidding, Nick. That's what Laurie's calling it."
 
"Who's Laurie?"
 
She sighed in exasperation. "Laurie, Nick, Laurie Salopek.
You remember? The Christmas card? The SWAT team? Go take a
 
 
long drink from one of those bottles in your frig. Maybe
it'll help your memory."
 
"Oh, *that* Laurie."
 
"Yeah, that Laurie. And now Karin of Kildara and the Tucson
Terrorist are in it, too. Not to mention Valery, and John,
and Lisa, and Don, and God knows who else. And you *know*
who gave the ringleaders the idea."
 
"LaCroix." He spat out the name with the venom of 800 years.
 
"You got it in one."
 
"Okay, tell me what's been happening."
 
"Oh, let's see--threats, innuendoes, insinuations, mental
torture ... you know, the usual things."
 
"Yeah, I know. I know his methods very well indeed. Sounds
like he's playing the same old games."
 
"Well, his latest little move in this game made my Mac
crash."
 
"Did you lose any data?"
 
The venom of several hours of reloading software was
apparent in *her* voice this time. "Yeah. I got this cute
little picture on my monitor screen of a bomb going off. I
am not a happy camper."
 
"But it's working okay now?"
 
"Yeah, and while I was re-installing everything from the
system files to Stuffit, I had some time to think about
revenge."
 
"That's a harsh word."
 
"Yes, it is, isn't it? But don't you just love it? It has
such a lovely sound tripping off the tongue."
 
He smiled at the thought of wreaking some havoc upon the
master and his minions. "Sounds good to me. Got a plan?"
 
"I'm workin' on it. For starters, I've sent a tape to Karin-
-it's just the one word "wedding" over and over again, with
the sound of Pachelbel's Canon in the background. It'll
 
 
drive her crazy. Oh, and I've arranged to substitute Brazos
River water for the champagne at her sister's wedding.
That'll teach her to spout off about fur-lined handcuffs."
 
"Fur-lined WHAT?"
 
"Never mind. I'll tell you all about it later, in detail,
while I'm practicing on your buttons." She cut him off
before he could ask any more questions on that particular
topic. "And I've zapped all her files at work, and ..."
 
"And what about Laurie? On second thought, I don't think I
want to know."
 
"Sure you do, you just won't admit it. Laurie's scanner will
replace every image she tries to scan in with full-color
photos of Roseanne Arnold in the nude. It'll never be summer
where she is--she'll be shoveling snow in the middle of
July. Her cat Trouble will refuse to eat any known brand of
cat food and will meow incessantly and sharpen its claws on
all her pantyhose. Her car won't go over 30 mph no matter
how hard she stomps on the accelerator."
 
"But does any of this have a bearing on the larger problem?"
 
"It does if we can slow LaCroix's errand boys and girls down
for a while--and maybe give us a chance to figure out what's
going on."
 
"You've got a point. Okay, I'll do what I can from this end.
Keep in contact. I'll get Larry Merlin to monitor the list.
What's the address again?"
 
"It's fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu. Larry knows about the Internet-
-I think he's one of the concealed subscribers."
 
"He might be. You never know about Larry. He's something of
a mystery man."
 
"Okay, then, adios, Kemo Sabe."
 
"What? Sharon? Are you there? Sharon?"
 
She wasn't there any longer. The phone was dead.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Oh, Dear Sweet Darling Don
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
Valerie had never *wanted* this week.  Valerie really wanted to send
this week back for a refund.  The temperature had hovered around 10 or
fifteen below for several days, and the valiant Angelique the Wonder
Metro had finally demanded a rest after providing a jump for some poor
schmo in the supermarket parking lot who didn't have a hat, and
apparently getting some water under her shiny red hood which proceeded
to freeze somewhere important and render her immobile.  This meant
Valerie had been forced to beg rides to work, which had panned out on
Thursday, but Wednesday and Friday had been spent sitting impatiently
at home, earning no money and logging in entirely too much.  Diablo
had still not come home, and with visions of frozen yellow tabbies
dancing in her poor grief-stricken head, she was just preparing to
start calling animal shelters when a new message appeared in her
just-emptied mbox.
 
From <lacroix@freenet.utoronto.ca>. Oh, dear.  Her beloved adopted
Cousin, Laurie, had alerted her that some new deviltry was afoot; but
she had hoped fervently to be spared a place in it this time.  She
should have known better; as an adoptee, she had found she had to prove
her place among the Cousins and in Uncle's favour twice as hard as the
rest of them.
 
Just as she was beginning to wonder if her choice of adoptive family
had been rash--but darn it, there were just so *many* of those
Ravenettes when they asked, and at the time the Cousins had been so
pitifully few...though of course that hadn't lasted long--she opened
the message and read her assignment.
 
Hmmm.  Maybe this responsibility wouldn't be so onerous after all.  And
the last paragraph truly warmed her heart...  "I know you are the best
choice to handle this particular thorn in my side.  They say blood
will tell, but you have proven that the bonds of an adoptive family
can be just as strong.  You've developed a talent for temptation that
rivals my dear wayward Janette; use it well and make me proud. --Uncle"
 
In truth, those talents had already been brought to bear on her chosen
target, dangling nigh-irresistible carrots before him to draw him to
the upcoming Boston gathering.  Now it was time to truly test her
abilities, her worthiness to be counted among the Cousins...
 
     *     *     *
 
 To: dbassing@epas.utoronto.ca
 From: vmeachum@freenet.fsu.edu
 Subj: A little bird told me...
 
Don, I think you might be in serious trouble.  Y'know that story White
Wolf published, "Smoke"?  Well, I got word that there's a *real*
you-know-what named Brahms up in your neck of the woods, and it looks
like somebody blew the whistle on you.  Yeah, *them*.  My source (I
can't name him; he's afraid of getting the stake himself) says they'll
probably go after Mark Rein-Hagen et al first--it's the last straw
after that "Justicar" close shave--but you are *definitely* on the
list.
 
I called in a favour (*please* don't ask!), and Janette is
(reluctantly, mind you) willing to let you hole up in a place she has
set aside for such emergencies, find this "Brahms" character, and
convince him to tell the heat that he's never laid eyes on you, you've
never laid eyes on him, and they have no reason to take you out
'cause it was just fiction, dammit, and you have no clue!  (Okay, not
*entirely* true, at least not that last part; but he doesn't have to
know that.)  *I* know you have no intention of telling the world our
friends are in it, and I'm sure you really *haven't* ever met this
guy, right?  Right.
 
Now, *don't* go to the Raven, whatever you do.  She doesn't want *any*
of this bouncing back on her and her haven if it doesn't pan out.
You're to meet her representative--he or she will know who you are,
don't worry--at the bottom of the escalator in the mall area under the
Royal York.  Try to look inconspicuous.
 
And *please* let me know when it's all clear!  We'd kinda like to keep
you around...
 
     *     *     *
 
"Look inconspicuous."  Don muttered the reminder to himself, but it
didn't help much.  He really didn't know what to think of all this;
after all, vampires *were* just fiction, so he was very unclear on the
concept of just why he was in trouble.  Still, the notion of someone
who *thought* he was one claiming to be the basis for Don's story
character didn't sit well.  He was just a poverty-stricken grad
student, after all; the pittance White Wolf had paid him for the story
was already spent.  He simply couldn't afford to be sued.  So if
Valerie's weird friends wanted to help him out, get the guy to simmer
down, he wasn't going to argue.
 
Of course, meeting some stranger under the Royal York Hotel in the
middle of the night seemed like an odd way to avoid a lawsuit.  He
hoped Valerie knew what she was doing...uneasily he recalled the
attempted 'group hi' from last year's Toronto Trek, when she had
returned home from a draining performance and a long drive from Denver
to find an enigmatic portion of that missing "Love You to Death" scene
on her answering machine.  She had forgiven him his VCR-operating part
in that--after all, it wasn't their fault the machine had hung up on
them before they could finish the message.  It really had been
intended as a nice wish-you-were-here kind of thing.  And besides, he
had mentioned those blackmail pictures of Amy waking up Saturday
morning...oh dear, that had never been arranged, had it?
 
Suddenly looking inconspicuous became considerably more difficult;
Don concentrated on looking anything but nervous.  Maybe Valerie
really was out to get him...after all, he had only the word of Amy and
a few other netfolk that she really was the nice person she seemed
online.  Even Lora Haines had worked with her for almost a year
without ever meeting more than a phone voice...and hadn't there been
that nasty rumour about her being somehow involved with the mysterious
"Cousins" who claimed to be related to the big LC himself?
 
Just as he was about to decide the whole thing was a setup and that
maybe home was the safest place after all...or maybe even the
Raven...a tall young man with curly blond hair and a nervous
grin walked up to him.  "You're Don, right?"  At Don's wary nod, the
stranger went on, "Oh, good.  The picture I got has sideburns and a
Hawaiian shirt, and it was kind of hard to tell...Anyway, I'm Chris
Lewellen, and I'm supposed to give you this."
 
Don hesitantly accepted the heavy parchment envelope, addressed in a
large looping hand to Mr. Donald Bassingthwaite.  "Uh, thanks.  What
is it?"
 
"Beats me." the courier shrugged.  "Val just asked me to give it to
you.  I was kind of surprised, actually; she used to go to MSU with
me, but I hadn't heard from her in a while.  Listen, I gotta go.
Tickets to _Phantom_."  Chris grinned good-naturedly, and for a
split-second resembled a certain detective who really could not
possibly be French.
 
"Must be a Welsh thing," Don muttered to himself as the young man
vanished into the crowd.
 
He tore open the envelope to find an elegant gilt-embossed parchment
card with a short message:  "Your difficulties have been averted.
Remember...your souvlakivorous hero could not have aided you thus.
Choose your loyalties wisely."  It was signed, "A friend...or if you
earn it, an Uncle."
 
     *     *     *
 
 To: dbassing@epas.utoronto.ca
 From: vmeachum@freenet.fsu.edu
 Subj: Your message
 
I'm innocent.  I just held the pause button.
 
     *     *     *
 
Valerie felt a pang of guilt...after all, there was no Toronto vampire
named Brahms, and the Enforcers could care less if some mortal wrote
short stories about one.  Still, it never hurt to keep Don on his
toes; when someone wrote stuff like that, they *could* easily find
themselves in trouble.  It was just too bad she hadn't been able to
really get Janette involved, since that certainly would have sweetened
the pot for dear sweet darling Don; but a Cousin had to remember that
she was the enemy in this little operation, blood or no.  And her
followers, too, had to be brought back into the fold...
 
With something like dread, she settled back into the routine of
cat-searching and car-start-attempting, awaiting the next fateful set
of instructions and wondering whether she had really chosen the right
family...
 
(With apologies to Chris, whom I really haven't written in ages, who
really does look a bit like Ger, and who drives up to TO from Michigan
to see _Phantom_ on a pretty regular basis and thus makes a perfect
messenger.)
--
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little FOD Stayed Home
 
 Don Bassingthwaite
 
 
Don settled back in his chair and considered the elegant parchment
carefully.  "An Uncle".  A sneaking suspicion had begun to grow in
him as soon as he had read the note.  There had been rumours that the
Cousins were up to something no good, and if this note did indeed have
its ultimate source in their Uncle, then something was truly rotten in
the state of Denmark.
 
But was it truly the Cousins' fault?  He knew the way LaCroix worked.
Unless he missed his guess, they were somehow being scared into doing
all this (which didn't, of course, explain their rather extraordinary
zeal in carrying out LaCroix's wishes, but no theory is perfect).
There was obviously only going to be one way to get around this.  He
was outnumbered by the Cousins, but there was only one Uncle.
 
And LaCroix had never experienced the awesome wrath of a FOD when his
fiction had been threatened!
 
He examined the parchment closely, then sniffed it.  Aha!  He knew
where LaCroix was now!  But LaCroix couldn't know where he was... he
would have to keep moving until this was over, confusing LaCroix and
the Cousins with the randomness of his actions.  He scurried around the
room, picking up the things he would need and chuckling evilly to
himself.  LaCroix might be stronger than him and far more ruthless,
but he knew that there was one thing no vampire could stand up to...
 
He paused before the phone, then picked it up.  "Directory Assistance?
This is going to be tricky, but I need the number for a auto shop..."
 
********
 
Valerie shrieked with delight at the news.  The garage had found the
parts for Angelique in stock after all!  She had wheels again, she had
mobility!
 
She was down at the garage in no time at all, patting Angelique's hood
lovingly.  She smiled up at the mechanic.  "Where did you find the
parts?" she asked as she climbed in.
 
"Oh, it was easy once Jack phoned and told us about the modifications."
 
"Modifications?  Jack phoned here??"  The thought crossed Valerie's
mind that perhaps this was some sort of trick, but it was too late.
She already had the key in the ignition and was turning the engine
over.  Angelique roared to life...
 
... then coughed and spat black smoke like a dragon with bad gas.
Valerie stumbled out of the door, her own face blackened with soot.
Behind her, the radio, somehow still active, belted out a merry polka.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Best Defense
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
Nat looked up from the reports she was filing as Nick walked in.   The
smile on her lips faded as she saw his strained and dark look.
 
"What?" she asked.  "What's wrong?"
 
Nick looked up at her quickly.  She knew him too well he thought as
he leaned against the edge of her desk and said, "Have you ever heard
of the Internet?"
 
"As a matter of fact, *I* have Internet access," she said.  "I only use it
for email."  Nick shot her a quick, fearful look.  "What is it?"
 
"Are you on any mailing lists?"
 
"Morgue-l.  It's . . . well . . . you can probably guess what it is."
 
Nick wrinkled his nose and decided not to think too hard about that.
"You're not on a list called fkfic?"
 
"Nope, never even heard of it.  But you know, I have a friend who
lives for the Internet.  It's kind of sad really, but she might know
about it.  Want me to ask her?"
 
"It might be a good idea.  Sharon Scott called me earlier."
 
Nat fought down a quick stab of jealousy.  Nick had mentioned Sharon
Scott before and Nat had never been able to determine just what their
relationship was, but there was something in his voice when he said
her name.  She wasn't sure if Sharon was an "old" friend or not.  The
only thing that satisfied Nat was that whatever their relationship was,
Nick was here in Toronto and this Sharon Scott was somewhere far, far
away, in the southwest U.S. somewhere.
 
"What did she say?"
 
"There's some kind of . . . war . . . going on.  Apparently a couple list
members are targeting others."
 
"And?"
 
"And, tormenting them.  They find out personal information about the
victim and use it against them.  So far no one has been seriously hurt,
but it's only a matter of time.  They've only recently branched out to
others, but they've been harassing Sharon for quite some time now."
 
"Nick, this is terrible.  Who would do such a thing?  And why?"
 
Nick didn't answer her question.  Instead, he said, "Call your friend.  If
she's on the list, tell her to get off it.  And tell her to warn as many
people as she can."
 
"I will," Nat said.  "I'll call her right now."
 
"Good.  I'm going to speak to Janette."  He squeezed her hand, then left
to start his shift.  Nat knew him well enough to know that he wasn't
telling her everything, but then, he never really did.  This time,
however, she sensed he was holding back something big.  She moved
around her desk and picked up the phone, then set it back down
quickly.  If she wanted to reach her friend quickly, the best way
would be through email.
 
She turned on the computer and dialed up the mainframe.  At the
ready prompt she began to type.
 
 mail shihc@cunyvm.cuny.edu
 Your name (Optional)?
 Natalie Lambert
 Name for shihc@cunyvm.cuny.edu (Optional?)
 Sharon Himmanen
 Subject (Optional)?
 
After a brief debate, Nat typed URGENT!!! in the subject line.  It wasn't
like it would really matter.  In the text of her message Nat typed a
brief note asking if Sharon was on a list called FKFIC and if so to call
her immediately.  Nat sent it off, then sat back to wait.  Chances were
Sharon would get the note and call within the next few minutes.
 
When the phone rang five minutes later, Nat sprang up and snatched
it up quickly.  "Hello, Sharon?" she asked.
 
There was a brief pause.  "Ah, this is Officer Jones with the 23rd.  I'm
trying to reach Dr. Lambert."
 
Nat sighed.  It figured.  "Speaking."
 
* * * * *
 
Two hours later Sharon finally called.  Nat breathed a small prayer of
thanks when she heard her friend's voice on the phone.
 
"Hi Nat!  Your message said urgent.  Hope nothing's wrong."
 
"Well, maybe," Nat said.  "Are you still hanging around on the Internet
a lot?"
 
"Yeah, I just discovered how to use gopher.  Did you know you can get
the text of all kinds of books from various sites?  Shakespeare, the
bible, Dracula, the Canteb--"
 
Nat quickly cut off Sharon's enthusiastic rambling.  "Are you on a
mailing list called FKFIC?"
 
"Yeah, I am.   Why?  You want to join or something?"
 
"No, I want *you* to get off it!"
 
There was a pause at the other end.  "Get off it?  Why?"
 
"Has anything strange happened to you or anyone on it lately?"
 
"Nat, will you please tell me what's going on!"
 
Nat bit her lip.  "OK, a friend of mine has another friend who's on the
list.  Her name is Sharon Scott.  He says that someone from the list has
been harassing her, and that they're going to start harassing other
people.  He didn't go into specifics, but it sounds like it could get
really ugly."
 
"I see," Sharon said, thoughtfully.  "Did he say who's doing it?"
 
"No."
 
"Hmmm.  Sharon Scott, you said."
 
Nat didn't like the tone in her friend's voice.  "Sharon, what're you
thinking?"
 
"Nothing," Sharon answered quickly.
 
"I know that pseudo-innocent tone too well.  Spill it!"
 
"It's just that I don't much like the idea of being a sitting duck."
 
Nat definitely didn't like the sound of that.  "Just get off the list, and
warn as many people as you can.  You don't want these people coming
after you."
 
"That's right, and it seems to me that the best defense--"
 
"No!"  Nat interrupted.
 
Sharon continued on as if she hadn't heard.  "is a good offense.  Or something
like that."
 
"No!" Nat repeated.
 
"Look, I'm not really going to do anything . . ."
 
"Good!"
 
". . . necessarily."  Nat sighed and rolled her eyes.  "I'm just going to do
some checking around.  I think I have Sharon's email address around
here somewhere.  I do seem to remember someone bothering her with
frogs because she's afraid of 'em, although why anyone would be
afraid of cute little froggies I'll never know.  Anyway, Nat, I'll keep
you posted, OK."
 
Before Nat could protest further, Sharon broke the connection.  Nat
immediately dialed her home number, determined to talk her out of
whatever plans she might be hatching.  The line was busy and Nat
slammed the phone down in exasperation.  Sharon was probably
already online and composing email to Sharon Scott.  Somehow Nat
didn't think Nick was going to like the fact that they just might have
inadvertently made the playing field in this war a little larger.
 
* * * * *
 
 From: Sharon Himmanen <SHIHC@CUNYVM>
 To: Sharon Scott <scotts@baylor.ccis.baylor.edu>
 Subj: Friends of friends
 Date: January 22, 1994
 
--------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Dear Sharon,
 
A friend of mine in Toronto, who is a friend of a friend of yours
reports that you've been having some difficulties with certain
members of FKFIC.  I think we should talk . . .
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Tara's Torment
 
 John E. Dencoff
 
 
  A wicked grin spread across John's face as he read the latest forkni-L
message.  It was from Lady Johanna Constantine, also known more personally
as Tara.  She was requesting submissions from budding authors on the list
for a new fanzine that she was starting.
 
  "This has numerous possibilities!" he thought.  "So many ways, so little
time!  And..." checking Uncle's list quickly, "...she appears to be on our
list of potential victims!"
 
  Thousands of devious thoughts raced through his mind.  He could intercept
the mail, implant destructive little commands in her computer, or even
send her fiction written by his own hand!  That'd certainly throw her for
a loop!  Really bad poetry...thousands of really bad poems arriving by mail!
 
  Then again, LaCroix and the others often told him that the best torments
were unique, subtle, and deeply underhanded.
 
  Wisdom from an ancient _Star Trek_ episode then jumped into his brain:
"Social occasions are merely warfare concealed."  Or it went something like
that.  Yes...perhaps it was time for a PARTY!
 
        *               *               *
 
The e-mail message arrived only moments earlier:
 
   To: johanna@hydra.unm.edu
   From: jdencoff@polaris.unm.edu
 
  Hey, Tara!  I'm having a party this sunday.  It'll be a video party--
  we'll be watching _Amazon Women on the Moon_ among other things!
  Let me know if you'd like to come.  Your friend Monica is coming.
  You can also bring one or two guests if you like!
 
  Cousin John
  Emperor of Harpsichords
 
 
Tara didn't know what to think, exactly.  It could be fun, but she had been
warned that these 'Cousins' were *weird*...maybe even dangerous!  Still,
she thought it might be fun.  She hadn't seen that movie, and Monica was
going after all.  She made her decision, and phoned up Monica.
 
  "Hey, Monica!  Did you get that invitation for John's party?"
 
  "Yeah, sounds like it could be fun." Monica replied.
 
  "Maybe, but he is a 'cousin,' and some pretty strange things have been
happening on the internet list.  Do you think he could be up to something?"
 
  "I dunno.  Maybe.  Maybe it's just a party.  After all, I haven't been
attacked by any of these cousins yet.  Maybe they're just targeting the
Knighties, or something.  So far, that's what it seems like."
 
  "Okay, I'll go then."
 
  The party turned out to be fairly normal, with about six of John's other
friends.  Nothing really weird happened, and it was sorta fun.  John's
friend Kathy had a lot of tapes for old programs, and she might even get
to borrow some of them later.
 
  "See..." Monica said later, "It was just a normal party.  I think they're
just targeting the Knighties."
 
  "Hmmm...well, if all of my fanzine stuff is ripped to shreds when I get
home, then I'll know who to blame.  Maybe the party was a decoy to get me out
of the house while the other cousins descended on my stuff."
 
  When she got home, she went through all of her things.  Hmmm...she thought,
nothing seems amiss with the fanzine stuff...Unless!  Quickly she logged
into her PC, scanning through all the files.
 
  Breathless, she checked each file, then ran a virus-checker through her
software.  Momentarily satisfied, she logged into hydra, her remote account
at UNM.  Hours later, it seemed nothing was wrong.  All of her files were
as she had left them, in perfect order.
 
  "This is going to make me paranoid," she thought.  "What on Earth could
he have done?  Not the computer files, not hydra,...not even the fanzine
material."
 
        *               *               *
 
The following morning:
 
  Tara quickly gulped down her thirty-seventh cup of coffee.  As she sat
looking around the house, trying to think of things that might go wrong,
Monica popped in.
 
  "Hey, Tara!  Geez, you look awful!  Did you get *any* sleep at all last
night?"  As she surveyed the room, noting the overturned cushions and strewn
papers, she said, "...Hmmm...I guess not."
 
  "Not a wink.  I am convinced that the Cousins are out to get me!  I mean,
even the title of this episode is about me!  Look: _Tara's Torment_!!"
 
  Monica looked over the printout for several minutes.  "I don't think you've
read this all the way through yet, have you?"
 
  Suddenly, Tara dove behind the couch.  Monica looked around for explosives.
Then she saw the mailman on the front porch.  Smiling, she went to collect
the mail.
 
  "No!" Tara said weakly. "It's a *letter-bomb*!  I just know it!!"  She
peeked over the couch.
 
  "Look, Tara!  It's a letter from John!"
 
  "AAIGH!  Leave it outside!!  I just read that John gave Barb a spell-
checker from HELL!  I don't wanna know what he has in mind for me!"
 
  Monica opened the letter.  "Dear Tara, I just found out that you were
looking for submissions material for your new fanzine..."
 
  "Urk!" not the Fanzine, she thought!  It was only a baby!
 
  Monica continued, "...anyway, I thought that I might try my hand at some
poetry, so please find my first one enclosed.  Let me know what you think."
 
 
        HEROES
 
        Nick and Duncan,
        alike in so many ways,
        they're both good actors
        who'll live lotsa days.
 
        Each is a human,
        well, sorta, that is
        a vampire and an immie
        fightin' bad guys: their biz.
 
        Cousin John
 
 
  "Well, it's not Wordsworth..." Monica commented.
 
  "...I said explicitly, 'no poetry'..." Tara gasped.  =CLONK=
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little War: Part 1
 
 Tara
 
 
        Tara logged out, feeling much better.  After all, if this was
a war, that was no reason a lady had to be rude.
        Now they were all warned.
        After spending hours shredding the last of John's little
"prank", she was finally beginning to realize that if it was a war
they wanted, she was ready to take on their precious "uncle" any time.
        Okay, so she had a deathwish.  It never stopped her before.
Not when a giant office almost ate Chicago up in a bureaucracy, not
when she had dealt with John Constantine, Cerebus the Net Aardvark, the
Dvandom Stranger, and evil the likes of which these mailing list
friends of hers could never had dreamt of.
        We were talking about old hat to a rec.arts.comics.misc
vet.  But first, she had to have a little discussion.
        With her sister.
 
                              * * *
 
        "Well, Mo called me this morning.  She told me not to tell.
It's just email."  Deirdre shrugged off her elder sister's anger.
        "Yeah, right.  Just email."  Tara sighed.  "So what did you
tell her?"
        "Well, she asked about any phobias."
        "And?"
        "And I told her you were really excited about your zine."
        "But you didn't mention... you know."
        "What?"
        "Wide open spaces."
        "No."
        "At least I have some secrets left."
        "You're paranoid.  And stupid."
        "Thank's sibling.  I love you too."  She closed her sister's dorm-
room door behind her, and made her way back to Devargas Hall.  She logged
straight in.
 
                                 * * *
 To: janette@raven.toronto.freenet
 From: johanna@hydra.unm.edu (L J Constantine)
 Subject: This little "war"
 
One of your master's "pets" just took a shot at me.
Having a little fun with family members?  I'm a mite far
from Toronto at the moment, and I know College doesn't
mean much to you, but I'd like to graduate sometime this
century, if you don't mind, and unless you're going to
spot me some plane fare....
 
So any idea what's going on?  Ask Alma, she always
has her ear to the door anyway.
 
I've got my stock of holy water, stakes, and
the usual, but I seriously doubt I've to fear
your kind.  Not unless Uncle dear wants to bother
with a simple little helpless mortal like me, so
how about a hand?
 
 
LJC
--
johanna@hydra.unm.edu    * "Bring your mittens."
Lady Johanna Constantine *            - "Spooky" Muldar to
or just plain Tara       *               Dana Scully, "Ice"
Disclaimer: I dare someone at unm to read what I write.  I dare 'em :)
 
                               * * *
 
 To: johanna@hydra.unm.edu (L J Constantine)
 From: janette@raven.toronto.freenet
 Subject: Re: This little "war"
 
> with a simple little helpless mortal like me, so
 
helpless?
 
Ha.
 
Deal with it, darling.
 
 
j
 
 
                              * * *
 
        "Wonderful."  Tara scowled at the computer. "So much for help
from 'old friends'.  Looks like we corbies are going to have to take care
of this one ourselves."  She started typing out a post to a long list
of like-minded fans.  "They want a war?  Let's just see how many slings
and arrows they can stand from this end.  Starting with John and Monica,
I should think...."
        She smiled coldly, and waited for the replys.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little War: Part 2
 
 Tara
 
 
        "Stabbed in the back by one of my own.  I winder what
Mo was thinking?  After all, who would have thought a ravenette would
side with a cousin?"  Tara paced back and forth in her dorm room.  She
allowed her alter ego, LJC to pop in beside her.  After all, LJ served
her in good stead during the Wrath of the Administrator last spring.
She always was better at this sort of thing.
        "How about some sweet and sour from Panda Express?"  Jo
took a long drag off her Silk Cut, eyes sparkling.
        "Pineapple?  I don't want to kill her, just find out where
her loyalties lie."
        "Fine, take the easy way out."
        "Killing you partner is no way to finish a script, and
besides, she's my friend."
        "She inflicted bad poetry on you.  Some friend."
        "Hey, who are you to talk?  All of your friend's end up dead."
Tara snapped, continuing to pace, wracking her brain for an answer.
Jo stuck her tongue out in a very un-Constantine like gesture, turning
sharply in a swirl of grey trenchcoat and smoke.
        "Let Janette deal with her?"
        "Darling won't be bother with all this, at least, that was
the impression I received."
        "Okay, if you're not going to play on her allergies, even though
I personally think a little Death by Chocolate, or ice-cream would be
fitting."
        "Hey, I'm the one who had to clean up after the last time we
decided to go get ice-cream.  I'm looking for a bit of revenge on Mo,
not more work for me."
        "Okay, why don't we hit her where it hurts?"
        "Namely?"
        "Think she's read all that fanfic she's archived?"
        "Oh, you're evil."
        "So are you, my dear." Johanna faded away, the smell of her
cigarettes lingering.
        "So I am."
 
                              * * *
 
        "Is this it?"  Mo stared at the disk, eyes bright.  They only
had a few moments before Tara had to run to her class.
        "Yep, all of 'Til Time and Times Are Done', complete with
formatting.  You have to tell me what you think."
        "Cool."
        "You want to work on the script this weekend?"
        "If I have time, yeah.  And I need to borrow your tape of the
X-files from Friday night."
        "Only if I get my plant, cd, and video tape back."  Since she had
come back from Chicago, she had been missing her plant, which had gone
to live at Monica's for four weeks.
        "Deal."  Mo grinned, and jumped back into her car.  "You're not
really mad about John, are you?"
        "Oh, I am just getting into the spirit of things.  I seriously
doubt anyone would try anything truly horrible to me."
        "Ha."
        "Okay, so maybe I underestimate people.  Call me tonight."
 
                              * * *
        Mo popped the diskette into her 486, glancing around to make
sure her brother Danny wasn't around to usurp the computer until she
was done.  She watched the virus scan work its magic, and she brought up
WP 6.0.
        Then the craziest thing happened.  Words scrawled across her screen
faster than she could read, and then everything went...
        Blank.
        She rebooted, praying.  All her father's fortran programs seemed
just fine, thank gods, and Danny's stupid video games were still there.
        However, she seemed to be locked out of her directories.  She tried
everything she could think of, and after that failed, started swearing.
She started in Italian, segued into Czech, and finally wound it up with
some truly gutter Welsh.
        "I'll kill her."
 
IT'S NOT PERMANENT.  JUST UNTIL YOU TELL ME EXACTLY WHERE YOUR LOYALTIES
LIE.  I KNOW IT'S NOT TOO HARD TO GET THE FANFIC FROM THE AUTHORS, BUT
I'M SURE YOU'RE MORE WORRIED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPTS AND SO ON.
 
OH, THE FANFIC IS ALL OUT OF YOUR ACCOUNT TOO.  MAYBE IT WASN'T SO SMART
LETTING ME KNOW YOUR PASSWORD.
 
YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU DEARLY, BUT ALL'S FAIR AS THEY SAY.
 
TARA
 
                                 * * *
 
        Tara leaned back, deciding it was time to turn her attention
to John.  So he had LaCroix pulling his strings... That was no excuse, not
really.
        Well, maybe it was.  But still, one good turn deserved another.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Patron Saint of Mediocrity
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
A new starter.  Grumble grip groan.  And since the Firestone place
couldn't get parts from anywhere until Monday, Angelique the Wonder
Metro would remain a motionless red bauble and Valerie would have to
find some other means of getting to rehearsal Sunday and work Monday.
Grumble gripe groan.
 
Reading her e-mail was usually a nice escape from the little trials of
daily life, but this particular day she rather dreaded it.  Would
there be further instructions from Cousin Laurie, or even from Uncle
himself?
 
Sure enough, message #7 was from <lacroix@freenet.utoronto.ca>.
"Better read it first," Valerie sighed.  She had added an annoying
helping of guilt over what she had done to dear sweet darling Don to
her worries about car and cat, and wasn't really up to adding more.
But duty called...
 
"Oh, great.  Never let it be said Uncle doesn't have a sense of
humour."  She didn't even know this one's real name; for that matter,
she wasn't entirely certain of gender, though she had in the past
hazarded a guess that it was in fact a woman masquerading as a dead
composer.  "Decomposer?" she muttered, but as she suspected it wasn't
at all funny.  Bother.  She had briefly considering petitioning the
Nat faction for sanctuary--after all, that was where her sympathies if
not her official loyalties had always lain...hopefully Uncle wouldn't
send her after any of *them*--but now even her nurse's-kid equivalent
of coroner humour was failing her.
 
She had ideas, of course; but how could she carry them out without a
name, phone number, or even a car?  And she lacked the impressive
hacker resources and skills that the other Cousins had been employing
so effectively...wait a minute, they hadn't managed it all themselves,
had they?  A devious smile spread slowly across Valerie's deceptively
apple-cheeked little ingenue face, and she began tapping in an urgent
message for reinforcements...
 
     *     *     *
 
 To: Salieri <AUVERS@DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU>
 From: Caterina Cavalieri <songbird@juilliard.edu>
 
Caught your handle on the mailing lists, and thought you might be
interested in a very rare recording I found in the archives...
 
     *     *     *
 
A knock at the door--surely that was the FedEx guy!  Caterina had come
through.  Salieri had been observing the war on fkfic-l with no little
dread, and this was just the thing to lighten things up.
 
Cassette into the stereo, the leader cleared and the real tape
threaded past the play heads, and a clear light soprano emerged from
the speakers: "Ach, ich ful's es ist verschwunden..."
 
"AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!  MOZAAAARRRRTTT!"  In agony, Salieri reached
for the stereo, but didn't quite make it to the stop button before
collapsing.
 
     *     *     *
 
 To: vmeachum@freenet.fsu.edu
 From: Larry <merlin@!@&^#$@#&$#@>
 
Mission accomplished, kiddo.  Remember, you owe me.  :-)
 
Tape wasn't bad, BTW.  Ever consider doing it for a living?
 
     *     *     *
 
"Consider?!"  Grrr.  This adventure had *not* left a good taste in her
mouth as it was...and now she owed Merlin a future unspecified favour,
and he had to go tweaking her ambitions into the bargain.  Grrr.
 
Was this really worth it any more?
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 No Innocent Bystanders
 
 Linda Roth
 
 
   I thought I *would* be spared though: I am a newbie.  I felt
sure I would escape the notice of "Uncle" and the cousins.  (I even
thought--at the first mention I saw of "Uncle" on the lists--that
somehow Napoleon and Illya had become part of a cross-over plot.
NOT!)  It seems that this particular Uncle can hunt in the
daydreams of innocent, (up 'til now) undeclared, list-lurkers.
     There I was conscientiously plotting my own original (I hoped)
"Nick & Natalie Get It On" story on my computer.  I carefully set
the situation up; maneuvering my way around the various obstacles-
--emotional, vampiric and logistical--to their inevitable union.
But then I had to get up and leave my computer, just at their
climactic (!) scene.  When I returned this is what I found:
 
--------------------------------------------------------------------
 
     Recently discarded clothes littered the floor around Nick's
black, satin-clad, kingsize bed.  The fluorescent nightlight cast
cold blue illumination with long, dark shadows on the couple.  Nick
rolled on top of Nat, searching for her mouth and capturing it in
a long hungry kiss.
     Natalie's hand ran up and down Nick long, hard
flank.  She felt his smooth, cold skin.  That firmness under her
hand was more that just excellent muscle-tone.  The warmth of her
body was being sucked away from her just as her blood might soon
be, if Nick were to loosen his iron control.
     Suddenly, Natalie began to shudder, and a strange glow started
to grow in _her_ eyes.  In a burst of unexpected strength, Natalie
up and heaved Nick off of herself.  He landed in a stunned heap on the
floor.
    "Alright.  Cut!" she said.  "Don't you think I have had enough
of this.  All through training,  don't you think I had to put up
with all those stupid, snide, jokes about 'lady' coroners and the
stiffs!
    "Hey, Nick, you are great guy and I want to help you out.  You know,
try to make you human again and all that.  Yeah, you've got a great
sense of humor.  And that smile of yours is a killer...(heh, heh).
But get real, honey.  Don't you remember--you're DEAD.  'Have been for
800 years!  If I was sick enough to want to do it with a corpse I
could, anytime. And without risking my blood volume or (im)mortal
soul!
   Uh-uh, this "lady" does not take her work home with her..."
   And with that she picked up her clothes and walked out of the
room.
   Nick got up from his undignified position on the floor.  His eyes
glowed yellow, his fangs were barred.  He rubbed his bum and snarled...
 
--------------------------------------------------------------------
     The way I figure it, Uncle must have gotten to my story.
Knighties, help me!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Lisa's Torment
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     It was almost morning when the sun rose over her shoulders, warming up
the car seat on which she sat lost in thought.
     "Now, don't forget what I taught you, little one...anticipation can be
the best part of the meal!"
     Sandye's grin turned mercenary as she remembered Uncle's sage advice.
But how long could she make Lisa wait?  How much could Lisa endure?  Well,
it was all part of the plan.  Uncle wanted Lisa to suffer; after all, had
she not given refuge, support, and might I say it, "comfort" to that traitor
Nicholas?  Yes, it was all true.  But then so many of these misdirected
fools had dared to harbour Uncle's enemies: yet, this one was different,
more dangerous perhaps.  At any rate, Uncle's instructions were clear and
cruel:
     "Lisa must learn the penalties of challenging my authority.  Slowly,
little one; make her torment last.  But be sure not to damage her too much;
I have a feeling that she could be of some use later on."
     Sandye had no idea what Uncle was thinking now, but then, did any of
the cousins *really* know just what went on behind those ancient eyes?  But
enough of this, she thought; there's Lisa on her way to work.  Time and
action must sometime meet face to face, just as one day, Lisa would stand
looking into those ancient eyes, and face what even Nicholas shied away
from: the terrifying visage of Uncle.
     Once inside the library, Lisa made her way to the secret place that
was her sanctuary.  Off-limits to most everyone, this part of the archives
was where she worked on her stories.  Neat and orderly, her files remained
locked inside an old cabinet; files of hundreds of papers on which she wrote
her plans to help Nick return to the world of light.  Quickly, she checked
some research she had done last night, and discovered that the journal she
needed was just as she left it.  Pulling out her note-pad, she re-read the
article in the latest, NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL OF MEDICINE, that had yesterday
caught not only her attention, but had sent her hopes soaring.  Voraciously,
she read each word as if it was the answer to all her dreams, and perhaps
maybe it was.
     "This time," she whispered to herself, "this time, I've really found
the cure for you Nick.  Between this new immunology discovery, and the
material I found last night in the rare-books room, Natalie and I can give
you just what you always wanted."  Lisa, reading and musing, was the very
picture of happiness.  How happy Nick would be, and how grateful: perhaps
she would finally get that surprise he was always promising her.  Lisa
grinned.  Something akin to love radiated from her eyes, bathing the room
in a silent glow that danced on the air and drifted into the quiet corridor.
     Sandye stood motionless, the stolen key almost falling from her
suddenly cold hands.  Her mission had been to steal all of Lisa's notes:
without her stories and research, Lisa would be unable to cause Uncle any
problems for some time, at least until his other plans for her unfolded.
But now, what would Uncle say?  She had to do something fast; Natalie might
be able to get the information from the medical journal, but that other book
could not fall into the wrong hands, whatever secrets it held. This was
serious. Uncle had been right, Lisa was dangerous.  Muted footsteps echoed
down the hall, as Sandye hastily made her way back to her car and her phone.
     The library began to hum with the hustle and bustle of a typical winter
evening.  Those who were not working were studying; those who were not
studying, were hiding out from the uncaring wind, unwanted by a happy
southern town. Lisa could barely hear herself think: making her way past the
lobby where students sat and chatted in what was supposed to be whispers,
she realized that it was the unrelenting wind that echoed in her ears.
     Climbing the last stair, she reached the floor that housed the musty
rare-books room.  Passing its public reading room, she put her
identification card in the security slot and entered the private archive
rooms where the most special collections were kept.  As the door closed
behind her, she sighed in supreme satisfaction.
     "Soon it will be all over for you, LaCroix.  With this, once and for
all, you will have been beaten."  Lisa knew that she held the key to his
demise, and as she clutched the book to her breast, Lisa smiled the smile of
the wicked.  Cold hands slid across her warm, inviting neck.
     "I knew you were clever, my precious one, but I didn't know you could
be so deliciously evil.  That makes it all the more fun, doesn't it?"
Without hesitation, LaCroix grabbed her, and faced her with those terrible
ancient eyes.
     "How did you get in here?"
     Looking towards the back of the room, Uncle motioned to the darkened
figure to step into the light.  Lisa could only stare in horror as she
watched Sandye move around the table to stand beside LaCroix.
     "Sorry, Lisa.  We all answer to a higher authority, now don't we?"
Gently, she removed the book from Lisa's shaking hands and glanced down at
the antediluvian tomb that was so important to Uncle's continued existence.
     "Oh, my.  Now this would be a problem.  Look Uncle, this is the real
thing." Holding it out for LaCroix to see, Sandye watched his eyes change
from gold to a sinister red.  This was even more important than he had
guessed.
     "I am disappointed in you, Lisa.  If it isn't bad enough that you aid
that failure Nicholas, now you try your hands at extermination.  No.  I'm
afraid I can't let this go un-punished.  What would happen then?  The others
are already plotting their petty schemes. I think an example would do
nicely, right about now; something to make them re-think their alliances.
What do you think, little one? "
     "I think that she'd be more of a reminder, if you let her live, but in a
much less threatening way.  I think she has far too much on her mind, if you
get my meaning!"  What else could Sandye do?  Lisa was going to suffer,
better to do it alive, at least.
     "Yes, and a very mean, meaning at that."  Uncle turned back to Lisa,
his arms still holding her fast, his mouth inches away from her neck.
     "Well, my precious one. So you want to be with that traitor.  Perhaps I
can arrange that for you."  Lisa gasped: there were no words to give voice
to her fears.
     "Then again," LaCroix said, "perhaps all you need is a very long
vacation.  Nothing on your mind but happy little thoughts, nothing on your
mind about vampyres or death...nothing on your mind at all."  Lisa watched
helplessly as Uncle gazed into her frightened eyes.  A single tear slipped
down her cheek and in her muddied mind, she tried to hold on to her
memories, however bravely, however much in vain.
     "Nick," she whispered.  Then all was silence.
     Sandye stood by the door of her rented car, and watched the pale moon
rise over a chilly southern night sky.  LaCroix came up behind her, a sad
but satisfied look on his face.
     "Now, don't tell me you are getting squeamish on me.  You know it had
to be done."  Uncle could see the wheels turning behind her all too human
eyes.
     "But what's going to happen to her?"
     "They'll find her in the morning.  And she'll be just the same."
Uncle's wicked grin filled the night.
     "Well, not quite the same.  But think of all the problems she will no
longer have.  Without any memory of Nicholas, or Janette, or of me, Lisa
will have more time for more important things.  We did her a favour really,"
     Sandye looked at the golden moon, then back at Uncle.
     "If she ever gets her memory back, I get the feeling the favour is
going to be returned."
     "Let's not worry about that.  You have another mission, or have you
forgotten." Sandye almost laughed at him.
     "Bloody unlikely, I should say."
     In a flash, he was gone, and Sandye started off on her long journey
west.  As the sun rose over her shoulder, she wondered about Lisa.
     Back at the library, Lisa was, as usual, working at her desk in happy
silence.  She glanced over at the empty file cabinet, and wondered what she
was going to do with it.
     "I might as well get rid of it."  She called maintenance and asked
them to come up sometime today and pick it up.
     "Funny, I can't remember what used to be stored in there.  Oh well, I
guess it must not have been important.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Bostonites Watch
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
All you folks in the Boston area, we need to do something to stop this bloody
war. Join in with me.
Beth Marchese lizbeth258@aol.com
 
Trapped in her apartment by New Hampshire's week of bitter cold and freezing
snow, Beth had spent a lot of time on-line. More than she liked, in fact. It
was costing her money and eating her credit card, but in her boredom, she
didn't care.
 
She noticed that that the postings on the fkfic had taken a mysterious turn.
Veiled messages across the depths of cyberspace. Nothing was being said
directly and she got the distinct impression that the usually heavy traffic
was being concealed in private e-mail messages on the Internet.
 
Her reporter's instinct that had carried her through seven years and five
newspapers rang loudly in her head. Something was wrong, something was
terribly wrong. The normally cheerful little list discussing theories of the
FK universe had taken on an undertone of nastiness. Again, more assumed than
actually read, but the feeling would not go away.
 
She had come across the mysterious groups calling themselves the "Cousins"
the "Ravenettes" and the "Sluvakians" (the last group kept changing their
name in an effort to express their admiration for Donut Don.) While the
various groups seemed to co-inhabit the net peacefully, often intermingling
with obvious glee, there was a sense of group-think present on the net now.
Beth tapped her desk top, drumming a devil's tattoo that sent her house
rabbit, Hazel, off the deep end. The poor bunny hopped on her unshod foot
repeatedly to get her to stop, but the rabbit's pleas were ignored.
 
What to do, what to do.
 
She should stay out of this. She wasn't even sure yet if she was going to the
con slated for Boston. She was a good little lurker, preferring to read rather
than to get involved. It was an ingrained habit from her reporter
personality. Get the story by any means and write it, but for God's sake,
don't become the news.
 
Still, she just couldn't leave it.
 
She tried hard to think. There were several others in the Boston area on the
FK net, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember who they were. One was
in Cambridge, MIT she thought. Another she remembered reading was somewhere
else. She hit the desk in frustration, cursing herself for not paying more
attention.
 
If there was something going on, she was going to make herself a target by
posting a general request for what was going on. But she just couldn't let it
be.
 
She carefully typed:
 
 To: fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu
 Subj: What's happening?
 
Message: All of those in the Boston area, we need to talk. Something strange
is going on and I need information and/or help. E-mail me at
lizbeth258@aol.com. Something is happening and maybe we can stop this before
it starts.
 
Liz
 
 
Beth stared at the message for a long time before she hit the send button.
She prayed any messages she got back were not too long since AOL had very
limited mail space.
 
I hope this works and I hope whoever is behind whatever's happening doesn't
notice my post. Please, I hope I'm insignificant enough that it doesn't
matter.
She also prayed to get answers back. Maybe someone knows what's happening.
Maybe we can find out.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Watch Your Flanks (Or Souvlaki)
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie checked the list again, she had two more non-cousins to take
care of; both FODs. "Hmmmm, I could lace their souvlaki with elax. Nah,
I think I want to be creative with these two." She picked up her phone
and dialed long distance to Toronto.
 
   A female voice greeted her on the other end. "Toronto Metro Police
Department."
 
   "Hello? Could I please talk to Detective Schanke?"
 
   "I'm sorry he is with the Captain now, would you like to talk to his
partner? Hold on while I put Detective Knight on   "
 
   "No..WAIT!" It was too late.
 
   "Nick Knight here."
 
   She had to think of something fast. "Ahh, this is Beth Marchese. I am
a freelance reporter in the Boston area and I was just wondering if
Detective Schanke was available for an interview?"
 
   "Schanke would love to talk to you. What is this for?"
 
   "I am putting together an article on Detectives that have left the
US to work in Canada and how it has effected family and friends. You know
living in a new country and all."
 
   "Hang on, he's right here." Nick cupped his hand over the end of the
phone. "It's for you. A young lady from Boston with this deep sexy voice.
Is there something you are not telling me about?" Nick finished with a
wink and a little twinkle in his eye as he handed the phone over to
Schanke.
 
   Donut Don just glared over at his metabolically challenged partner.
"You wish."
 
   "Detective Schanke here. How can I help you?"
 
   "Hi, my name is Beth Marchese and I was wondering if you have time to
answer a few questions for an article I am writing?" Laurie kept her
fingers crossed. If anyone could help her find weakness in her next two
victims, their good friend could.
 
   "Sure shoot!" Just then Nick smiled and formed his fingers into a gun
and shot Schanke. "Will you get out of here. Don't you have paper work
to do?"
 
   "Excuse me?"
 
   "Sorry, I just have a partner with a weird sense of humor and even
weirder habits."
 
   "I know."
 
   "You know?"
 
   "No, I meant, I'll throw some out.. ah, questions. I'll THROW some
questions out. I am doing an article on computer networks and I
understand you have a few friends with access....?" Laurie smiled. This
was going to be too easy.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Strange Call
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
Several days went by, but the fkfic list was ominously silent. Beth had
received several mysterious e-mail messages whispering rumors about a war
that had been started by the dark group known as the Cousins who were
connected to LaCroix.
 
But LaCroix isn't real, Beth thought. Is this some sort of role-playing game
that got out of hand?
 
The e-mail used false names. When Beth tried to call up profiles, she got a
message burped back to her saying there was no such person.
 
She shrugged. If there was a war, it didn't concern her.
 
Then the phone rang. It was her business line. Sighing the sigh of a reporter
who had been called out to cover one too many midnight fires, Beth picked up
the phone. She almost dropped it when she heard the voice at the other end.
 
"This is Det. Schanke of the Toronto Police Department."
 
"Who?" Beth was shaken. He was a fictional character. Wasn't he? "How did you
get my number?" she angrily demanded. "Who are you really?"
 
"I'll tell you something lady, you are smart, really smart. You didn't even
identify what paper you were representing. It took a little leg work, but I
happen to have friends in New Hampshire who recognized your name when I asked
them about you. Union-Leader in Manchester, is it? I've put in a complaint to
your boss and..."
 
"What are you talking about?" she practically shouted into the telephone. "Is
this a prank?"
 
"First you tell my partner..."
 
"Please don't tell me his name is Nick Knight," Beth groaned.
 
"It is," the mythical Donut Don responded. "You tell my partner that you are
doing a story about relocated police officers and then you pump me for
information about computer nets. I think it's especially strange that you
changed your story in the space of a few seconds."
 
"I DID NOT CALL YOU!" Beth shouted into the phone.
 
"Now why don't I believe that?"
 
She hung up the phone, shaken.
 
It rang again.
 
With no small amount of trepidation, she picked up the receiver, her usual
clipped "Marchese" was reduced to an unsure "Hello?"
 
It was Buzz, her editor. "Beth," he barked. "I got a most interesting call
from the Toronto Police. What is your game?"
 
"Buzz, you know me. I didn't call the Toronto Police. I'm not working on any
story that would take me into Canada. I'm in the southern tier of New
Hampshire for God's sake."
 
Buzz sighed. "We will continue to pay you, but we must investigate this call.
We will call you in within the next week to question you about this
incident."
 
"What are you..." she began, but Buzz had hung up on her and she was left
staring at the receiver in consternation.
 
She hung up. There was only one person who could help her now. She signed
on-line at sent an e-mail message to Romana, praying her occasional chat
person knew what was happening.
 
Beth hoped she'd get some help before it was too late. It was beginning to
look like she was in the middle of a war that she knew nothing about and that
she just might become a casualty.
 
She wasn't sure whether or not to be happy that she wasn't so insignificant
after all.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Cal's Torment
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie looked over her notes from her conversation with Schanke. It
was all there. Everything she needed to take care of the last of her
victims. "Let's see, who do I know that works in the Alexandria
post office. Oh yeah, how could I forget and he does owe me a favor." She
dialed long distance again. This was going to be one phone bill that she
didn't want to see, but it would be worth it.
 
 *                          *                          *
 
   Cal sat down to sort out her mail. She pulled out all the envelopes
addressed to the Fan Club she ran. "Good grief, this club is really
starting to pick up members. Wow, this is great! There has to be about
twenty letters here." Cal opened the first letter and a check for six
dollars fell out. She made a note of the name and opened the next letter.
 
   Dear Cal,
 
      This is to inform you that I have forwarded your name and address
   to your local postmaster. I think it is highly unprofessional of you
   to solicit membership in a non-existant Fan Club.
      At first, I was pleased with your quick response to my membership
   request. However, I was dismayed to find that the enclosed folder was
   empty! Initially, I thought it was a mistake, but when I contacted
   other friends of mine that had recently joined the Fan Club, we
   discovered that each of us had received only an empty folder.
      I have also forwarded copies of this letter and other letters to
   celebrity you claim to represent.
                                            Beth Marchese
 
   Cal stared at the letter in disbelief. She knew all those folders
were complete when she sent them out. It had to be a mistake. Cal opened
the next letter. Another note with the same complaint. She opened another
and another, they were all the same. She leaned back, her reputation was
ruined.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Problem Is Addressed
 
 Lisa McDavid
 
 
Natalie Lambert almost choked on her slightly stale egg salad on
rye. There, among the other messages listed on her screen as
waiting in her mailbox, was one from Lacroix@freenet.toronto.edu.
She moved the cursor to the line and pressed the proper key with an
unsteady hand.
 
 From: Lacroix@freenet.toronto.edu
 To: Lambert@coroner.toronto.gov.ca
 
It's only me -- sorry to scare you, but Larry found a hole in
LaCroix's tap on your account.  He didn't have the program divert
copies from his own account of messages originated from his
account. Larry thinks he probably didn't know how to do it without
creating a loop. In fact, Larry claims it was a challenge even for
him. So, Larry's given me a handy little routine that lets me
specify any address I want on my messages, and suggested I just use
LaCroix's address any time I want to contact you.
 
Before I get down to business, tell Nick not to worry about Larry's
loyalty. I've made it perfectly clear to him that if I get caught
out and LaCroix kills me or brings me over, it will be Larry who
suffers.  Either way, as a vampire or as a ghost, I'll be able to
follow him anywhere he goes, and he won't be able to run away from
me the way he can as long as I'm mortal. Larry says that he doesn't
know if Nick was ever little brother to an angry big sister, but
that if he was, he'll understand why just the thought is the stuff
nightmares are made of.
 
LaCroix was down here last night with Sandye. He assigned her to me
as a cover, since it would look odd if nobody attacked me. He came
himself because he was afraid she might hurt me. Poor man, he
thinks he's so tough, and he's really quite soft if you know how to
manage him -- there are times when I almost feel sorry for him!
Anyway, she thinks she helped him hypnotize me into disposing of my
notes and sources. What I actually had maintenance remove in an old
cabinet was a duplicate collection of the sermons of one of the
early university presidents, but of course I have the real ones
safe, beside having the data backed up elsewhere.
 
Expect a fax from me tomorrow night, with LaCroix's address on it.
I think you'll find it interesting and I hope useful.
 
My best to Nick, and scratch Sidney's neck for me.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Fact Finding
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
Sharon had wandered around her apartment for most of the day, putting
off the work she had to do, mindlessly channel surfing, and occasionally
logging onto her email account.  Still no word from Sharon Scott.
 
"I think they got her," Sharon muttered to herself as she quickly
scanned the messages in her mailbox looking for an ID that read
scotts@baylor.edu.  Nothing.
 
From the volume of mail that had been in her box all day she saw
that the nefarious list members had been busy with their dark
schemes.
 
Then, a message caught her eye.
 
 To:      fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu
 From:    Beth Marchese <lizbeth258@aol.com>
 Subj:    Bostonwatchwar (BETH:  Hope I got the subj. line right)
 Date:    January 23, 1994
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
All of those in the Boston area, we need to talk.  Something strange is
going on and I need information and/or help.  E-mail me at lizbeth258
@aol.com.  Something is happening and maybe we can stop this before
it starts.
 
Liz
 
 
 
Sharon read and re-read the note several times.  Was this a legitimate
call for help and information, or another would-be tormenter looking
for a victim?
 
All of her instincts were screaming that she should trust no one,
but maybe a vague message might shed a little light.  So far her
fact finding had failed abysmally.  Maybe Beth was the answer.  She had to
be careful, though.  With the theme to Mission:  IMPOSSIBLE echoing
in her head, Sharon started her reply.
 
 To:      Beth Marchese <lizbeth258@aol.com>
 From:    Sharon Himmanen <SHIHC@CUNYVM.BITNET>
 Subj:    Fact finding
 Date:    January 23, 1993
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Dear Beth,
 
I'm not from Boston, but perhaps we can help each other out.  Two heads
are better than one.  We should discuss this situation further.
 
Sharon
 
 
 
All right.  Either she was gaining an ally or setting herself up.  The
only way to know would be to send this message off now.  She hit the
SEND key twice, then logged off.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Monica's Torment
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
       One down, one to go, thought Sandye. Uncle's plan certainly was
coming together; the problem was where it would all going to end.  Lisa,
effectively diffused, believed that Uncle had conspired against one of
his own, and if that wasn't amusing enough, she actually thought that
he had been looking out for her. Without realizing it, Sandye was laughing
out loud with such gusto, that the other passengers in first class were
staring at her, wondering how much longer she would continue.  Even
Monica had laughed herself right out of her traction, and that was
saying something.
    "Hey there, I'm not paying for a long distance call to hear you
chuckle.  I've got a bone to pick with you, and I want answers. I want
them now!"  Monica could hear the steam coming out of Sandye's ears,
and it was so loud, it drowned out her brother, quite a feat: he was
playing with a buzz-saw at the time.  She calmed herself down, and
tried to sound like nothing was up.
   "I'm sorry.  Its just so ridiculous; how could LaCroix ever do
anything as nice as trying to save Lisa...and how could she believe
that he'd turn on you?  With what you know about..."
   "With every passing minute, I further regret telling you anything
about it.  And you almost told that other cousin what was going on?
What are you, the bloody National Enquirer?  I can only do so much to
protect you before Uncle loses what little patience he has left."
Sandye *sounded* so concerned; little did Monica know that her time was
close at hand. Very close indeed. It was all too bad, thought Sandye: she
thought this one would be different, but no, it appeared that Moncia could
turn as easily as Nick. "Forgetting" that she had given Tara her password
was one thing; Sandye finding out by way of public postings was another.
Monica must have been up to something all along: and Uncle thought she was
a problem before? If there was one thing Sandye hated more than anything,
it was someone trying to take her for a fool.  Well, if the fates wouldn't
step in, then surely, Uncle and his happy little minion would.
    "I still don't know what all the fuss is about, I mean, let LaCroix
come and get me...I've got my own friends you know."
    "Yes, I know...and it would appear that you don't choose them very well.
You'll be sorry that you didn't listen to me." Was Monica losing her mind?
Sandye had really gone too far.  Maybe it was time to end this friendship,
thought Monica; anger and sadness battling for control of her better
judgement.  Unfortunately for Monica, her anger won.
    "Well I don't need you anymore.  Why don't you and Uncle just blow
yourselves to the nether-regions and get out of my life?!!!"  Monica slammed
down the receiver, the sudden shock sending tremors through her arm.  She
saw the small scar that stretched over her arm, and suddenly realized she
needed to make another pot of coffee.  This was going to be a long night.
     Waiting for the small oven fire to burn itself out, Monica searched
for her special blend of java so she could brew what would have been
her 12th pot of the day. Reaching for the tin, she discovered that
someone had replaced her hidden cache with dry yeast!  Ugh!  What kind
of joke was this?
      "Okay, don't panic I'll just have some tea, that'll do the trick."
But when she looked for the tea, none could be found.  This was a
serious problem, she had to have caffeine, or else, she could not be
responsible for the consequences of her actions.  Maybe some diet coke
was left over from her brothers popcorn extravaganza; yes she *hated*
it, but these were desperate times.  It was not until she failed to
find the soda, that she realized *just* how desperate.
     "What is going on?!  Mom, Dad, where's my coffee?  Simone, did
you and your friends drink up all the soda?  Answer me, or I'm coming
to get you!" Echoes of Monica's multi-lingual swearing could be heard all
the way up to the ranch...even the druggies down at the Frontier diner
would have been shocked to hear such a parade of gutter language...and that
was saying something.  But Monica's bombastic curses fell on absent ears.
There was no response.  There was no sound.  Silence. Obviously her family
had gone out and forgotten to tell her.  Well, that was great.  No coffee,
no tea, no soda, and looking out the window she discovered, no car.
It was then that Monica truly lost control.
     "Where in the name of God is my car?"  Stomping around her house like a
mad-bull, Monica looked everywhere for her keys. She did not find them.
Beaten, weary, and just a bit insane, she stood Thor-like in the middle of
room, and exhaled a thunderous roar.
    "Can this get any worse?"  Monica screamed at the top of her lungs, her
soprano voice vibrating off of the living room windows.  It was then that
the darkened figure stepped into sight and stared back at Monica through the
now shattered window-pane.
    "I think things just did."  Sandye stood there, her eyes less than
friendly, her grin more than wicked.  Monica could only watch, as she
broke off the rest of the window and stepped through into the house.
    "Nice ventilation system.  Is this how they do it in New Mexico; it
gives a new twist to the term 'open floor-plan'."  Suddenly, it was all to
clear.  The coffee, the tea, the car....it must have been Sandye. Monica
was speechless--yes, that's right, speechless--no cunning plan would save
her now.
     "What's that, no quick retort, no smart-ass remark...slipping aren't
we my dear?  Well, I can understand.  If I was you right now, I'd be a
little shaky too." Sandye circled Monica, never letting her out of arms
reach.  Monica knew that this was not good.  Not good at all.
      "What are you doing out here?  I just talked to you, how
could...why... what's going on?"  Maybe she could get away...just a few
good Karate moves and it would be all over.  Monica braced herself for
the moment, and...
     "Calm down, pet.  Let's not be hasty.  It seems you've been a bad
little ravenette, my petite chou-chou.  What ever made you think you could
out-fox the fox?  Come now, tell Janette the truth, it will go much easier
on you."
      Monica was stunned...a true feat indeed. Nothing much startled her;
she was as jaded and cynical as they came. But this hit her like a shot out
of the blue.  Janette, here, and with, Sandye?  But she was a follower of
LaCroix, a dreaded cousin...what the hell was going on here?
      "I don't understand, Janette.  You're supposed to be on my side.
What could make you abandon me?"
      "It was you who abandoned me, my sweet Monica.  Didn't you know
that when you threaten LaCroix, you put us all in danger?  I don't like
to make waves, you know that.  I can't come running everytime one of
you gets yourself in trouble.  You used very poor judgement in turning
against this one...she's almost as bad as he is.  I can't have her
sticking her nose into my business just because you've been burning the
candle at both ends. You know better than getting mixed up in covert
communications with other factions.  Did you think that Sandye wouldn't
discover your foolishness? Those wretched cousins will never stop. And I
can't stand around waiting for the next shoe to fall...I'm sorry, really I
am, but its out of my hands."  Janette looked forlornly over at Monica, and
then she was gone as quickly as she had come.  The room was still: once
again, Monica faced Sandye alone.
     "So whose hands is it in, Sandye?"
     "That's a stupid question.  Really Monica, what's happened to you?
Don't let Uncle hear you say anything so ridiculous, he might just decide
that your not worth all the trouble."
      "And what trouble would that be?"  Trying to put on a brave front,
Monica, face to face with her once friend, now obvious enemy, waited
for Sandye as she mulled over her answer.
      "Actions speak louder than words.  Perhaps a demonstration is in
order. Turning her head away from the light, Sandye gazed at Monica
with evil, golden eyes.  Monica gasped.
      "Did LaCroix do that to you?"
      "Not exactly.  Uncle told me to do what was necessary to get the
job done.  I needed to get you away from Janette, and bring you over to
him. That meant your ties with her had to be broken, what better way to
achieve that than to have her cut you off herself.  I "convinced" her
that if she helped me out, I would convince Uncle not to pick on any of
the other ravenettes.  This was merely a bonus."  Monica was staggered.
      "Bonus?  What kind of bonus is that?  Now you're like them!"
      "What better way to help dear, sweet Uncle?  It's much more
efficient this way. Now, I can take care of his little problems, while
he moves on the the bigger ones."
      "Is he really going to let the rest of the ravenettes alone?"  If
she could make this sacrifice to save them all, then maybe it would
have been worth it.
      "Are you serious?  Why stop? His enemies grow fewer and his power
gets greater.  Winners don't discard a losing hand, and gambling only
pays when you're winning.  Uncle wants to win.  And of course, in the
end, he will.
      "So what's going to happen to me?  You aren't going
to kill me, are you?  I mean, we were friends.  I didn't mean to turn
against you, I was manipulated, can't you see that?"
      "It doesn't matter what I see.  And no, I wouldn't hurt you."
Just then, Sandye walked over to the sofa and sat down as calmly as if
she had been invited to high tea.  LaCroix stepped into the room.
     "Now who gave a party, and neglected to invite me?  Oh, I *am* hurt.
Don't tell me, its Monica isn't it?  Yes, it is Monica.  My, but you
do look a fright. But tell me, isn't is very rude not to offer your
guests some small repast, some drink, perhaps, to quench their thirst,
after so long a journey?"
       Monica swallowed hard.  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to
turn.  She could hear her cock-a-too Nickolai squawking in the bedroom.
Too bad she didn't have wings to fly away, but then she remembered,
Nickolai couldn't fly even with his wings.  Sometimes, life just blows
its nose at you, she thought.  This was obviously one of those times.
Silently, she moved her eyes from Sandye to LaCroix and back again.
Monica stood in silence.
     "What did she say, Sandye...I couldn't quite catch that...?"
     Sandye looked at Monica then at Uncle and back again.
     "Why, Uncle, she said, 'Help yourself'."  Monica's jaw fell open, eyes
wide in disbelief.  She knew that this was it.   LaCroix licked his lips.
      "Well, thank you Monica.  Don't mind if I do."
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Declaring Loyalties
 
 Sharon Scott
 
 
Pam,
 
In this time of crisis, it is imperative that you declare your loyalties
(or you're fair game <evil grin>)  Of course, the Cousins will try to
seduce newbies and lurkers to join Uncle LaCroix's side. You must resist
their blandishments. That way lies madness, destruction, and strange
haircuts. Join the Knighties, those who are fighting on the side of light
and right! No more noshing on humans! Cow for all! Don't let the rest of
your life haunt you. Join up tonight!
 
 scotts@baylor.edu
 scotts@baylor.bitnet
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Boston Front
 
 Pam Perry
 
 
 To: lizbeth258@aol.com
 Fr: paperry@acs.bu.edu
 Re: FK Wars -- Boston front
 
Beth -
 
Oh, a nearby kindred spirit!  I'm so glad to hear from someone else
in the area. Sorry we have to meet this way, but I feel I must answer
the call in these troubled times. I've been in the same boat as you --
a lurker, a newbie, content to read and not get involved. Not the
right attitude, but I've always been shy. What I feel now, though, Beth,
what with all this weird stuff coming over the fiction line, is
downright fear!
 
I'm not the tech I-net wiz that everyone else seems to be. I haven't
declared my loyalty as yet (although just today I *was* considering
a note to the Knightie contingent). And I don't know anyone else on
the line personally -- I've only emailed to Lostsoul and the Bad
Penny about the con.
 
I thought I'd be safe lurking from here, especially now that the
cold is keeping everyone from coming to New England. Then I
remembered -- March 12!  The Con!  Uncle is coming, and probably
bringing his band of darkhearted soulless demons with him. I fear
a full-blown invasion into our stronghold of Puritan tradition.
And what if Nick isn't here to rally the troops? (Has anyone
heard from him concerning the war and how *he* thinks it's going?)
 
We must start organizing now. (I'm assuming, of course, that you're
on the side of good and light?  Probably too late to ask -- if
you're not, the minute this hits your mailbox I'm screwed). Get in
touch as soon as possible.  Hope this isn't too long for aol to
handle. And I hope I sent it to the right place -- these addresses
confuse me.
 
Pam Perry
Keeper of the KF schedule at Pappas
paperry@acs.bu.edu
 
Trustingly, she hits "send" ...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 In For A Penny, In For A Pound
 
 Brian Gerstel
 
 
Since I recently asked for help in writing a fanfic on the main FORKNI-L
list, I figure it's only a matter of time before the Cuisines* come after
me, so:
 
I officially declare myself a Knightie!
 
(I'd considered joining Nat's fans, but she sometimes shows a certain
naivete unique to hard scientists...which I think she'll have to overcome in
order to find a real cure for Nick...more on this later)
 
Now I'll just sit back and see what develops...And see how long it takes
the Cuisines* to come up with something to do to someone they know nothing
about...
 
 
 
 
* Yes, I know what you call yourselves.  But one day you'll outlive your
usefulness to your dear "Uncle"...  And don't think he'll bring you across
out of "gratitude" <snicker>.  He enjoys corrupting, or bringing out the
dark side in those who believe themselves to be good.  If you've declared
yourself to be evil already, there's no fun in it for him...except maybe
the look on your face when you realize you're about to become a midnight
snack...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Torment Never Ends... Not By A Long Shot!
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     The plane landed safely at University Park airport.  Sandye was sore,
but it wasn't from sitting in all those uncomfortable airplane seats on the
long ride back from New Mexico. She only had herself to blame, laughing like
that for a 6 hours!  But what a glorious time: tormenting Monica had been
a hoot!  Not only did she steal her coffee, her car (actually it had been
her brother Danny, now joyriding somewhere at warp speed, no doubt), but
she had scared her almost to death!  Those gold contacts had been expensive,
but Sandye was so glad she had loosened her purse-strings after all.  She
could just imagine what Monica had thought after fainting in Uncle's arms.
Well, she had it coming!  Thank goodness Uncle had been in an amiable mood
that night, or else Monica might very well have been scared to death.
Then again, goodness had nothing to do with it!
     Back at home, Sandye logged on only to discover some very strange
messages...things had certainly piled up while she had been out on Uncle's
errands.  Certainly, she expected to be a while catching up on the other
cousins torments, and they had been busy.  But what were all these others?
She didn't recognize any of the names.  One of them was even a general
something or other...this was odd indeed.  But at the very end, the most
important message flashed its seductive and sinister name.
 
 
 To: Cousin Sandye-rah
 From: Oedipus@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE:   When the black rabbit of Inlay calls......
 
 
What?  Was this some kind of Joke?  That was one of his concealed user-id's,
but what kind of message was that?  Only one way to find out.  Sandye pushed
the view command, and hoped, that this would not be as dangerous as she
thought it might be...ten seconds later, her hopes went up like fire.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Ray Of Hope
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
Beth paced her apartment holding her struggling rabbit. She received a
strange call from some fan club. Something about empty envelopes and ruined
reputation. Did someone get her Milford address to make prank calls? She
didn't recall joining any fan club. What was going on?
 
She stared at her Tandy laptop. The creature was a terrible machine, but it
served her well enough. The sleek design had taken on a sinister air. She
should stay away from the Internet, she knew, but she HAD to know.
 
Then again, maybe she didn't want to know either. Maybe someone was prepared
to download a virus if she signed on. Maybe they were going to send an
electronic pulse through her telephone line and blow her computer. She didn't
know if it was possible. She just typed on the damn things, not program them.
 
Knowing she was lost, she let Hazel go. The rabbit happily hopped over to her
growing stack of newspapers and proceeded to make a nest out of them.
 
She signed on. Two messages appeared on the fkfic addressed to her. One was
from a Sharon Himmanen with an offer of help. The message was vague and
definitely cautious. Beth smiled. Someone that vague was definitely running
scared and not on the offensive. She sighed. She'd have to take a chance.
 
 
 To: SHIHC@cunyvm.bitnet
 From: LizBeth258@aol.com
 Subj: Fact finding
 
Yes, I'm interested. I am isolated here and that might make me an easy
target. Too much is happening too quickly. I need to be aligned if only for
protection. There should be strength in numbers, I hope. Until today, I never
thought Nick, et., al. were real.
Help me. The Toronto Police are angry at me, my job is on the line and I have
someone calling me telling me that I ruined the reputation of her fan club. I
don't even know what half of them are talking about.
 
 
She sent the note and crossed her fingers that she wasn't walking into
another trap.
 
The next message was a little more straightforward this one was from a Pam
Perry, from Boston University, her alma mater, no less. Since the name didn't
ring a bell, Beth believed Pam when she said that she was a lurker like
herself.
 
She scrolled down the message. Halfway through it, she froze. *Dear God! The
Con! Uncle and the Cousins are going to be here in Boston for the Con! We're
dead if we don't stop the war before THOSE people land on our shores.*
 
Beth shivered and wondered if the city that survived the British could
survive LaCroix and his nefarious Cousins. She though about keeping the high
ground on Bunker Hill. Then she remembered. The Colonists lost at the Battle
of Bunker Hill. Also, the battle was actually fought on Breed's Hill.
 
*You are panicking* she thought to herself. *Stop it.*
 
She composed herself while she composed her letter:
 
 
 To: paperry@acs.bu.edu
 From: lizbeth258@aol.com
 Subj: Boston contingent
 
No, I am currently not even aligned. I have asked another for help. I think
it is best if we declare our allegiances now. I see you are planning to go
with the Knighties. I wish you the best of luck and hope Nick can protect you
if the Cousins get to you. If you have a plan, contact me. Maybe we can join
forces with others and stop the bloodshed before it laps on the rocky heart
of New England.
 
 
She crossed her fingers and hit the send button.
 
She signed off and sat back. Beth wondered at her own sanity for believing so
quickly in what she once thought was fiction. "Here there be tygers..." she
though grimly.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Fit Of Conscience
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
"All right, that is enough!"
 
After spending entirely too much thought in plotting how to get Don
back for getting her back, Valerie had made a decision.  No more
torments, no more craven bowing to "Uncle's" whims.
 
No more Cousins.  She'd be sorry for that part of it--she did love her
adopted netfamily dearly--but no longer could she partake in their
nefarious schemes.
 
But with whom could she cast her lot?  Would any other faction even
take her?
 
The Ravenettes she eliminated first--they were many and strongly
united, and their own ties to Uncle were to close for Valerie's
comfort.
 
The Die-Hards presented some attractive points--after all, wasn't
Valerie most impressed with the fascinating way in which all these
particular inhabitants of Toronto interacted?  But no, in this she
needed a specific stand...
 
The Knighties?  Again, an attractive notion...but they too were
numerous, well-established...and unlikely to accept a turncoat like
herself.  It wasn't a sure thing, but she didn't think she could deal
with a rejection just now...
 
And Don's rapid and effective retaliation for the Enforcers thing had
shown that the FODs were not at all without resources...but their
staunch grounding in the "real world" where vampires were make-believe
left an opening they could ill afford.  She would, however, have to
make some overture of peace to Don now that the scales had been
balanced.  She didn't hold it against him--at least, not *too*
much--because she knew it had been a direct result of her association
with the Cousins, an association that could continue no further.
 
None had cast their lot with the good Captain; presumably he was
wisely staying out of the politics.  The mark of a great leader.
 
Which left one group, the one that had apparently rejected the
groaningly puniferous label of "Au-Naturelles."  Valerie was glad for
that, though it seemed entirely possible that Natalie herself would be
amused beneath her grimace by the joke.
 
From the beginning, despite her misgivings about the good doctor's
often-shortsighted efforts, this was where her sympathies had lain.
Back when she had been the original Orphan, she had been about to join
them--but the the adoption offers had come from the Cousins on both
sides, Janette's and LaCroix's, and Valerie had felt obliged to accept
one of them.  John had been so nice about it...but now she knew what
she had gotten herself into, and she was determined to get out.
 
So what better place to go for help and sympathy?
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Fit Of ....
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
A cousin with a conscience?  Sharon couldn't believe what she was
reading!  *Cousin* Valerie now declaring herself an au-NAT-eurelle
or whatever the hell we are!  If this was true LaCroix was not
going to like this.
 
Still, Sharon thought, good for her!  Their ranks got larger and larger
everyday while the cousins were diminishing rapidly.  Sharon smiled
contemptuously to herself.  "LaCroix must be just *so* impressed
with that lot!"  Even the cats looked up at the heavy amounts
of sarcasm in her voice.
 
<snicker>
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Fit Of ....
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
One of the Cousins defecting! To Natalie's flag no less.
 
Beth read the FKFIC list in disbelief, crossed her fingers and hoped *Uncle*
wouldn't go after the poor soul in retribution. Still, she wondered if it
might not be safer for the Cousin to go underground on the net. Surely there
must be some shadowy group building a resistance.
 
She sent a message, hoping to not get stabbed in the back for her faint hope.
*For a reporter, I sure am gullible, but any port in a storm...*
 
 
 To: vmeachum@freenet.fsu.edu
 From: lizbeth258@aol.com
 Subj: Welcome back to life...
 
If I can help or we can join forces, let me know....
 
liz
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Susan Garret's Torment Continues
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
 
     Susan was still recovering from that "unusual" Forever Knight episode.
Well, that's show-biz Susan.  No one said it was supposed to be fair.  No
one said that Uncle's retribution was going to fair either.  Unfortunately
for Susan, she took a long time to learn her lessons.  Sandye snickered.
That was just the way she liked it.
     It was a normal Friday night in Toms River.  Susan sat in her kitchen
at her computer; yes, that's right, no appliances, just a computer.  So this
is what I've come to, spending Friday night in front of a glowing screen,
reading my mail.  Maybe I can find a way to get these cousins back...Uncle
and his cousins, I must have my revenge.  But then she thought about it?
Was she just another of those get-a-life-geeks?  Pathetic. I wonder what
Janette is doing, but then, I don't have to wonder, do I.  She's living
the good life<or death, that is> with all the beautiful people of Toronto,
and here I sit.  This was just too much to take.  Susan lept up from the
desk, and running into the bedroom, got ready for a night on the town.
Such as it is, she thought.
     In her best black dress<considering she only has two> Susan drove her
red subaru down the sandy back roads of this lifeless shoreside town.  She
may have looked like she was going to the Raven, but she knew she'd probably
end up at the Holiday Inn bar, sitting beside some old guy and his cronies
talking about the latest in pacemaker modifications.  Susan closed her eyes,
and almost wishing herself away, cursed her boring little life.  She never
saw the hearse as she carreened into the other lane of traffic.
     Little red fender panels lay strewn across the road.  Glass was
everywhere, its shiny edges littering the otherwise deserted highway.
Susan pulled herself from the car; it was totaled.  Great.  When she wished
for an exciting change of pace, this was *not* what she meant.  She checked
herself, and finding everything just about where it should be, walked towards
the undamaged hearse.  She couldn't see in the darkened windows, but as she
got closer, the driverside door opened and out stepped a young woman, just
about her age.  Sandye took off her dark glasses and stared at Susan,
somewhat disheveled, but joyously, still alive.  For now, at least thought
Sandye.
      "Didn't see you coming, miss.  What you doing out in that get-up in
Toms River?  Don't you know this town is full of nothing but old-folks and
bad doctors."
     "And Morticians."  Susan never saw a female driving for a funeral home.
Well, at least it was a change of pace.  Susan always tried to look on the
bright side.  How annoying, thought Sandye. Uncle was right...this one was
too good.  Well, how long could that last?
     "Why don't I give you a ride?  Doesn't look like your car is going
anywhere.  Come on, its not like you got much of a choice, huh?"  Sandye
cackled just insanely enough to make Susan nervous, but not so bizarre that
she refused the ride.  They got in the hearse, and Sandye hit the pedal.
By the time they hit 95mph, Susan was feeling like she had just stepped into
an old episode of "Fright Gallery".  She turned to Sandye and demanded that
she stop the car right now.
     "Don't get yourself all worked up, Susan.  Sit back, enjoy the music.
You like Sting don't you?  This is my favorite song."  Sandye hit the cd
track changer and "Moon Over Bourbon Street" came on.  She started singing
along with the music: Susan sat there, her face the proverbial picture of
amused terror.
     "How did you know my name?  And how did you know I liked Sting?  Who
the hell are you?"  But Sandye never stopped her singing, and it got louder
by the second.  Susan noticed that there was a harmony, now where was that
coming from?  She turned, ever so slowly, ever so afraid, towards the back
of the car, and saw the coffin.  Emanating from the sleek, black box was a
very lovely baritone, somewhat scruffy, but extremely sexy voice.  It was
singing along to the music in a three-part harmony with Sandye and Sting.
Susan wished she had borrowed one of her grandmothers Depends.......
     "What on earth is going on?"  Susan's slight amusement had turned to
complete panic.  If she got out of this, she would never wish for anything
ever again.  She would never think about Janette, or what she was doing, or
what any of those crazy cousins were doing on the list.  Never again.
Just then the lid of the coffin raised up, and Uncle popped his ever-so sexy
head out of the box.
     "Is that a promise, Susan, my pet?  I *do* hope that's a promise you
intend to keep."
     Susan fainted.  She looked kind of cute slumped over like that. Uncle
looked at Sandye, still driving at warp speed.
     "Play that song again, will you, little one?"
     "Not again."  Sandye saw the glowing eyes staring back at her in an
unmistakable answer.  She clicked the cd back, and turned it on.  Again
     "Is that loud enough, Uncle?"
     "Perfect, my dear. Just keep playing it over and over.  Until I tell
you to stop."  LaCroix laid back down, and closed the lid over his face.
Sandye looked over at Susan, still slumped in her seat.
     "Thanks a lot Susan."  Tearing down sandy roads, the hearse, its
windows open, blared Sting for all to hear.  But no one could hear, because
everyone was deaf or had bad hearing aids.  This was sure a dead town.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Laurie Gets A Surprise!
 
 Janet(te) Dornhoff
 
 
Lisa's extreme caution has been giving Janet ideas...
 
*flashback*
"Hey, Josh, remember what you were telling me, about how to alter the
dot login file for somebody who's left their terminal running?"
 
Conversation s at the end of Space Development Society meetings
tended to stray far and wide, and the group had more than its fair
share of engineers and computer science majors.  Several of them
drifted over.
 
"A friend of mine has been letting out her password, 'cos we couldn't
get a real FTP site for some graphics, and I'd like to play a little
joke.  Is it possible to set some sort of bomb, and set it off by
remote later?"
*end flashback*
 
 
Janet giggled as she remembered the conversation that followed.  They'd
eventually adjourned to the computer lab to play with a certain psuvm
login.  Now, Janet sent a short e-mail message.
 
 
***********
 
 
 To: root@psuvm.psu.edu
 
I found the following program running on the machines in my lab.
Looks like a typical Trojan Horse.  Somebody ("lms5") is having
peoples logins emailed to him!
 
 
 To: lms5@psuvm.psu.edu
 
Expect to hear from your site manager.  Call off the Cousins, or I
promise, a lot more than this will follow!
 
Oh, and by the way, this message will self-destruct completely before
you get a chance to show it to anyone or print it out...  :-)
 
-A Friend of Nat
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Packages
 
 Sharon Scott
 
 
I was innocently working away, cataloging the newest pile of books on my
desk, when the thought struck me. It was a doozy. So I hopped up from my
desk, told the Special Collections Unit employees that I had an
appointment, and proceeded to begin implementation of the plan. It involved
boxes, and strapping tape, and a certain snailmail address in State
College, PA. And then I had another idea--as a "Knightie" (as someone so
crudely named us--I much prefer the term Nicholaaaahs), I had to decide
whether Nick would approve of this particular form of torture. Since the
Internet was no longer safe from Cousin Laurie's depradations and the phone
lines were suspect, a carrier bat (vampire, of course) seemed the next best
bet. The delightful little creature was soon winging its way to Toronto
from Texas, and after a short period of rest and recuperation, was on its
way back to China Spring. The message from Nick (written in disappearing
blood) gave impetus to the plan. It read "Damn the torpedoes. Schanke
aware of plan--approves if souvlaki included. Affectionately, Nick."
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Obligatory Title
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
 To: Beth Marchese <lizbeth258@aol.com>
 From: Sharon Himmanen <SHIHC@CUNYVM.BITNET>
 Subj: In the clear
 Date: January 24, 1994
 --------------------------------------------------------------------
 Dear Liz,
 
I just got off the phone with a friend in Toronto with connections
to the police force.  Consider your problems with them over.  They
have been alerted to the fact that someone is going around using
your name to stir up trouble.
 
Now, on to other matters:  I think I know a way for you to use
your occupation to *your* advantage as opposed
to theirs *and* keep at least one of the cousins busy and out
of the picture for a while at least.
 
Here's what I was thinking . . .
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Susan's Torment
 
 Valery King
 
 
Valery was beginning to feel safe again. She'd dutifully sent a
little froggy package off to China Springs, Texas, and made a few
obscene froggy phone calls to Sharon Scott, but so far had suffered
no retaliation from that quarter. Word among the cousins was that
she wasn't Sharon's only tormentor; the frog phobia made the poor
woman an easy target, and Sharon seemed busy with other cousins.
 
Thank goodness she hadn't chosen Don Bassingthwaite! She still
shuddered to think of "the other Valerie" being forced out of the
game, and the horrendous retaliation she was bound to suffer from
both sides.
 
Nor had Uncle contacted her directly; maybe she really WAS going to
come out of this with her psyche intact. In her saner moments she
wondered why she'd allowed herself to take sides; surely there
would have been some way to avoid it and still remain able to walk
around in the daylight. While it wasn't too bad torturing folks
with old Monty Python routines (after all, she'd been doing that to
her friends for years) she really didn't think she had it in her to
be *really* nasty. Besides, there was too much work to do; she was
behind in cataloging the historical Oregon maps. Maybe if she were
lucky, she'd be ignored by everyone.
 
Logging in to get the news from the front, she felt her blood
freeze. There it was, the message she had prayed not to receive.
 
 
     TO:   Valery King>kingv@ccmail.orst.edu
     FROM: lacroix@toronto.freenet.edu
     SUBJECT: get on with it
 
     Good job with Sharon. But you have not yet taken out your
     second victim. The instructions were to torment two followers,
     and so far you have not completed the task.
 
     I am not pleased. You have it in you to be a fine pupil of
     LaCroix, if you will only let yourself loose. So...DO IT!
 
     Uncle
 
 
The threat was clear. She'd better do something pretty quick, but
the creative juices just weren't flowing.
 
Taking the chance on using an open Internet line, she sent her SOS
to her partner, Karin.
 
     TO:      ISIS/HOSTESS>karinw@mdli.com
     FROM:    kingv@ccmail.orst.edu
     SUBJECT: HELP!!!
 
     Okay, partner, you got me into this. I wanted to remain
     neutral, but it became simply impossible once you'd locked me
     in the same room as our dear Uncle at your place Labor Day
     Weekend. LaCroix has never heard of Switzerland. So you've
     gotta help me out here. What particularly nasty thing can we
     do to Susan Garrett? Come up with something quick, or you're
     gonna be editing that zine ALL BY YOURSELF.
 
     Cousin Valery, shivering in her shoes
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 WAR?!
 
 Rebecca Rauscher
 
 
After being away from my account for only 2 days, I logged on this morning to
the pleasant message that I have 87 new mail messages.  When I finally
recovered from the shock, I went into denial.  "There must be a problem with
the system... someone's playing a practical joke, they've got the wrong
address, maybe I somehow got on a new mailing list..."
 
Eventually I got a directory of the contents of my mailbox, and discovered that
it was full of posts from FKFIC-L.  "Wow!  I've got my reading cut out for me
for weeks to come!"  Knowing how much I've always enjoyed all the wonderful
fiction posted to FKFIC about my favorite fictional characters, I was ecstatic.
As I began to make my way through the posts, though, my excitement quickly
waned.  Those wonderful, warm, polite people who have provided me with hours of
wonderful entertainment for the past year seem to have declared war on one
another, and the casualties multiplied with each new note I read.  And they
were still pouring in, faster than I could read them, my newmail folder
bombarded by attack after cruel-hearted attack.  I sat
helpless at my keyboard, wondering how such a thing could have happened, what
could have caused such good-natured, kind-hearted people to turn against one
another.  And then I saw the answer clearly.  It could be none other than the
evil LaCroix.  Only he could have caused such pandemonium, such chaos and
maliciousness where civility and friendliness had so long reigned.
At first, my intention had been to hide quietly in my college-life bubble,
silently watching the destruction.  But as I have seen innocent newbies forced
into the fray, valiantly declaring their allegiance to the side of goodness and
light, I feel that I can no longer sit idly by.  I feel compelled to reveal
that I have all along been a closet Knightie, and I now openly declare my
loyalty.  I am not yet sure what I will be able to contribute to this war
effort, but I sit at my keyboard with my fingers poised, ready to do my part
should my assistance be required.  To all the cousins out there, I have seen
your warnings to the others who have spoken up before me, and I have seen your
wicked work.  I know that I may suffer greatly for the stand I have chosen to
make.  But I am not afraid.  I will pray for you.  I will pray for us all.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Oh, Valerie!
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie sat down to pour over her notes. It was taking up quite a bit
of time but she had to keep pace with the war. "Hmm, damn newbies
starting to align themselves away from Uncle. This will have to be
stopped." She kept reading. "Beth still refuses to acknowledge the
strength of the cousins. Too bad, her defeat. But, I will still give her
sometime to change her mind." There it was near the end. The note that
struck fear in her. Valerie's defection. She couldn't, she wouldn't, how
could she lightly toss away her family? Her cousin needed a reminder
about what family means...
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
 To: vmeachum@freenet.scri.fsu.edu
 From: lms5@psuvm.psu.edu
 Subject: Family
 
   Dear Cousin,
 
      I really hope you were only joking about leaving the cousins. I
   mean how would Jack feel of suddenly his large wonderful collection
   of videos were to some how quite unexpectedly become...ERASED?
 
      Or say the phone company shut off your service and you wouldn't
   be able to call anyone about Con info or even log on from home?
 
      It is not to late to reconsider. All these things can easily be
   taken care of.
 
                                   Cousin Laurie
 
------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
  There, now maybe Valerie would come to her senses. Family is family and
she just isn't allowed to leave like that, especially when there was a
war going on.
 
  Laurie quickly sent off one more email message. She hoped Martha still
had her bulk video eraser handy.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 She Wouldn't
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
> -----------------------------------------------------------------------
 >To: vmeachum@freenet.scri.fsu.edu
 >From: lms5@psuvm.psu.edu
 >Subject: Family
 >
 > Dear Cousin,
 >
 >    I really hope you were only joking about leaving the cousins. I
 > mean how would Jack feel of suddenly his large wonderful collection
 > of videos were to some how quite unexpectedly become...ERASED?
 >
 >    Or say the phone company shut off your service and you wouldn't
 > be able to call anyone about Con info or even log on from home?
 >
 > It is not to late to reconsider. All these things can easily be
 > taken care of.
 >
 >                                 Cousin Laurie
 
Valerie stared at the message in dismay.  She couldn't--she
*wouldn't*!...
 
"No," she repeated to herself, eyes narrowed.  "She wouldn't."  Not
when her own tape culled from that collection had not yet been
secured...the retapes of _Ikewe_ and _Maximilain Glick_, and numerous
things she didn't even know the names of...
 
Peeking over her shoulder, Jack noted dryly, "Tell her to leave me out
of it, or I'll Shadow-walk her to a place where the sun never sets and
_Dracula: The Series_ never went off the air."
 
Valerie grinned in satisfaction.  Impending marriage to an Amber
gamemaster did have its advantages...this was, after all, not the only
game one could be pulled into unwillingly.
 
For now, it was reasonably safe to count Cousin Laurie as held at
bay.  Valerie could concentrate on other game...and if there were any
further noises from Laurie's quarter, she did have those nice
Halloween pictures to draw Trump portraits from.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 LaCroix's Musings
 
 John E. Dencoff
 
 
  LaCroix sat back, eyes alight with satisfaction over the War that he had
initiated.  The internet was positively screaming with traffic, and his
human servants were striking with surprise and ferocity.  He had taught them
well.  Some might even prove worthy of the gift of immortality one day.
 
  His plans were unfolding as expected.  With all of the internet traffic,
he could now access certain files and place a few commands here and there
without anyone being the wiser.  Even Nicholas and Jeanette's mortal friends
would be hard-pressed to undo the damage with the War keeping everyone
so occupied.
 
  Deftly, he typed in the commands that would gain him access to the Toronto
police computer system.  Nicholas would soon be in dire straits, and not even
Jeanette's "hacker" friend could undo it.  Nicholas's records would be wiped,
with a simple keystroke, and flags for the internal affairs department would
activate moments later.  His eyes gleamed in anticipation.  They would
question poor Nicholas, and he would have no answers.
 
        *               *               *
 
  John was pleased with this unexpected turn of events.  Somehow, he
had managed to incite a little infighting between the Ravenettes!  Without
any prompting!  This was rich, LaCroix would be so pleased!
 
  The underhanded attack on Tara had sown dissension in their ranks, and
Tara had attacked Monica!  What a sweet day this was turning out to be,
and Monica probably had no idea why Tara had attacked her.  Maybe that was
it:  Did Tara think Monica had betrayed her?  Hmmm...even better!  Perhaps
Monica would even strike back at Tara!
 
  As his programs continued to download really horrid poetry into Tara's
accounts, he sat back and thought about who his next victim might be.
Thus far, he had inflicted the Spellchecker from HELL on Barb, the god-awful
computer poems on Tara, and incited a little side conflict in the Ravenettes.
He hated doing it, of course, but LaCroix would be pleased.
 
  "Let's see...who shall be next?" he muttered, pulling out Uncle's List.
"Aha! Lisa McDavid!!  Maybe I'll just log into her computer and see what
she's been up to first..."
 
  Twenty minutes passed, and the programs his friend had installed were
quietly processing data...trying to figure out her login password.  Finally,
data began pouring onto the screen, but it wasn't Lisa's account.
 
  "Well, well...what have we here?" he thought.  "Good grief!  Now this is
a careful woman!  Somebody named Larry has laced her account with little
tripwires!  Hmmm...devious enough to be a cousin!"
 
  "Drat!  This won't do.  There's no way outta this, without seriously
endangering myself and alerting the authorities.  And Steve went on that
stupid vacation.  Looks like I'll have to pick somebody else."
 
  Logging out of Lisa's system, he pulled out Uncle's list again.  As he
scanned through the names again, one stood out in particular.  But this
person hadn't really chosen sides yet.  "Hmmm..." he wondered.  "I don't
really know her all that well, but this could be interesting...
 
 
 
  "So few can be tempted to the Dark side...perhaps she can be turned!"
he thought maliciously...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Another Warning
 
 Janet(te) Dornhoff
 
 
     Laurie logged on to her account, expecting another little
collection of triumphs from her cousins and herself.  It had been
such a pleasant little war so far.  Perhaps she should pick a few
more names, just to keep the creative juices flowing?
     Her account immediately alerted her that her mailbox was full.
 
     "Hmm, they _have_ been busy, haven't they?" she murmured.  She
called up a list of the messages in her mailbox.
     The "FK Wars" notes were there, but they were swamped by
hundreds of others, all with the same subject heading.  After reading
the first of these strange notes, Laurie began cursing.  The next few
confirmed it.  She exited the mail program, and went into nn.
     In each of the rec.arts.startrek.* newsgroups, someone had
posted a note, using her other account, with the subject heading,
"GET A LIFE, YOU GEEKS!!!!!"  The flood of mail which followed was
certainly not an unusual response.  But why had it been sent to
_this_ account?
     Laurie found it, eventually.  Someone had created a .forward
file, which sent all mail her IBM account received on to the PSUVM
account.  The mailbox of the second account was bare, except for one
message:
 
 To: Cousin Laurie
 From: A Friend of Nat
 
  This is your second warning.  Call off the Cousins.
 
 
     She's barely had time to read it before the message vanished,
without trace.  She quickly deleted the .forward file, but it would
be a real pain to delete the garbage she'd already received, because
she couldn't just empty the box without missing out on the FK Wars
stories.  And since the mailbox was full, she'd surely missed some
interesting attacks already.
     "'A Friend of Nat,' Hmm?" she growled.  She double-checked with
the Who's Who list she had assembled at the start of the war:
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
      Natalie's fans:
 
      Kathleen Coy       k.coy@genie.geis.com
      Sharon Himmanen    SHIHC@CUNYVM.cuny.edu
      Thom Denholm       thomd@atm.com
      Justin Kim         jlkim@netcom.com
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Case Of Professional Envy
 
 Karin Welss
 
 
 
Chapter One: In which there are conspiracies in California
----------------------------------------------------------
 
For once, Uncle LaCroix's request that Karin torment a Knightie was received
with glee. For the intended victim was Susan M. Garrett, FK fanfic writer
extraordinaire, and Karin knew that cousin Valery and Marian Gibbons (though
ostensibly a Bonnie Wee Corbie) would participate in the torment with hand-
rubbing glee. Bad enough that Susan had posted *one* brilliant story back in
October. But then Christmas had come 'round, and not one, not two, but FIVE
stories had been posted.
 
It was simply too much. And high time that Karin put an end to this usurper
and regained her professional pride.
 
Karin stood in her darkened kitchen, her face illuminated with an eerie
green glow from the microwave's LED clock. She picked up the phone, and dialled
her co-writer and partner in crime.
 
"Hi, Marian!" she said, exuberantly. "Say, remember when you told me that you
wanted to get even with Susan... well, I think the time has come. What's the
number of that Canadian agent of yours...?"
 
Karin listened carefully, and scribbled down a phone number with a Toronto
area code.
 
She grinned evilly into the darkness. This was going to be *too* easy.
 
                                * * *
 
Chapter Two: In which the weather is a topic
--------------------------------------------
 
Susan Garrett emerged, shivering, from her car. The trip down the Turnpike had
been simply dreadful. She viciously kicked the snow from her porch steps as
she jammed her housekeys into a frozen doorknob. Why hadn't she moved to
California. Sure, they had earthquakes... but they were earthquakes in sunny,
80-degree weather... in January. Susan sighed, and wiggled the key back and
forth in the lock. Eighty degree weather in January, in the Northern Hemisphere?
That was positively unnatural!
 
The lock *was* frozen. Susan sighed again. This time it sounded more like a
whimper. Then she happened to look down and spy the envelope tucked almost
out of sight under her door. Susan braved removing her insulated mittens, and
pried the envelope out using her fingernails.
 
She didn't recognize the return address on the envelope: The Cross Agency,
1501 Yonge Street, Toronto, Ont. Canada.  Susan ripped it open eagerly, and
rapidly scanned the contents.
 
A huge smile broke over her face, and she gave a little dance of joy on
the snow-covered porch. The unbelievable miracle had happened!!!
 
                        * * *
 
Chapter Three: In which thanks are received, and encouragement given
 
"Why yes," Valery was saying in her sweet, pleasant voice. The phone line
was positively humming with Susan's excitement. "As editor of the fanzine, I
felt that your work deserved wider recognition. So my co-editor Karin sent
your work on to an agent in Canada."
 
"So, you heard from the Agency?" Valery paused, glad that Susan was 2000 miles
away, and unable to see the evil smirk spreading itself across her face. "My,
that *was* a quick response. What did they say?"
 
"You're not going to believe this, Valery," Susan exclaimed. "But Tri-Star
wants to option my story, 'All That's Best of Dark and Bright'-- for the
second season of FK!!"
 
"That's wonderful news," encouraged Valery. "I can't wait... to see that
episode aired!"
 
After a few more pleasantries, Valery rang off. She immediately called Karin.
"Okay, everything's in place from my end," she confirmed. "Now let's see
what Uncle can do..."
 
                        * * *
 
Chapter Four: In which dirty laundry is aired
 
<several months later>
 
The crowd of Forever Knight fans was gathered around the television in
Susan Garrett's house. There was an atmosphere of breathless anticipation as
the teaser began to roll.
 
The opening shot showed a lingerie-clad stripper dying in Nick's arms. Susan's
face went white with dismay. "Hey, that wasn't in my story!" she protested.
 
It got worse.
 
Susan was sniffing audibly by the time the car chase sequence aired. But,
she told herself reassuringly, it couldn't possibly get worse than the
the lingerie-clad stripper!
 
Susan was unfortunately mistaken.
 
She broke into open sobs at the sight of Alexandra, the Dingbat Vampire,
helping Nick fight the Great Fire in 17th Century London.
 
Keen ears could detect a sniffle or two coming from Lisa McDavid's corner as
well. The sequence where Nick saved Alexandra from the flames, abandoning
Janette to her fate, might have played a small role in Lisa's suddenly
anguished expression.
 
Finally, it was over. the closing credits rolled over a still of Toronto at
sunset. People began to get up and leave, snickering quietly as they retrieved
coats and handbags.
 
"How could they do this to me?" wailed Susan. "This isn't what I wrote. And my
name is in the credits! People will think *I* wrote this!?"
 
"There, there," comforted Marian Gibbons, managing to keep an innocent
expression in her hazel eyes as she handed Susan a hanky and patted
her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure my agent did his... best... for you.
That's just the way things go in show biz sometimes."
 
Across the room, Karin Welss and Valery King looked at each other with
triumph shining from their eyes. Sometimes, working for LaCroix had its
rewards.
 
        -- The End--
 
 
Note: "All That's Best of Dark and Bright" is a real story, and it's in the
      archives. Gritting my teeth, and turning green with envy, I have to
      admit that it's one of the top-ten FK stories posted since the list was
      established.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Wrath Of Lisa
 
 Lisa McDavid
 
 
TO: Merlin@Nimue.Com
 FROM:D020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 Subject: I thought you ought to know
 
Larry, one of these days I'm going to lose my temper with you. I don't
care if you did lose your southern accent in the Army and the NSA, Mama
raised you better than to leave town without saying good-bye to Valerie!
You don't deserve for me to forward this, but as Mama always said, blood
is thicker than water. (Although I'm just glad she never had a chance to
see you prove it.)
 
<return path deleted>
 From: VMEACHUM@Freenet.SCRI.FSU.EDU
 TO: D020214@UNIVSCVM.CSD.SCAROLINA.EDU
 Subject: Larry
 
Lisa, please just past this on to Larry without reading it -- Knight's
honor?
 
 
 <One blank screen later>
 
Larry, darling, please, please come back! I take back everything I ever
said -- I was only teasing about computer nerds. It's you I want, you,
you, you!!!!
 
Just come back and I'll run straight into your arms. Jack was only a
passing fancy. As soon as I saw you, Larry, snookums, I knew it had to
be you.
 
<stuff refused by the Internet on account of content>
 
Yours Forever,
Val
 
Lisa pressed send and sat back, snickering. <Mama tried to raise a southern
lady, but it didn't take, not where my no-good little brother's concerned.
Help Valerie without asking my permission, will he? And as for Val-Goody
Two Shoes --erie ... She'll never be rid of him, unless I tell him I lied.
Li'l Brother's got the persistence, and the brains when smitten, of a
lovesick moose.>
 
 
 To: ALUCARD@BORGO.EDU
 From: D020214@UNIVSCVM.CSD.SCAROLINA.EDU
 Subject: Yes, it's me
 
Thought I didn't know about this address, didn't you? Well, Larry spills
everything to a sympathetic ear as soon as he's got a snootful of
Jack Daniels. What he'll do if Jack either goes to AA or finds a different
dive to stagger out of late, I don't know.
 
Most recently, Larry spilled a handy-dandy little routine for tracing
anyone's e-address anywhere. The NSA would be very unhappy
if they knew he'd put me on the tryout list, but then, who's telling?
 
Listen, darling, cover stories are all very well, but if I ever find out
you've been laughing at me with one of the cousins again, you'll regret
it. Larry isn't my only useful relative ... I said no living immediate
family, remember?
 
And while we're exchanging billets doux, cheri, I'd better warn you against
trying to log in to my account either at home or at work. Flaming isn't
a concept limited to angry listmembers, you know. You remember that little
April Fools' Day Joke you were developing for Nick? Larry loved it. He
made a little adaptation for me. Something about the lack of body heat
on a keyboard causing the terminal to explode and catch fire?
 
I know I've been teasing you about being hot, but I don't think what will
happen to anyone who tries to get my password is quite what either of
us had in mind.
 
Yes, of course I'm twisted, devious and completely without principles.
That's what keeps you coming back, you dear, crazy boy!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Laurie's Love
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Personal Ads
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------
 To all you Clark Kents out there, let this Lois Lane bring out your inner
Superman. Don't just drool over the 1-900 ads, live them. This ace reporter
will uncover your deepest darkest secrets and let you relive them in the
privacy of our little twosome. All offers considered.
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"Cousin" Laurie stared at the personal ad in surprise. It included her home
phone number and address. She could scream.
 
When she had gotten home from her long day of following the latest news in
the war on the list, her answering machine was blinking endlessly, she had
hand delivered mail stacked up outside her door and bad renditions of "I Got
You Babe" being sung outside her bedroom window.
 
She had tentatively opened the first envelope she got her hands on. Out
tumbled fur-lined handcuffs, a whip and a picture of a scrawning kid who
couldn't have been more than 16 in boxershorts and a Superman cape. The
scrawled note said: Lois: Re: your personal ad in today's paper.
 
She ripped the newspaper open to find out what he was talking about while her
answering machine proffered one outrageous offer after another.
 
But there it was. Her phone number. Her address. And this ad. All that
reporter imagery. Three guesses who that was from.
 
The growing chorus of men from the planet scum switched tactics. They were
now singing "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You" using bad Elvis
impersonation voices.
 
The doorbell rang. Laurie snuck up on the door and, leaving the chain on it,
peeked out. The kid was clutching dead weeds in one hand. There was enough
grease in his hair to oil a car. His face looked like a giant acne sore. He
grinned. His teeth were railroad tracks.
 
"Is this Lois?"
 
Laurie slammed the door and tried to block out the off-tune rendition of
"Angel in the Centerfold."
 
 
Beth chuckled evilly as she hung up the phone. She would have to thank
Sharon properly for the evil idea. It just so happened she had a very close
friend from college working at the local daily in "Cousin" Laurie's area.
Paul had assured her that no one would be able trace the ad to him or to her.
He had logged on under the general password for the Classified Department.
That would mean any one of the 20 people working there. Of course, he was a
reporter and would NEVER stoop to such a prank. *Use my name to send out false
information, will she? Since "Uncle" is protecting her, no doubt she'll get out
of this just fine, after a huge amount of aggravation.......*
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Two Birds With One Barney
 
 Margaret A. Newman
 
 
Toronto, Coroner's office
 
Natalie pulled off her rubber gloves, and tossed them into the disposal.
She washed her hands thoroughly. She walked over to her desk, and with
a heavy sigh, sank down into the seat. Her desk was piled high with
paper work. It had been such a long, busy week that she had gotten
seriously behind. Today was her second 24 hour shift this week. She
stared at the paperwork, knowing that she should work on it. Groaning,
she rested her head on the nearest stack, and within seconds, she
was asleep.
 
"This just came in..." Grace came into the room pushing a gurney. There
was a huge box on top of it, no corpse. "Oh!"
 
"What? What?" Natalie jumped up, her eyes wide, glancing wildly around
the room.
 
"I'm sorry! I didn't know you were asleep." Grace apologized.
 
"It's okay. I just took a quick break. I'm done with this one. Can you
wheel it down to Harry?" Natalie yawned, grabbed a fresh gown, and put
it on. "What's this?"
 
"It's from a lab stateside. Evidently, it's very important." Grace
handed the officious looking letter to Nat. "Oh, and Nick called. He
said not to bother you, but when I had a chance, to let you know that
he'll be by later. Is something going on? He sounded worried."
 
"Oh, nothing more than usual." Natalie sighed. Probably more about
LaCroix and those disgusting 'cousins'.
 
The room became silent once again after Grace left. Natalie used one
of her scalpels to open one end of the box. Special request, eh?
The letter did not say what the box contained, but that she was asked
to be the one to do the autopsy. The letter didn't say much else.
She shook her head. Why couldn't she have gone into something nicer,
like interior decorating?
 
Once the box was open, and a layer of plastic bubbles removed, a
horrible smell wafted from it. Nat wrinkled her nose, and grabbed a
face mask. She pulled out some thermal wrapping. The smell got worse.
She glanced down into the box to see a dark shape neatly wrapped in
plastic. Nat sighed, took up her trusty scalpel and cut the box down
the long sides, laying the box open. Standing back finally, surveying
the dark purple shape in the plastic wrap, Natalie blinked in stunned
horror. It was- it was- BARNEY!
 
The horrid smell came from diapers. Used diapers. Very poopy, very
USED diapers tucked neatly at Barney's feet.
 
"Get a grip." She said to herself.
 
Bravely, she stepped towards it. There was a note stuck to Barney's
large belly by means of a child's plastic barbarian sword. The note
said:
 
"Happy Carving!"
 
Natalie stepped back in growing consternation, and came up against
something solid- she shrieked, and whirled. Her faux karate stance
almost got a grin out of Nick.
 
"A little stressed, aren't we?" He asked.
 
"Stressed?" She snapped, standing straight, jerking at her garments
with irritation. "Lookit what these cousins of yours have down now!"
 
"My cousins?" Nick nearly squeaked. He approached the foul smelling
Barney with caution. "They don't belong to me. They belong to LaCroix."
 
 
                        *       *       *
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 The Bronx
 
It had been a long day for Sharon. Tired and hungry, she entered her
apartment with a sigh of relief. It wasn't just her home, it was her
sanctuary. She turned on the lights as she walked into the living room,
dumped her purse and flipped on the stereo. Within minutes, she had
changed into comfortable clothing, popped a tv dinner into the microwave,
and wandered back into the living room. She sipped her glass of wine
as she considered which video to watch this evening. Her favorites
were from a television series that had been cancelled. Luckily, she
had taped them. You couldn't buy them, and few of her friends had
even liked the show. They were a great treasure to her.
 
She chose a favorite episode, put the tape in, and got it all ready
before putting it on pause. She went and got her now bubbling supper,
settled in her favorite chair and started the tape. She ducked her
head to get a bite of beef tips when she heard,
 
"I love you, you love me, we are a happy family..."
 
Sharon's head jerked up and she saw in horror a large purple dinosaur
dancing across her tv screen. Oh, lord! Oh, sh-
 
The tv dinner was tossed aside as Sharon ran to kneel infront of her
vcr. She stopped the tape and popped it out. It had the right label.
She had no Barney tapes! She put the tape back in, pressed play and
hoped that she had pressed the wrong button before.
 
"I love you, you love me, we are a happy family..."
 
"No!" Sharon cried in horror. She rewound to a previous episode on
the tape. She pressed play...
 
"I love you....."
 
"No, no!" She smacked the top of the vcr. She ejected the tape, and
grabbed another one. It was her favorite Steven Segal movie, "Above
the Law". She half sobbed, half shuddered, waiting waiting... The
credits were for the movie. There came the opening scene. Maybe it
was all a terrible mistake?
 
"I love you, you love me....."
 
"Aaaaahhhhhh!!!!" Sharon screamed. "No Barney, No Barney!"
 
Another and another tape she put in, watched with huge saucer-shaped
eyes as Barney danced and sang tape after tape.....
 
That is the way they found Sharon Himmanen the next day. Tapes all around
her. Some of them with the film actually pulled out. Her hair a wild mess,
her eyes crazed and intense. They had to drag her away. She screamed and
kicked.
 
"No Barney, no Barney!" She was heard chanting at the top of her lungs
as they drove her away in an ambulance.
 
No one noticed the quiet, average looking woman watching from across the
street. She had a funny, quirky smile on her lips as she turned and
walked away. She got into the rental car, and headed for the airport.
Yes, her work here was done. Now onto Hayward before heading home to
thaw out....
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Hilary's Torment
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
       It had been a long time since Hilary had heard from any of her
 friends on the FK list.  Too long.  This war that the cousins started,
 for what she thought, was merely their own amusement, was just about
 ready for a meltdown.  Everyday she logged on at work, and everyday she
 had to sift through a barrage of nasty notes and prying posts, none of
 which came from her most trusted friends.  Where were they?  She read
 about poor Monica: God that Cousin Sandye was a true LaCroixian zealot.
 Laughing at poor Monica, and letting her think that Uncle had turned
 her...somebody should give her some of her own medicine.  Well, maybe if
 she could get in touch with Monica, they might find some way to fix her
 little red wagon.  Not unlike poor Susan's little red sub-ster.  But
 where was Monica? Hilary had to know.  After much deliberation, she
 decided to take a little trip, actually not so little, to the United
 States.  It would be a long ride from Queensland, but after all, a
 friend was at stake.
       Hilary packed a few important items in her lovely green
 suitcase, put on her lovely green jacket, with matching green pants
 of course, and set off in her in recently paid-off car, and
 sped off.  She never saw her mother run out of the house, waving her arms
 in frantic alarm, trying to warn her poor unknowing daughter that a storm
 heading this way.
        Sandye stood in the middle of the walkway that
 hung below the Burdekin River Bridge.  She knew Hilary had to cross this
 bridge, one of the longest in Australia, in order to get the airport.
 The afternoon sky was changing fast: a wall of storm divided the horizon,
 and the river rushed in raging torrents below.  What a break, thought
 Sandye.  Hilary would be scared out of her mind crossing the bridge in
 weather like this...once as a child she had barely escaped this bridge
 with her life during a storm such as this. Did Uncle have some secret
 power over the weather too?  Probably not, but with Uncle, you just never
 knew.  Why he wanted her to make sure Hilary got to America was a mystery
 to Sandye; what was so important about that one, she had asked him.
     "Now when did I say that you needed to know everything?  Just take my
 word for it, little one, and get the job done! " Uncle bared his fangs,
 just a little bit, Sandye immediately got the message.
      "Anything you say, Uncle."
      "Now that's what I want to hear."
 Well, mine is not to question why, mine is but to do or....Sandye
 stopped short of that last thought.  Hilary's car was approaching now.
 Sandye saw the tag number through the binoculars--443 BPP--yes, right on
 schedule.
     The wind blew black clouds past Hilary as she drove towards the bridge.
 How could this happen, now, of all times, when she had to get to New Mexico
 to reach Monica--she had no choice--she must cross that bridge.  Steeling
 herself against her fears, she plowed on through the fog and oncoming rain.
 Well at least no one else was on the bridge.   Or so she thought.
     There, on the shoulder of the bridge, was a huge green sign.  "FREE
CHOCOLATE CAPPACINO".  What?  Here on the bridge?  In a storm?  Things are
getting stranger by the minute, she thought.  Well, what could it hurt?
As an addict of both chocolate and cappacino, Hilary found herself drawn to
the small stand, and stopping her car, she quickly got out and raced towards
the lovely green sign.
     No one was there.  It was deserted.  There was a note hanging from the
edge of the sign, that said, "Had to leave...family emergency. Help yourself
to anything, and leave the money in the jar.  The management"  Hilary looked
around.  Nothing.  Oh well, I have a long trip ahead, and that storm looks
cold and nasty, something warm would do just nicely.  She found a cup and
opened the tall, metallic thermos that housed the hot, brown liquid, and
poured herself a large portion in the cute green cup.  Then
she squirted loads of whipped cream on it, and topped it all off with a
healthy dose of chocolate shavings.  Hilary was almost salivating.  She took
some money from her pocket and deposited it in the jar.
     Racing back to her car, she noticed that the door was ever-so
slightly ajar.  Had she forgotten to close it in her hurry?  Probably, but
now the seat was wet with rain...thank goodness she had this nice warm
beverage.  Reaching behind her to get something to sit on, she found a small
black box sitting on the floor behind her seat.  What was this?  Something
her mother had forgotten to take out of the car?  She put it down beside her
and fixed her seat.  The storm was almost upon her.  Gunning it with all
speed possible, Hilary made it across the bridge in time.
     Sipping her lovely drink, from a lovely green cup, she remembered the
box, still there on the seat beside her.  She lifted up the lid, thinking it
was probably some sculpting tools her mother had forgotten.  Mom was such a
scatter brain sometimes.  As she pulled off the top of the box, 20 or so
lovely green snakes slithered out, and Hilary yipped in fear and
trepidation.  She hated snakes...no matter how lovely green they were.
Who did this? she cried. Then she saw the note in the bottom of the box.
Cautiously she lifted the lovely green paper up to the level of her eyes,
and read.....
     Just thought I'd give you some company for your long ride.  Too bad the
storm didn't get you.  But be careful, if I were you I'd turn around right
now...you never know what lies ahead...or behind....oh, and Hilary, you
overpaid me for the cappacino...thanks for the tip!.....Cousin Sandye-rah
     "I'll get that b%$@@^% !!!! She thinks I'm going to turn around, well
fat chance!   Then Hilary noticed there was a snake winding its way up her
leg...and it had something attached to it..a piece of paper?  What now,
Sandye....oooh, you're going to get yours!
      I'm coming Monica......" and with the determination of a very
large bull-dog, Hilary headed for the airport, chucking little green snakes
out of her window along the way.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Suppose They Gave A War...
 
 Lisa McDavid
 
 
And LaCroix came? At least, I presume that's what's going on. I logged
into readerlist this morning and this thing was waiting for me:
 
 > To: Lisa McDavid <D020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 > From: Bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 > RE: The Brethren of Wicked Warren
 >
 > BE FORWARNED!
 > This war has gotten out of hand, and the powers that be have decided to
 > shake up the accepted order, and see what floats to the top.  Its time
 > time for Revolution, my children.  You have been chosen because of your
 > loyalty.  This chance will not come around again.  Take heed and join
 > the Brethren, here lies the only protection.  Know that you are being
 > watched.  All around is not what it seems.  Come in before its too
 > late...
 >
 > Bigwig
 
What is this, the Enforcers striking out on their own? Inquiring minds
want to know!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Allegiance
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
Alright, I cannot stay out of this any longer.
 
I hereby declare my allegiance for the right side:
 
   - the obvious eventual winners in this vicious infighting
   - the undoubted champions of everlasting light and harmony
   - the people in the white hats
   - the KNIGHTIES   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
YAY! [Sound of the multitudes cheering and saluting me in the
distance]
 
So, take THAT [sound of my golden glove hitting the glossy marble
floor] you, you, you, you .....
 
  You gaudy, gorgeous, glamorous, gnattish Ravenettes
  You gateaux-munching, glutenous, gormandizing Shanke-ites
  You gaby, galootish galahs of Die-Hards
  You giddy, gasteropods of grave-robbing Natalies
  You gelid, ghoulish, gallow-loving, gruesome Cousins
 
You are all nothing but gauche gangsters, a gaggle of garrulous gaga
geese, and the Knighties shall: gag you; nay garotte you; have your
guts for garters and chase you back to your garrets where we shall
goal you for all eternity.  Be on your guard, you are all fair
game!  You may try and galvanise your galaxy of followers, but it
shall be in vain, you cannot gainsay our victory.  The genteel,
gallant, graceful geniuses of Knighties shall soon have you
all genuflecting to the light.
 
Give up now while you still have a chance!
 
War?  You aint seen nothin' yet!
 
Hilary (confidently thumbing her nose at the opposition from the
        safety of the other side of the globe)
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Ultimatum Received--
 
 Susan M. Garrett
 
 
Oh, help!  After being bloody (and mostly unbowed)
from attacks from two sides, I received the following
message:
 
 >;To: susang2522@aol.com)
 >From: Bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 >RE: The Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
BE FORWARNED! This war has gotten out of hand,
and the powers that be have decided to shake up the
accepted order, and see what floats to the top.  Its time for
 Revolution, my children.  You have been chosen
because of your loyalty. This chance will not come
around again.  Take heed and join the Brethren, here
lies the only protection.  Know that you are being
watched.  All around is not what it seems.  Come
in before its too late...
 
Bigwig>
 
I've been noticing other posts on this list with this name.
Do you think we recipients could get together and discuss
options?  Is this serious?  Should I be concerned?
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Monica's Revenge
 
 Monica Seiler
 
 
     Monica was momentarily paralyzed by fear.  She could hear the blood rushing
in her ears.  It was all going to end soon if she didn't think fast.  A slight
smile tugged at her lips.  She closed the nearly imperceptible space between
herself and LaCroix.
     "Ah LaCroix!  Je t'aime, mon chere!  Make me one of you.  I promise I will
not let you down," she whispered so only LaCroix could hear.
     LaCroix savagely pushed Monica across the room.  She hit the wall with a
resounding crash and slid to the floor.  Sandye walked over to the piano and
sat down on the bench.
     "I told you that it was a bad idea to anger uncle.  None of this would
be necessary if you had listened," said Sandye.  Monica used the piano to
pull herself up.
     "I trusted you!" said Monica venomously.  "How could you betray me like
this?"
     "Actually, it was easy.  You set yourself up for it," stated Sandye.
"I just pushed you in the right direction.  Well, actually, uncle pushed you."
     Monica glared daggers at her former-friend, trying to see how she could
have been so *stupid*.  LaCroix smiled evilly.
     "It has been fun, but Sandye and I must be going.  And you are going to
take a permanent nap."  LaCroix picked her up by the shoulders and was about
to indulge in a late night snack, when Janette burst back in.
     "LaCroix, this has gone far enough!"  she exclaimed.
     "Ah, so our kitten seems to have claws," he said.  "Come come, Janette,
we both know that no mere mortal matters to one of us.  Surely you..."
     "Put her down LaCroix!  I am warning you.  Put her down."  Janette
circled him bravely.  "There is bigger game afoot.  Does the name Bigwig
ring any bells?"
     Monica felt the world go black at the same time as she hit the floor.
The voices faded along with the dull ache in her shoulders.
 
Monica's "dream":
     She had turned on the computer earlier that morning to check her mail.
Monica knew that Tara was still hacked off about the awful poetry that Cousin
John had so cruelly sent to her.  Maybe she had calmed down enough to have
a little email conversation.
 
             1 Message for Russia
 
Her mailer said.
     "That's strange.  Where is everyone?  And who is this?"  she thought.
The mail was from someone called Bigwig.  She hit the spacebar and waited
for the message to display.
 
 To: Janette (russia@triton.unm.edu)
 From: BIGWIG@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE: The Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
BE FORWARNED!
This war has gotten out of hand, and the powers that be have decided to
shake up the accepted order, and see what floats to the top.  It's time for
Revolution, my children.  You have been chosen because of your loyalty.
This chance will not come around again.  Take heed and join the Brethren,
here lies the only protection.  Know that you are being watched.  All
around is not what it seems.  Come in before it's too late.
 
Bigwig
 
     Monica thought this was a particularly odd message, but decided to
save it.  You never know what you might find useful in a time of war.
 
Meanwhile:
     Hilary's airplane had landed at the Albuquerque International Airport.
She had been worried because she had not heard from Monica in three days.
And, with all the unusual activity amongst the list members, Hilary felt that
it would be best if she flew out to New Mexico for a first hand look.
     When she arrived at the house, Hilary was surprised to see that all three
cars were gone.  "Maybe she just went up to the Ranch for the weekend," she
thought. She shrugged as she approached the front door.  "Well, you're here
now.  You might as well stay for a few days."
     Something wasn't right.  Hilary noticed that the door was hanging at an
odd angle and the dogs were cowering on the front porch.  Without further ado,
she thrust the front door open and ran into the entry way.  It was hard to miss
the shattered glass all over the floor and the ruined furniture.  But had the
dogs not followed her inside, and sniffed and barked at one of the messily
discarded heaps of furniture, she would not have seen Monica amidst the rubble.
     Hilary cleared away the pieces of broken chair and table that partly
covered Monica.  Not for the first time was Hilary thankful for her medical
training.  Nothing seemed to be broken or in need of immediate attention.
     "Monica, come on.  You need to wake up.  Come on."
     Monica slowly opened her eyes and groaned.  She put a hand over her
eyes and took a deep breath.
     "Aw, did anyone catch the license number of that truck?"  she asked.
"I feel like skitah!"
     "Well, you look it.  What happened?"
     "Hilary?  What are you doing here?"  Monica asked.  She graced Hilary
with her world-famous blank stare.
     "I came to make sure you were okay.  I was worried when I hadn't heard
from you in three days.  What happened?"
     "LaCroix...Sandye...I was set up!"  Monica sat up suddenly.  "Where
is that little...."
     Hilary kept her from getting up too quickly.  "You just sit still for
a minute.  LaCroix did this?"
     "Yes.  And I think Janette was here too.  It all happened so quickly."
Monica looked at Hilary.  Anger had replaced her vague expression.  "I need
your help.  Do you remember seeing a post from Bigwig?"
     "That's why I'm here.  I was worried when I hadn't heard from you, so
I thought I'd come see what was going on.  What do you need me to do?"
     "For now, I just need you to listen.  I have a plan."
 
     Before Monica and Hilary did anything else, they wanted to check the
list for any new activity.  They logged into Monica's account and waited
for ELM to come up.
 
     235 Messages for russia
 
     The first message caught Hilary's eye and she said, "I think this is
what we're looking for."
     Monica called up the message and they both read it.
 
 To: Janette (russia@triton.unm.edu)
 From: bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE: Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
The time is at hand.  Now that you have been warned, you must take action.
There are others out there, just waiting for you to join with them in this
revolution.  A new order must be established, and the old one ushered out
along with the ashes it leaves behind.  You are not alone.  You have many
friends.  But your enemies are watching...cousins all.  But be careful.  One
that wears the enemy's colours will be your guide to freedom.  Can you hear
my Call?  Blackavar, Fiver, Kee-ha, Blackbrain, Hazel, and the General...be
swift.  Trust in each other, or else all is lost.
 
Bigwig
 
     Monica saved the message to the same folder as the first and looked at
Hilary.
     "I think I have an idea.  It's time to go to Toronto to chat with my
namesake," Monica said as she logged out.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 On Dasher, On Dancer
 
 Lisa McDavid
 
 
On Prancer and Blixen -- oops, wrong rhyme. But ....
 
All I did was make an innocent little login from my desk in lieu of a
break (LaCroix, if you're responsible for the sudden infliction on
me of four Russian pamphlets in pre-revolutionary orthography on
*microfilm* complete with a series statement, which means lots of
extra research and forms to fill out because the Library of Congress
hasn't done anything from it, not to mention an author with an
abbreviated first name that could be any of several common ones ...
you Zvolovch, you'll wish Nick's aim had been better the first time!)
 
Anyway, this *second* message was in my reader! "Blackavar, Fiver,
etc. .." But there are only two enforcers, so I can't be right
about that conjecture. Does anyone know if this is a reference of
some kind? It sounds like fantasy, but all I know is, it's not
Tolkien or Narnia.
 
 To: d020214@univscvm.csd.scarolina.edu
 From: BIGWIG@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE:   Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
The time is at hand.  Now that you have been warned, you must take action.
There are others out there, just waiting for you to join with them in this
revolution.  A new order must be established, and the old ushered out along
with the ashes it leaves behind.  You are not alone.  You have many friends.
But your enemies are watching...cousins all.  But be careful.  One that
wears the enemies colors will be your guide to freedom.  Be wise my
children.  Can you hear my call?  Blackavar, Fiver, Kee-ha, Blackbrain,
Hazel, and the General...be swift.  Trust in each other, or else all
is lost.
 
BIGWIG
 
Margaret, John and Laurie, may I remind you that I know where all of
you live? And in two cases, I know where you work. Think about it.
Does the number 17 ring any bells? Bigwig or big anyone, the bigger
they come, the harder they fall!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
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;040    $aIYU$cIYU
;049    $aIYUU
;100 1  $aScott, Sharon Sue, $d1950-
;245 10 $aRetribution : $b collected works / $c by Sharon Scott.
;260    $aChina Spring, TX : $b Amphibian Press, $c 1994.
;300    $a482 p. : $b ill., maps ; $c 32 cm.
;500    $a"January 25, 1994." -- Cover.
;504    $aIncludes bibliographical references (p. 480-482)
;505 0  $aSlugs by mail : trillions descend on Corvallis, OR -- The Singer'
;dilemma : laryngitis and the inability to remember lyrics -- Desktop
;publishing : irretrievability of Forever Net text -- Mudslides : their
effects upon pink-and-black townhouses.
 600 10 $aKing, Valery.
 600 10 $aWelss, Karin.
 650  0 $aSlugs $z Oregon $z Corvallis.
 650  0 $aLaryngitis.
 650  0 $aDesktop publishing $z Oregon $z Corvallis.
 650  0 $aDesktop publishing $z California $z Dublin.
 650  0 $aMudslides $z California $z Dublin.
 650  0 $aTownhouses, Demolition of $z California $z Dublin.
 
 -------------------------------------------------------------
 BWAHAHAHAHAH yourself!
 -------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Are You Insane?: Part 1
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
 To: CATMCLAH@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 From: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
 Subject: are you insane????
 
I just set my list to nomail (I have no idea whose side is whose) so I
can't tell what you just sent. Tell me who you just got us allied to???
 
Blue Lights,
(an extremely confused) Selma
 
 To: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
 From: catmclah@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 Subject: Re: are you insane????
 
Yes I think I must be certifiable.  I logged on at work on Monday
morning to find 250 mysterious messages - most with the word "war" in
the subject line.  At first I thought someone was doing an Orson
Welles number on us.  But no!  After plugging determinedly through
all the messages (don't ask how much work I did yesterday) I finally
realized that I still didn't know what was going on.
 
Laurie, Margaret, and John seem to have formed a pact with LaCroix!
Yes, that is right.  How is this possible?  I thought this was just a
TV series.  I'm starting to feel like I'm in an episode of "The
Twilight Zone", a shiver just ran down my spine and goosebumps erupted
all over my body.  Someone posted a Call to Arms and said everyone
HAD to take sides.  Against what/who?  What's happening? Then I saw a
message that said "pretty much everyone on this list is fair game"
There was also some very strange messages about crunchy frogs and
computers exploding.  Whoever these people calling themselves the
cousins are they seem to have access to all sorts of personal
information on people.  They even knew what colour someone's phone
was!  There was a "who's who" list posted but thankfully our names
are not on it.  At first I thought we might be safe if we just stayed
lurking (a nice dark closet to hide in sounded just about right), but
maybe not.  Should I unsubscribe now (I don't want to get involved,
I'd rather sit on the fence, its safer here) before its too late?
Or should we choose sides.  I think I'll try and get up the courage
to commit ourselves to one of the cliques.  After all there is
supposed to be protection in numbers.
 
Blue lights, Hilary
 
 
 To: CATMCLAH@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 From: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
 Subject: re: are you insane???
 
Uh, who are the cousins, who did we join and what did I get into?
 
Blue Lights,
Selma
 
(p.s. did you say you'd found the copy or is it still with your class notes?)
 
 To: saselman@ultrix.uor.edu
 From: catmclah@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 Subject: re: are you insane???
 
Well, as far as I can work out there have been (unknown to us) some
cliques amongst the list members.  Apparently the "cousins" are the
people who bow down to LaCroix.  Seems everyone is having to choose
which "characters" (at least I used to think they were just
characters) they identified with. I had a long think about it as the
situation seemed to be getting more and more serious.  I asked
myself if I could really remain unaffected because of the tyranny of
distance?  At first it seemed so, as the more famous listmembers were
targeted for attack.  And then, suddenly, no one was safe.  Hundreds
of fellow lurkers were being forced to choose sides.  What to do?
Should I cravenly give in to the ancient power of the evil Cousins?
Or should I take a stand on the side of the light for once and for
all?  I went and fortified myself with a huge mug of cappucino and an
enormous slice of mud cake.  This was a big decision, I needed all
the help I could get. Strengthened I decided to bring out the big
guns and try and slay the opposition with grandiose verbiage.  After
all the pen is supposed to be mightier than the vampire!  I dashed
across the room to grab a copy of Roget's Thesaurus and the O.E.D.  I
had all the ammunition I needed.
 
So what I've gone and done is say that we support the only true hero -
Nicholas - apparently we can call ourselves "Knighties".  I posted a
blistering counter-attack to the list.  Hopefully that will be the
end of the matter - after all I'm sure they have bigger fish to fry,
and you haven't passed on any of our personal details to anyone have
you?  Say you haven't!  Be very careful who you talk to.
 
Hilary
 
P.S.  Stay off the list (its safer), I'll keep you informed.  So far
I'm OK.  Nothing weird has happened to me since I swore allegiance.
Guess St. Nick is casting his protection over us.
 
P.P.S.  Oops, forgot your crossover.  Its still at home somewhere<
I'll dig it up tonight.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Are You Insane?: Part 2
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
 To: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
 From: catmclah@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 Subject: Re: are you insane????
 
Selma,
 
I think they've found me!  I didn't believe even they would be able to
reach so far across the world.  I just got the strangeest message.
I'll attach it to the end of this message so you can check it out.
Did you (or anyone you know) get a similar one?  Who is this Bigwig
anyway?  I haven't dared to reply direct to the sender - who knows
what could be at the other end?  It could trigger some disastrous
destructive virus - and Australia has very stringent quarantine
regulations for things like Foot and Mouth disease.  Think of the
trouble I would be in if I was responsible for letting a US virus
into the country!
 
-----------------------------
 
 To: catmclah@central1.library.uq.oz.au
 From: Bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE: The Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
BE FORWARNED!
This war has gotten out of hand, and the powers that be have decided
to
shake up the accepted order, and see what floats to the top.  Its
time for
Revolution, my children.  You have been chosen because of your
loyalty.
This chance will not come around again.  Take heed and join the
Brethren,
here lies the only protection.  Know that you are being watched.  All
around is not what it seems.  Come in before its too late...
 
Bigwig
 -------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Well, thats it.  A BRETHREN - sounds like a computer mafia.  What
have I done?  How could I have been so brave (and so foolish)?
 
Nick where are you when I need you?   HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPP
 
Hilary
 -------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Jennise Returns
 
 Jennise Hall
 
 
EXT. KARIN'S TOWNHOUSE - KILDARA - DUBLIN CA - DAY
 
Jennise, stands at the door tapping her foot impatiently. After a
moment the door opens.
 
                    JENNISE
          Great you're home! I have got such
          cool news! After setting me up with
          that Agent you are my favorite person!
 
                    KARIN
               (suspiciously)
          I am?
 
                    JENNISE
          Of course! Uh. Can I come in.
 
                    KARIN
          Sure. Um. You met with the agent?
 
                    JENNISE
          Yes. And I'm gonna finally be able to
          quit that damn programming job and write
          full time!
 
                    KARIN
          Really?
 
Karin looked past Jennise and out the sliding glass door. The sun was
going down, but it was still out.
 
                    KARIN
          Why don't you tell me everything.
          And stop blathering. I can't keep up with
          what you're saying.
 
                    JENNISE
          Okay. Well I thought it was weird that he
          wanted to meet after dark but I thought. Hey
          this way I don't have to miss work. And he
          sent me the plane tickets.
 
She plops down on that wonderfully comfortable black chair.
 
                    JENNISE
          I think that's usual, but I learned a long
          time ago. If it's free and there ain't no
          strings don't ask questions. So anyway.
 
 
INT. OFFICE - TORONTO - NIGHT (FLASHBACK)
 
Expensively decorated office. LaCroix stands looking out at the city
nights. He hears the steps across the carpet; looks toward the door
smiling. There's a light knock which grows into several strong raps.
 
LaCroix opens the door.
 
                    LACROIX
          Ms. Hall?
 
                    JENNISE
          Yes. I want to thank you so much
          for this meeting.
 
                    LACROIX
          Your script was wonderful. I actually
          have a contract here for you to
          sign, but there are some changes we
          need to discuss first.
 
                    JENNISE
          Changes?
 
 
INT. KARIN'S TOWNHOUSE - DAY
 
                    KARIN
          Changes?
 
                    JENNISE
          Yeah, nothing major. Actually, I think
          these changes will make the show more
          ...interesting. Good guys shouldn't
          always win.
 
                    KARIN
          Can you really sell something
          like that on T.V.?
 
                    JENNISE
          LaCroix can. And not only did I sell
          this script LaCroix says he can
          guarantee me lots of work. He has lots
          of connections.
 
Jennise's attention drifts toward the sliding glass doors. She watches
the sun set.
 
                    JENNISE
          You okay Karin? You look a little pale.
 
                    KARIN
          No, I'm fine. Uh. do you want some coffee?
 
                    JENNISE
          Sure. Oh! I've got something to show you.
          It's in my car. I'll be right back.
 
Karin turns toward the kitchen as Jennise dashes toward the door.
Karin stops, looks after her.
 
                    KARIN
          What kind of deal could she have struck
          with LaCroix?
 
 
INT. KARIN'S TOWNHOUSE - NIGHT - A FEW MINUTES LATER
 
The door bell rings. Karin sets the small container of half-&-half
on the table and rushes to answer it.
 
Her eyes go wide as she sees...
 
                    KARIN
          Ja...Janette
 
Jennise stands behind her grinning from ear to ear; obviously enjoying
the shock on her friend's face.
 
                    JANETTE
          Bonsoir, Karin. You are enjoying the
          dress my former designer sent you? I
          understand it was rather popular at the
          Labor Day party?
 
Karin steps aside and lets the women in.
 
Janette eyes the decor.
 
                    JANETTE
          Beautiful carpet.
 
                    KARIN
               (with distaste)
          It's pink.
 
                    JANETTE
          Mmmmmmm. That's what I like about it.
 
Janette saunters past them back out the door.
 
                    JANETTE (V.O.)
          Alma, come along. We don't have all
          night.
 
                    JENNISE
          You know Karin. LaCroix seemed a bit
          surprised when I agreed to most of his
          changes. It was almost as thought he
          had something else in mind for our meeting.
 
                    KARIN
          He didn't DO anything to you?
 
                    JENNISE
          Other than make me a working writer?
               (shakes her head "no")
          He told me about the little war that's
          been going on. I convinced him I'd taken
          no sides and don't plan to. It's still a
          great show even if LaCroix does get the
          upper hand every now and then. Keep things
          lively.
 
She shrugs.
 
Janette returns followed closely by Alma and several MEN carrying
wallpaper, paint, brushes, ladders, upholstery swatches. Karin dashes
to the sliding glass door but is almost run over by two men carrying a
sofa covered in plastic.
 
                    JANETTE
          Alma, I want the pink carpet to say.
          Otherwise, enjoy yourself.
 
Karin's mouth drops open.
 
Janette puts an arm around Karin and escorts her toward the stairs.
 
                    JANETTE
          Now, while we discuss redecorating your
          bedrooms, why don't you return that dress.
 
 
 
FADE OUT
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Jennise's Lament
 
 Margaret A. Newman
 
 
Margaret, coming off the plane and walking into the airport lounge, sees
Jennise's smiling face. She smiles back and waves. The trip from Toronto
has been long, but it has given her time to warm up and relax. She was
safe from Uncle's wrath now. Having tormented a few people in Toronto,
she figured her work for him was now done. Except for her visit with
Jennise.
 
"Hi!" Jennise and Margaret said in unison, hugging.
 
"You look thawed out." Jennise chuckled. A heavy coat, obviously new,
hung over Margaret's left arm along with two sweat shirts.
 
"I've been peeling clothes since Denver. It's good to be feeling warm
again." Margaret sighed. "So where do we get to go for lunch?"
 
"Oh, I have a few ideas." Jennise led the way down to where Margaret's
luggage would hopefully be waiting for them. "How do you feel about
sushi?" Her eyes sparkled.
 
"Ugh!" Margaret laughed. "Sushi?!"
 
They ate at Jennise's favorite restaurant. Over lunch they discussed
where they would go shopping. Margaret also briefed Jennise about her
assignment from Uncle. Jennise listened, frowning thoughtfully.
 
"So what happens if he finds out you defected?" She asked.
 
"Well, I didn't really defect. I'm just, uhm, taking a break." Margaret
looked hopefully at her friend.
 
"Hhhmmmm...." Jennise considered the situation. "I think we should come
up with something to cover your butt, and to make sure I'm off the
target list."
 
"Killing two birds with one Barney again." Margaret laughed, nearly
choking on her Coke.
 
"Keep that purple monster away from me!" Jennise threw her hands up in
mock horror. "Those dirty diapers would really do me in."
 
"Well, I really wouldn't have to do anything to you. We could just say so.
Do you see Karin alot?"
 
"Once in a while. Nothing real regular." Jennise picked at her food.
 
"So you could say something happened, but Karin wouldn't necessarily
see you or your place to say otherwise." Margaret tilted her head,
thinking. "Something like all your diskettes were stolen, but you
have back ups in the bank, right?" No response. "Jennise, you have
back ups in the bank, RIGHT?"
 
"No," Jennise whispered. "I keep meaning to..."
 
"Okay, so that's out." Margaret started tapping her fingers on the
table. "Nothing is coming to me. I think we ought to go shopping. I
always think better whilst shopping."
 
"Yeah, you would!" Jennise shook her head.
 
                                *
 
They shopped. They browsed. They wandered.
 
Exhausted, and it now being dark outside, the two friends went to dinner.
They did have sushi, they just skipped the eel.
 
"Okay," Margaret said as she winced, having taken too much ginger in
that last bite,"this is what I've got figured out."
 
Jennise looked up from her side of the table. Shopping really did help
her think?
 
"You call Karin tomorrow after I leave. Sound hyper and upset. When you
came home from work last night, your apartment was full -absolutely full-
of Barney's. Every size and shape." Margaret sipped her tea, wishing for
a Coke. Coke always went well with anything.
 
"But what about proof?" Jennise frowned.
 
"Tell Karin that you managed to get rid of them all thanks to a local
children's charity. They came and got them. That's why you didn't call
last night. You were so upset, and you had to get rid of them."
 
Margaret spoke on the idea for a while longer, convincing Jennise. They
went back to Jennise's apartment where Margaret slept on the couch. AFTER
they stayed up to 2am talking about writing and scripts. Both women slept
well. They got up bright and shiny, and Margaret made her plane in ample
time. It had been a nice, quick visit.
 
Sighing, Jennise headed back to her car. She intended to drive straight
to work until she realized her wallet wasn't in her purse. Damn! She'd
have to go home first, get her wallet, and then go to work. She shook
her head, but made the drive back to her apartment in good time.
 
She put the key in her lock, opened the door. She dropped the keys back
into her purse and looked up.
 
"MARGARET!" Jennise bellowed. "MARGARET, I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS! I HATE
BARNEY!!"
 
Jennise's apartment, it seemed, was stuffed with Barney's. Purple Barney's
were everywhere. Large ones, small ones, stuffed and plastic poseable.
Barney's, Barney's, Barney's....everywhere! Taped to the phone, once
Jennise was able to reach it, was a number for a local children's
charity. At the bottom was a vampire smiley face. When Jennise called
Karin, she didn't have to pretend one damn emotion!
 
                                *
 
Sitting in the airplane in Phoenix, Margaret noticed that the people
outside were dressed quite warmly. The sky was cloudy and heavy looking.
The weather must have cooled off since she'd left. When the people
started getting on the plane, they were rosey cheeked and complaining
about the dreadful drop in temperature.
 
It was worse when Margaret reached Tucson. Sunland? Unseasonably warm
temperatures? Not anymore! It had SNOWED. Everything was covered with
snow, and not just a light sprinkling either. Margaret groaned, and
shook her head. Good thing she had bought the coat in Toronto along
with 3 heavy sweatshirts.
 
Well, she had done her duty to Uncle. Someone else evidently had "higher"
contacts........
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Surrender
 
 Susan M. Garrett
 
 
        With a squeal of terror, Susan sat upright on her
couch.  Her dog, being deaf as a post, never moved as she
jumped to her feet and proceeded to run madly from room
to room, opening closets and checking under beds and
furniture.  It took her ten minutes to complete the search.
        Nothing.
        With great trepidation, she moved to the front
windows and looked out into the parking lot.  There, in her
parking space, sat an open coffin that appeared to contain
the remains of her trusty, red Suburu Justy.
        She was stunned.  That car had survived countless
Renfests, trips to D.C., and, most recently, the two seven-
hour jaunts from hell on the ice-covered Pennsylvania
Turnpike.  Now, it had been reduced to a pile of spare parts.
        About to fall into a chair, she stopped and stared
suspiciously at the VCR--the lights were on.  Her terror
mounting, she turned on the television and hit the PLAY
button on the recorder.
        There it was--that awful video bastardization of her
story, with cast, crew, and Alexandra the dingbat!  It was a
nightmare.  And her name was on it.
        Slamming the POWER OFF switch, Susan sat and
stared at her dog.  "Fat lot of good you did me," she
muttered.  "First one of my stories is destroyed, then I'm
shangied by LaCroix and one of his maniac followers.  What
did I do to deserve this?  Why didn't Janette protect me?"
        Diego didn't answer, being a dog and not having
heard a third.
        It was then that a horrible thought occurred to her.
Could it be that Janette hadn't was displeased with her and
had given LaCroix carte blanche, to do with her as he
would?  She'd been the one to come up with the term
'Ravenette'.  And Janette had seemed awfully pleased with
Dark & Bright.  And the first Christmas story had nothing in
it that might--
        Then, she remembered Natalie's Christmas story.
And she realized that it was very possible that Janette had
thrown her to the wolves, so to speak.
        After making herself a cup of tea, she settled down
with a heavy think.  Story plotting was something she
understood . . . and it was time to follow this plot to its
logical conclusion.  Without Janette as her protector, she
was just another orphan, open to further attacks from the
Cousins and their adopted minions, this Bigwig and
followers, and who knew how many others,.
        But what did they want from her?  What could she
have done to make her a target?  Nothing, except write
stories.
        The answer came to her in a flash.  After her
harrowing adventures, all she wanted to was safety and
there was only one way to achieve it.  Susan ran to the
kitchen, turned on her computer, humming impatiently while
the system warmed up and she connected to AOL.  Opening
the COMPOSE MAIL section, she hit the auto address:
 
       To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU
       Subject: War
 
           I surrender.  I hereby promise not to write any more Forever Knight
      fiction. Ever.
 
      SusanG2522@aol.com
save
 
        Hitting the SEND key, Susan sat back with a
relieved sigh.  It was over.  She wouldn't have to worry
about it ever again.
        But now what could she do to occupy her time?
        Her eyes wandered to the bookcase full of
videocassettes that covered half a room--over 700 tapes
filled with all sorts of television shows and movies.  She
could close her eyes, pick a tape, and start a story that
minute.  It didn't matter what it was, anything would do . . .
        Just as long as it had nothing to do with vampires.
 
***
 
        LaCroix stared at the printout in his hand, then
crumpled it up and threw it across the room.  Seating
himself in a chair by the window, he stared out at the early
twilight.
        He hadn't expected this.  Yes, he had instructed
Valerie to find another victim, but how would he guess that
she would mistake a ravenette for a knightie and attack
Susan just before he and Sandye had made their own
assault?  He'd hoped to frighten his victim, but wanted to
turn her, not drive her from battle.  There'd been overtures,
surely--giving him an angel for Christmas was not the move
of an enemy or disinterested soul--and he'd looked forward
to having yet another writer under his thumb, to handle his
ever growing correspondence, transcribe his memoirs, and
write anti-Nicholas propaganda in the coming months.
        But it seemed that was not to be.  And the mistake
couldn't be placed at his door.  The Cousins and their
adopted henchmen were moving too quickly, ignoring
blackmail and seduction for outright intimidation and
bullying.  They would have to be warned.  A timely example
might not be a bad idea, but who among them had shown
the greatest disregard for discretion and subtlety?
        He smiled and touched his finger to his lips as he
remembered his last two appearances at Sandye's tricks and
torments.  Perhaps she was enjoying her role a little too
much, becoming a little uncontrollable.  And surely the
other cousins would be annoyed at her, for she had a hand
in depriving them of future fan fiction.
        Rising to his feet, he walked over to the crumpled
paper and picked it up.  She was only one, after all.  And an
example <should> be made . . . .
        With a fluid move, he tossed the paper into the
trashcan and headed for the door, his eyes glowing gold at
the thought of what terror he might cause this night.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Lost In A Sea Of... Nothing
 
 Selma McCrory
 
 
Selma blinked at the message from Hilary on her screen. A message from
her was not unusual, but she had said she was out for Australia Day and
had logged onto her terminal. And yet the message Selma received was
dated Wednesday, Jan 26, at 9:25 am!
Hilary had dropped her a note that she was going to go to America to see
a friend on the list, but she knew Hilary didn't have enough money to
make it to America after blowing it on that new VCR so that she could
watch FK and HL tapes. What was going on? Had someone magically found out
that she was a Knightie? She shivered, and began to type up a note to
send to the fkfic list. Hopefully it would do somebody some good.
 
 To: fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu
 From: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
 Subject: re: The wierd happenings lately
 
Folks, get away from your terminals. I think they've got Hilary, or at
least Hilary's account. None of us are safe.
 
Selma
 
Meanwhile, she hoped that she could escape the firefight. Being on nomail
wouldn't do her any good now, but she could hope. Maybe if she hid, she
could get away, because she wasn't good at nasty doings.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Jeanster's Torment
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Jean slipped the two 8"x10" clear acrylic frames into her backpack.
She thought it was so nice of Laurie to give her the frames. Nick's
picture along side Colm Meany's would look nice by her dorm bed. But
first she wanted to log on and check the list and then she if any of her
buddies were on Pern Mush.
When she reached the Computer Building, she handed her ID to the
operator and camped out by a Sun Workstation back in the corner. After
she opened a window to log on VM, she did a quick check of her reader
files.
 
   "400! What is going on? I just checked this early this morning." Jean
poured over the list. All the entries were messages from the
listserv. One by one she went through them. "Unscribe FORKNI-L, unscribe
FKFIC-L, unsubscribe, unsubscribe after unsubscribe. What is going on?!"
Jean quickly discarded any note that had a hint of being an unsubscribe
notice. Finally, she was down to thirty. She leaned back in her chair.
 
   "I am going to have to talk to Bill about this in the morning
something is wrong... Wait, no, can't be-- she wouldn't do that!" Now
Jean was mad at herself, she remember some of the userids that
unsubscribed, but she foolishly discarded the rest. She had a sneaky
suspiction that all those unsubscribes were from 'non-cousins' only.
Jean looked back down at her backpack and thought about the two
frames Laurie had just given her for her photos.
 
   "What a turn coat! Just for that I should tell everyone that Sharon
was right, Laurie would die if her car didn't go above 30 mph." Jean
laughed at the thought, Laurie in her little red sports car traveling
down the road like a model-T ford. "I will get her back."
Jean looked down at the remaining notes in her mailbox. One return
address caught her eyes, it was from Nick.
 
 
 To: Jeanster <jap8@psuvm.psu.edu
 From: Nick Knight <nknight@police.utoronto.gov.ca
 Subject: Current War
 
   Jean, I just want you to be careful. LaCroix is up to his old
tricks and no one is safe. As listowner of FKFIC-L I hope you will
watch carefully and keep me posted. Oh yeah, be especially careful
around Laurie. So far, she has sent Sharon Scott a frog and blew up
Allan's Atari. There are others helping her. Be careful and keep me
posted!
                                   Nick
 
 
   Jean looked at the note. "Gee Nick, I think you are just a bit too
late."
   She cleared off the rest of her reader and open a window to Pern Mush.
Hopefully, she could get her mind off of the war at hand if even for a
few hours. The photos could wait till she got back.
 
*                                  *                                 *
 
   Laurie logged onto her account. All the cousins were pulling together
and soon Uncle's list would be taken care of. If she could manage to
push then a little harder, they might finish the list before any of the
other groups had a chance to gather for a defense. Uncle always said, if
your enemy is weaker attack. If matched-- re-evaluate. Well, they were
stronger and with the element of surprise they were trouncing them one by
one. She was getting ready to formulate the ground for her next victim
when another note arrived in her mailbox.
 
 To: Laurie <lms5@psuvm.psu.edu
 From: LaCroix <lacroix@utoronto.freenet.edu
 Subject: What you asked for
 
By now you have received the chemical you requested.
 
 
   Yes, she had received the package from Uncle. It was a highly
corrosive agent that reacted with photopaper. Sprayed on the inside
of the acrylic frames, Jean's precious photos would yellow and crumble
within days. Even if she tried to pull the pictures back out, it would
be useless; Uncle had added a little adhesive to the base. If they
didn't yellow and fade, then they would rip apart of Jean tried to
remove them.
 
   "Ahh, Jean, you should be more careful of Trojan horses. I wonder if
you have put your precious photos in their frames yet."
Laurie discarded Uncle's note and smiled.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Laurie's Torment
 
 Jean Prior
 
 
 An old Bugs Bunny cartoon blared from the telly on the desk.  The
 dorm's door was closed, so the RA would come storming down the hall for
 noise violation.  Jean sat comfortably in her beanbag chair, a pile of
 glossy photos in her lap.  She was trying to decide which one should join
 her be-lust-ed Nicholaaaah and her good friend Colm Meaney on the shelf.
 She flipped through pictures ranging from Sylvester McCoy to Scott Bakula
 and Dean Stockwell, to John DeLancie.  After a minute, she was down to
 Mark Strickson, wearing a typical Turlough smirk, and a Dean Stockwell
 solo shot.  Five minutes later, she still hadn't decided, so she cursed
 Laurie for only giving her one extra frame (the first had been for Colm's
 pic), and flipped a coin.
 Mark won.
 
 Smiling, Jean slipped the glossies into the frames and set them on the
 shelf.  Leaning back in her beanbag, she returned her attention to the
 telly. A new toon came on.  Jean smiled again.  Bugs and the bull in the
 arena, one of her favorites.  A few minutes later, she heard a crackling
 sound.  Sniffing curiously, she smelled burnt paper and plastic.  She
 looked at the shelf in horror as her prize autographed pictures melted in
 their frames.  She scrambled to the shelf and tried to save the pictures,
 but they were stuck fast in the frames.  They melted with a soft ==
 hissssss ==.
 Jean saw instantly what had happened, and she cursed Laurie in
 English, French, Klingon, and Welsh.  Unhappily, she watched the
 smouldering remains of her pictures for a long moment.  Then as Bugs got
 ejected from the arena by the bull, he said a line that made her snap out
 of her depression.
 "Of course you know what this means... this means war."
 
 Jean's eyes narrowed, and she started plotting.  It was no wonder the
 next day that she was the only person who was avidly paying attention to
 Professor Ameringer's lecture on CIA covert operations in History 460:
 U.S. Foreign Intelligence.  The lecture gave her some very good ideas,
 and watching MacGyver didn't hurt either.  Fortunately, she had a
 friend's copy of the original Anarchist's Cookbook to help fill in the
 gaps the TV show left behind.
 In the course of Jean's plotting, she knew that in order to neutralize
 Laurie, she'd have to get her removed as assistant listowner for the Fk
 lists, and to do that, she'd have to get Bill on her side.  Laurie and
 Bill had known each other for a few years before Jean had showed up at
 this dump known as PSU. Still, she knew Bill's weakness, his one vice,
 and that would be his downfall. It would take a favor from Nick to pull
 this one off.  Jean stopped into a computer lab in between classes and
 mailed Nick with her request.  After lunch, she went and checked her mail
 again, and there was a reply from Nick, saying that it took a lot of
 effort, but her favor would be granted.  Jean looked up from the IBM, a
 sinister grin on her face.
 *** Insert the 'Imperial March' from _Return of the Jedi_ here ***
 
 Bill looked up at the knock on his doorframe.  "Well, hello there!" he
 greeted Jean cheerily.  "What can I do for you today?  Need _another_
 list?"     "No," Jean replied, an odd smile on her face.  Some noise of
 air brakes outside Bill's window obscured what she said next.
 "Beg pardon?" Bill said.
 "I said, I need a major favor from you."  Bill's brow furrowed.
 "What is it?"
 "I want Laurie removed as assistant listowner of both of the FK
 lists." Bill blinked.
 "Why?  Don't you get along?"  Jean merely handed him the ruined
 pictures. "She did that?"  Bill looked at the pictures for a long time in
 silence. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, Jean, but I can't..."  Jean
 frowned.     "They're my lists, Bill," she said, "And I want her gone.
 Officially."     "I... can't."  Bill sighed heavily.  Jean's eyes
 narrowed dangerously.  She reached into her backpack.
 "I'm sorry, Bill, but I've got to do this..."  Bill looked up in fear
 as Jean pulled out a clipboard.  He laughed nervously.  "Sign this,
 please," Jean says.
 "What is it?"
 "An invoice."  Bill looked at it curiously.
 "What for?" Jean walked over to the window and pointed out.
 "That."
 A jaw fell with an audible =clunk!= as Bill looked out the window.
 
 Parked under it was a tractor trailer, with the huge M&Ms logo on its
 side.
 A hiss came from the door.  Laurie stood there, her face all purple
 with apoplexy.  She struggled to gain her voice. "You... you... YOU
 BITCH!!" she burst at Jean.  Jeanster just smiled placidly at Laurie,
 which infuriated her even more.  Laurie's eyes narrowed, and she said in
 a dangerous voice, "I'll get you for this."  Jean smiled her sweetest
 smile.  Her voice took on an English accent when she replied.
 "To quote your dear Uncle... 'Try.'"  Laurie paled and stood frozen
 in fear for a long moment, Jean's impression of LaCroix being that
 effective.  Finally, she spun on her heel and stormed out.  Before she
 left the consulting area in front of Bill's office, she looked back,
 hatred in her eyes.     "You haven't heard the last of me... My Uncle--"
 Jean cut her off with a cold reply.
 "Just between you and me, Laurie, I'm getting rather tired of hearing
 about your Uncle."  Laurie scowled and fled to her office.  Without
 turning to look, Jean said softly, "Trace her accounts."  Bill looked up
 and hesitated for a moment, until Jean looked down at him.  Silently, he
 complied.  Keys clicked for a few minutes.  Jean went over to the window
 and watched men start unloading the M&Ms.
 "Outgoing mail," Bill reported finally.
 "To?"
 "lacroix@freenet.toronto.ca."
 "Block all incoming mail from that address and from all the cousins.
 In an hour, I want you to forge an incoming mail to Laurie from her
 dearest 'Uncle', telling her to be in her office tonight at 8PM."  Bill
 looked at Jean for a moment, but he started the requested commands.
 
 He smiled as the first case of M&Ms arrived.
 
 Jean gave Bill some final instructions before departing that left the
 postmaster aghast, but as he looked at his 'present', he realized that it
 was worth it.  Such a little thing to do for a lifetime's supply of M&Ms.
 
 Laurie fumed in her office, cursing herself for underestimating Jean.
 _Still_, she thought, a wicked grin forming on her face, _Uncle would
 take care of that young snip.  No one got away with treating her like
 that!_  Laurie's smile grew more wicked.  _And I'll add a little surprise
 of my own._  Laurie used the info exec on PSUVM to look up Jean's precise
 address on campus.  Armed with this information, she grabbed her coat and
 set off for Cross Hall.
 A ten-minute walk later, Laurie was walking down a hallway decorated
 with strawberries.  She snorted at the cutesy designs on the walls, her
 bootheels clicking on the tiled floor.  Watching the room numbers, Laurie
 stopped in front of the correct door.  She reached into her pocket and
 pulled out a copy of the building's master key.  _Jean's not the only one
 with friends_, she thought, a sneer on her face as she let herself into
 the dorm room.  Instantly, she could tell which side was whose.  Jean's
 roommate had skis propped in one corner, and this really intriguing
 poster of a male dancer in a graceful pose. Laurie smiled slightly as she
 noted the dancer was naked, but then pouted as he was posed in a way so
 that nothing... *ahem* fun ... showed.  After staring at the poster for
 over a minute, she shook herself and got back down to business. She
 stepped across to Jean's side of the room, piled high with comics, books,
 videotapes, textbooks, you name it.  Laurie's keen eyes started seeking
 her target.  Disrupting piles of stuff, peering under the bed, generally
 reducing the 'mess' to 'general disaster area', Laurie searched
 methodically, calmly at first, then more frantically for Jean's most
 prized possession: a frost-red Vintage '57 Reissue Fender Stratocaster
 that she paid over a grand for. finally, she turned to the closet and
 opened both doors at once, swinging them out.  Strangely, the closest was
 mostly empty.  Other than a few personal items on the shelves of the one
 door, and a pair of well-used bear-claw slippers Jean wore to the dining
 hall on occasion, the only thing in the closet was a rope tied to the
 clothes bar, swaying gently in the air currents generated by the sudden
 opening of the doors.
 Hanging from the rope was a vampire doll, with the name 'LaCroix'
 staked into its heart by a sharpened popsicle stick.
 
 Laurie blanched and moved to rip it down, but a note tied to its foot
 caught her attention, because it was addressed to her.  She unfolded the
 note and read it.
 
 
 My dearest Cousin Laurie,
 
 My stratocaster is safe from you.  As soon as the war broke
 out, I sent it to my 'bro', and you know you can't touch him.
 Cheerios!
 
 Love,
 
 da Jeanster.
 
 Laurie screamed in frustration.
 
 She also trashed the rest of Jean's dorm, taking out her frustrations
 on Jean's possessions.  Finally, after a prodigious amount of noise, and
 sheer luck that the RA was a heavy sleeper, there was nothing else Laurie
 could smash or otherwise mangle.  She stalked out of the room, a scowl
 burnt into her features with a soldering iron.  Jean had outwitted her
 again, and she did NOT like it one bit.
 
 Unfortunately for Laurie... the day wasn't over yet.
 
 She returned to work and saw new mail from Uncle in her reader.
 Perking up a little bit, she sat down and hit 'peek'.
 
 from:  lacroix@freenet.toronto.ca
 to:    lms5@psuvm.psu.edu
 subj:  meeting.
 
 I will meet you in your office tonight at 8 PM to discuss our
 revenge on Jean.
 
 Uncle.
 
 Laurie smiled a very sinister smile.
 
 At 7:55 PM, a lipstick-red Ford Probe pulled into the CAC's parking
 lot. Laurie parked her car in the middle of the mostly-empty lot and
 walked to the Computer Building.  As always, the loading dock door was
 unlocked, and she went inside.  Intent on plotting revenge, she paid no
 attention to the dinky dumb- terminal lab, nor the dispatch desk, heading
 straight for the stairwell to go upstairs, where her office was.  Of
 course, it being after 5, she had to unlock the doors at the top of the
 stairs.  Her bootheels echoed eerily as she strode down the hallway, and
 turned two corners to her office.  She unlocked her office and went
 inside, looking around.  The office was devoid of life... and unlife.
 Laurie settled in her chair to wait.  Uncle was always prompt.
 A figure all in black slipped out of the Sun lab once she heard
 Laurie's bootheels pass by the door to the first-floor lab.  Smiling to
 herself, she sneaked out to the loading dock.  Looking around furtively,
 she saw that no one was about, so she went down the few steps to the
 ground.  Walking quickly to Laurie's car, she slipped into the shadows on
 the side of the car away from the parking deck next to the parking lot,
 cos that's where the campus cops where housed.  She eased out of her
 backpack and opened it, rummaging for a neat toy, which she promptly
 taped to the frame just behind the right front tire.  She made sure to
 place it where it wouldn't be discovered upon casual inspection.
 Not that it needed to be there long...
 
 Checking her watch, the figure in black slung the backpack across her
 shoulders and darted for the parking deck next to the CAC lot.  She
 wanted to watch the finale to Laurie's torment from as close as it was
 safe.  She got into the elevator and went to the top.  Quickly, she took
 up a position where she could watch and pulled a cellular phone out of
 the backpack.
 A thin bleep-ringing noise startled Laurie out of her revenge
 reverie.  She looked around, startled.  Finally, she checked the time.
 The digital readout on her desk read 8:00.  The bleep-ringing sounded
 again, and Laurie noticed it sounded muffled, so she opened her desk
 drawer.  To her bemusement, a small cellular phone rested there.  Taking
 it out, she unfolded the mouthpiece and pressed the 'talk' button.
 
 "Uncle?" she said eagerly.  A sinister laugh greeted her, but it was
 most certainly not her 'uncle'.  "JEAN?!?" she said, incredulously.
 "How'd you get up here?  And into my office?  How did you know I'd be
 here?!?"  More laughter greeted her for a short minute, before Jean
 replied.     "You think I don't know how to pick locks?  I could do that
 since before eighth grade, Laurie."  Laurie had sudden suspicion she'd
 been set up, but she would find out what was going on first.
 "What do you want?"
 "Want?  I want nothing from the likes of you, other than your
 submission, your fear, your utter terror."  Laurie's expression turned
 dangerous.     "You'll never get it.  I'll see Uncle deals with you... in
 a final kind of way."  Outright laughter resounded from the phone.
 "Ohhh, you should go into comedy, Laurie, you're really funny!  As for
 'uncle', well, he's being taken care of... as are you.  Submit to me, or
 I'll cut you off from the cousins."
 "Never!  You can't stop my email!"
 "Done that."
 "...my phone calls!"
 "Seen that."
 "...my car!"
 "Got the infamous t-shirt, too."
 
 Laurie chewed on her lip.  She knew that she couldn't trust Bill
 anymore, but would her old friend actually cut off her access?  Did he
 have that much pull within CAC?  She wasn't sure.  She never trusted the
 phone company anyhow, so she could believe Jean had suborned them too.
 But her car?  What could Jean do...?
 
 Laurie bolted from her office in mortal terror.
 
 The figure on the top of the parking deck put away the cellular phone
 and calmly took out a remote control.  Laurie rushed out of the Computer
 Building, but stopped up short as she saw her car wasn't damaged.
 Confused, she faltered in her run and finally stopped twenty feet from it
 and looked around.  Laurie didn't see anybody, nor even a car passing by.
 All seemed peaceful.
 The figure on the parking deck pressed the button on the remote...
 
 ... and Laurie's red Ford Probe exploded.
 
 There was much rejoicing.
 
 The figure in black on the 'deck pulled a battery-powered tape deck
 out of her backpack and hit 'play'.  As the smoke curled up from the
 remains of the Ford, flames spewing everywhere, bits of metal,
 fiberglass, and other stuff rained from the sky... to the tune of 'Taps'.
 
 Laurie picked herself off the ground, just dazed and with a few
 scrapes here and there.  She looked around and then spotted the figure on
 top of the parking deck.  Laurie screamed curses until her lungs were
 hoarse, tears falling down her cheeks in a torrent.  Jean took off her
 mask and just smiled with a sinister smile.
 
 "You should have known better, Laurie," Jean chided, her voice just
 loud enough to carry over the noise of the fire.  "You'd become too
 dangerous, and when you ruined my pictures, we knew you meant business,
 so we had to show we meant it as well.  You've been neutralized.  Go home
 and take a nice long bath, and forget you ever heard of Uncle LaCroix."
 Laurie glared up at Jean with an utter hatred and loathing in her gaze.
 "I'm not finished yet!" she cried defiantly, dashing back into the
 Computer Building.  Jean just stood where she was, listening in on the
 cellular phone.
 
 Laurie burst into her office and rebooted her dumb terminal.  The
 PSUVM login screen appeared, and she typed in her userid.
 
 'LMS5' NOT IN CP DIRECTORY.
 
 Laurie stared at the screen, as she saw the effects of Jean's last
 command to Bill.  With a wail, she put her head in her hands and cried.
 
 Jean had won.  She was cut off from the cousins.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Note From The North
 
 Susan M. Garrett
 
 
        Susan hadn't dared to sign on to the system since
she'd surrendered.  And, in a way, she was actually
happier not having to think about 18th Century orchestras,
whether vampire suspects would be jailed in blood cells,
and why the assistant of the vampire archivist was always
making collect phone calls.  Her life was simpler.  Easier to
handle.
        And infinitely more dull.
        The note came while she was at work.
        It was sitting on her desk when she returned with
lunch (that's part of what Assistant Directors get to do)--a
beige envelope, scented with perfume and sealed with an
emblem embossed into red wax.  She nearly fainted when
she saw that the elaborate design on the emblem formed a
'J'.
        She hesitated only a moment, then broke the seal.
The invitation was succinct--she was to come to Toronto,
to the Raven.  There were more details--flights arranged,
etc.--but the only thing that concerned her was the
signature at the bottom of the envelope.  Was it really from
Janette?  It looked real enough, but LaCroix could easily
stoop to forgery . . . .
        Wait a minute--she'd surrendered.  She was out of
this.
        Or . . . was she?  Was Janette calling her home to
forgive her?  Or was this a not-s-subtle reminder that one
must tread slowly and softly to escape the notice of
immortals?
        There wasn't really any choice in the matter.  She
had to go.  Sighing heavily, Susan knew she had to make a
phone call--her mother was going to be stranded in
Pennsylvania for a few more days.  But first--
        "Maggie?  Look, I have to take a sick day.
Something's come up--"
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Surrender?
 
 Rebecca Rauscher
 
 
Rebecca left her Shakespeare class at 9:30, relieved to be done for the day.
Usually, she enjoyed the evening literature class, but tonight she'd been
forced to sit through yet another rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream, for
the third time in the last 6 days.  It was getting to be just a little bit
repetitive.
Walking home through a heavy fog, she slowed her pace as she approached the
computer lab.  What with this war going on, her e-mail account had suffered a
barrage of incoming mail lately, and she hadn't logged in since before dinner.
She knew she really should get home and finish her reading for tomorrow's
classes, but curiosity drove her down the stairs to the lab.  She'd just read
her mail quickly, and then head home... it wouldn't take long at all.  After
all, despite her public announcement of her support for the Knighties, she had
managed to stay out of the line of fire, and really didn't think that she would
be dragged into the fighting at all.  She just wanted to keep up with the news,
make sure that the good guys were holding their own.
The computer informed her that she had 12 new mail messages, which didn't sound
like much considering the amount of posts generated on the FKFIC list lately.
She entered mail and started reading.  Many of the posts were brief and
inconsequential.  Some (thank heavens) were completely unrelated to the "war."
But one particular post caught Rebecca's eye.
 
 >Date: Tue, 25 Jan 1994
 >To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU
 >Subject: War
 >
 >       I surrender.  I hereby promise not to write any more
 >    Forever Knight fiction.
 >       Ever.
 >
 >       SusanG2522@aol.com
 
 
Surrender?!  She can't surrender!  What's this about no more FK fiction?
Doesn't she realize how many of us she's letting down?  Doesn't she realize how
much we love her stories, how she has prevented dozens, dare I say hundreds, of
avid Forever Knight fans from going into withdrawal since that terrible,
horrible, evil Letterman person usurped our favorite vampires TV slot?  How
will we make it through the long months ahead until the New Season begins
without her help?
Yes, Rebecca had been laying relatively low; trying to keep her list activity
to its usual, pitifully low level, to maintain her status as a lurker; trying to
stay out of the line of fire.  But she couldn't sit back and watch Susan give
up.  As it was, those malicious cousins seemed to be winning.  The Knighties,
the au-NATurales (or whatever name they are currently going by), the
Ravenettes, the FODs, and all the silent undeclared masses (who would OF COURSE
be on the side of goodness and light, if they weren't so afraid of the wrath
of the cousins and their Uncle), we all NEED all the help we can get.  We can't
afford to loose so outspoken, so creative and eloquent an ally!
And so, taking a deep breath, Rebecca entered her editor and began to reply.
 
  Date: Tue, 25 Jan 1994
  To: SusanG2522@aol.com
  Subject: Surrender
 
 Susan,
 
 I just read about your surrender to the cousins and their Master.  I'm writing
 to beg you to rethink your position.  I realize that it is very difficult to
 stand against LaCroix.  But I know that you have the courage and the strength
 to do it.  Ok, so they got to your car.  As much as you may have loved it,
 it's replaceable.  Or, I'd be happy to send you the name of a good mechanic,
 and perhaps he can put it back together for you.  He did wonders with a
 certain caddy after it was destroyed in a near-fatal accident.
 So, they got to your story.  We all could do without Alexadra the dingbat.
 But the new season is still young, and you'll have ample opportunity to see
 more of your scripts more accurately portrayed.  And winning this war is your
 only chance of redeeming your reputation.
 It's obvious that you made the wrong choice when you decided to align
 yourself with Janette.  Her feelings for Nick may be strong, but they are
 no match for the power that LaCroix still has over her.  I'm surprised she
 came to Monica's aid as she did.  But it's not too late.  Join the Knighties,
 continue the fight!  The cousins MUST NOT WIN!  Please, I beg of you, don't
 leave us poor innocent souls hanging.
 
 Sincerely,
 Rebecca
 
As she finished the note, Rebecca quickly hit send before she lost her courage.
After all, she'd never really posted anything to the list besides a few short
questions and her recent offer to help out in these times of war should any of
the Knighties require her assistance.  Susan probably had no idea who Rebecca
was, but she could only hope that wouldn't prevent her from taking the note
seriously.  With one last look at the few notes that had arrived in her mailbox
while she'd been composing her plea to Susan, Rebecca logged off and trudged
home through the thickening fog, wondering what new events would transpire over
night, before she could check her mail again Wednesday morning.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Timely Release
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
Somewhere in New York City . . .
 
"Well, Ms. Himmanen, I must say that despite this brief reactive episode,
you've been remarkably lucid these last couple of days.  I see no need to
hold you here.  You can be released OR."  The doctor smiled at her.
 
It had been quite some time since Sharon had recovered from her Barney-
induced hysteria.  It had taken even longer to convince the concerned
psychiatric hospital staff that she was not a danger to either herself or
anyone else.  They had finally agreed to remove the straitjacket, but she
had noticed several burly orderlies always nearby as she was led from one
examination and interview to another.  Someone was going to pay for this.
 
"But, you should feel free to come and see me should anything like this ever
happen again.  That was a pretty severe reaction to a puppet.  Do you have
anyone to talk to?"
 
She nodded.  "I'll be fine."  If, she mused ruefully, I survive the war!  She
wondered what the good doctor would think about all that!
 
"Good.  The nurses at the front desk will return your clothing and personal
belongings.  You'll have to sign a few release papers."
 
"Thank you," she said, standing and offering her hand.
 
"You're welcome.  Wish all my clients were able to bounce back the way you
have!"
 
* * * * *
 
A short time later, Sharon signed the last of the release papers and headed
quickly out the front door.
 
A nurse watched her retreating form with concern, then went into the
interview room where the doctor was finishing his report.
 
"We were supposed to keep her!" she hissed.
 
"What?  Why?"
 
"*He* wanted us to persuade her to join him!  Didn't you see the flag on her
file?"
 
The doctor blanched visibly.  "She--I thought--"  he stammered.  "She's a
part of that?  There wasn't any flag!  There wasn't one!  I swear!'  His voice
was shrill with panic.
 
She cut him off sharply.  "Uncle is not going to be pleased when he learns of
your blunder!"
 
* * * * *
 
Outside, Sharon, having no idea just how close she had come to being a long-
term resident of The LaCroix Institute for Brainwashing and Intimidation
stood in the early morning sunlight and reflected briefly on the joys of
freedom.  Then, taking a deep breath, she hailed a cab.
 
"American Museum of Natural History, please," she said cheerfully.  She had
no idea which Cousin had perpetrated this, but at least one of the three
ringleaders was going to pay!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A New Hope
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
Beth paced her apartment holding her struggling rabbit. She received a
strange call from some fan club. Something about empty envelopes and ruined
reputation. Did someone get her Milford address to make prank calls? She
didn't recall joining any fan club. What was going on?
 
She stared at her Tandy laptop. The creature was a terrible machine, but it
served her well enough. The sleek design had taken on a sinister air. She
should stay away from the Internet, she knew, but she HAD to know.
 
Then again, maybe she didn't want to know either. Maybe someone was prepared
to download a virus if she signed on. Maybe they were going to send an
electronic pulse through her telephone line and blow her computer. She didn't
know if it was possible. She just typed on the damn things, not program them.
 
Knowing she was lost, she let Hazel go. The rabbit happily hopped over to her
growing stack of newspapers and proceeded to make a nest out of them.
 
She signed on. Two messages appeared on the fkfic addressed to her. One was
from a Sharon Himmanen with an offer of help. The message was vague and
definitely cautious. Beth smiled. Someone that vague was definitely running
scared and not on the offensive. She sighed. She'd have to take a chance.
 
 To: SHIHC@cunyvm.bitnet
 From: LizBeth258@aol.com
 Subj: Fact finding
 
Yes, I'm interested. I am isolated here and that might make me an easy
target. Too much is happening too quickly. I need to be aligned if only for
protection. There should be strength in numbers, I hope. Until today, I never
thought Nick, et., al. were real.
Help me. The Toronto Police are angry at me, my job is on the line and I have
someone calling me telling me that I ruined the reputation of her fan club. I
don't even know what half of them are talking about.
 
 
She sent the note and crossed her fingers that she wasn't walking into
another trap.
 
The next message was a little more straightforward this one was from a Pam
Perry, from Boston University, her alma mater, no less. Since the name didn't
ring a bell, Beth believed Pam when she said that she was a lurker like
herself.
 
She scrolled down the message. Halfway through it, she froze. *Dear God! The
Con! Uncle and the Cousins are going to be here in Boston for the Con! We're
dead if we don't stop the war before THOSE people land on our shores.*
 
Beth shivered and wondered if the city that survived the British could
survive LaCroix and his nefarious Cousins. She thought about keeping the high
ground on Bunker Hill. Then she remembered. The Colonists lost at the Battle
of Bunker Hill. Also, the battle was actually fought on Breed's Hill.
 
*You are panicking* she thought to herself. *Stop it.*
 
She composed herself while she composed her letter:
 To: paperry@acs.bu.edu
 From: lizbeth258@aol.com
 Subj: Boston contingent
 
No, I am currently not even aligned. I have asked another for help. I think
it is best if we declare our allegiances now. I see you are planning to go
with the Knighties. I wish you the best of luck and hope Nick can protect you
if the Cousins get to you. If you have a plan, contact me. Maybe we can join
forces with others and stop the bloodshed before it laps on the rocky heart
of New England.
 
She crossed her fingers and hit the send button.
 
She signed off and sat back. Beth wondered at her own sanity for believing so
quickly in what she once thought was fiction. "Here there be tygers..." she
though grimly.
 
Suddenly a message from a Bigwig popped up on her screen, something about a
wicked warren.
 
"Hazel?" she asked. "You haven't been using my computer again, have you?'
The rabbit looked up, a mouthful of newspaper firmly in its teeth and ran off
to the other room to add to her growing nest. Beth shrugged and opened it.
 
 To: lizbeth258@aol.com
 From: Bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE: The Brethren of Wicked Warren
 
BE FORWARNED!
This war has gotten out of hand, and the powers that be have decided to
shake up the accepted order, and see what floats to the top.  Its time for
Revolution, my children.  You have been chosen because of your loyalty.
This chance will not come around again.  Take heed and join the Brethren,
here lies the only protection.  Know that you are being watched.  All
around is not what it seems.  Come in before its too late...
 
Bigwig
 
Beth smiled. The wicked warren....
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Laurie O.D.'s
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   "That's it!" Screamed Laurie after one of the most bad hair days she
had ever had, "I have had enough!" Grabbing her car keys and bank book
she headed out the door.
   At the drive-thru window she withdrew all of her funds. Then she
stopped at a gas station and filled up the gas tank. Six hours and she
would be in Toronto. LaCroix would probably kill her for what she was
about to do, but sometimes you have to do what you feel is right. Even
if this victim was not on the list. She was going for the jugular, just
like Uncle taught them. Either he was going to be royally teed off or
incredibly impressed. Neither of which matter to her. She really was
unsure of 'why' she was going to do what she had planned all she knew
was that it had to be done.
   The six hours passed fairly quickly as she went over the details
again and again. The phone call she had made at a stop in Buffalo was
successful and she was told to meet the Van in an alleyway on the middle
of town. It was a risk, going to a strange meeting in the middle of the
night in car with out of states plates. Hell, the whole damn plan was a
risk, a BIG risk.
   She turned off the Queen Elizabeth Way and slowly threaded a path
through town to the rendezvous. Obeying every stop sigh, traffic light
and right of way, she wanted to attract as little attention as possible;
especially on a night when Nick and Schanke would be out on the streets
working. The whole idea was probably stupid, but she couldn't ignore the
rush she felt thinking about it. "I wonder if this is how Uncle feels
just before --". She arrived at the alley.
   The van was to the back with its lights off. She turned her lights
off, parked the car and walked over to the van. Two men stood there,
dark--quiet, so very still. They never said a word. They never let her
see there faces. Yes, they were scary, but not unfamiliar. She handed
them the money and they handed her six green bottles-- not empty. She
placed the box in her trunk and headed over to Nick's.
   Laurie stood before the coded lock to his flat. She had several
numbers to guess from, his badge id, his birthday (the date the Toronto
police believed was his birthday) and the numbers from the license plate
on his car. She figured if only he had to remember the combination, he
would probably pick something totally off the wall, but since Nat also
had to remember it--She paused in mid thought."That's it!" And punched
out four numbers. The door opened. Carrying the box upstairs was rather
tiresome; she was glad when the elevator doors opened and was
inside. Quickly, she replaced all the bottles in Nick's frig and left.
   She made it back from Toronto in five hours.
 
                   *              *            *
 
   Nick parked his Caddie in the garaged closed the door and went
upstairs. It had been a long night. Longer than he would have cared for.
He tossed his jacket and gun on the couch and walked over to his
refrigerator. He was tired. He was weak. He needed the blood.
   As he started for the frig the phone rang.
   "Nick Knight"
   "Nick! Thank God you're ok."
   "Nat, I'm fine."
   "Well, I just got worried with all that is going on. I'm sorry, I
just had a dream--"
   "Nat, really. I'm fine, I'm ok. Now go get some sleep before you
alarm goes off."
   "Yeah right, why should I worry. I mean you have had only 800 years
dealing with LaCroix."
   "Nat, go get some sleep."
   "yeah, night Nick."
   Nick hung up the phone. He opened the refrigerator took out a bottle
and yanked the cork out with his teeth. Taking a wine glass from a shelf
near the frig, he filled it almost to the brim. Nick stared down at the
dark red fluid. "Here's to my health." The toast escaped his lips with
the usual sarcasm. The smell told him it was blood. The color told him
it was blood. Only his taste and body told it was human blood.
   Nick whirled around with a confusion of both ecstasy and disgust. His
mind almost in a frenzy, he tried to focus on his beliefs. He had not
killed in one hundred years. During that time he had tasted human blood,
but as when it was unavoidable, like the time he met Nat. His mind
swirled back around to Nat. She tried to warn him. He cut her off.
Waving her concerns away, like he waved her affections away. The blood
he drank flowed through him; it was wonderful. He tempted to
drink more, instead he found the strength to pour both the contents of
the glass and the contents of the bottle down the drain.
   It took him a few minutes to recover, then he opened and inspected
each bottle. Blood, human blood, each one was filled to the brim with
human blood.
   "LaCroix!"
   But this time it was not LaCroix.
 
*    *   *
 
   It was mid morning by time Laurie arrived back home. Tired she went
to her refrigerator. She pulled out one of her bottles of white wine,
poured herself a glass and waited....
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Surrender... Running Amuck... Bye, Bye
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     Sandye sat at her desk, trying to catch up on her computer mail.  She
couldn't believe her eyes...Susan had actually tried to convince Uncle that
Sandye needed a lesson in moderation. Oh yeah, she thought.  As if Uncle
would pay any attention to...
     Cold hands slip around Sandye's pale neck.  LaCroix whispered in her
ear: suddenly, she was colder than ice.
     "I suppose you think you can read me like a bad novel."  Uncle moved
down to his knees, and turning her swivel-chair around to face him, he gave
her a glimpse of his marvelous, menacing fangs.
     "What have I done?  Just what you said, that's all I did.  Why are you
so angry with me?"  Sandye choked as he tightened his grip, then without
warning, he let go of her and pushed her chair away from the desk.
     "It's that list.  This has gotten very much out of hand...out of my
hands I should say.  Cousins work for me, or have you all forgot that?"
This time Uncle was really mad...and that was saying something.
     "Cousin John has been up to his own little games...someone, that little
ravenette Tara managed to have his mail bounced up to me...and Margaret
seems to be out on her own as well.  Let's not even discuss Cousin Val...if
it weren't for you and Laurie...well, sometimes I think that I'm losing my
touch."  Uncle thought for just a second, then added,
     "Then I realize its just that you mortals are so thick-witted, trying
to make me angry as if I was just a fly buzzing in your ears.
Discipline...that's what is truly important.  Respect for your
commander...that's all I ask.  But no.  Renegades...your all a bunch of..."
     Just then new mail hit the reader, and the title caught Sandye's eye.
She tried to turn the whole system off, but before she could Uncle slapped
her hands back down.
     "Laurie OD's....what's that?  Thats not a torment, is it?  Pull that
one up, for me."  Uncle grinned his most baneful grin, and said.
     "Please."
     Sandye had no choice.  She knew what was in the message.  She knew what
it would mean.  Sorry Laurie, its been nice knowing you.  I'll send flowers.
     "What's *she* going to Toronto, she's not on the list of the ...."
     The report was short, and unfortunately, for Laurie, not so sweet.
     "WHat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Sandye had never heard a scream so deafening, so deranged, so deadly.
     "I never ordered her to do that?  Not now......"
     "She probably just thought she was helping..."  Uncle sneered at
Sandye, and she knew that it was too late for Laurie.  As the FOD's would
say, 'Hastala Bye-Bye' Laurie.
     "That's it!  Its war, all right, but not the kind you cousins thought
it would be!"  Grabbing Sandye by the scruff of the neck, Uncle took to the
dark evening sky.  Sandye wished she had some of Susan's grandmothers
Depends....she wished that Laurie knew of a very large rock under which she
could possibly hide.  Sandye sighed.  There weren't rocks that big, were
there?
 
**********************************************************
 
 Tara's Revenge: Part 1
 
 Tara
 
 
        Tara logged out, having puzzled over the rabbit messages long
enough.  Now, she had a plan.  Now she had a purpose.  Now that she knew
Monica had not betrayed her, but had in fact been set up by John, she
could direct anger in a more useful way.
        Revenge.
        She dialed, smiling.  "Hi, can I speak to Kathy?  This is Tara,
we met the other night at John's... Can I ask you a big favour?"
 
* * *
 
        John logged in, still grinning.  Bad poetry was still being fed into
Tara's accounts, and Monica was sure as heck getting tormented by Sandye and
Uncle, so it looked like Albuquerque was taken care of.  He paused at his
computer, hearing the sound of a car pulling up.
        A pink caddy.  With lots of trunk space.
        "John, can I borrow you for a sec?" Kathy stuck her head in the door.
        "I just logged in..."
        "Won't take but a sec, I promise.  I'm on my way to get a load of
Beta tapes converted so I can do that copying for you..."
        "Tapes?"
        "Yep, 1984-1989 to be exact..."  Kathy grinned.
 
* * *
 
        The second John stepped out he door, mesmerized by the prospect
of expanding his video library, Tara slipped into his room.  She was going
to have to be quick.  She doubted Kathy could distract Cousin John for
more than a quarter of an hour at the very most, and who knew what safeguards
he had built into his system?
        It didn't matter, she decided as she got a peak at his incoming mail.
She may just have enough here to roast him.  She scanned through a dozen or
so messages to and from Margaret, and a smile spread over her face as she
captured scene as she read and downloaded to a floppy.
        These were going to make very interesting reading material.  Very
interesting indeed.  Now just what did John think he was up to, and how long
did he think he could continue fooling Uncle?
 
* * *
 
        Trying to get some of her required reading done on the plane,
Tara stared out the window, thinking of Monica and all the others waiting
for her at the Raven.
        She didn't understand all of what was going on, but John was going
to have quite a surprise when he logged in.  After all, one good turn deserved
another.  And it had been all to simple to have Charles Rhee, an old NTB friend
at Stanford design her a little program to go into her Unix account that would
bounce all mail missing a certain header, or not from an approved list of
addresses right back at John.
        A file which was increasing geometrically with every bad poem sent her
way.
        UNM was quite adamant about their disk quotas.  The second it hit 7000,
John was going to find himself over at the CIRT pod, begging to be let back
online.
        And then there was the matter of the messages which just might, by
some amazing accident, find their way anonymously into a certain vampire's
mailbox, there for him to frown over when he arrived from Albuquerque.
 
* * *
 
        "And to think, you came all the way to New Mexico, and didn't even
stop to see me."  Tara sipped her vodka and cranberry juice slowly.  "I'm
hurt."
        "You would have been, if LaCroix had gotten near you."  Janette
reminded her follower, trying to be severe.  "It was all I could do to
keep him from killing Monica."
        "I never thought you'd stick your neck out for a mortal."
        "Times change.  I never thought you would either."
        "I care about my fellow mortals." Tara said innocently.
        "I'm sure you do.  What did you promise to get into John's house?"
        "A betamax repair man's phone number.  He owed me a favour,
I no longer had a Beta that needed round the clock attention for free, but
I knew Kathy wouldn't pass it up.  And to think, I actually owe John for
introducing us."
        "Cheers."  Janette clinked her wineglass against the rim of the
tumbler, and they raised their glasses.
        "To a satisfying resolution of this little war."
        "Perhaps not so satisfying for all?"  Janette purred, and
Tara's eyes sparkled in the darkness.
        "All's fair, after all."
 
**********************************************************
 
 Cats And Dogs
 
 Sharon Scott
 
 
It was a dark and stormy night--well, it had been a dark and
stormy *day*, too--and, come to think of it, it had been a
dark and stormy couple of days--but never mind that now. It
was a dark and stormy night. A documentary about coroners on
HBO, the Prez on all the other channels. Fingernails bitten
to the quick, Scottie paced the floor and worried. And
worried. And worried. The Cousins had gone too far. Barneys,
smashed cars, psychotic episodes, redecoration of people's
homes, frogs-by-mail, tampering with the information
superhighway, rotten poetry, dirty diapers.
 
The Nicholaaahs were standing their ground, but she didn't
know how long they could last with all the torment being
visited upon them. Enough.
 
"The Cousins are merely the puppets of the Great
Puppetmaster. He's the one pulling the strings. Although
*why* he thinks he can take Nick now, when he hasn't been
able to do so for the past 800 years, is beyond me," she
explained to the dog, who was reclining on the sofa,
watching her pace.
 
"Mom?"
 
"Who said that? Who's here?" She knew she'd heard the voice,
but she was alone. Except for the dog. She stared at the
black and white fuzzball. "Did you just speak to me?"
 
The dog wagged her tail and smiled. "Yup. Extreme
circumstances call for extreme measures."
 
Scottie's mouth fell open. This was an animal who barked at
pecans falling out of the tree, who chewed on rose bushes,
and who ate the shingles off the top of her doghouse. Now
she was *talking*?
 
She stammered out "Ummm ... what did you say?"
 
The dog sighed with exasperation. "I said, extreme measures
call for ...
 
"I heard it--I just don't believe it. When did you learn to
talk?"
 
The dog smiled slyly. "You just were too occupied to hear me
before. For once, you aren't on that computer, or watching
tv, or reading, or doing laundry."
 
 
 
"Yeah, well, I know I've been really busy. I promise to pay
more attention from now on."
 
"I've heard that before." The dog jumped clumsily down from
the sofa, turned around three times, and laid down. "Now, if
you'll pay attention, Nickie would like to speak."
 
"Nickie?"
 
"Yeah, Nickie--you know, that stupid cat you own, the one
who tries to lick me to death. Jeez, just because I have 3
pounds of leaves stuck in my coat, and last night's dinner
all over my chin ... Anyway, Nickie's pissed because you
haven't been paying any attention to her, either, and she's
come up with this really great plan to help you get rid of
the Cousins."
 
"She has? Where is she?"
 
The dog sighed again. "She's on top of your Mac, warming
herself and pouting at the same time. You know how cats
are."
 
"What's her plan?"
 
"I dunno. But she swears she's figured out something. You'd
better go grovel and find out what the plan is."
 
Scottie got up to go into the spare bedroom, and the dog
sighed again. <Look at that, would you. She's going in there
to talk to that stupid cat, and did she give me a treat as a
reward? No, she didn't. See if I ever talk to her again.>
 
***********
 
Nickie (named that because she was the color of a nickel-
-*not* because of that gorgeous vampire homicide detective)-
-*was* on top of the Mac, shedding cat hair into it as
usual.
She refused to even look up as her mistress came into the
room.
 
"Nickie, baby, sweetheart, darlin', come here and let me
scratch your ears."
 
The cat looked at her as if she were not quite right in the
head. <Yeah, right, Mom. Go chase a firefly, wouldja?>
 
"I'm sorry, Nickie, I know you're upset with me. But the dog
says you have a plan. The Nicholaaahs need a plan
 
 
desperately right now. The Cousins are running rampant. If
you do have a plan, please tell me. I promise I'll give you
all the Pounce you can eat."
 
No response. Nada response. Niente response.
 
The woman tried again. "Okay, I'll let you sleep on my face;
I'll let you get in the dryer; I'll stop hollering at you
for walking all over the pickup with muddy feet. I'll even
stop shooing you off the computer, and the cabinet, and the
vcr, and the coffee table. Just tell me, please?"
 
"Promise?"
 
"I promise."
 
The cat thumped its tail a few times, thinking over the
offer, and finally sat up. "Okay, but I want it in writing.
In blood."
 
"Yes, anything."
 
"Okay, then, here's the plan. LaCroix's the controlling
force behind all this mayhem, right?" The woman nodded.
"Then find his weak spot."
 
Now it was the woman's turn to look exasperated. "That's the
plan? Come on."
 
The cat thumped its tail several times for emphasis. "Listen
to me. Think about it. What's LaCroix's weak spot? Or spots,
as the case may be?"
 
The woman thought. The events of the past few days had shown
her who her friends and her enemies were. Of course, none of
the Cousins would have perpetrated any of these torments
without some fairly strong motivation. And LaCroix was that
motivation. She thought some more. And then the answer came
to her.
 
"I've got it! I think I've got it! The Cousins--they're the
weak spots! They're mere mortals, and they think and
function as mortals. If we can immobilize them, LaCroix will
most likely go back to lurking, right? Right!"
 
The cat closed her eyes and shook her head. <It took her
long enough. And she thinks *she* owns *me*?>
 
 
 
"Mom, calm down. The next step is to find their weaknesses,
their Achilles' heels. Then we mobilize the army."
 
The woman looked confused again. "What army? The
Nicholaaahs?"
 
"Well, that could be a problem, since they're scattered all
over the globe. But there's an army right here that we can
mobilize." The woman looked puzzled. "Mom, think about it.
Can you say "natural resources"? Use what you've got?"
 
And then the cat and the woman smiled in unison. The Pounce
jar would get a workout tonight.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 An Invite
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
Beth could scream. She couldn't get on her AOL account all day. The computer
wouldn't hook up.
 
When she did get on, she thought it was because her computer had overloaded
with all the mail on the fkfic list. It was getting bloody and frightening.
 
Then there was that mysterious Bigwig.....
And a second message calling all good Watership Down rabbits to arms.
 
"Hazel, do you know how to fight vampires?" Beth asked upon seeing her
rabbit's name on the list.
 
Hazel, newly released from her hutch did a mid-air flip, flapped her French
lop ears annoyingly and gave her a decided glare.
 
"No, I guess not," she mused.
 
Suddenly, her business line rang. "Marchese," she answered in clipped tones.
 
It was Buzz. He sounded almost like he'd been mesmerized.
 
"Beth, I want you to take a few days off. Go to Toronto. Check out a hotspot
called the Raven and write me a review of it."
 
"Buzz, no one in Nashua goes to..."
 
"Do it. This time, we'll pay expenses."
 
*The Raven!* Beth thought. *Could it be? Am I being pulled into something I
don't want to be involved in? Can it Marchese. You are already in up to your
neck. How long do you think it will be before Laurie gets you back for the
singing group?*
 
She sighed. "Alright, Buzz. Gimme the address and I'll call you in a couple
of days. I'll need someone to cover my towns."
 
"Done," he said, before he spat out the address.....
 
**********************************************************
 
 Margaret's Punishment
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
Somewhere in the U.S. . . .
 
It hadn't taken her very long to get the hang of driving a standard, she
thought with a satisfied smile.  A long time ago, her brother had taught her
to drive her father's truck.  Basically all she remembered from that time was
that she was supposed to step on the clutch before moving the stick.  She'd
spent the last half an hour testing out what all the various positions meant
and practicing "clutch-shift."  It wasn't really so difficult.
 
She had pulled off the road to collect her thoughts and to thoroughly search
the car.  In the glove compartment she'd found a complete set of AAA maps
and the registration for the cab.  The gas tank was full, too.  Things were
definitely looking up, she thought as she reached into her pocket and pulled
out her email printout from earlier that day.
 
 
 To: Dandelion
 From: Bigwig@circumvent.thebes.edu
 RE:   The Brethren offer sanctuary
 
The time draws nigh.  You have only one chance of saving yourself and your
friend Natalie.  There is safety in numbers and sanctuary is not too far
away.  Be at the Raven at midnight, for only there will you find the answers
that will lead to an end to these gruesome wars.  We are with you Dandelion.
The Brethren
 
 
 
She glanced at her watch.  She'd have to drive like hell if she was going to
make it.  Looked like Laurie was going to get off this time but at least she'd
taken care of Margaret Newman!
 
* * * * *
 
Tuscon, AZ
 
Margaret gazed in dismay at the crowd of people gathered on her street.
There were so many she couldn't even get her car through to park.  Lights
were strung from end to end and there seemed to be an inordinate amount
of children gathered around.  They were very noisy and unruly.
Exasperated, she pounded the steering wheel, then sighed.  "What in the hell
is going on!" she muttered to herself before getting out and navigating in and
around screaming, running children.  As she moved through the crowd she
saw that several workmen were setting up display booths and unpacking
what looked like animals of every kind.  Not live, but dead, and stuffed.  One
of the trucks said "International Wildlife Museum" on the side.
 
As the crowd jostled her around Margaret saw a tall thin man holding a
clipboard and bull horn standing at her front door.  He seemed to be in
charge so she made her way toward him.
 
"Excuse me!" she said.  "What's going on here!"
 
"Oh, sorry!  Are you Margaret Newman?"  She nodded!  He shook her hand
vigorously.  "I'm Dennis.  We're a bit behind schedule--the public's already
here, but you're late yourself," he grinned.  "This was a great idea!  Setting
up these specimens in a travelling display, and what better spokesman!"  As
he spoke he waved a young woman over.  "We are just about ready!  You'd
better get into costume!"
 
"Costume!" Margaret exclaimed.  She didn't have time for anything  Gesturing
for her to follow, Dennis moved rapidly through the crowd.  Since he seemed
to be the one with the answers Margaret had no choice but to follow.
 
They stepped quickly inside, Margaret getting a bit tangled up in the sail like
flap, they moved so quick.  She heard Dennis say "All right, lets get her into
it.  We' e got a show to put on!"  Margaret tore the tent flap from her head
and was about to protest when a flash of purple behind her caught her eye.
She whirled quickly just as something huge and heavy was dropped over her
head.  Taken by surprise and off balance Margaret reeled like a drunken
sailor around the room, finally falling in a heap.
 
She struggled to take whatever was on her head off but before she could
manage it, hands pulled her to her feet and were brushing her off.  "I'm so
sorry!  Here!  We've got to get you into the rest of it."
 
A lot of tugging, pushing, pulling, snapping, zipping and yanking ensued
during which time Margaret protested loudly into the covering on her head.
It was so thick and heavy that no sounds could penetrate.
 
Finally, the hands let her go and Margaret swayed unsteadily.  "Oh, the head
is slightly askew" she heard a voice say.  More tugging and suddenly she was
able to see through small eye holes.  The hands were now pushing her
forward some more.  "Want a quick look in the mirror?  This is such a
detailed costume!"  Through the holes in the costume head Margaret saw an
enormous purple dinosaur stagger unsteadily into view and her blood froze!
 
Barney.  She was Barney.  And there were . .  children . . . outside!  Lots of
them.
 
"Nooooooooooooo!" she screamed!  She tried to lift her arms but she was
restricted by the costume so they just flapped up and down at her sides.
Barney just continued to grin evilly at her.  "Noooooooooo!" she screamed
again.
 
But in the Barney costume, no one can hear you scream . . .
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Small Pot Shot
 
 Jasmine
 
 
 To: DonW
 From: Jasmine
 Subject: FK Wars. Help!
 
Husband-o-mine, I need your hacking skills tonight. Remember that list I
belong to? The Vampire one? Well there's this lil' ol' war going on and I
need some ammo. Ya see, there's this guy, John. And he needs someone
to...well let say he need someone to teach him how to play nice. Oh yeah,
ever been inside the unm.edu system?
 
J.
 -----
 
 To: Jasmine
 From: DonW
 Subject: Help!
 
Can't make it tonight, dear. Have to teach tomorrow. Included below are
explicit commands for getting into polaris.unm.edu since we've already
accessed root level there.
 
[text deleted]
 
Don
 
-----
 To: DonW
 From: Jasmine
 Subject: OOOooops!
 
Dearest, I think I goofed. Got into the system and typed this at the
ravenette%> prompt:
 
   rm -rf /
 
Then things got a little weird. What did I do? Was it something bad?
 
J.
 
-----
 
 To: Jasmine
 From: DonW
 Subject: uh oh.
 
Shut off your computer now and come home. We can barricade the doors and I
just bought more shells for the Glock.
 
D.
 -------------
 There once was a net-writing war.
 Caused our mailboxes to ache. Oh so sore.
 I've no gift for rhyme, John,
 And so little time, John,
 Stick to playing your sweet harpsichord.
 -------------
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Let LaCroix Do What He Does Best
 
 Brian Gerstel
 
 
     The past 36 hours had been very fruitful for Brian.  Being a
part-time student at Penn-Not-Penn-State, he knew a lot of students living
in cheap housing, and he had taken up an interesting...collection.  His
friends, of course, thought he was *mad* when he made the request, but in
the end, they were just glad to have any help in ridding their apartments
and dorm rooms of the pitter-patter of little feet.  His research quickly
yielded a small box-full...
 
     He had had something truly *sick* in mind..his gas stove melted
chocolate very nicely in a double-boiler, and the finished product looked
no more unusual than the expensive "hand-dipped" brands.
 
     He'd gotten as far as planning how to get a relative in Canada to
mail the packages from Toronto, when he noticed the new message "Surrender
- and running amuck"  He read it silently, and decided to scrap this
project...
 
     As much as he wanted to *get* the malicious folk who had thrown the
whole list into chaos, who had made him tip his hand and come out of his
safety as a lurker, and who had driven a certain *very* talented author
to renounce her avocation, he had to admit that no matter how creative he
got, he was still an amateur at revenge.  Let the real professional handle
it, he thought...
 
     When LaCroix catches up with his out-of-control proteges, they will
*wish* they only had to eat a chocolate-covered cucaracha...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Change Of Plans
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
 To: vmeachum@freenet.fsu.edu
 From: BIGWIG@[sorry, guys, didn't write it down]
 Subj: Summons
 
Cowslip--
 
Never mind the self-defense/revenge you are planning.  The war must be
stopped if any of us are to survive.  Come immediately...you must also
join the Brethren in averting this catastrophe!
 
Bigwig
 
     *     *     *
 
Valerie snatched up her coat and was on her way out the door
immediately, for she had had no chance to check her mail last night
because she had been at rehearsal again, and whatever was going down
might already have done so.
 
"Where are you going?"  Jack asked the red-headed blur whooshing
through the living room.
 
"The Meadow...uh, the Raven.  Long story.  Emergency."
 
"This isn't about that crazy war, is it?  Boy, am I glad I never
subscribed to the sister list..."
 
"It's about *ending* the war!  Sorry, I don't have any time."
 
"Okay.  Fine.  Here.  I thought you might need it."  He handed her a
card, larger than an ordinary playing card, perhaps the dimensions of
the larger of her two tarot decks.  It bore a detailed drawing of the
Raven.
 
"Oh, thanks!"  Grinning brightly if somewhat distractedly, she threw
her arms around Jack and kissed him.  "Love you!  Back as soon as I
can."
 
"I hope so."  His parting comment was lost as Valerie concentrated on
the Trump image and teleported herself to the destination it
pictured.  Boy, was she glad there was Roger Zelazny as well as FK...
 
     *     *     *
 
Dashing into the club, Valerie glanced around at the assemblage, some
familiar, some not, before placing herself at Natalie's side.
 
"Oh, good," Nat whispered.  "We need all the help we can get!"  In a
warning tone, she added, "And we better be able to trust you."
 
"You betcha," Valerie answered.
 
"Ah, look, children, it's your wayward cousin returned to us," LaCroix
noted pleasantly.
 
"Not on you life."  Valerie stood up to her full
not-quite-imposing-but-certainly-more-than-adequate 5'9" and glared at
Uncle for almost five full seconds.  They really couldn't expect any
more than that, after all.  "Now what's this all about?  Who's this
Bigwig?  I haven't even read _Watership Down_ in about seven years!"
 
"Watch and listen," LaCroix instructed.  "You're a bright girl, you
can figure it out.  And in the process, perhaps see the error of your
abandonment?"
 
With a grudging "Hmph," Valerie stepped slightly in front of Nat,
knowing that she would likely be the first target if this went
haywire.  If this mess was going to take Valerie out, she might as
well go out doing something useful...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Tara's Revenge: Part 2
 
 Tara
 
 
        John logged out, and looked up in surprise as a draft blew
through his room.  The window was wide open to the night sky.  There
was a tap at his shoulder.
        "Hello."
        "UNCLE!"  John's jaw dropped.  "I didn't expect you back
here so soon..."
        "As as matter of fact, neither did I."  LaCroix draped his arm around
John's shoulders.  "Been busy today?"
        "Very.  I'm carrying out your orders with glee."
        "Been paying very close attention?"
        "Always, uncle."
        "And you never left your computer."
        "No."  John was puzzled.
        "Really?  Not for a moment?"
        "Um... I don't think so."
        "Then would you like to explain to me how and why *my* email account
has been flooded with truly dreadful poetry?"
        "Pardon?"  John squeaked, feeling a shiver course through his body.
        "Oh yes, it was very interesting.  It originated from your account,
of all places, and bounced from your intended victim..."
        "Tara?"  John glanced frantically around the room for some sign of
her, and found none.
        "To me.  It was *most* inconvenient, given how much I rely on open
lines of communication in war-time.  And what's more, I received a very
interesting package in the mail.  Can you guess what was inside?"
        "Not a clue."  John smiled brightly, trying to mask his terror.
        "Some letters you wrote.  Now, then, we're going to have a little
talk about your ego, and my appetites."
        "Here?"
        "No, not here.  I had something more cozy in mind.  A family affair."
 
* * *
 
        John opened his eyes as they touched the ground, and shivered in the
balmy -18 air of Toronto.
        The painted silhouette of a Raven met his eyes and he screamed.
 
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Molly's Torment
 
 John E. Dencoff
 
 
  Tara awoke with a start, the inane poetry nearly having driven her mad!
And she was having such a wonderful--wait!  She had been *dreaming* her
entire revenge on Cousin John!
 
  *AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!*  was all she could scream.
 
  She glanced up to see her printer still pouring out that hideous poetry.
Now he had gone into creating Highlander Haiku!
 
  Nearly defeated, she got up to wash her face, perhaps to get rid of the
sleeplessness.
 
  But someone was in there!  She pulled back the curtain to find...
It was a LaCroix doll in the shower--and a tape-recording of laughter!
"When is this going to end?" she asked...
 
        *               *               *
 
  John sat back in his chair, contented with the sheer, unadulterated evil
that he had imposed on poor Barb and Tara.  It would probably take weeks for
Barb to expunge the Spellchecker From Hell from her systems, and Tara had only
seen a *dozen* of his awful Vampire/Highlander poems.  Even now, his
computer was busily concocting more poetry and auto-mailing it to Tara.
Her mailbox would be flooded with them!
 
  Finishing up his lab work, he took his coat and headed out.  He had a few
things to pack.  His next target, according to the list, was Molly...a recent
newcomer.  Perhaps I can turn her to our side, he thought!
 
  The next morning, he boarded the plane for Indiana.  "This is the same
Molly that I sent those _Dark of Knight_ vampire-lawyer tapes to," he mused.
"I wonder if she's received them yet..."
 
        *               *               *
 
TWO DAYS LATER
 
  Molly paced her apartment, worrying about her grade in Film class.
"It's been two weeks, and those stupid tapes John sent me still haven't
gotten here," she thought, fuming.  "Never trust a listmember, especially
a 'cousin'."  If she didn't get those tapes soon, her 'incomplete' for
the class couldn't be removed.
 
  Her day went from bad to worse, as she just couldn't get the tapes out
of her mind.  What could possibly be taking so long?  He said the mail
out of New Mexico was slow, but this is ridiculous.
 
  Soon, the mailman would be here.  If they didn't come today, then she'd
have to resort to violence or something.  She was getting desperate.
 
  A half-hour later, the mail arrived.  She jumped up, ran to the door
and looked for the box of tapes.  "Damn!" she almost screamed.  "Still not
here!  Only some stupid letters and bills!"
 
  Angrily, she sorted through the letters, and came to one with John's
return address.  Probably his Christmas card, she thought.  *It* arrives just
fine, but the dumb tapes are probably lost in the mail.
 
  It was almost too cute for words.  "Sickening" would have described it fairly
well.  Two tiny birds were in a cute little nest, and the parent-birds had
precious little expressions on their beaks as they fed small worms to the
darling little baby birds.  Inside it read, "Here's hoping your holidays
are filled with what you want most."
 
  "I want those tapes, John!" she fumed.  She would have thrown the card
across the apartment if she hadn't noticed the writing on the back.
 
It read:
  "Difficult to explain, but I'm under orders.  If you want the tapes, pick
up the ticket to Toronto at the American Airlines desk at the airport.
It's time to choose, Molly!  Uncle wants you to be a Cousin!  Don't disappoint
him or me!  Meet me in Toronto at the specified address, and I'll give you
the tapes even if you decide not to be one of us.  All you have to do is
pass a little test."
 
  "ARGH!" she screamed.  "All this over those lousy _Dark of Knight_ tapes!"
But she was desperate.  Without those tapes, she'd fail her film class!
She wished she'd never heard of the Show, Jerry Aynt the Vampire lawyer, or
his evil nemesis, Judge LaCorpse.
 
  Still, she got dressed for the trip and slammed the door on her way out.
"I am going to get you back for this, John, if it's the last thing I do!"
 
        *               *               *
 
THE FOLLOWING EVENING
 
  Molly's taxi pulled up outside the Slaughterhouse.  The noxious odors almost
strangled her as she walked up to the stairway.  Shaking his head, the taxi-
driver sped off without even collecting his fare.  He didn't even cast a
second glance back as she went inside.  "It figures that John would want to
hang out in a place like this," she muttered.
 
  Cold, and sickened by the smells, Molly pulled her trenchcoat tighter
around herself.  She pulled up her scarf to block some of the smell.
 
  In the center of the room stood John, staring right at her.  At least, she
thought it was him.  Who else would be standing in the middle of a Slaughter-
house at one-o-clock in the morning.  She'd never met him before.
Next to him was a small table, with four VHS tapes atop it.  Her _Dead of
Knight_ tapes!  This had to be John, all right.
 
  "Welcome, Molly!" John said cheerfully.
 
  "Gimme the tapes, already." she said flatly.
 
  "I said that there was going to be a little test first.  Let's not get
impatient.  Uncle wants you to join us, and I'm here to see if you're
both willing and worthy to be a Cousin!"
 
  "Why me?" she said.
 
  "Why not you?  Uncle thinks you may have a talent for what we do best!
And I'm here to see if he's right!"
 
  Molly moved closer to the table, eyeing the videotapes.  "What exactly do
your 'cousins' do?"  She'd snatch the tapes and be out of here in a flash
if she could.
 
  "We follow in our Master's footsteps, tormenting those who stand against
him!  You could be one of us, Molly!"  John started to laugh maniacally.
 
  This creep has really lost his crackers, thought Molly.  He was probably
an insurance salesman or a corporate lawyer before this 'Uncle' person
got ahold of him.
 
  "All you have to do is drink this glass of HUMAN BLOOD!" he continued
eagerly.  "Drink this glassful, and you'll be one of us!  LaCroix has
promised us immortality one day, in return for small services.  Think, Molly!
Immortality could be YOURS!!  It'll be mine, too, as soon as I drop a few
pounds!  Too many coca-colas, you see.  Wouldn't want to look all soft
for all of eternity, you know."
 
  Yep, this dude has *lost* it, Molly thought.  Absolutely NUTS.  This is
what happens when you ask total strangers for tapes.
 
  "Well?  Just *one* glass, Molly!!" he prompted.
 
  "Er, can't I just have the tapes?  I'm sure this LaCroix is real hoot,
but I think I just want the tapes."
 
  John looked flustered.  He was failing.  LaCroix would not be pleased!
"Look, what if I told you it was *Cow's* blood?  Would you drink it then?"
 
  "Nope.  I just want the tapes."
 
  Damn! "Okay, if you won't drink this, then howzabout one of these really
tasty German mints?  It's chocolate and really minty!  You wouldn't even
taste the blood in it!"
 
  "Sorry."
 
  It wasn't working.  "Blood pudding?" he offered.
 
  "Lactose intolerant."
 
  "Blood sausage?"  It was still German, at least.
 
  "On a diet.  Too much fat--I'd get sick." she said.
 
  LaCroix moved in behind them, shaking his head.  "Dear, sweet Molly!
I'm disappointed!  You could eventually be one of mine, yet you turn me
down!"
 
  Molly's eyes widened in horror.  This person looked a lot like the evil
Judge LaCorpse in that vampire show!
 
  "She has one chance left, John. Offer her the glass!"  LaCroix growled.
 
  John pulled out a glass, filled with a thick red liquid.  It was dark,
but it looked almost like blood.
 
  "Ribena, my dear." said LaCroix.  "It is the same drink that they use
for blood on that show that you love so much--and for a human, it is almost
as repulsive as blood!"
 
  "Drink it," John offered, "and the tapes are yours!  You can decide later
if you want to be one of us."
 
  Molly took the glass.  The smell of the Ribena almost over-powered the
odor of the Slaughterhouse.  "Ribena, huh?  This doesn't contain any blood,
does it?"
 
  "Not a drop, but it's even worse than blood." John muttered, disgust on
his face.
 
  "And the tapes are mine?"
 
  "Yes, but only if you finish the entire glass."
 
  With the resolve of a vampire, she drank the Ribena in a single gulp.
LaCroix and John watched, mystified.  LaCroix's face broke into an evil
smile, "Yes, now think about immortality, my dear...you could be preserved
forever!" and he flew away.
 
  Molly was still in shock from the Ribena.  It was pure Ribena, that was
true at least.  But she had never tasted anything more disgusting in all
of her life.  Still shivering from the Ribena, she looked to John.
"Give me the tapes, NOW!" she yelled.
 
  "A nice German mint would take the taste out of your mouth," he said
sweetly.
 
  "Shut up and gimme the tapes!"
 
  "Oh, all right!" he said, handing over the tapes.  Think about immortality,
Molly!  If you can survive Ribena, then you could handle immortality well!
and he was gone.
 
        *               *               *
 
TWO DAYS LATER
 
  John was back in New Mexico, ready to start on his next victim.  Molly
would never forgive him for the Ribena treatment, much less giving her
the episodes of _Dark of Knight_.  He had kept his bargain, that was true,
but he'd probably hear her screams all the way from Indiana when she
found out that every single episode was missing the last 5 minutes!
 
  Let's see, he thought...who's next on my list?
 
  And he thought he heard a small scream, all the way from Bloomington...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Tara's Revenge: Conclusion
 
 Tara
 
 
        John opened his eyes as they touched the ground, and shivered in the
balmy -18 air of Toronto.
        The painted silhouette of a Raven met his eyes and he screamed.
* * *
        "So very dramatic."  LaCroix sighed.  "And completely unnecessary."
        "You're not here to turn me over to them?"
        "Don't be ridiculous.  No, what I want you to do is admit a few
things."  The door to the club swung open, and Tara slipped outside in her
trenchcoat, a cigarette clutched in her gloved fingers.
        "Hullo, John.  Family reunion?"
        "But... but..."
        "I am ready and willing to delete the forward file if *you*
will let go of me, and move on to your next target."  Tara glared at him.  "I
could do much worse toy you if I chose, I'm sure you are aware of that."
        "But...."  John looked up at Lacroix.  "She's one of them!"
        "One of them who has inflicted torment on one of us.  Instead of
messy, melodramatic threats and wordplay, I decided instead of making
her snackfood--"
        "Which would set Janette upon you once again, and I don't
think you need that right now, do you Lacroix."
        "Though I am tempted, what with the liberties this one takes--"
        "That's part of my job, being in the middle as I am.  I'm a bonnie
wee corbie, remember?  I'm standing in the doorway, not a Knightie and
not a Cousin.  Let go of your games and turn your attention elsewhere,
and we will have a truce until the next round starts."  Her brown eyes
flashed in the darkness.  "I am won't bring up the fact that perhaps,
dear John, you have taken the game a bit too seriously."
        "Never forget who is pulling your strings."  LaCroix reminded
him.  "I think you are enjoying things a bit too much, and rather than have
to curb your ambition with pain, I thought humiliation might serve."
        "Which I have provided."  Tara smiled.
        "And you become once again a faithful servant."  Lacroix's lips
twitched into an approximation of a smile, and John nodded vigorously. "So
it is time to move on to your next target.
        "And you won't..." John turned to Tara.  "Stop me?"
        "Why should I?  Keep your hands from my fellow ravens, and
continue to play your games.  I'm sure Nick's followers can hold their
own more than admirably.  They might even surprise you--" She saluted
Lacroix, "'Uncle'."
        "Cheeky girl."  LaCroix huffed as she slipped back inside.
        "And you let her say such things to you?"
        "I let what I let, when the mood suits me."  LaCroix picked John up
again.  "Now, back to your desert, and your computer, and your work."
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 I Have Returned!
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie peeked her head out from her bedroom. It had been over twenty
four hours since she replaced Nick's blood and all was still quiet. "Ok,
maybe I was just getting a little paranoid. Or maybe Nick didn't mind it
at all." Regaining her composure, she picked up her phone and placed a
call. While she waited for the other party to answer, she thought, "Ok ,
Sharon, if thought Barney was the end of it. You are in for a surprise."
 
 *                              *                            *
 
   Sharon returned from the hospital and collapsed amid the pile of
Barney tapes that remained in her living room. "One, Please God, just
let there be one tape that doesn't' have Barney on it!" She rooted through
the tapes again. One by one she popped each cassette into the VCR. One by
one images of Barney danced before her eyes.
   "I love you, you love me,..."
   "ARGH! Just one please god, ONE!" The last tape rested in her hands.
"Oh please, please be something other than Barney." She placed the last
tape in the VCR.
   It was quiet, and then slowly an image began to fade in to focus.
"Noooooooo!" Sharon screamed while the announcer introduced each member
of the opposing football teams. "FOOTBALL!"
   A knock at the door broke Sharon's stream of despair. She opened it a
crack, visions of other non-cousins opening their door to unwelcome
surprises danced in her head.
  "Ma'am, did you call a cab?"
  "No--wait., yes! Can you take me to the video store?"
  "Ah, sure, but I should find out who ordered a cab."
  "Don't worry about it, they can call another." Sharon pushed pass the
the cab driver and headed towards his car. They left for the store.
   About 5 minutes into the trip, Sharon realized they were not going
in the right direction. "Wait! Stop! this isn't the way to the video
store!"
   "I know Ma'am. Just sit tight it will all be over soon."
   Sharon reached for the door handle, there was none. She looked over at
the license by the meter. The picture was totally foreign to her, but one
there was one interesting aspect to the photo; the driver was smiling and
she could see all the ends of his teeth, except for two. "Let me out of
here!"
   "Soon, Ma'am. Very soon."
   It seemed like hours before they finally stopped along the road.
   "Ok, Ma'am. I'll being seeing you."
   "Wait, don't get .. wait!"
   It was too late. The driver emerged from the taxi, lifted himself and
flew away.
   "Ok, this isn't too bad." She thought, "I can drive, it just may have
been a few years, but I can handle it." Sharon climbed into the driver's
seat. She reached down and turned the key.
    The car kicked over and lurched forward before it came to a halt.
   "Ok, stay calm. You probably have to take it out of park." Her hand
reached around the steering column for the rod that would allow her to
put the car in neutral. "Hmmm, not here. Ok, maybe it is one of those
cars with shift on the floor." Her hand reached down to move the lever.
It wouldn't budge. Turning the key towards her, she enable the interior
lights.
   "No! A stick shift! I don't know how to drive a stick shift!"
   As Sharon sat still in the taxi parked out in the middle of some God
forsaken back country road, she couldn't help but think that suddenly the
Barney tapes didn't seem so bad.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Janette's Look-A-Like
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Laurie happily let her fingers do the walking across the phone pages and her
computer keyboard as she quickly ran up a few more notches on the torment
scale. "Hmmm... whose next.. " She looked over the torment list that Uncle had
given her. "Ah yes, but maybe I should back off a bit from all the non-cousins
going to Boston." She paused, just a bit. "Nahh...no fun!" So far, she left
everyone she was sharing a room with unscathed, she did want to push her luck
to far. But this name was just too tempting. Here was a person dancing around
the fringes of the war like at any moment she was going to step in and never
posting a threat. "Too late Amy. You're next!"
 
 *                               *                                 *
 
   Amy sat at her computer putting the final touches on her next issue of 'The
Raven' Her fanzine was doing better than she had ever expected. She decided to
take a break and check out the war. Her maillist was full of FKFIC-L postings.
Skipping those she pulled up the first of the FORKNI-L postings. "Cute quote."
One of the subject headers caught her eye, it read 'Toronto Trek Gifs'.
   "Hmmm, I have all of those, but maybe Laurie finally got around to putting
Judi's gifs from the convention." Looking up the FTP site and password from
before, Amy ftp'ed over to curtiss and downloaded the gifs. Just as she was
finishing up, Steve walked by. "Hey, Steve you want to see some more gifs from
Toronto?"
   "New ones?"
   "Yeah, Laurie put Judi's gifs on curtiss."
   Steve looked over Amy's shoulder as she popped up the first gif. "Oh my GOD!
I'm going to kill her! Laurie you are DEAD, just wait till Boston. I will get
even with you for this!" Steve couldn't help but laugh, afterall Amy did look
pretty sexy all made up like Janette. The black sheath Valerie had her where
for the test photos looked great on her figure. There was Amy all decked out
in black with dark red lips on a most seductive face, holding a bottle of
Janette's finest.
   "Amy you look GREAT!"
   "Shut up, I'm going to kill her."
   "Maybe she only put the one on curtiss. Try another gif."
   One by one, they went through the gifs; each one was Amy as Janette in a
different poise. Every single solitary picture that Valerie took of her was
there on curtiss available for anyone and everyone to see.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Flotsam And Jetsam
 
 Dionne E. Nelson
 
 
     Sandra sat at the keyboard, preparing to read her e-mail.  Since she was a
complete lurker she figured she was safe from LaCroix and the evil "Cousins",
as long no one knew that she thought Nick was really hot for a blond.  She
intended to keep it that way.
 
      She flipped through the growing list of torment tales, looking for the
few remaining actual posts when she found one addressed to her but it was sent
from list server.  She looked at it again, it wasn't' like she had forgotten to
pay her dues, although it was about time to compliment da Jeanster again on her
marvelous list.
 
      Curiouser and curiouser.
 
     She opened the mail to find and ASCII picture, about 1 screen full long.
It took Sandra a second to make out the fluffy cat in the beach chair.  Cats,
she hated cats, they were so stand-offish!  The message was deleted before she
saw the mis-spelled caption.
 
     The computer beeped at her signaling another message, it was another ASCII
cat picture.  The next one was a cat too.  The one after that was a cat looking
down on a dog.
 
     After the tenth picture, and a rude message about disk space, she saw the
poorly spelled caption and knew who was sending her this flotsam and jetsam of
the FK Wars, it was another lurker, and an old college friend.  Of course old
in this case meant from when they had graduated together the year before, but
how could a former classmate do this to her!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Gauntlet Is Dropped
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
 To: dbassing@epas.utoronto.ca
 From: vmeachum@freenet.scri.fsu.edu (Valerie Meachum)
 Subj: The Alliance
 
I caught wind of the little meeting they set up at the Raven to put an
end to this...I say we can't let that happen until we get in a few
blows of our own!  We still need to present a united front--haven't
got word back from any of the Knighties, but we don't have time to
wait.
 
Margaret is crying out to get got...but first we have to divide &
conquer.  That "Barney" thing...*ych*!
 
Time to plant a few seeds...pass along offlist that she's being
separated from the herd...more later...
 
     *     *     *
 
 To: lms5@psuvm.bitnet
 From: vmeachum@freenet.scri.fsu.edu
 Subj: A little mole told me...
 
Okay, Cousin, here's the scoop.  I'm pretty safe reporting this
way--so far only we have the tap on *everyone's* mail.  I'm so glad
you were able to get yours back up...even if it did mean melting all
those M&Ms and then conveniently offering to replace them at your
expense...  >:-)
 
We had a little powwow on one of the MUSHes late last night, an
alliance summit of sorts between the Knighties, the FODs, and my own
gullible group--I say "of sorts" quite rightly, these people are a
mess!  Anyway, guess who should show up but our dear Cousin Margaret,
gleefully singing Barney songs?  I've had it stuck in my head ever
since...  As soon as I saw her I clammed up; I don't think she knows
my nick there, but better safe than sorry.  I don't think she had time
to check the WHO list either.  At first I thought you'd sent her to
check up on my progress, but then she started scheming with the
Knighties to get you back on Uncle's blacklist...be very careful
around Hilary, they're going to make you look *really* bad.
 
Later!
 
**********************************************************
 
 
 Flotsam And Jetsam: The Revenge
 
 Dionne E. Nelson
 
 
      Sandra knew just how to get Dionne back for the feline flotsam and jetsam
of ASCII cat pictures.  It would involve enlisting Goblins help though, and the
Empress of Cats new kitten-cat was rumored to be less than cooperative.
 
      After calling Dionne's local humane society and handling a few other
details everything was set.  Boy was Dionne going to be pissed when she found
out about this.
 
      ****
 
      Dionne drove home from work at just after 10 pm., for the first time
since she had gotten the kitten-cat she wasn't dreading going back to her apt.
little Goblin was over her cold, that Dionne's housemates had merely found
pathetic, and she was done (or at least she was done yowling), that had nearly
driven the housemates to put her outside in the -15 F weather, so every body
would be happy.  Dionne had even gotten the scoopable kind of cat-litter in
case Goblin preferred it (Goblin was very indecisive).
 
      Dionne found her housemates sitting in the living rooming, but Mike and
Holly (who would make wonderful cousins if LaCroix was unconcerned about the
intelligence of his family) left right away, leaving Chris (who suffered from
constipation of the optic nerve) to announce that Shitty-Kitty had had an
accident behind the couch.
 
      After cleaning a carpet (which Chris's dog Exine had also befouled in the
past), and changing a disproportionately overloaded at cat box, Dionne sat down
at her computer catch up on the FK Wars.  That's when she realized that Sandra
had taken her revenge.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Flying Without A Net
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     One minute she had been sitting at her computer, the next, she was off
in the wild, blue yonder carreening through the night sky at warp nine. But
there was no movie on this flight..."Uncle Airline's" provided, what you might
call an economy flight.  No food, no smoking, as a matter of fact, no plane!
Sandye closed her eyes through most of the trip; only once did she open
them, and seeing LaCroix with his blood-red eyes made her shut them even
tighter.  This was all Laurie's fault, she thought.  When I get back, I'm
gonna kill her.
     "I don't think they'll be much of her left for you. " She forgot that
Uncle could read her thoughts...damn.  This is what you get for getting
yourself involved in the life<bad choice of words?> of a vengeful vampyre.
It could be worse....she could be Laurie.
     If Uncle couldn't hear her thoughts, she might think Laurie's stunt was
pretty clever.  She might have thought that Uncle should be proud of her.
She might have thought alot of things: however much she cared about her
friend and neighbor and fellow cousin, Sandye was no fool.
     "Are you going to miss your friend Laurie?"  She stared at Uncle as
they hung in the cold January sky.
      "Laurie who?"
     "That's my girl."  Uncle sped up, his destination more desperately on
his mind.
 
     **********************************
 
     When they finally landed, Sandye could barely catch her breath.  The
cold air was going to wreak havoc with her lungs, but she didn't think Uncle
would be too interested in her health concerns, just about now.  She dusted
herself off, and almost passed out when she saw where they were.
     "Why are we here?  Holy @%^*, how could you bring me here? "  Staring
at the sign that read, "THE RAVEN", Sandye couldn't control herself.
     "Uncle, are you stark raving mad?  Don't you know that there's some
sort of gathering here...all those people that *YOU* had me torment...I
think that its them.....what the hell are you thinking?"  That was it--
Sandye had finally snapped.  First Laurie, and now this.  Uncle watched her
for a moment and then waited for her tantrum to subside.
     "Are you through?"
     "Yes."  What else would she say?  She was ready for the ultimate
punishment, but nothing happened.  Sandye watched Uncle in amazement.
     "Feeling better are we?  I guess you just needed to get that off your
chest.  All right now?"
     "I guess, but..." She was abruptly caught off when he started in the
front door, dragging Sandye behind him.
    "Come on, don't dawdle...it isn't nice to keep them waiting."
     "What?  They know we're coming?"  She just couldn't believe that
this was happening to her.
    "Of course, why you're the guest of honor."  Sandye could feel
her feet scraping against the pavement, and she wished that she was under
that very large rock with Laurie.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little FOD Had Roast Beef (Sort of)
 
 Don Bassingthwaite
 
 
The abattoir bustled with busy workers during the day, but Don knew
that come nightfall it would be abandoned faster than a greasy
chili-dog.  Even now, the way that the workers avoided one
particular meat locker was painfully obvious.  He was willing to
bet that none of them was even aware that they were avoiding it -
the monster that slumbered within would have made sure of that.
 
The fine parchment that Valerie's messenger had handed him had
retained a hint of the strong odour of cold, dead meat.  The smell
of a slaughterhouse was very distinctive.  Once he had had that
clue, it had been childsplay to determine where LaCroix was holed
up.  Valerie's (and the other Cousins') Uncle had a taste for the
ironic.  It had been in this very abattoir that Nick had first
defeated his master (or so he had thought at the time...).  What
better place for LaCroix to dream up his wicked schemes of revenge.
 
But LaCroix would have to wait.  Don flicked a spot of lint off his
suit, stepped into the offices of the abattoir and smiled at the
receptionist.  "Hello.  My name is John Dencoff of FOD Promotions.
I have an appointment to see your publicity director."
 
*****
 
"The world's biggest souvlaki??"
 
"That's right."  Don smiled.  "Assembled right here, then put on
display in front of city hall."
 
"But the health department... I mean, I don't think an abattoir is
licensed for cooking."
 
"Already taken care of.  We can do the cooking in the parking lot.
We'll only need to store the ingredients inside."  He sighed.
"When the other abattoir we'd made arrangements with cancelled at
the last minute, we were sure the event would be ruined.  And think
of all widows and orphans who would be disappointed.  ~You'll be
doing the entire city a huge favour."
 
A tear almost rolled down the publicity director's cheek.
"Alright!" he gasped, "We'll do it!  For the widows and the
orphans!!  When is it?"
 
Don's smile flashed wickedly.  "A couple of days.  I have some
other arrangements to make first..."
 
******
What could Don's plot be?
How will it advance the cause of the FOD?
What is he planning for LaCroix?
Is Laurie going to survive the Jeanster's torment?
 
Tune in tomorrow - same Schanke time, same Schanke channel!
 
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Final Solution: The Night Of The Brethren
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
"The Night of The Brethren"
 
     The doors of the Raven swung open.
     But tonight was unlike any other: this was the night that history
would remember as The Night of The Brethren.
     Inside, no one danced, no one dined, no one drank. Instead, the members
of the Brethren and their allies waited for LaCroix to bring them their
leader, Bigwig.  They had not known the identity of the mysterious renegade
that had contacted and contracted them to join in an effort to end these
bloody FK wars.  They had not known who had aided them in their journeys to
Toronto.  They had not known who had offered them this sanctuary in this
grave time.  But that was why there were all here: to meet and discuss the
final solution.
     One by one they arrived, shocked and surprised to find out that it was
a coalition of sorts: there were Knighties, Ravenettes, and even friends of
Natalie in the Brethren.  This was a night of revelations. Each of them
faced the group alone and counted themselves in turn:
     I am Lisa; codename Blackavar.
     I am Monica: codename General Woundwurt.
     I am Tara: codename Fiver.
     I am Beth: codename Hazel.
     I am Susan: codename Blackbrain.
     I am Hilary: codename Kee-ha.
     I am Sharon H.: codename Dandelion.
    Finally the secrecy was over.  The relief was written on their somewhat
tired faces.  This had been a long war: but it wasn't over yet.  Janette
paced the floor impatiently, while Natalie sat reservedly at the left end
of the bar. Nick was late, and Nat couldn't help herself from staring at
her watch.  The waiting was torture for all of them.  Where was this
Bigwig? And what was keeping Nick; he had been so eager to join this peace
coalition, even though he had been wary of its creator.  Let's face it; he
had no reason to trust LaCroix; but Janette had convinced him that this was
not Uncle's usual game.  The wars that he had begun had gotten terribly out
of hand: his cousins had taken things much too far, obeying him less, and
enjoying themselves more.  In his efforts to regain control, he discovered
one cousin that he could get others to rally behind, and it was that cousin
that bore the name of Bigwig.  So here they all sat waiting for Uncle to
bring Bigwig, and to discuss the final solution.
     When the Brethren discovered it was Uncle who had initiated this plan,
they were, like Nick, unbelievers.  Janette worked her magic on them as
well, calming down her ravenettes, while Nat talked things over with the
Knighties and her friend.  They had been leery, but at least now they had
each other, and there certainly was comfort and safety in numbers.
     Uncle stood in the open doorway, all eyes turned his way.  The silence
was broken by curses and cries as he dragged in a somewhat disheveled,
somewhat distracted young woman by the scruff of her neck.  Depositing her
at the bottom of the stairs, Uncle scanned the dumbfounded faces of this
carefully organized caucus of renegades.
     "I presume you all know Sandye?"
     The doors of the Raven swung shut.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Final Solution: Revelation And Revolution
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
"Revelation and Revolution"
 
     Sandye found herself staring into angry, resentful eyes.
     None of the other Brethren knew that she would be at the meeting.
None of them were prepared for the sudden realization that their beloved
Bigwig and Cousin Sandye-rah were in fact, the same person.  Cold, hard
looks shot at her from across the room.  She looked at their faces, then
up at Uncle: a smile ran away with his face.  He had thrown her into a
lions den, without so much as a warning.  Now, here stood all the victims
of her many torments.  As her thoughts echoed out to LaCroix, she knew that
this was *her* lesson: this was her punishment.  She would have to fight
this battle alone.  Uncle's grin widened as the crowd closed in on Cousin
Sandye-rah's position.  This was going to be a long night.
     "You!  It can't be...." Monica cried.
     Tara, Hilary, and Beth spread out in a circle: like vultures they
swarmed around their prey.  Sandye felt more like carrion with each step
they took.
     "You've got a lot of nerve coming here, cousin.  But now that you
have...I think it's payback time!"  Susan and Sharon narrowed the space
between Sandye and LaCroix.  As each one drew nearer, Uncle managed to
shift himself around until he was out of harms way:  Sandye was
surrounded.
      Monica was the first to move.  With lightning speed, she came
at the lone cousin with one of her amazing Karate moves. Barely dodging
out of the way in time to miss her blow, Sandye ran through the gap left by
her sudden attack.  She tried to leap over the bar, but Lisa's swift and
sudden appearance made that impossible.  Sandye thought to go back, to hide
behind Uncle's tall frame, but the rest were already in motion.  Tara
leaped up on the bar to prevent any escape into the backroom, while Lisa
blocked the only way out. Hilary put her "Crockadile Dundee" slingshot
into motion, whirling it about her small but capable body. Susan and Beth
were eager and ready for a quick hand-to-hand combat attack.  There was
nowhere to turn: this cousin was up the proverbial creek. The only thing
that stood between her and what appeared to be certain death was the
somewhat delayed reaction of the two slightly amused immortals.
     "That's enough" said Janette.  "This is not a wrestling match!  I want
you to stop it right now!"  Both her and Uncle held a girl in each hand,
Natalie stopping two just by an uncharacteristic vicious stare.  Lisa
let go of Sandye, pushing her hard into a barstool.
     "Don't think that this comes as a big surprise to me, LaCroix.  Larry
managed to bounce some of your mail to my account.  Only you could be so
egotistical as to think yourself invulnerable...next time you should code
name all your mail, including the personal stuff.  Don't tell me your gettin
a little slow on the draw?"  Lisa's smirk was hideous, her glee at getting
one up on Uncle all too visible.  Unperceptably, Uncle moved to grab her;
wrapping his hands around her neck he squeezed just hard enough to make his
point.  Lisa regretted her outrageous outburst almost immediately.
     "Perhaps we should have truly erased your memory, my dear.  But as I
always say, it's never too late to make amends."  Effortlessly, he pushed
her towards the floor.  Then he turned to face the others.
     "All right now, Sandye...you can get up now.  Oh, don't be such
child, get over here before I do something to you myself."  Sandye left her
crouching position and feeling very much unsure, stepped up between Natalie
and Janette at the bar.
     "You must understand, all of you, that Sandye was under my strict
orders not to let her other cousins find out she was acting on her own.
She had to torment you, so no one would be suspicious.  But she did
manage to get you some help here and there, and if it wasn't for her,
you wouldn't be here right now."  Uncle did love a captive audience, didn't
he?  With his usual mix of drama and delight, he made a florid bow towards
Sandye, and then looked back to the others.
     "I have the pleasure of introducing you to, your friend, and mine,
Bigwig."  Uncle was pointing at Sandye.
     "Are you telling us that this, $#@^*&^$ is Bigwig?  What kind of game
are you playing LaCroix?"  Monica was almost screaming at him; then Janette
grabbed her arm and tried to calm her down.
     "It's no game, Monica..or should I say General. This is no game, I can
assure you. Would I, or Natalie for that matter be here with him, unless
we were sure that this plan to end these wars was going to work?  Well?"
Janette removed her hand from Monica's arm, and being suddenly quiet, she
realized that Janette was probably right.
     "Why thank you, Janette darling.  I can always count on you for
a kind word."
     "Don't count on anything, LaCroix.  I just want all this over with.
It's been very bad for business, you know.  Not to mention what it's doing
to my nerves."  Janette raised her glass to her lips, and drank in some much
needed sustainence.  Natalie cringed, looking at her watch and wondering
once more why Nick was late.
     "Shouldn't we remember why we're all here?  To end these stupid
wars...."
     "Yes, Natalie is right.  Let's get down to business, ca va?"
Janette's eyes told her ravenettes that it was indeed time to get down to
business.  They all backed down and waited for LaCroix to begin.
     "Now then...are we agreed, that Sandye is not to be held responsible
for any of the torments, and is to be considered one of you?  After all,
she's the one who put her safety on the line....are we agreed?"  Uncle
looked at each one of them, and finally, they all yielded acceptance.
Sandye let out a very deep breath....new grey hairs forming as she wiped
the beads of sweat from her forehead.
    "I'm really sorry, you guys.  I didn't really have a choice."  Sandye
looked up at Uncle, his face the ultimate contradiction of angelic innocence
and demonic appeal.  Then he looked around the room, that *who me*
expression draped across a contemptible smile. No one found it very hard to
believe, and one by one, they reached out to let Sandye know that all had
been forgiven.  Looking around the room, she felt for the first time, that
this attempt to end the wars might just work, that through their unity, a
peace, however fragile, would prevail.
     "What happened to Nick?"  Natalie started to answer, but was abruptly
stopped by the terrible and bloody visage of Nicholas standing in the
doorway.  He was not himself, she thought, but she was wrong.  As LaCroix
and Janette knew so well, with his golden eyes and fangs bared, Nicholas was
truly, never more himself that now.
     "Who changed the blood?  LaCroix..."  Shock and panic ran through every
inch of Sandye's body as she remembered what Laurie had done, just hours
ago.  She turned to Uncle.  A slow grin oozed across his face, and slowly,
she realized, that her lessons were not quite over.  Nick crossed the floor
and stood in front of her, standing in front of LaCroix.
     Sandye found herself looking into angry, resentful eyes.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Final Solution: Bedlam and Betrayal
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     LaCroix looked at Sandye, his grin more wicked than himself.
     Sandye looked at Nick, his eyes gleaming golden in the Raven's dim
light.  This was not the compassionate man that Sandye had secretly admired
all these years.  Tonight, Nicholas looked more like LaCroix than she had
ever dared to imagine.  She stood between two of the most dangerous men she
had ever known, a wretched pawn in a war that would not end. She could feel
Uncle's cold hand upon her shoulder, she could feel Nick's anger burning in
her eyes.  This was getting seriously out of hand.  If something didn't stop
this soon, the alliance between the three immortals would collapse, and any
chance for peace would disappear.
     "I was never more sorry to see you alive than I am right now,
LaCroix." Nick's voice was deep and low. Natalie shuddered as his expression
became mercenary.
     "Would you like to try it again, my boy?  I *do* hate to see you so
unravelled.  What *is* bothering you now, Nicholas?"
     "You know very well, LaCroix.  But this time you've outwitted yourself,
because I'm stronger.  Yes, that's right.  Drinking that human blood has
given me the advantage, and now it's *you* that are going to be unravelled."
A hideous smile flashed across Nicks face.
     "One strand at a time, LaCroix.  One strand at a time."
     Natalie could barely believe what she was seeing and hearing.
     "You drank human blood...oh, Nick..."
     "They switched it on me.  I didn't know 'till it was too late."  He
tried to look away from her, but her sympathetic eyes held him fast.  She
turned those eyes on Uncle, sympathy replaced by hatred.
     "You bastard.  Do you realize all the hard work you have ruined, why if
I could I would..."
     "Ah, my dear lady. Better not to finish that, I might feel compelled to
oblige."
     "Stop it!  This has gone far enough.  Nicholah, can't you see that it
was not LaCroix that did this?  Do you think he would be here, waiting for
your retaliation if he was the guilty party?  Not even he is that hungry for
your death, it might very well mean his own."  Janette cast her eyes to
Uncle, who somewhat flustered, stepped back and sat down.
     The Brethren looked on speechless.  What was going on?  Had LaCroix
done this heinous deed to poor Nick?  Knighties and Ravenettes alike stood
aghast.  In the confusion, Sandye felt her grip slipping away.  She had to
do something.  Caught between her friendship for Cousin Laurie and her
loyalty to a grander scheme, she suddenly understood the burdens that
leadership had thrust upon her.  She saw their frightened faces and watched
the hope drain out of their stricken eyes.  These were her charges; she had
sworn to protect them, and now, their dreams for a peaceful end to the war
were fading.  Once again, Sandye knew she had no choice, Laurie had made it
for her.
     "Wait.  I can't let this go on any longer.  LaCroix didn't switch the
blood, Nick, he didn't know a thing about it. "
     "So, it was you, cousin Sandye.  I knew I should never have trusted
one of his minions." Nick made a threatening move toward her, but Sandye
didn't flinch.  Everyone looked on, unsure of who was guilty and who
was not.  None of the Brethren moved to help her, none of them knew
what to believe now.  Sandye's thoughts turned to Laurie, her feelings a
mix of disappointment and regret.  How could she have done this, Sandye
murmured in her mind.  She forgot that, like LaCroix, Nick could also hear
her thoughts.
    "Laurie..." Nick staggered back, struck by the force of the
revelation.
     "I was wondering when you'd finally speak up, my dear.  I'm a bit
disappointed in you, Sandye, I thought you would have handed Laurie over
on a silver platter.  We're going to have to work on this conscience of
yours."  Uncle never moved from the table, his composure never more intact.
     "Wasn't Laurie working for you?"  Susan was the first of the group to
find her voice.  Fortified, the others took her lead.
     "That bitch!" cried Monica. "Let's get that silver platter and put
her head on it."
     "I can't believe she had the guts to do that.  What a rotten trick!"
Lisa, Tara, and Hilary echoed each others thoughts.  Sharon and Beth did
not seem surprised at all, they themselves victims of Laurie's evil mind.
     "I just found out last night, when she called me over and told me what
she'd done.  I couldn't believe it myself.  When Uncle found out, there was
nothing I could do. It was either her or me, and I'm no fool."
     Silence.  All was silence. Nick fixed his baleful stare on Sandye.
     "Tell me where she is!"  he demanded.  Sandye looked to Uncle,
wondering what she was supposed to do.  His smile told her all she needed to
know.
     "I can do more than tell you, Nick."
      After Nick had left, a look of bitter triumph on his face, the feel of
cold keys in his hands, the Brethren sat back and waited impatiently for his
return.  He would not be coming back empty handed.  Sandye tried to reassure
them that there was still a chance for peace.  Somehow, she wasn't sure
herself, but she had to try to be strong for them.  She looked over at the
place where Uncle sat.  This could all have been avoided, she thought, if he
had only brought Laurie in on his plans.  She wondered if it was ever
possible to know what his true plans were.  She watched him in morbid
fascination.
     LaCroix looked at Sandye, his grin more wicked than himself.
 
**********************************************************
 
 A Backwards Glimpse Or The Flight Of The Hilary
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
Hilary stood beside the bar as they all waited for Nicholas to
return.  The tension of the previous moments had still not abated.
She could almost see the jangled nerves jumping in the rest of her
Brethren.  Her mind began to drift back ...
 
                       ***
 
[... to the University of Queensland]
 
A buzzer went off in the distance as a voice could be heard
announcing the imminent closure of the library.  Hilary swore as she
cast a frustrated glance at the clock.  "Damn".  Only an hour of
staff access time left.  She'd spent the day slipping surreptitiously
in and out of her email, but to no avail.  How had she come to this?
 
                       ***
 
It had all started with that innocent referral on another list to a
popular new vampire cop show in the States.  She'd cautiously
subscribed and quickly found herself looking forward to the daily
messages that flooded the list.  It was such an intriguing premise: a
vampire wanting to atone for past sins in his desire to become human
again.
 
At first it was just a matter of reading everyone's comments.
Gradually she began to see the personalities behind the passwords
emerge.  They became real people: she could see the links of
friendship that had developed between the list members.  The bonds
seemed to cut across the boundaries of distance that separated them f
rom each other.  New Mexico, Iowa, Los Angeles, Colorado. The web
spread out across the continent, a single electronic thread of
destiny.
 
Then she'd begun to participate and form her own network of contacts
and the fun began.  They traded stories set in the FK universe;
swapped jokes; moaned about the weather (her about the heat, them
about the cold); and generally gossiped about their daily lives.  Her
chat became her daily fix, one which she was confident would continue
in the same vein for the upcoming months. But then the "war" began.
 
Logging in on Monday morning she was shocked to find hundreds of
messages labelled "FK Wars".  She was wondering what the hell had
happened over the last two days when she spotted a message from
Monica headed "READ ME FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".  She relaxed,
she could always count on Monica to keep her informed.  She went in
to the message to see:
 
  How was your weekend?  I hope it was nice and relaxing.  You're back
  just in time to walk in on the middle of something REALLY weird.  :)
  The war has been raging and I intend to win.  :)=
 
Hmmnn.  Sounded definitely intriguing.  Just what she needed to perk
her up on a Monday.  Later that day she was still baffled.
Messages flew back and forth.  She sent a confused one to Selma.
 
   To: saselmam@ultrix.uor.edu
   From: catmclah@central1.library.uq.oz.au
   Subject: FK Wars
 
  At first I thought someone was doing an Orson Welles number on
  us.  But no!  After plugging determinedly through all the messages
  I finally realized that I still didn't know what was going on.
 
  Laurie, Margaret, and John seem to have formed a pact with LaCroix!
  Yes, that is right.  How is this possible?  I thought this was just
  a TV series.  I'm starting to feel like I'm in an episode of "The
  Twilight Zone", a shiver just ran down my spine and goosebumps
  erupted all over my body.  Someone posted a Call to Arms and said
  everyone HAD to take sides.  Against what/who?  What's happening?
  Then I saw a message that said "pretty much everyone on this list
  is fair game" There was also some very strange messages about
  crunchy frogs and computers exploding.  Whoever these people
  calling themselves the cousins are they seem to have access to all
  sorts of personal information on people.  They even knew what
  colour someone's phone was!  There was a "who's who" list posted
  but thankfully our names are not on it.  At first I thought we
  might be safe if we just stayed lurking (a nice dark closet to hide
  in sounded just about right), but maybe not.  Should I unsubscribe
  now (I don't want to get involved, I'd rather sit on the fence, its
  safer here) before its too late?  Or should we choose sides.  I
  think I'll try and get up the courage to commit ourselves to one of
  the cliques.  After all there is supposed to be protection in
  numbers.
 
Later that day confusion still flourished.  People were ducking for
cover, the braver ones stepping to the fore to declare their
allegiance.   Hilary ran agitated fingers over the keyboard.  Somehow
there had to be a way out.  A way to win.  She, so often the
impartial cataloguer of life had stayed in the shadows, not brave
enough to come forth, but determined (for the first time in her
life) not to run.
 
Lips pursed determinedly Hilary gave her lucky rabbit's foot one last
rub.  It was time to take a stand.  She quickly pulled down her
address book and highlighted the Forever Knight folder.  Now she knew
who to contact.  And the messages went out.  The Knighties were being
called to arms.
 
After she'd read the responses Hilary made her next move.  She
rapidly typed in her next message:
 
   To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU
   Subject: Re: FK Wars/Allegiance
   Date: 25 Jan 94 10:06:43
 
  Alright, I cannot stay out of this any longer.
  I hereby declare my allegiance for the right side:
   - the obvious eventual winners in this vicious infighting
   - the undoubted champions of everlasting light and harmony
   - the people in the white hats
   - the KNIGHTIES   !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
She laughed as she kept on typing ...
 
   Give up now while you still have a chance!
   War?  You aint seen nothin' yet!
 
She signed off with a flourish.  That should do it!  She'd declared
where her partisanship lay.  All that remained was to see if others
of her ilk would join with her against the horror of the cousins.
How could they betray their fellow list members by intriguing with
LaCroix?  How deeply were they affected with his evil?  Had they been
his all along, or had they thought it merely a harmless game of trick
or trerat?  When had it stopped being a game?  She must be very wary,
there could be other unrevealed cousins hidden amongst the group,
even masquerading as her friends.  Hilary shook her head, this could
be big, very big.
 
Later that day Selma made the decision to withdraw.  Hilary hoped
that she would be safe.  But, for herself it was too late to back
down.  Messages exhorting her to join with a mysterious Brethren had
been coming in all day.  Who was the Bigwig anyway?  Was it a clever
plot by the cousins?  Or yet another group of list members
frantically drawing together to gain strength?  Hilary suddenly
thought of Monica - yes, Monica would know what to do.  An hour later
there was still no reply to her increasingly frantic messages to New
Mexico.  What could be wrong?  She'd been quiet for the last few
days, catching up on another deadline she'd thought.  But what if the
cousins had got to her?  After all they had their own contacts in New
Mexico.
 
Huddling in front of her terminal Hilary felt very alone.  She knew
Nick didn't like conflict.  He would not be happy when he heard of
all the internecine warfare that was dividing the group.  Should she
be the one to tell him?  She didn't want to have him cut her out of
his circle.  But once he knew, how could he trust his own when he
discovered they were busy looking out for themselves.  He would
understand the fear that had driven  everyone to form new alliances,
but would her forgive?  Perhaps she would leave it up to another.
 
                        ***
 
Still no answer from Monica.  Hilary's mouth tightened with worry.
It was obvious now that Monica was in real trouble.  Tommorrow was a
public holiday and she still had a few days time-in-lieu due to her.
She scrawled a quick note to the head of the cataloguing dept.
explaining about a personal matter she needed time off to deal with.
Now if only she could get a flight from Brisbane to Albuquerque.  She
swept another quick look at the clock - 10mins - she might just be
able to manage it.  She dialled the Campus travel agency.  Flights to
New Mexico?  Would she consider flying Malasian Airlines via Kuala
Lumpur, Mexico City and then into Albuquerque?  Hilary could feel her
voice rising along with her blood pressure - calm she must stay calm
in order to succeed - "Don't you have anything else?"
 
  "Well ma'am you could fly Brisbane-Sydney-L.A. with Qantus and then
with South West to Albuquerque."
 
  "I'll take it".
 
  "What date were you thinking of travelling ma'am?"
 
  "Tonight" Hilary snapped out.  "I need to be on the first available
flight"
 
  The voice at the other end of the line developed an acid edge
despite its politeness.  "I'll see what I can do. Please hold..."
 
  Hilary irritably tapped her pen on the phone as she was forced to
listen to a tape promoting special package deals to the Bahamas.
 
  "Ma'am I have managed to book you on to a flight leaving in 3hrs.
Of course you realize that there will be no discount on this fare?"
the voice queried smugly.
 
  "Thats fine, just put it on my account"  Hilary just managed not to
scream into the phone.  After all it wasn't the travel agent's fault
that there was a war on.
 
                         ***
 
[Brisbane International Airport]
 
As she collapsed into the first class ("I'm sorry ma'am, first class
is all that was available at short notice") seat Hilary couldn't
believe that she'd got to the plane at all.  She was still in shock
after Sandye's attempt to sabotage her trip.  Free Chocolate
Cappuchino indeed!  And the SNAKES!  Shivering Hilary wrapped her
coat closer to her body.  She would never be able to forget those
green snakes.  How she'd got up the courage to get over her terror
and toss them from the car she would never know.   To use her
own addictions and fears against her.  Sandye was going to suffer for
that.  But first she had Monica to find.  Her revenge on Sandye would
have to wait.
 
                          ***
 
[Albuquerque, New Mexico]
 
Hilary leaned over Monica's shoulder as they stared at the computer
screen that had so recently displayed another message from Bigwig.
 
 "I think I have an idea.  It's time to go to Toronto to chat with my
namesake," Monica said as she logged out.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Two More Go To Toronto
 
 Laurie Salopek
 
 
   Margaret and John each stared down at their terminal in disbelief. There
prominently displayed on the screen was a note from BIGWIG.
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 From: BIGWIG@circumvent.thebes.edu
 Subject: As The Raven Flies
 To: margaret@cs.arizona.edu
 Cc: jdencoff@polaris.unm.edu
 
   The time draws nigh. She who was once your blood lies at the brink of
destruction. For her safety and possibly your own, follow where other have
lead. Do not hesitate. Time waits for no man.
 
                                                 BIGWIG
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
   Margaret stared at the note. She had heard of Bigwig and now she heard from
Bigwig. "Blood, once my blood? -- Cousin!" Turning off her computer Margaret
almost dialed for a flight reservation. She wondered if it might be a trap,
afterall, weren't the brethren gathering against the cousins? With more
curiosity than fear, she dialed the airport and made a reservation.
 
   John almost discarded the note before the word 'blood' jumped out at him
again. "Well, everyone else has been heading for Toronto and this sure looks
like someone wants me to go to Toronto. What the hell."
 
   The moon was barely visible when they found each other at the Toronto
airport. Margaret adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
   "I see you made it. Any idea what this is all about?"
   "I haven't a clue. Do you? Do you think it is a trap?"
   "I don't know, but Laurie really asked for trouble when she switched Nick's
blood. Maybe they finally caught up to her? Your guess is as good as mine. I
just wonder who 'BIGWIG' is."
   "The 64,000 dollar question. Well the only way we are going to find out is
by going there."
   "To the Raven you mean."
   "Yeah, to the Raven."
   The two cousins walked outside and hailed a cab.
 
   They didn't say a word to each during the trip, their minds wondered
through endless possibilities about who BIGWIG was, who the Brethren were and
why the streets seemed so empty.
   The night darkened as they paid the driver and stepped out of the cab.
Across the street in the first floor of a brick building was the Raven. It
looked quiet; too quiet. John tugged on Margaret's arm and guided her towards
the road.
   Margaret wrapped her scarf tighter around her head; the night air was
getting colder.
   "You open it." Margaret said as she turned to face John.
   "No, you open it."
   "Chic--"
   Barely had the words left her mouth, when a dull thump behind them
interrupted the night.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Final Solution: Retaliation and Retrieval
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     An uneasy stillness slowly settled over the dark Toronto skies.
     Nick had not been gone very long.  Janette leaned against the back
wall, talking to her ravenettes as she swirled a dark, red liquid in
rhythmic circles inside a clear crystal glass.  Natalie's impatience showed
through her cool exterior, and she paced the floor, examining her watch
about once every fifteen minutes.  She had a hard time relaxing while Uncle
was in the room.  That was probably what kept him there: hardly a man of
patience, he seemed to enjoy the tension that his mere presence caused.
But that was no surprise to anyone.  While the members of the Brethren
passed the time away until Nick's return, LaCroix simply sat and watched.
Sandye caught him looking her way, and met his eyes in knowing defiance.
An almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.  Theirs was a strange
understanding: somehow he had always seemed amused by her somewhat
distracted disobedience.  Yet no matter how lenient he had been
with her, she never doubted for a moment that if he wished it, he would
have crushed her without regret. Perhaps that was the bond that kept
them together; she wondered if she would ever know. But then no one really
knew LaCroix; no one could fathom his mind or his soul.
     It was LaCroix who had started this war, after all.
     It had all started with a few little reminders: nothing too fancy,
just a few tricks on some naughty people that had unknowingly angered Uncle.
He had called three of the cousins up to Toronto to give them their orders.
Laurie, John, and Margaret each took up his commands, and them passed them
on to other cousins.  But as each new trick came off, it seemed that Uncle's
minions were having just a bit more fun than Uncle had intended. But he
kept close watch; keeping his options open, as usual.  As did Janette; she
watched as her little ravenettes were being tormented one by one.  Nick
didn't do much about his Knighties: they were running for cover with very
little organization, the fans of Natalie were scattered, and the Friends of
Don(formerly Skankie-ites) though effective, were few. What had started as
a little amusement for Uncle, had backfired; raging on, this war wreaked
havoc for all concerned.  But once let loose, things like this take on a
life of their own.  Strange to think that it took one of LaCroix's run-wild
plans to bring the three immortals back together again.  Janette had been
the first to acquiese to the coalition, and it was her that convinced Nick
that grudges-past had to be forgotten, at least for now.  They had left it
to LaCroix to discover a way out of this Pandora's box. After all, he had
the method and the means to find out just who might be either strong enough
or gullible enough to accept their dangerous mission.  Seduced by fear as
well as fascination, Sandye became the recruiter for the coalition.
      But who would trust a cousin: after all, they were the ones who had
followed LaCroix, and who trusted LaCroix?  No one.  No one at all.  There
were those whose voices could be heard above the mayhem, and it was their
cries that Sandye answered.  She approached them carefully and cautiously,
never letting them know that it was she who led the scattered renegades. It
was very difficult to earn their trust, for they could not be sure if it was
Uncle leading them astray.  They needed something to rally behind, something
to unify them, to make them forget their old alliances: and so The Brethren
came to be.  Rooted in lies and deceit, the flower of peace had blossomed.
But could lies and deceit ever truly bring about positive change?  Sandye
wondered, worrying that she might, after all, be no different, no better
than LaCroix.
     One by one they came into the fold: Monica, Tara, Susan, Beth, Lisa,
Hilary, and later Sharon.  One by one the Brethren became more than a
means to stop the war, it became a family.  Those who had been mere
pawns in LaCroix's schemes, were now the power behind the hopes for peace.
     Tonight, those hopes were almost lost.
     Natalie was still pacing an hour after Nick had left the bar.
How long was this going to take?  Everyone was edgy, everyone but LaCroix.
He just sat back and watched as if this was some picture show, playing just
for him.  Sandye almost admired the way he managed to inflict himself on
people: even sitting still, Uncle was menacing.
     Sandye couldn't think, the silence was all too deafening. As if she
read her mind, Monica broke the emptiness that held them all at bay.
     "Hey Hil, snap out of it.  Get that glazed look off your face, Uncle
is looking at you like your a midnight snack." Off in distant thoughts,
Hilary paid no attention to her.  That is, until Monica kicked her in the
shins.  Hilary jumped up, and the first thing she saw was LaCroix staring
back from across the room.
     "Why does he keep staring at us?"
     "That's just his way." Sandye barely believed her own lie.  Then Lisa
spoke up, a sudden revelation snapping something to life inside her mind.
     "So what was that you slipped to Nick before he left?"
     "Keys."  Sandye hesitated, her guilt about Laurie not quite assuaged.
     "I gave him my set of keys to Laurie's apartment."
 
           ***************************************
 
     Sitting at her computer, a glass of wine in hand, Laurie gazed in
absent longing at her mailer.  Message after message logged on, but she had
read none of them.  She couldn't.  Not unless she wanted someone to find out
that she was home.  Ever since she switched the blood in Nick's
refrigerator, her life had no longer been her own.  She was in hiding.
She was afraid of what the others might say to her; she was more afraid of
what Uncle would do to her. Infact, she was terrified.  Perhaps she had
been foolish: acting more from instinct, she discovered she had no choice
but to follow its seductive lead.
      Well, it had been nearly a day since she returned.  There was
always the chance that Uncle wouldn't be angry; he might just, she mused,
be pleased as punch.
     Turning back to her computer, she considered finally picking up her
mail.  As her hand touched the keyboard she heard a jingle of keys in the
hall outside her front door.  Thinking it was just a neighbor, she ignored
it and proceeder to read her mail.  Her attention refocused on the hallway
when she heard a key turning in her then locked front door.
      "Sandye....? Is that you?"  It had to be her, she was the only other
one who had keys to her apartment.  But there was no answer.  Growing
alarmed, Laurie lept up from the desk. She banged her head on the glass
bells that Sandye had given her for Christmas.  Quickly, she reached up
to quiet them, and turning around toward the door, she was stopped
short by Nick's angry face only inches from her own.  He bared his
teeth in fury.
     "Sorry I missed your visit, Laurie. Sandye told my you'd be home."
Laurie couldn't move.  Laurie couldn't speak.  Laurie couldn't believe that
Sandye would betray her so completely.
     The cold night air blew hard against her skin.  As Nick flew through
the winter sky, in desperation she clung to him.  What fate awaited her at
the end of this journey?  Assaulted by regret, Laurie wondered why she had
felt compelled to do such a thing.  All she had known, was that it had to
be done.
     They landed outside the doors of The Raven. Bursting into the bar,
Nick dragged Laurie down the stairs with one hand, and pushed John and
Margaret ahead of him with the other.  The three fell, tumbling down
toward the waiting Brethren. Nicholas slowly descended the stairs.
     "Looks what I found," he said contemptuously.
     "Well," remarked LaCroix, "it seems all my little ones have come home.
     An uneasy stillness slowly settled over the dark Toronto skies.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Final Solution: Trial and Tribulation
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     At that moment, peace seemed ever distant, life more fragile than
any of us could have imagined.
     One by one, the building blocks of our coalition crumbled into chaos.
LaCroix moved toward the three cousins; having picked themselves up from
the coldness of the floor, they braced themselves against the oncoming
terror.  Laurie faced him with the resignation of a martyr.  She had always
known that Uncle would be the one to deal out the punishment.  She waited
for the worst.  Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie could see someone
moving toward her.  Natalie stepped up between her and Uncle.
     "Lady, I think it would be best for you, if you kept yourself out of
the line of fire.  This might get a bit messy."  Natalie paid no attention
to LaCroix as she turned toward Laurie.  The two women watched each other in
common confusion.  For a moment, Laurie thought that Natalie's forgiving and
logical nature might save her from punishment; the sting of Natalie's slap
proved that this hope was fleeting.
     "I suppose I deserved that."  Laurie held up a hand to her cheek; and
knew she would feel that sting for some time to come.
     "You deserve much more than that, cousin."  Natalie stared at her in
disgust. Laurie's heinous act had hurt more than Nick; it had ruined a
year's worth of work: of protein shakes, of garlic pills, of vitamins and
herbal tea. Nick would have to start all over again.  But this time it
would be harder; the taste of humanity was still sweet on his tongue.  This
time she might just lose him.  The hate in her eyes shone clear, muted only
by the fear of what this sick joke might have cost her. Natalie might very
well have killed Laurie herself, if Valerie hadn't grabbed her just then.
     "Natalie, get a hold of yourself.  This isn't what you want to do."
The two women exchanged unapprehending looks.
     "You don't mean that you're going to defend her? After what she did to
Nick, to all of you?"  Natalie was losing her composure, her refined
demeanor becoming ever more uncivilized.  Valerie had to hold her back, for
fear she'd hurt herself in the melee.
     "Come on, Nat.  Let's sit down.  Come on..."  Trying to lead her back
towards the bar, Valery found it almost impossible to keep her in check. For
a moment, she broke free, screaming in Laurie's direction.
     "Why did you do it?  Why?"  Laurie answered without thinking.
     "Because it *had* to be done."  Shock waves rippled through the Raven,
Laurie's cool response challenging any pity the Brethren might have secretly
held for her. She caught a fleeting glimpse of Monica before she felt the
pain run like ice through her now throbbing head.  She looked up and saw the
ravenette towering over her, an expression of utter contempt on her face.
     "Well, cousin...so did that."  Cheers came from the other Brethren, the
Raven beginning to sound like an arena during a boxing match.  Then Monica
turned toward Margaret and John, now standing quietly off to one side,
trying to avoid the already angry mob.
     "Anyone else for a little intimate tete-a-tete?"
     In this moment of madness, Sandye realized that everything was falling
apart.  What was happening?  Those of us that had come together for peace,
were now rallying for destruction.  One by one, the members of this
coalition were succumbing to the desire for retribution: their anger and
frustration feeding the overwhelming hunger for revenge. They wanted
blood.  Looking around at the faces, Sandye discovered that they were
hardly recognizable. Yet, they somehow all looked the same. Behind their
clouded eyes, a universal melancholy hid within their humanity.  How could
such a transformation occur so quickly, so fiercely?  How could they
suddenly become the epitome of the very thing that they despised?
Something else was afoot tonight, something besides this battle to
win a war.  There had to be some way to stop this--just then LaCroix
came up behind her--but she couldn't think how that might be done.
     "And they call me an animal..."  Uncle whispered in her ear, his
breath cool and steady, like the wind in winter nights.
     "What do you think of your band of peacemakers now?  Not a very
pretty sight....too bad, little one....and you so wanted to make things
right...."  Sandye moved to one side, turning her head toward him, she
looked into seemingly omnipotent eyes.  The threads of awareness began to
weave themselves together, its tapestry an intricate pattern of deception
and deceit.  The realization was so devastating, it almost took her breath
away.
     "Can you tell me what you see?  Are you strong enough to look into the
face of truth?  Or will you simply turn and run away?  Look...."  LaCroix
pointed to the crowd that now surrounded Laurie.  But Sandye couldn't move;
the weight of this new revelation pinned her down under its heavy burden.
She could only watch and wait in silence.
     The coalition stood at the brink of disaster.  No one remembered the
reasons why they were here, no one remembered that they had come together
in peace and common understanding.  No one remembered that it was their
humanity that kept them from savage chaos.  Nothing could be heard above
the bestial cries of hatred.  Voices filled the air in an unholy chorus...
     "....What shall we do with her....She has to pay....they all have to
      pay....give them what they gave us.....no mercy, Nicholas.....no
      mercy...."
     "Stop it!  Stop it all of you!  Nicholah, help me....help me stop
them before its too late....Nicholah, are you listening?  Help me, now!"
Janette pleaded with Nicholas; finally, her cries reached him over the
howls of the hungry pack.  Suddenly, Nick was at Laurie's side.
     "No more!  Don't you see what you're doing?  Don't you see what you've
become?  What are you so angry about...what did she really do to you?"  Nick
scanned the cruel faces that stared so brutally back at him.
     "What Laurie did to me was far worse than any of the pranks she played
on you...if I can forgive her, why can't you?"  They looked away, unable to
meet his gaze, unable to understand his new-found compassion.  No one looked
more surprised than Laurie herself.
     "You forgive me, Nick? After what I did...."  Her face was a mixture
of hope and confusion.  Surrounded by those who had once been her closest
friends, it suddenly dawned on her that Nick was more human than any of
them.
     "Yes, Laurie.  I don't think you really knew what you were doing."  He
looked at the others, now calmer and transfixed by this moment of
tenderness.  His voice kind, his eyes clear, he reached into their hearts
with words of fellowship.
     "I don't think any of us really knew what we were doing."
     Quietly, the crowd began to break away from Nick and Laurie.
     Slowly, they faced each other with forgiving eyes.
     Gently, they embraced each other.
     "Isn't this sweet?"  LaCroix broke in, spoiling the conciliatory
atmosphere that now dominated the Raven.  His face mirrored his contempt,
as he slowly circled the crowd.  Looking back over his shoulder to where
Sandye had watched the drama unfold, he beckoned for her to follow.
     "What a pathetic bunch of cowards you all are!  You saw your true
selves here tonight, but like rabbits you turned and fled.  Brethren,
indeed!  You didn't want peace, you wanted petty self-aggrandizement...
when given half a chance, you went for each others throats.  You wanted
blood! "  They recoiled from his words, not ready to face their possible
pasts.
     "You think that I'm a monster, but tonight you saw that the monster
lives in each of you.  It waits patiently, eagerly for you to set it free.
See yourselves for what you are; you'll find that we are not so different
after all. " LaCroix grinned in triumph.
     "We're nothing like you!" Susan spat at him.
     "You're an animal, LaCroix, you're nothing but an animal."  Beth's
anger gave her strength, and one by one, the Brethren gathered together,
now enlarged by the addition of the cousins.  Sandye felt the swell of pride
seeing her charges gaining their independence, seeing them stand together
under the banner of humanity.  She couldn't help herself, no matter how
strong the bond between her and Uncle.  She watched him, now even more
entrenched in his disgust.
     "Have you learned nothing from me?  Has all this been simply a game?
Look at yourselves...face cold, hard reality.  What is in me, is in
you all.  It hides, it dances just beyond your sight, it lurks in the
shadows of your mind.  Deny it if you will, but you have learned a valuable
lesson this night.  Mutual fear keeps the peace.  When you realize that it
is yourselves that you should fear, then, and only then, will you be truly
safe.  But don't take my word for it, ask Nicholas.  He won't lie to you."
     "Get out LaCroix."  Their eyes met, in mutual comprehension.  Nick was
the first to turn away.
     "Yes.  The time has come for me to go.  It seems that I've wasted my
time, once again. There's no hope for you, for any of you."  Uncle
walked towards the door.  He turned back toward them, one more weapon left
in his arsenal of torment.
     "Just one more thing, before I take my leave: though you can try and
forget about me, you will never escape the truth of my words."  Sandye
looked up, only to find Uncle staring directly at her. She knew that her
lesson had come to an end.
     "This is a certainty you cannot avoid.  You will carry it with you,
and it will change you forever."  Turning out into the changing night,
he was gone.
     In the wee hours of the morning, a sense of peace filled the Raven.
 
           ***********************************************
 
     Hours later, a sense of eager anticipation buzzed about the room as
members of the coalition made their travel plans and recemented bonds of
friendship believed irreparably broken.  The peace had been hard-won, but
it maintained its tenuous hold.  Their relief found expression in bubbling
laughter and reminiscences of shared experiences.  They were once again a
family, joined together by a common goal and solidified by trust.
     "Well I'm glad that's over," said Nat. "Next time you decide to have a
war, please, don't invite me?"  Janette looked at Natalie with a new
respect.
     "Yes, Nicholah, it is much of a relief to have LaCroix gone, n'est
pas?  Do you think he will return?"  Nick looked off into the distance.
     "I don't know, Janette.  We can only hope, can't we?"  Indeed, hope was
all they had.  Nick knew that LaCroix would be back.  He knew it as surely
as he knew the truth of what LaCroix had said.  But that was not important
now.  At this moment, they were all together.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 This Little FOD Had None
 
 Don Bassingthwaite
 
 
"Good morning, this is CFTO News.  A wave of mysterious tzatzike
sauce shortages has struck the city.  The absence of the pungent,
garlicky sauce has sent souvlaki lovers into a frenzy..."
 
Schanke shut off the television angrily.  He looked around the
booking room of the police station desperately.  "Doesn't _anyone_
have any tzatzike??"
 
*******
 
LaCroix stirred uneasily in his sleep.  Something was amiss.  He
could sense it.  He should be safe here though.  No one would think
to look for him in an unnoticed meat locker (the irony of it
appealed to him as well).  He should be safe, well away from the
sun and away from vampire hunters who would have to explain a stake
to the abattoir workers outside.
 
But something was definitely wrong.  Visions began to form in his
head, memories surfacing of that time he had inadvertently stumbled
into Gilroy, California...
 
Garlic!
 
He struggled to rise, to break free of the haven that had suddenly
become a trap.  The stench of garlic was overpowering though.  He
managed to stand and to take a weak step before collapsing.  The
last thing he remembered seeing was several barrels of thick, white
ooze as the door beyond swung shut, sealing the wicked vampire in
with the smell of the odoriferous herb.
 
*******
 
Don whistled happily as he paced outside the meat locker.  He
glanced at his watch.  It had been almost two hours since he had
had the shippers (brought into the abattoir from outside and thus
not subject to the hypnotic commands of avoidance that LaCroix had
placed in the other workers) place several open barrels of tzatzike
in the meat locker.  That should have been enough time for the
fumes to overcome even the powerful LaCroix.  Slipping on a gas
mask (and holding a cross for good measure), he opened the meat
locker.
 
The escaping buildup of garlic odour washed over him like a wave.
The paint on the inside of the door was blistered.
 
Cautiously, he moved inside.  LaCroix lay on the floor only a few
feet away from the barrels, curled up into a fetal ball.  Don
approached him very, very carefully and very slowly.  He swallowed
- if this was all an act on LaCroix's part, he was in serious
danger.  He held his breath, reached out, and poked the vampire.
 
Nothing.
 
LaCroix was out cold. Grinning to himself, Don hoisted the vampire
aloft.  He was somewhat heavier than he looked, but more awkward
than weighty.  Don staggered to the nearest barrel of tzatzike and,
with a grunt, plunged LaCroix into the fragrant, creamy sauce.
 
Carefully, he re-sealed the barrel and called in the shippers to
remove it to the secret location he had personally selected (just
in case any of the Cousins should, for some reason, attempt a
rescue).
 
Soon, he thought to himself, soon...
 
***********************************************************
 
Tomorrow - the world's biggest (virtual) souvlaki and the triumph
of Schanke!
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Hee-hee-hee, All The Way Home
 
 Don Bassingthwaite
 
 
Don smiled in contentment.  The delicious smell of roasting meat
tickled his nostrils - whole pigs were turning on the
spits set-up outside the abbatoir.  Soon they would be ready to go on
the road.  They would complete the cooking of the pork in Nathan
Phillips Square before assembling the world's largest souvlaki.  They
had decided to make it a souvlaki on a bun - giant loaves of bread
were stacked in the truck behind him, along with all the barrels of
tzatzike sauce.  Well, all the barrels but one...
 
But soon it would be time to fetch that last, special barrel.  Soon,
he thought, soon the whole FK War would truly be over.  The Brethren
had stopped LaCroix and the Cousins' attacks on the Knighties and the
Au-Naturelles and the Ravenettes, but what was really needed was a way
to make sure LaCroix wouldn't show his face again for some time...
 
And, of course, to demonstrate that the FOD were a force to be
reckoned with.  He chuckled evilly.
 
********
 
Schanke inhaled deeply.  "Man, that smells good!"  His eyes lingered
over the giant souvlaki that was set up before Toronto City Hall,
glistening tzatzike perfuming the evening air.
 
"Oh, Don!"  Myra poked him in the side.
 
"Hey, it's for a good cause!"
 
"You could have given the money to charity directly and stuck to your
diet!"  She sighed.  "It's too bad Nick had to miss this."
 
"Yeah, well he called in sick today.  Sounded really, really rough."
Schanke smiled as he recognized the figure approaching them.  "Hey!  Ron!"
 
"Don, Detective Schanke.  How are you doing?"
 
"Fantastic.  Don, this my wife, Myra."
 
"Mrs. Schanke."  Don shook her hand politely.  "Lovely night, isn't
it?  And what a souvlaki!"
 
Schanke clapped an arm around Don's shoulders.  "I like a man who
knows good food when he sees it!  You see, Myra?  This is great food!"
 
Don nodded in agreement, at the same time deftly steering Myra and
Schanke up closer to the huge souvlaki. "Definitely.  In fact,"  he
grinned, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."
 
Someone nearby screamed suddenly.  "Oh my god!  There's someone in there!!"
 
Schanke stared.  A hand had suddenly poked out of the souvlaki,
reaching out desperately for help.  The crowd was frozen in shock, but
Schanke's police training took over in a second.  He peeled off his
jacket, threw it to Myra and licked his lips.
 
"Cover me," he ordered.  "I'm going in."
 
******
 
Don grinned with satisfaction has he stuck the front page of the
Toronto Star to the wall of his room.  The banner headline read "Hero
Cop Saves Souvlaki Victim".  The reporter praised Detective Don
Schanke for his quick actions in rescuing a mystery victim from
accidental entombment in a giant souvlaki.  Regrettably, they would
never know how the man had come to be entombed - he had been
unconscious when pulled from the souvlaki and had mysteriously vanished
from his hospital bed some hours later, just before dawn.  Nurses had
reported that he had for a time been delirious, muttering something
about "Cousins", "regretted ever having sent those first notes" and
"can't believe this is happening to *me*".
 
Right in the middle of the page was a big colour picture of Schanke,
Myra at his side, a souvlaki in his right hand... and an unconscious
LaCroix, face contorted almost as if with impotent humiliation,
supported by his left.
 
Don nodded.  It would be a long time before LaCroix could show his
face in Toronto and truly be taken seriously.  It would probably be
even longer before he finally got the smell of garlic off of himself.
 
He dropped a CD into his machine.  The sound of polkas filled the air
as he bit into a souvlaki.
 
 
*** THE END ***
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Unsurrendering
 
 Susan M. Garrett
 
 
        The level of tension in the Raven decreased
dramatically after LaCroix's dramatic exit and conversation
finally became possible.  Alma slipped between tables, taking
drink orders and casting covetous eyes at Cousin John's neck
until a glare from Janette sent her scurrying into the back
room.  Everyone knew there would be repercussions and
parting shots before the war was <finally> over, but for the
moment they were content to talk about car repairs, a
writer's bible, the preparation and production of fanzines,
and plans for the upcoming con in March.  Flight schedules
were compared and other arrangements made for those who
hadn't arrived under their own power.
        Finally, Susan rose to her feet.  Grabbing her coat
and purse, she took a last look around the interior of the
Raven, wondering how long it would be before she saw it
again on anything other than her 19" Sony.  Toronto wasn't
a trip she made--or could afford to make--every weekend.
She said good-bye to her net friends, warned Natalie <sotto
voce> never to let Janette baby-sit Sidney, and turned
toward the door.
        Janette stood there, cigarette in one hand, arms
crossed.  "I think we have left some business unfinished
<cher>."
        Susan stopped in mid-motion, her scarf in her hands.
"We <have>?"
        At the snap of Janette's fingers, Alma appeared at
her side with a pile of paper, ranging from faxes to pink
phone message slips.  "I've been receiving <these> on a
regular basis since you posted that foolish little message on
the board."
        "Well, it's not like my mailbox hasn't been backed up
too--"  Susan let her voice trail off when Janette raised an
eyebrow.  "Not that it matters.  I'm certain your problem is
<much> more important."
        "I run a business.  And these things have been
interrupting me.  Shall I tell you what they say?"  With great
relish, Janette picked up the first one from the pile.  "Ah . . .
this one is from Rebecca. She made a very earnest plea that
you reconsider your surrender.  True, she's a little
misguided--she says that Nicolah could protect you better
than I."  Janette rolled her eyes and let the paper drop to the
floor.
        Susan suddenly realized that all conversation had
ceased behind them.  Nick had perked up at the mention of
his name and she met sympathetic glances from cousins and
brethren alike . . . although the cousins <were> smiling.
        Janette was still pawing through messages.  "Brian
said something nice about you, I think.  As did . . . several of
the cousins?"  She smiled in their direction.  "Don't worry,
darlings--LaCroix will never know.  And this one's from one
of the FOD people--Don--"  Her expression changed as she
read the pink message paper, a sly smile creeping across her
lips.  Folding it carefully, she tucked it into the front of her
dress.  "Sorry--that one's personal."
        Not quite certain where Janette was heading, she
cleared her throat.  "And--?"
        "I should think it must be obvious.  These messages--
begging, cajoling, and threats--must stop.  Immediately.
You must rescind your surrender.  It was completely
unauthorized and I won't allow it."
        "Janette, she's a mortal.  She has free will--" began
Nick.
        Janette waved her hand, brushing away the
comment.  "You deal with your followers your own way.
She's one of mine.  And she'll do as I say."
        The unspoken 'or' that formed a coda to the sentence
sent a shiver through Susan.  It unnerved her enough to take
a drink from the tray as Alma passed, but when she saw the
red liquid, she gulped and set the glass carefully on the table.
"But . . . it's the only safe thing to do.  I mean, what if this
happens again?  I've got a busy life.  And I've already started
investigating other options.  I mean, there's a lot of stuff
that's hot right now.  Barney--"
        Several screams rent the air.  Susan couldn't tell
where all of them had come from, but she was certain that
one voice was Natalie.  And . . . Alma?
        Realizing the room had gone hostile, she cleared her
throat again.  "So maybe Bar--the big purple guy isn't it.
But there's this show about these trains on this island and it's
really cute.  They all have names and misbehave--"
        One look at Janette's eyes told her she wasn't making
any head-way.  Turning, Susan addressed the assemblage.
"Come on, people, give me a hand.  I'm dyin' here."
        Cousin Margaret was still wearing that smile.
"Sorry.  We're on her side."
        "Tough crowd," muttered Susan.  "Okay, so maybe
I'm gun shy.  Sandye scared the hell out of me.  And that
business with Alexandra, the dingbat vampire--"
        Janette smiled.  "Oh, yes.  I'd forgotten about that.
But you can't blame me--that was Nicolah's fault."
        "Me?"  Nick started forward.  "That's not fair!
LaCroix <turned> her.  I only <killed> her."
        "Excuse me?" asked Natalie, from beside him.
        Janette's eyes gleamed.  "I guess Nicolah hasn't
mentioned his 'more-in-the-blouse-than-in-the-brain' period."
        Taking a step away from Natalie, he answered
sharply, "If I recall, that wasn't long after I ran into you--"
He turned when Natalie tapped him on the shoulder.
        "I'm still waiting for an answer," she reminded.
        Assuming the look of a deer in headlights, he turned
away, mumbling, "It was nothing.  Really."
        Raising a suspicious eyebrow, Natalie met Janette's
eyes across the room and mouthed the words, 'We'll talk.'
        Susan had almost made it out the door by this time,
but Janette's hand clamped down on her shoulder and made
her face the room.  Whispering in Susan's ear, she said,
"You <will> reconsider?"
        "I don't suppose I have any choice."  Then Susan
brightened.  "But not until May.  I have commitments.
There's that story for Kevin--"
        "Postponed until next October."
        "And the GAH zine--"
        "Postponed indefinitely."
        "And my Apocrypha issue of KCC?"
        "Postponed until summer."  When Susan blinked,
Janette smiled.  "Ann says, 'Hi.'"
        Susan met Janette's eyes.  "You <do> get around,
don't you?"
        "So, your schedule is free."  Janette left Susan's side
and draped herself over a chair.  "Until we set it for you.
Nicolah?  Natalie?  Your input would be <most> welcome."
        Susan looked first at Nick, then at Natalie, not daring
to contradict Janette, but putting every bit of pleading she
<could> into a steady stare.  That Christmas business had
damned near killed her (courtesy of Cousin Margaret).  She
<liked> sleep.  Sleep was a <good> thing."
        Thankfully, Nick was frowning.  Natalie, however,
had a gleam in her eyes that chilled Susan's soul.  But when
she opened her mouth, Nick stepped forward.  "We won't
take any responsibility for this, Janette."
        "The hell we <won't>," answered Natalie, pushing
him aside.  "I want that dream story."
        The chill turned into a deadly freeze.  Susan shot a
glance at Janette, who merely smiled lazily.  "Done.  By . . .
the March Convention, I should think?"  She addressed her
question to the Brethren and Cousins.  "Don't you think
that's fair?"
        They all gave their assent, some more cheerfully than
others.  Susan sighed.  What did they care?  To them, it was
only another story.  But then she brightened.  She had
everything she needed for that one.  And, wonder of
wonders, there was no historical research involved!
        "But that <does> seem an awful lot of time for such
a little story--"
        "Sixty pages is not a <little>--"  Susan swallowed the
rest of her answer when she saw Janette's eyes harden.
"Well, it <is> shorter than that Nightstalker-Vampire-Nick
Knight story I wrote two years ago."
        "So . . .  you'll finish another for the convention, as
well."  Janette trailed her finger around her choker, then
took a thoughtful drag from her cigarette.  "What shall it be?
I think the story of the Blood Diamonds would be
acceptable--"
        Nick crossed the room, facing Janette.  "Now that
<isn't> fair.  Schanke and I haven't solved that case yet."
        She pouted in response, then sighed.  "Well, work
faster, won't you?  I told you, Nicolah, mortals will only
slow you down."  Ignoring the loud throat-clearing from
Natalie, Janette blew a ring of smoke into the air.  "I suppose
the business with the archivist will suffice."
        Nick looked around at the assembled group, glanced
at Susan, then leaned close to Janette's ear.  For once, Susan
wished for vampire hearing, so she could pick up his protest.
        But Janette pushed him away lightly.  "Don't be silly.
The Enforcers would never go after her for that."
        Susan thought her heart had hit rock bottom.  At the
mention of the Enforcers, she felt it slide down further and
settle in her toes.  "Enforcers?" she squeaked.
        "You should have listened to Rebecca," said Nick,
shrugging sympathetically, and returning to the Natalie's
side.
        There appeared to be no respite from Janette's
annoyance.  She waved her hand again, dismissing any
problems.  "Oh, come now!  You're living dangerously
enough as it is.  You know about the LaCroix and the . . .
PBS."
        There were several gasps throughout the room--
mainly from Tara, Monica, and Sandye.  Janette stared at
each of them in turn, then glared at Susan.  "You <told>
them?"
        Susan swallowed.  "Uh, it seemed a good idea at the
time.  The war was in full swing.  And we abandoned the
plan as soon as Sandye pointed out that it would get us
killed.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but
someday--"
        "Oh, spare me your movie quotes!"  Visibly
annoyed, Janette slumped in her seat.  "All right.  We'll have
to do something for <him> then.  Just to save your soul
when he finds out about it."
        "What's PBS, other than Masterpiece Theatre?"
asked Hilary softly.  Nick and Natalie, as well as the
Cousins, leaned in for the answer.
        But Janette rose to her feet and clapped her hands.
"Enough!"  She turned on Susan and pointed.  "If you're so
quick to tell tales, pass along the one I told Alma--about
LaCroix's little dalliance."
        "But . . . that's research!"
        "For Valentine's Day."
        Susan would have wailed if she could.  So many
stories, so little time!  But . . . it <was> a short story.  "I'll
have to have it vetted by Lisa?"
        Lisa nodded, ever so slightly.
        Janette smiled again.  "Good.  And perhaps a poem
or two--"
        "Janette, there must be <some> mercy in what's left
of your soul," said Nick wearily.  "Let her off the hook.
You'll kill her, at this pace."
        Susan shot him a smile.  She'd have to be nicer to
the big lug in future.  He <did> mean well, after all . . . .
        This time, Janette relented, shrugging.  "All right."
She fixed Susan with a steady stare.  "I expect copies.
<Proofed> this time.  We don't want a repeat of that incident
with Alma and my Christmas story.  I was <so>
embarrassed.  And poor Alma--"
        Someone sniggered in the background.  Susan tried
not to let her face go red, hoping against hope that no one
would choose that particular moment to order Dutch
chocolate.  "I'll read them through <twice>."
        That seemed to content Janette.  Rising from her
chair, she patted Susan on the top of the head.  "Good girl.
Now, catch your plane.  And when you meet my schedule,
perhaps I'll visit you and we can watch that Roman Polanski
laser disc.  I could tell you about some of Nicolah's other
infamous conquests.  Alexandra, indeed!"
        Susan darted out the door while the getting was
good, Nick's protestations echoing behind her.  Sure, she
was leaving the Brethren and the Cousins party to what
would might prove to be the argument of the century . . . but
she was certain someone would fill her in later.
        They'd better.  Especially if they wanted to see it in
print!
 
 
******
 
Note from Author:
 
Thanks for the lovely war.  Forgiveness to all of my
tormentors and warm thanks to those people who sent
messages upon notification of my surrender--which <did>
include pleadings, offers of protection, and threats (you
know who you are).  My favorite punishment was the
Barney suit.  Favorite sign off was Cousin Margaret's
'BarneyBride.' And favorite line--the frought-with-panic, "I
think they've got Hilary!"  (Which never fails to corpse me
every time my gray cells run across it).
 
As for the schedule--well, YOU try saying not to Janette
(obviously, Nick didn't have much luck the first time, either-
-I suppose it takes practice).
 
**********************************************************
 
 Where To Lady?
 
 Sharon Himmanen
 
 
"So," Sharon said, standing and reaching into her pocket to pull out a
set of keys, "anyone need a cab to the airport?"  The jangle of the keys
as she held them up and shook them accompanied amused snickers
around the room.  "Right," she grinned, then turned to Natalie and
Valerie.  "Well, I've got a long drive.  And some poor guy is probably
running around the city without his cab!"
 
"I'm glad you came, even though I'm sorry I got you into this mess to
begin with.  I should have known, when I called you, that you'd want
to get involved."
 
"Ah, don't be.  I learned things about myself.  Some good."  She paused
and shrugged uncomfortably, "Some not so good."
 
Unexpectedly, Natalie smiled.  "I think we all did.  As much as we
might hate to admit it, there's a little bit of Cousin in all of us.
I think we're all better off realizing that it's there, recognizing
it in ourselves.  As long as it doesn't rule us."
 
"Yeah.  And speaking of Cousins," she looked at Valerie.  "Your
'defection' probably couldn't have come at a better time.  I have to
admit I was very suspicious, but you really came through.  Now if we
could just decide on a good name, we'll be all set!"
 
"I'll keep working on it," Valerie assured her.
 
"Good."  Sharon glanced at her watch.  "At least one really, really good
thing came out of all this!" she said brightly.   "If I leave now, and
drive within the speed limit all the way I should be able to
*completely* miss the Superbowl!   I barely got my ASP abstract
written in time, but at least I get this!"
 
"*And* you gave Cousin Margaret a taste of her own medicine!" Nat
exclaimed.  She thought of the package she had received and tried not
to shudder.
 
"I think *Barney* is a Cousin!" Sharon said, nodding and grimacing.
 
With that, she said her final good-bye's, promised to keep in touch
with Nat through email, and headed out to her "borrowed" cab for
the long drive home.
 
* * * * *
 
Well, this has been amazingly fun!  Cousin Margaret's (the
BarneyBride) torment of me was entirely too perfect, especially since
she doesn't know me at all!  I have a *very* precious video collection
*and* I live next to Demon Child who sings that inane song ALL THE
TIME!!!!!!   <shudder>
 
I'm glad Janette has "persuaded" Susan to continue writing!   Somehow
the fiction list wouldn't be the same without her contributions. :-)
 
My favorite punishment was the redecoration project on Karin's house,
although Susan's sabotaged script torment was very good as well.
 
And Valerie Meachum changed sides, yeah!!!
 
Thanks to Sandye (Bigwig) for allowing me entrance into the Brethen
on short notice.  Also, thanks to everyone who wasn't or didn't want to
be involved for their patience.
 
**********************************************************
 
 What's It All About?
 
 Beth Marchese
 
 
Beth liberated Hazel and plopped onto her futon, exhausted from the drive
back from Toronto.
 
Hazel, though unhappy about her forced imprisonment, hopped over, sniffed her
face and demanded a pat. While Beth scrubbed the rabbit's nose, she said,
"Well, Hazel, you did it. You saved me from vampires."
 
Hazel flapped her French lop ears as if to say, "Of course I did." and
started grinding her teeth in contentment.
 
"I'm going to have to give you a carrot every day for the rest of your life,
aren't I," Beth said.
 
Hazel nibbled on her hand as if to say, "Yup. You owe me for getting you into
the Wicked Warren. You owe me big."
 
Beth patted the rabbit a few minutes more before it occurred to her to ask one
more question. "I still don't know why this started or how. I guess everyone
got so caught up in the cycle of revenge, they kinda forgot. Still find it
hard to believe this all happened, though."
 
Hazel didn't offer her opinion.
 
Beth looked suspiciously at her rabbit. "YOU don't know the Black Rabbit of
Inlay, do you?"
 
Hazel sat up, blinked at her three times and did a backflip, the rabbit
version of laughter and then went off to explore Beth's duffle bag for food.
 
"Rabbits and vampires. I wonder. They both have sharp teeth. And then there's
Bunnicula....
 
Beth's musing was interrupted by a call on her business line.
 
It was Buzz. "Had a good vacation, did you? Rested? Good. There's a fire in
New Boston. Sounds big. They just rang the third alarm. We need color
pictures. Go."
 
He hung up and Beth sighed. Vampires or no vampires. Some things never
change.....
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Back To State College
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
     Sandye looked out of the airplane window and wondered if it
all had been a dream.  The look on Laurie's face told her that it
had not.  As the two cousins made their way back to State College,
they talked about the changes brought on by the war, a war that had
almost made them enemies.  They were tired, they were traumatized,
but ultimately, they were triumphant.  The night sky flew by.  Under
the darkening heavens, safe from harm, Sandye and Laurie talked and
laughed as two friends often do.  Still, something lingered in the
air.
     "For a moment there, I thought you were going to be
Brethren-fodder."
     "For a moment, I thought so myself.  You just sat there...
Sandye, why didn't you do something to help?  I can understand
why you gave Nick the keys, I think, but at the Raven...well, it
got pretty frightening..."
     "I don't know...really, I just don't know.  It was like I wasn't
even there...like I was just watching it all from somewhere else...
that doesn't make much sense does it?"
     It made sense to Laurie.  After all, isn't that what happened to
her when she found herself in Toronto, changing Nick's stock to human...
at the time, Laurie thought she was dreaming, or watching a movie...
     "No, I understand.  Still...I can't believe it got so out of hand.
When I saw Nick standing in my apartment...I mean, I thought it would
be Uncle who would be mad; it was him that I was afraid of...I never
gave a second thought to Nick, or how angry he might be...stange isn't
it...not to think of the pain I was causing him..."
     But that was the reason the wars began. No one realized then how any
of their actions could cause someone else pain.  Sandye could hardly believe
the irony of it all.  Uncle had used the cousins to get back at Nicholas
and Janette; and they all followed suit, everyone of them. They had believed
themselves superior, but none of them were...none of them.  Not even Nick
or Janette, or even Natalie.  Personal desire overpowers the common will:
no one was immune, it seemed.  When you add it all up, it's not always easy
to tell the good guys from the bad.  It goes even deeper, though.  Good
and evil are not the well-defined polarized ideals we all would like to
think.  No one is either completely good or completely evil.  Not even
LaCroix, or even Nick.  Sandye turned her thoughts back to Laurie.
    "Nick understood that, eventually.  And it was him that stood up for
you; he made every one see the truth.  It may not have been his truth,
but he did the right thing...and that is what's important."
     "Too bad about Uncle...do you think he'll contact us soon?"
     "Laurie, don't tell me you're still a true cousin?  After what you've
been through?  I would think that you'd be ready for a little vacation
from a certain dangerous immortal..."
     "It seems that all immortals are dangerous, at least to us.  But what
about you...I didn't see you standing up against him...can you tell me
that it's not true...can you tell me that you're still not drawn to him?"
     Sandye knew Laurie was right.  She knew it as surely as she knew her
own name.  So much for free will...
     "No, I can't.  I'm still a cousin, but then again, I never stopped
being one...I was the one following orders remember..." Caught by the
realization that she might just be Uncle's puppet, she stopped herself
from finishing that sentence.
     "It doesn't matter much now...we're both alright, and we're going
home.  Back to a normal life...as normal as it can be with Uncle waiting
just at the edge of reality..."
     Laurie looked towards the window; a sadness in her eyes reflected
back in the mirror-like glass.  It was a sadness she could live
with, though.  It was a feeling that had a life of its own, and somehow,
it made her whole.
     "I guess once you give yourself to LaCroix, you can never really be
free..."  Truer words never were said.
     "You're getting quite profound, you know that...but I think you're
right...and if he wasn't lying to himself, I think Nicholas would have to
agree."
     The plane landed on time.  Sandye and Laurie walked down the small
set of stairs; they were, once again, on solid ground.  In unison, they
sighed their relief.  One stray thought bothered Sandye.
     "Hey, Laurie...you never really told me...*why* did you do that to
Nick...really, *why*?"
     "I just don't know...except that at the time, I had the feeling that
it just *had* to be done.  It just *had* to be..."
     Had to be done.  Sandye was afraid it had been that way.  Hadn't she
believed that she *had* to start her own faction...hadn't she believed that
she *had* to send all those messages to John, and Margaret, and Valerie?
That hadn't been part of the Brethren's plan, but it was part of someone's
plan.  LaCroix.  How did he manage to always get his own way, even when
he was crying treachery and betrayal?  She'd never figure it out, not unless
he wanted her to.
    "Oh well, its over now, Laurie.  Let's get home...and let's stop at the
market.  I need cigarettes."
     "You mean you're not going to continue to "borrow" mine...you're going
to "buy" your own...catch me before I pass out...."
     Sandye threw her a wicked look, and then laughing, the two friends
started for home.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Hilary's Revenge
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
[An apartment building near Penn. State Uni.]
 
Sandye said goodnight to Laurie and trudged wearily across the hall
to her own apartment.  Thank goodness the wars were over and everyone
was friends, albeit tentative ones, again.  As she struggled to unlock
her door she thought how good it was to be back home where things
could be relied on to stay the same.  Sandye gave the door one final
frustrated shove and then yelped as she was catapulted through the
now freely moving door onto the thankfully soft carpet.  She picked
herself up, reached behind her to tug her luggage inside, and
leavered boots off feet that were glad to be finally free.  Her toes
curled with naked eagerness in the grass.
 
Sandye almost exploded out into the hallway.  The GRASS?  Peering
warily back inside her apartment Sandye reached tentatively for the
light switch.
 
"OH MY GOD," she screamed in horror, backing into Laurie who'd
rushed out to rescue her friend.
 
"What?"  Laurie panted.  "What's wrong?"
 
"There's GRASS growing in my apartment," Sandye squeaked in
amazement.
 
Laurie put a supportive arm around Sandye and maneuvered her
back into the apartment.  "Come on Sandye, its been a bad week for
all of us.  Why don't we go back inside and get you a nice stiff
drink?"
 
"Look!"  Sandye stammered.  "Just look at my floor and tell me that
a drink will fix THAT."
 
They both stood and stared at the luxuriant verdant growth that was
flourishing on Sandye's floor.  Eyes fixed in single-minded
vegetative bliss, Sandye's minilop bunny Gwion was happily
munching and hopping around the furniture.  Shane, looking nothing
like the part wolf he was, was sheepishly curled up on the couch
with rows of tiny green bows tied to his coat.
 
Sandye went berserk as she tore around the apartment turning up more
horrors with every minute that passed.  Her fridge, emptied of gourmet
delicacies, was filled to the brim with nothing but spinach.  A
jungle of poison ivy roiled up her bathroom walls.  The radio
blared out back-to-back renditions of"Greensleeves".  Even worse, her
entire collection of books and videos had been replaced with items
containing the word "green" in their title.  Her books?
 
"Monica's Welsh textbooks," Sandye shrilled in panic.  "Tell me
they're still here.  She'll take pleasure in killing me slowly if
anything happens to her books."
 
"Uh, Sandye, I think I've found them,"  Laurie volunteered unhappily.
 
"Yes, there is a God,"  Sandye sighed in relief.
 
"Well, you'd better come and see," said Laurie mournfully as she
led Sandye towards Gwion's hutch.  "Look."
 
Sandye stood stricken in front of the hutch that was filled to the
brim with shredded paper.  Shredded WELSH paper.
 
Just when she thought she could take no more Sandye was abruptly
shaken out of her stupor by the sound of her door bell.
 
"What now?" She screamed into the faces of a startled TV news crew.
 
"Ms. Chisholm?"  The anchor purred urbanely.  "We wanted to be the
first to offer you our congratulations on your charity efforts.  If
you could spare us the time for an interview before we film the jump?"
 
"The w-h-aaa-t?" Sandye stuttered.
 
The cameras began to roll as the anchor moved rapidly to capture
his scoop.  "We are here with Sandye Chisholm, the brave woman who
has volunteered to bungy jump off the Empire State Building tomorrow
morning to raise money for the victims of the earthquake fund."
 
Sandye collapsed numbly to the floor.  Who could have done this to
her?  What fiendish mind was capable of such torment?
 
"Ma'am?"
 
Sandye looked up into the youthful face of a uniformed messenger who
was waving a clipboard in her face.
 
"If you would just sign here ma'am."
 
Sandye scrawled her signature shakily across the form as she accepted
the long florist's box.  She eventually managed to remove the lid,
exposing an exquisitely arranged bouquet of brussels sprouts.
 
Laurie stooped to pick up the card that had fluttered unnoticed to the
floor.  "I think you should read this."
 
Written in green ink with a fine copperplate hand was the message:
 
  Sandye,
 
    Welcome home to where the grass is definitely greener.
 
  Best wishes,
                 Hilary.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 The Long Road Home
 
 Hilary McLachlan
 
 
[The Raven]
 
Hilary propped herself up against the wall with a weary sigh.  It had
been a long night, made even more disturbing by LaCroix's continual
glances in her direction.  Monica moved over and leant beside her
muttering something about food and a good stiff drink.
 
"Did you say food Monica?  I could really do with some chocolate -
for the stress you know."  Hilary shook off her trepidations
and quickly perked up at the thought of her major indulgence.
 
Monica shared a conspiratal grin.  They really did have so much in
common.  "And vodka.  No, on second thoughts, maybe we'd better make
it wine, or something else that won't make me forget everything I did
before I passed out.  I wonder if they serve cappuchinos here?"  They
linked arms as they began to move with single-minded determination
towards the counter.  Caffeine and chocolate - the ultimate cure-all.
 
"Not so fast demoiselles."
 
Hilary dropped Monica's arm and spun around quicker than she'd ever
moved in her Tai Chi classes.  Yes, "Uncle" had somehow managed to
move across the room whilst they'd been distracted with a
chocoholic's dream of heaven.  How did he manage to smile while he
lounged so relaxed against the bar, and still evoke such fear in her?
Come to that, what had made them suddenly think of chocolate?  Could
it be...?
 
LaCroix just smiled even more.
 
"Well, my little green traveller, how do you like your little walk
on the wild side so far?"
 
Hilary just stood there transfixed by LaCroix's gaze.  Wouldn't
anyone back her up?
 
"Ummmm....its been ... educational sir," Hilary stammered confusedly
as most of the Brethren looked on smirking. They were all glad not to
be the sole focus of his attention, however brief the respite was.
 
Monica, however, started to move courageously to her friend's rescue.
Maybe the two of them could try to hold LaCroix at bay till Nicholas
returned.
 
"Not so fast cherie," Janette ordered as she reacted with vampire
swiftness to stop Monica.  "I can't allow one of mine to go against
LaCroix."
 
"But she doesn't know what he's capable of," Monica objected as she
struggled to break free.  "He'll eat her alive."
 
"Maybe he will, that's his prerogative," commented Janette.  "This
war has got to be stopped, and the sooner everyone realizes that
peace is the only way we all will win, the better."
 
LaCroix remained in front of Hilary.  These little internal
squabbles were quite amusing but it was definitely time for the
attention to be focused back on him where it belonged.
 
"I thought it was about time for you to be brought closer into the
group Hilary.  I really can't allow people to consider themselves
free agents, no matter how far away they live."
 
"Well, you see ...," she stuttered into silence.  It was obvious that
she was outmatched in this contest.
 
"Oh, I can see very well thank you ma petite."
 
"Now we've all got to know you so well, I think we should stay in
closer contact.  How could we be so cruel as to leave you isolated
down under in sunny Queensland?  You never know, you might even find
that your career may involve travel in the future.  Wouldn't that be
nice?"
 
Hilary reached blindly for a bottle on the bar. Why did the mention
of travel sound so ominous? She gulped down a salty mouthful and
choked as she realized what she'd done.
 
"The WORLD is dark, I am the owner, and I find I can mix it with a
little wine."   LaCroix intoned with evil humour.
 
Hilary stared at him in horror.  So THAT was who Janette had been
paraphrasing all this time.
 
LaCroix gave her one final ironic smile before turning away to watch
as Nicholas slowly descended the stairs.
 
                            ***
 
30 minutes before Monica and Hilary had to leave for the airport, they
were sitting with Janette in the office.  Each of them was holding a
glass of wine, Janette's just had a little extra twist to it.  Monica
was having second thoughts about going back.  Life was so dull in
Albuquerque.  But she knew she couldn't stay away from her Nickolai
for too much longer.
 
"Why don't you stay for a while?" asked Janette.  Monica looked up at
her and smiled regretfully.
 
"I can't.  My poor Nickolai will be upset if he doesn't get his mommy
back soon.  He never did like the neighbours much."
 
"Perhaps next time.   For now, let us share a toast and drink to
this moment.  We shall see one another again."  Janette turned her
attentions to Hilary.  "And you must be careful of LaCroix.  He is
not merely dangerous, he IS danger.  It would be a pity if he
decided to make you one of his. I would not be able to extend my
protection over you in such an instance."
 
Hilary nodded, not quite believing what she was hearing but
understanding the kind intentions behind Janette's warning.
Monica patted her arm reassuringly.
 
"It has been quite an experience, Janette.  Hilary and I need to go
now.  We wouldn't want to miss our flight."
 
"I'll have my driver take you to the airport," Janette offered.
Monica and Hilary eagerly accepted her generosity.  Neither of them
relished taking a taxi.   After all, one heard so many stories of
people being attacked en route to the airport.
 
                                    ***
 
[New Mexico]
 
Monica and Hilary spent the entire duration of the flight to New
Mexico talking.  It had been a long couple of weeks for both of them
and they needed to unwind.
 
"Why don't you stay for a while?  The family's in California and I'd
love to have some company," suggested Monica as they were about to
land.
 
"Well, I really should get back to work...but why not.  I could use a
vacation.  Besides, why waste a trip to the States?"
 
Monica and Hilary disembarked and walked towards the exit.  A man in
a suit was waiting for them at the door, holding a sign with their
names on it above his head.  Monica smiled wickedly.
 
"This is the best way to see the city," she said as they followed the
man outside.  He held open the door of the luxurious black stretch
limo and waited for them to get in.
 
Hilary gaped in stunned amazement as they were ushered into the
sensuous leather interior.  "How did you know that I've always wanted
to ride in one of these?" she breathed excitedly as she
surreptitiously stroked the upholstery.
 
Despite the snow Monica and Hilary managed in the following week
to experience all the hot spots New Mexico had to offer.  By the end
of the week they'd been: picked up by a number of well-known
and dashing actors; put down by helicopter to dance the night away in
a public fountain with a pair of non-uniformed police detectives
on holiday from Toronto; and they even managed to fit in some
horseback riding up at the ranch.
 
                          ***
 
[Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean]
 
Hilary grasped her champagne glass firmly as she titled her seat back
to a comfortable angle.  It would be a long time before she could
(or would even want to) forget the events of the past days.   And
she still had those bruises from her rash attempt to gallop through
the  snow on a runaway horse.  Why hadn't she told Monica she couldn't
ride?  Damn stupid pride!  Then again, maybe the bruises weren't just
from the ride.  Still it - ALL of it! - had been fun.  Just what
they'd both needed to take their minds off the showdown in The Raven.
 
Suddenly Hilary broke into hysterical laughter as she remembered the
well-timed revenge she had left waiting for Sandye.  It was a pity
she couldn't be there to see it in person.   However, Sandye's bungy
jump off the Empire State Building was bound to make television
history.  It was lucky she had Monica to catch it all on video.  With
a bit of luck the tape should arrive within the week.
 
                              ***
 
[Brisbane, Australia]
 
Slamming the door of the taxi shut Hilary walked dispiritedly up the
hill towards her house.  Well, she would be back to her boring
everyday work routine tomorrow.  Maybe she should have stayed with
Monica longer.  The thought of how she was going to explain her
extended absence to her boss (The sudden death of a relative?  No,
she'd used that excuse before.) was very off-putting.  Best not to
think about it till tomorrow.  After all there was a lot to be said
for the safety of home.
 
As she entered the hall Hilary tripped over a sheaf of mail lying
scattered over the slate tiles.  Hmmm.  Bills; an invitation to the
Lord Mayor's next social gathering; ooh, the chance of a whale
watching trip in Hervey Bay - only $375! - sure, no problem she
thought sarcastically; more bills.  Suddenly a large green envelope
caught her eye.  Hilary tossed the other junk mail aside on her
antique Japanese tansu as she prised the envelope open.  Her fingers
suddenly trembling, she read:
 
   Ms McLachlan,
 
   This is to inform you that you have been seconded to the
   University of Toronto Library for an indefinite term.
   The enclosed letter contains all details pertinent to this
   appointment.  The position commences in 2 weeks.  We took
   the liberty of putting your house up for sale as soon as we
   received notification.  Happily we can report that we already have
   a buyer under contract.   All your transfer expenses will
   naturally be paid by the LaCroix International Foundation for the
   Promulgation of Knowledge.
 
   Yours sincerely...
 
 
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
 
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Homeward Bound
 
 Tara
 
 
        Tara glanced around the rapidly emptying club, sighing.  "I guess
the New Mexico contingent has gone home?"
        "Monica and Hilary just left."  Janette confirmed.  "And I doubt you
would have wanted to travel with John."
        "This is true.  Are you sorry to see all your ravens scattered again?"
        Janette snorted.  "I could happily live another hundred years without
all you in one place at the same time.  You attract trouble."
        "That hurts."  Tara's eyes were bright, and Janette laughed, sipping
her wine and blood.
        "You were foolish, you know.  Going up against Lacroix...."
        "That was business.  If you can call revenge business."
        "You flooded his account with bad poetry!"
        "John flooded his account.  He just didn't know he was doing it."
        "You're playing with fire, little girl."
        "I've always liked to watch things burn."  She was being flip, and
they both knew it.  "Why, were you worried about me?"
        "Don't be silly."
        "What would LaCroix say?  Ah, you warm my cold heart."  She pulled on
her trenchcoat and gloves.  "My flight leaves tonight."
        "What faith you have, to book one so soon."
        "I have unshakable faith in your ability to protect your own."  Tara
said, eyes wide with false innocence.  "And I have a class tomorrow morning,
and haven't slept in days.  As far as unm knows, I have been in bed with a
bottle of Nyquil the past few days."
        "Take care, dear."
 
* * *
 
        Tara rolled over, checking the time on the cheap LED alarm clock
supplied by the hotel.  Her flight didn't leave for another four hours,
and she was tempted to go check out the antique shops on Yonge, but decided
there were a few things in life she really shouldn't know.  So she
got up, and repacked.
        Taking one last glance around the room to make sure she had everything,
she opened the door and froze.
        "Leaving so soon?"
        "Lacroix.  What a pleasant surprise."  She smiled, but knew he
could hear how her pulse rate skyrocketed.  He smiled back, and it chilled
her though she pretended calmness.
        "Are you really surprised?"  He purred, circling her.  "What a bold
one you are.  How did you know I wouldn't destroy you?"
        "I didn't.  I think it's that element of uncertainty that makes
my life so much fun.  You don't have a reason for things, so I don't expect
one.  Are you going to kill me?"
        "No.  As you said before, you are 'on the wall' and therefore useful
to me."
        "I am not one of your Cousins, at your beck and call."
        "Nor are you loyal to poor beknighted Nickolas and his pet
mortals."
        "Do you have a point?"  Tara risked being impertinent, as her
flight would leave in an hour and a half, and it was beginning to make her
nervous.
        "You're pushing it."
        "Okay."  She sat down on the end of the bed.  "I used Janette's
pc to free up your account, you know."
        "How considerate of you."
        "Hey, a deal's a deal."  She shrugged.  "If you don't mind, I have
a flight to catch."
        "Can I give you a lift?"  Fanged smile and feral eyes turned her
way.
        *Oh God*  "That's not really necessary."
        "But I insist."
        *Oh shit*
 
* * *
 
        She couldn't feel her hands or her face as the city wind wrapped
itself around her, seeking all the spaces between her clothing, sneaking
down her collar and she felt one shoe slip away to fall to the Toronto
streets far below.
        "Enjoying the ride?"
        "Don't ever do me another favour again."  Tara wailed, burying her
face in his shoulder, and the wind stole his laughter away.
 
* * *
 
        If any of the other passengers on the Southwest flight from
Chicago to Albuquerque noticed Tara couldn't stop shaking, they assumed
it was from the cold.
        Boy oh boy, were they wrong.
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Cousin John Goes Home
 
 John E. Dencoff
 
 
  John peered out of the window of the jet as it descended toward
Albuquerque.  In all, the Wars had ended in moderate disappointment for
him, for many of the cousins, and for LaCroix as well.  In some ways,
they had gotten out of hand.  And now with the introduction of the
"Brethren," he wasn't sure what to think.
 
  LaCroix was right about them all, of course.  He was always right.  Still
most of them had chosen to follow Nicholas and Jeanette, or work to support
one of Nicholas's friends.
 
  He hadn't really even succeeded in converting Molly or any of the others
to LaCroix's way of thinking.  But could he blame them?  To follow LaCroix
was demanding, often burdening, despite being the honest way.  He started to
laugh as he thought once more of that age-old cliche--given a choice, which
would you choose: to be happy but unaware, or unhappy with the truth?
 
  That's what this "War" was really all about, he thought.  As a Cousin,
he knew himself as he truly was.  Somewhere along the line, he had reconciled
good and evil within himself, and he had accepted the truth of that.  LaCroix
knew this, but Nicholas did not.  He deluded himself with the hope that he
would someday be different than he truly was.
 
  To know this truth was to abandon hope, but it was also an abandonment
of fear.  Letting go of that fear was an empowerment on the grand scale.
But it had cost him dearly.  To let go of hope is not an easy thing, and
one usually ends up unhappy.
 
  As John disembarked from the plane, people crowding him at both ends, he
thought about what he had learned...what the War had meant for him.
A sudden realization hit him, then.  Abandoning hope was not the same thing
as abandoning one's dreams.  It simply meant that you had to work actively
toward them at all times.  Hope is a double-edged blade: it can be the
precursor of a dream, but it can also stunt growth if let out of control.
 
  If this were true, then he had realized something that both Nicholas and
LaCroix were both blind to seeing.  Nicholas wanted change, but his hope
for redemption stunted him.  LaCroix wanted stasis, a return to what once
was, but he was too caught up in trying to "teach" Nicholas that he had
ceased to dream.
 
  To seek change.  Each wanted it, but they were both locked against each
other.  LaCroix knew the truth, but waited for Nicholas to act on it.  And
because he never would, both were stunted.
 
  Perhaps this is what immortality does: it robs you of your dreams, and
the ability to act toward them.  Nick had hope, but it wasn't enough.
LaCroix knew the truth, but it wasn't enough.
 
        *               *               *
 
Later that night:
 
  It was time to get on with his life, and make amends for some of the things
he had done.  Sitting in front of the fire, he taped and addressed the last
of the three packages he had wrapped.
 
  The first was to Barb, dealing with that horrible Spellchecker he had
inflicted on her computer systems.  Inside was a disk, with the programs and
instructions to remove the thing from molecular.com's hard drive.
 
  The second was a complete set of the _Dark of Knight_ episodes he'd sent
to Molly.  That was perhaps his cruelest cut: to leave off the last five
minutes of every episode he'd originally sent.  But at least now she'd have
a complete set of tapes.
 
  The last was a disk for Tara.  Though they'd parted on fair terms, he still
felt he owed her something.  It was a protection disk, and once installed
on her systems no one would be able to invade her systems with unsolicited
mail...like his awful computer-generated poetry.
 
  Finally, he logged into his computer.  With a few quick commands, he sent
the only remaining copy of Nick's police records back to Toronto's freenet
systems.  LaCroix has succeeded in eliminating them, his original goal in
starting the War (to keep everyone occupied while he toyed with the Internet),
but now they were safely locked in place again.
 
  Of course, LaCroix would not be pleased when he found out...but so what?
The entire War had escalated beyond his original intent anyway.  And another
problem for Nick just wouldn't do at this point.  He'd have enough to keep
him occupied with all his efforts at conversion abolished.
 
  John stopped for a moment.  Had he been possessed by a conscience?  For a
Cousin, that simply wouldn't do.  Was he still a Cousin, in his heart?
Yes, he was loyal to LaCroix, and would probably do everything over again
if LaCroix asked.  But it seemed appropriate to end the War this way, by
returning things to the status quo.
 
  He got up and walked over to the window.  Not everything was as it originally
was.  He himself had changed, probably for the better.  He didn't have any
regrets, except that he apparently wasn't yet ready (in LaCroix's eyes) to
become an immortal.  He still had too much to learn, apparently.
 
  But maybe he didn't crave immortality anymore...not if it meant giving up
one's dreams.  Maybe it was enough to simply be a part of the grand game,
playing in it without it consuming you utterly like Nick and LaCroix.
 
  For him, the day seemed bright with promise...something a vampire might
never know.  But Nick can hope...
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Karin's Epilogue
 
 Karin Welss
 
 
It was the end of another busy day in another busy month. The FK Wars were long
past, and Karin had long since faced up to the fact that she had utterly failed
to discourage Susan Garrett's prolific fiction output. She walked wearily
into her townhome, dropping her bag, purse, and coat in a scattered trail
behind her.
 
First to check if her hyacinths and anemones were blooming yet, she thought,
and then on to the ten million other things that awaited her.
 
But as she entered her living room, she froze. A tall, pale-haired man had
enthroned himself comfortably in her black leather armchair. He had his booted
feet resting comfortably on her footstool, and was sipping at a glass of her
best Merlot.
 
"U-uncle," stammered Karin. "How, uh, nice, to see you!"
 
"I'm sure it is," he agreed smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with a
pale hand. The antique pearl and silver ring he always wore caught the dim
light filtering in through the blinds, and gleamed. "I trust you are well,
niece?"
 
Karin nodded, cautiously. "What brings you to California, Uncle? Isn't it
um, a bit sunny here for your tastes?"
 
LaCroix smiled unpleasantly. "I thought I'd leave the snow and ice to dear
Nicholas for a while. Let him find a way to start that green monstrosity of
his in the sub-zero mornings. I prefer a somewhat... milder climate in
February. And," he added, almost as an afterthought. "The quality of your
hospitality has become almost legendary on the 'Net."
 
As Karin stared at him, trying to figure out what he was up to, LaCroix gestured
at the newly-painted dark blue walls with the small gold stars, and the curtains
of silver chains. "Don't tell me you allowed that Alma creature to decorate
this charming residence for you?"
 
Karin shrugged. "I didn't have much choice-- not after I sent Jennise to you,
like you ordered, and then you *hired* her. Jennise felt that a reciprocal
favor was due." Her mouth twisted. "And I've still got these damned pink carpets
to deal with."
 
"Ah, well, not for long perhaps."
 
Karin blinked as LaCroix suddenly stood before her. She had not even seen
him move. His cold hand reached out to tilt up her chin, exposing her throat.
 
"I missed seeing you in Toronto, my dear," he said softly, the bright blue
of his eye showing a tinge of gold suddenly. "I was very disappointed when
you didn't come to collect your reward for such faithful service..."
 
"I changed my mind," Karin twisted away, and turned to leave. An arm like
a band of steel snaked around her, and held her fast.
 
"Another disappointment," LaCroix said, his voice still soft, drawing her
close. "Too late. You're mine... forever."
 
"No..." Karin tried to twist away again, but it was useless. She heard a low
chuckle, felt cool lips brushing her neck, and then the exquisite agony of
his teeth.
 
The world broke apart in a dizzy shower of black sparks. Only his arms, holding
her upright, and his mouth, draining away her life, were real.
 
                                   * * *
 
 
Sometime later, Karin opened her eyes. It was night, and she was lying,
fully dressed, in her unmade bed. It was dark, but she could see every
detail perfectly-- the stars shining through the high windows, the patterns of
stucco on the walls, the titles of the paperbacks on her bookshelf.
 
And the tall, pale-haired figure standing by the side of her bed, looking
down at her. "You're awake-- good."
 
"What--" Karin started, groggily, then remembered. "Oh, no."
 
"Oh, yes." LaCroix smirked, and held out a wineglass full of something a
little darker than Merlot. It smelled delicious. "Welcome to your new life,
my dear."
 
"But why?" Despite herself, Karin saw her hand reach out, take the glass
from his hand. It tasted as delicious as it smelled, the smooth iron-salt
taste soothing the burning thirst inside her.
 
LaCroix reached out and smoothed her rumpled hair. "I decided I needed an
extra writer on my production staff," he said. "And since *Forever Knight*
is shot during the evening hours... well, our little arrangement is perfect,
is it not?"
 
He took the empty glass from her slack fingers.
 
"And Jennise-- what about her?"
 
The empty glass shone like a soap bubble in the faint starlight. "Oh, I
expect that the two of you will help the series stay on-air-- *forever*."
 
"Is she--?" Karin couldn't finish the sentence.
 
"See for yourself..." LaCroix opened the bedroom door. Jennise stood there,
her amber eyes glowing an evil green.
 
"Get up, lazybones," she said, lisping slightly around newly-sprouted fangs.
"We have two screenplays to complete before next week."
 
She turned to LaCroix: "How do you like 'LaCroix's triumph' as a title, sir?"
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Picking Up Pieces
 
 Valerie Meachum
 
 
Valerie sat for a long time as the others filed out in ones and twos,
tactfully avoiding the various little conversations and adding none of
her own as she stared at the weird yellow paint spiral that looked, in
the eloquent words of her friend and "convert" Matt, "like Andy Warhol
puked on the walls."  Actually, she decided, even the new decor was
perfectly fine under the Raven's customary dim lighting; but at the
moment it wasn't under that lighting.  Which meant that Valerie should
probably stop staring at the weird yellow spiral and pay some
attention to people.
 
Even those who didn't consider themselves "people".  After securing
some sort of promise from Susan to her evident satisfaction, Janette
glanced over the remaining stragglers, her attention coming to rest on
the slightly bedraggled redhead perched on a barstool.  "If you're
going to sit there and look glazed," she chided with just enough of a
smile to know she was teasing, "you should do it during business hours
when you'll fit in."
 
Valerie laughed at that, hopefully seeming a bit more animated in the
process.  "No offense, but I'm *really* picky about dance clubs, and
this one isn't quite my speed.  I have this weird thing about liking
to be around people who can openly have fun."
 
"Can't fault you for that," Natalie put in at her shoulder.  "Or for
walking the fence in this mess."
 
"I guess.  It's a lot to digest.  I'm not sure what to think of it
all."
 
"What do you mean?" Janette asked.
 
"This mess was my *friends*.  I mean, most of 'em I only knew on the
net, but in some ways you know people better that way.  When you've
only got text you concentrate more on communicating ideas, and you
don't have physical appearance and things like that getting in the
way."  Shaking her head, Valerie went on, "I never thought I'd see us
using all that against each other.  I guess I should stop being
surprised by seeing things used as weapons that should never be."  Nat
shifted a little uncomfortably at this, and Valerie added, "We all do
it. I must have hit some kind of wall, though, because when everything
blew up in here I just watched it and did nothing at all.  Not because
I knew we shouldn't be fighting...just total incomprehension.  Had
some notion for a while of defending Laurie, and then I was afraid you
were a target..."
 
"So what else is new?"  Nat snorted.  "You guys are all taking
lessons from Nick."
 
"More likely from you," Valerie answered.  "But the idea of defending
anyone turned out completely impossible when I couldn't even tell who
was attacking whom.  And I figured out if I'm going to fight, that's
going to be why.  Maybe the wrong person for the wrong reasons, but
defense is what I know."  She made a loud raspberry noise.  "I'm
blithering, and you guys are much too polite.  Please ignore me."
 
"I don't think so," objected Natalie.  "You're trying to work it out;
you just need a little perspective."
 
"Perspective.  Yeah."  Valerie smiled and yawned.  "I'm going to go
home and kiss my fiancee and pet my cat and sing my schmaltzy
Cinderella songs and get my new pointe shoes dyed for my costume for
Boston.  And send Laurie those tapes I dubbed for her.  And next time there's
a war, Nat, remind mind that I don't want to be invited either."
 
"Done.  We'll make a party of it."
 
"Sounds good.  Popcorn."
 
"*Now* you're blithering," Janette put in.
 
Natalie covered a laugh.  "No, it has a significance.  Go home,
Valerie."
 
"Right.  Later."
 
And go home she did, and did all those things she had listed.  And the
war still didn't make much more sense than it had in the Raven.
 
But she knew one thing pretty certainly: they had all learned things
about themselves they didn't like.  They could do what they wanted
with that knowledge, but if they played it right it gave them that much
more power over who they were.  Maybe that could even serve Nick
sometime...she'd have to mention it to Nat...
 
 
 
**********************************************************
 
 Epic Of The FK War
 
 Sandye Chisholm
 
 
                 "A Forever Knight Odyssey"
                   The Epic of The FK War
 
                              This is the stuff legends are made of:
 
 
   Well, listen my children and you will here
   The true war-story told strong and clear.
   The cousins were bad, so you've been told,
   But "everyone" acted much too bold.
   Laurie wreaked her torments on
   Allan, Jean...and then there's Don-
   He got Val M. when he killed her car,
   Jeannster, she went just as far.
   Laurie won't be needing breaks-
   And Hilary's had her share of snakes!
   Susan rode in a big, black hearse,
   Sandye's grin just made it all the worse.
   John sent Tara a terrible poem-
   While Tara had John removed from home.
   Jennise and Karin had a great, big blast
   Changing scripts and houses oh so fast!
   Val K. sent gifts to Sharon Scott-
   It was lovely chocolate frogs she got!
   Janette told Laurie to get a life-
   And Barney got himself a wife.
   Sharon and Margaret created a roar
   When they summoned that Purple dinosaur.
   Now, Uncle was mad at what they had done,
   And decided to crush them, one by one.
   Then out of the blue, he chose a spy.
   Sandye's choice--conform or die.
   This really was no choice at all,
   She didn't want her cousins to fall.
   A coalition soon was formed
   And their message read "BE FORWARNED!"
   The Brethren joined as secret friends
   To bring this war to a happy end.
   Not happy for all, I should add
   Nick thought Laurie had been much too bad.
   The Brethren met at the Raven where
   Cousin Sandye-rah got some wicked stares.
   It was then that Bigwig came to light
   The shock brought on an awful fight.
   When all was done, they much forgave-
   They had to pity Uncle's slave.
   Then burst in Nick with golden eyes
   "Who did this deed?" were his terrible cries!
   While chaos raged and insults flew
   Uncle snickered, what else would he do?
   Natalie feared she'd lost her Nick-
   Due to someone's nasty trick.
   Some one had changed Nick's stock of Moo
   And Nicholas, then blamed the other two.
   It took some time to sort this out
   It sure was something to shout about!
   Then Nick took matters in his own hands,
   In Laurie's apartment he did land.
   She sure did get a terrible fright,
   As he took her up into the night.
   Back at Janette's, the trial began
   "No Mercy", The Bretheren did demand.
   After much debate, and much ado,
   The score was settled, by you know who.
   We took some time, and had some fun,
   Then we all left, one by one,
   Natalie, Nick and Janette,
   Maintained the peace on the FK net.
   LaCroix took off, his plans amiss-
   But did he really plan all this?
   He left us with some sage advice...
   Next time, friends, we'd better think twice.
   In years to come, they'll tell our tale
   Of how this peace had much prevailed.
   Of good and bad, of dark and light
   Of stories from Forever Knight.
   And as we pass the marks of age
   Our dear immortals turn the page.
   These were the days of the FK War-
   A bold, dark time that is no more.
 
   From The Legends of Forever, as told by Cousin Sandye-rah
 
 
 
 ----------   THE  END   ----------
 
 
 
FK War - Information...
 
 
From: Cousin John Dencoff <jdencoff@POLARIS.UNM.EDU>
 
>Could someone please, pardon my ignorance and fill me in on this business
>re: "LaCroixettes", "Cousins", "Factions", etc.!?
 
If you've signed on recently to fkfic-L as well as forkni-L, then a quick
 run-down might be appropriate:
 
Factions:  There was a recent WAR on fkfic-L, started by LaCroix and his
 numerous minions (of course), and most of the listmembers had to choose
 sides.  This was all in fun, of course, and hilarious to follow.
 Several older factions already existed:
  The LaCroixettes/Cousins: fans of LaCroix (Nigel)
  The Knighties: fans of Nick (Geraint)
  The Ravenettes: fans of Jeanette (Deborah)
 And several new factions developed:
  The NAT-urelles/AuNATurelles: fans of Natalie (Catherine)
  The FOD's: fans of Schanke, or maybe just fans of souvlaki :)
  The Die-Hards: fans of the show (just in general)
  The Wicked Warren: whose objective can only be revealed if you get
    the whole story from someone who saved it.
    (Not to be mean, but I am a Cousin after all >:)
 
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------
From:         Laurie Salopek <LMS5@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
Subject:      FK Wars from FKFIC-L
 
  For all you listmembers out there that were too chicken to come over and
sample our little war, here is a quick recap of what happened....
 
 
   Well, the war is over and I thought I would just sit down a do a quick
recap. Our massive excursion (we swamped the list big time!) into the
dark side (Luke! Luke!) produced some very interesting results. Several
would be lurkers joined in the fray (yeah!) bringing new blood (yummy) to
the list. Most of the declaring their loyalty to Nick (*ahem*). The war
also saw friend turn against friend and would be cousins running for the
light (ah, come guys, LaCroix isn't *THAT* scary >-). One of the results
of our quest for torment and destruction, is that we all learned more
about each other. Things that probably wouldn't have come out in regular
email discussions: Tara hates bad poetry, Monica and Hilary are addicted
to caffeine, Hilary hates snakes and Sandra hates cats (add them to the
list of people with known pests fear.. Hi Scott!) and finally... WE ALL
HATE BARNEY! :-)
   Aside from computer torments (loved the vampire spell checker from
hell), the most prevalent form of torment seemed to be attacking cars.
The war saw: Sandye had Monica's new car stolen (ok, borrowed :-), Don
ruined Valerie's car (hey Val, you defected! We could have helped, but
nooooooooooooo, you switched to Nat :-), Sandye also had a hearse crash
into Susan's car (Sandye, is this supposed to be Freudian or what?),
Sandye had Hilary find snakes in her car (yeah, it has to be freudian),
then I left Sharon H. stranded in a taxi (maybe cars are a cousin thing?)
and finally, Jean blew up my precious Ford Probe (*sniff*).
   The one thing I noticed about all the stories was how nice all the
different threads fit together! I hope you all enjoyed the finale worked
out by the Brethren and most of you may not believe this, but I wrote
"Laurie OD's" before I knew anything about their plans (Sandye needs to
learn how to keep a poker face when reading a story :-).
   Now that it is all over, I look forward to seeing everyone in Boston
in March. The scary part is that I think I will be the only cousin from
the war there! (shiver me timbers!). But don't go getting any ideas! I
will be prepared! (Judi, HELP!!!). I quickly went through all the stories
and here is a general recap of the destruction wrought on all (if I
forgot anything, please let me know):
 
   Laurie - Blew up Allen's computer and the resulting power surge shut
            off his electricity.
   ValeryK- Sent a box of chocolate frogs to Sharon Scott.
   Karin  - Tampered with Jennise script (that was nasty! no one wants
            to see Alexandra the bimbat again!)
   John   - Gave Barb the vampire spell checker from hell :-)
   Sandye - Stole Lisa's files
   Sharo S- Sent Karin a wedding tape with Pachelbel's Canon in the
            Background.
   ValerieM-Sent Darling Don on a wild vamp chase (Don, and you trust her
            to give you a ride to Boston?!)
   John   - Made Tara really paranoid and then flooded her with really
            BAD poetry.
   Lisa   - recruited Larry Merlin to all sorts of nasty things with our
            accounts.
   Sandye - Stole all of Monica's caffeine supply and then got rid of her
            car.
   Laurie - Gave some frames to Jean that were chemically treated and
            destroyed some of Jean's autographed photos.
   Tara   - Locked Monica out of her directories and removed all of her
            fanfic (that is getting low, sure you aren't a cousin?)
   Valerie- Sent a Mozart tape to Salieri.
   Don    - Ruined Valerie's car (I guess he doesn't want to go to
            Boston? :-)
   Laurie - Set up a FOD using Beth's name (I told you, you weren't
            allowed to remain neutral! :-)
            Sabotaged all of Cal Lynn's JK Fan packets resulting in her
            being turned over to the postmaster general (all in Beth's
            name :-)
            Threaten Valerie's honey Jack's collection of video tapes :-
            (You are lucky I like Jack :-)
   Sandye - Crashed an hearse into Susan's car and then truely took her
            on a ride from hell.
   Janette- Set up my account to capture .login files and posted "Get a
            Life Geeks" to all netnews groups (I still owe you for that
            one... ah, going to Boston?)
   Margaret-Sent a dirty diaper stuffed Barney to Nat and then replaced
            all of Sharon H's video tapes with Barney tapes.
   Liz/SharonH. - Place a lonely hearts type personal ad in my name (I
            I might have been hiding more from that than Uncle!)
   Sandye - After letting Hilary OD on caffeine and chocolate, gave her
            a box of snakes.
   Tara   - Arranged for John's account to get flooded with bounced mail.
   Jennise- Let Alma redecorate Karin's townhouse! (I loved that one,
            only Alma and I seem to have similar tastes :-)
   Margaret-Filled Jennise's apartment with Barneys.
   SharonS -The catalog entry from hell.
   Jeanster-Had me: 1. Removed as assistant listowner, 2. removed from
            the CP Directory (HA! I still have 5 unixs accounts to fall
            back on!), 3. Stole the infamous T-Shirt and last but not
            least, 4. She blew up my CAR!
   Jasmine- Broke into John's account and did a rm -rf (ouch!)
   Tara   - Then had John kidnapped (yeah cuz, I bet you REALLY hated
            that one! :-)
   John   - Gave Molly a bunch of FK tapes with the last 5 minutes
            missing from each episode! (John gets the award for the
            lowest most inhumane torment!)
   Laurie - Replaced one of Sharon H's Barney tapes with football and
            then took her on a LONG taxi ride.
   Dionne - Sent Sandra A LOT of pictures with CATS.
   SharonH- Trapped Margaret in a Barney suit with a bunch of screaming
            kids all around (hey Val, that's an idea!)
   Laurie - Scanned all the photos that Valerie sent her of Amy dressed
            up as Janette and made them available by FTP.
 
 
   Looking over this list I have one comment to make, ....
 
        "ARE WE A SADISTIC GROUP OR WHAT?!" :-)
 
   Sandye and I are going to try and put the whole FK Wars together and
print out copies. Please let me know if you want one.
 
   Before I forget, some of you still have storylines to finish. Hope
you can get them done this weekend.
 
   Cousin Laurie
   Still on LaCroix's Side and PROUD OF IT :-P :-P :-P
   (lms5@psuvm.psu.edu)