dear all-- I've just finished reading the last of the War posts (my goodness, we were a prolific lot!) and I thought a small word of thanks was due our listowners--Jaye, Laurie Salopek, and Lisa McDavid--for allowing us to take over and totally spam the FKFIC-L list for the past three weeks. The War began with the lists being held by the listserv--how appropriate that it should end that way as well! The 12+ hour delay in seeing the final posts play merry havoc with our attempts to write a wrap-up, though... Thank goodness the format allowed for a multiplicity of possible endings! :-) Great job, everyone. You were brilliant, creative, totally confused, and vengeful by turns. I'm still not quite sure how we ended up with THREE separate Wars--the filming, the screening, and the episode itself--not to mention an "alternate universe"--but it was fun. It was exciting. It was exhausting. It had all the elements of a true blockbuster: An intriguing murder mystery. Double-crosses and hidden identities. Tender love scenes ["Lu!" <*giggle*>], puppy love scenes [Tami and Sandra, you know who you are!], unadulterated lust [shame on you Cousins--that's the Knighties' job!], bondage (yep, I'm looking at *you* Candice and Darkangel), torture, kidnapping, greed, sabotage [*meow*], blackmail, coercion, breaking-and-entering, disguises [hello, Tara and Dawn!], dressing up, dressing down, cross-dressing, several musical numbers, car chases, fine dining [lobster with garlic butter--yum!], a food fight, stunt animals, and the E-mail Loop from Hell. Am I forgetting anything? I pity the poor person who actually to edit this monster! As Jennise said late on Saturday night, after we'd posted the wrap-up: "I'm not doing THAT again!" Then she staggered out to her Saturn (which escaped the War unscathed, unlike Nick's Caddy, Natalie's car, Janette's Porsche... Thank you Susan Garrett!) and tooled off into the night. I haven't seen her since. As for the next War... Maybe in another decade or two? We now return you to your regularly scheduled FK discussion. -- Karin Welss ************************************************************* FK WAR #4 Background and Rules by Jennise & Karin KARIN In the beginning there was the First FK War, at the end of which Jennise Hall achieved her fondest wish-- to become a professional scriptwriter. Her very dear friend Karin even got her a staff position on Forever Knight-- JENNISE Karin, Karin, wake up. You're dreaming again. Many of our readers were there. They know you sent your innocent little friend off to Toronto for a meeting with this great producer. You NEGLECTED to mention THAT HE WAS A VAMPIRE!!!!!!!! KARIN Minor detail-- JENNISE You consider the appointment I arranged for you a minor detail? KARIN Well, I miss chocolate. Sometimes. But I don't have freckles any more. Anyhow, back to the story--at the end of the First FK War, we were brought across... JENNISE By Pops. KARIN ...And hired as his staff writers. JENNISE I was hired as writer you're the Boom... KARIN WRITER. My spelling's better than yours anyway. JENNISE Fine. Shall we move on to FKWAR 2? Or at least the only thing that happened that was of any importance. The filming of the... How shall I phrase it-- the "bogus alternate episode" of FK. KARIN Ah, yes, we had them all fooled. Running around that island in a frenzy, harassing those poor actors, defaming the reputation of the characters-- ah, those were the days! Jennise's laughter fades into a deep sigh. A door opens; Jennise and Karin spring guiltily to attention in front of their word processors. JENNISE &KARIN (in unison) Good morning, sir! LACROIX Have you finished the introduction yet? KARIN Yes, sir. LaCroix perches on the edge of the desk and peers over at DORIAN, Karin's sleek, powerful, yet temperamental HP9000 Series 700/800 workstation. Karin and Jennise speak in perfect, almost mechanical unison * You're not required to write your scenes for this episode in script format. You may write in any format you feel comfortable with. * Put WAR: in the subject line of all War posts. * In the past, some factions have coordinated their creative efforts--if you're interested, post a note to FORKNI-L to get in touch with other faction members (and don't forget to put WAR: in the subject line!). However, if you'd like to throw a monkey wrench into the works, feel free. All canon characters are available to everyone. Derailing the storyline with an unexpected twist is half the fun of participating in a War. * Just be respectful if someone has put dibs on the next part. * If you want to put dibs on a next part, please post that part within 24 hours to keep the storylines moving smoothly along. * No flames or personal attacks. This is supposed to be fun. Anyone throwing a temper tantrum in public will be snacked on by one of the vampires. * If you want to use a listmember in one of your storylines, get their permission first. LaCroix hears them out, then purses his lips disapprovingly. LACROIX Is that the best you could do? JENNISE Did we miss something? LACROIX Of course not. Print out a copy of the script for my third- season pilot. I want to take it to my meeting with a certain producer. ************************************************************* Note: This War picks up on a storyline from FKWARS #2, wherein LaCroix attempted to hijack the Forever Knight episodes by plotting with two writers he brought across at the end of War #1. Coup d'Etat (1) by Jennise Hall and Karin Welss The Pacific Rim Restaurant, perched high on the seaside cliffs in Malibu, was quiet on a Wednesday night. A gentle veil of rain blurred the shadowy outline of the rugged California coastline, making it appear that the restaurant was floating in darkness. Inside, the room was filled with the low murmur of discreet conversation and scented with the delicate aromas of freshly grated ginger and soy. Seated at a linen-covered table, LaCroix lifted a goblet of George de la Tour Private Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, a satisfied expression on his face. He studied the deep garnet- colored refractions in the soft glow of the table's candle, and smiled at the man sitting across the table, a moderately famous television producer who we shall identify only as Mr. P. "Without my help," LaCroix said smoothly. "There is no third season of Forever Knight." Mr. P., accustomed to the elaborate dance of Hollywood negotiation, countered: "I doubt that. I still have other possibilities..." "Are you certain?" LaCroix sipped delicately at the Cabernet. "I offered USA my show about the werewolf lifeguards on a Santa Barbara beach. _Baywatch_--with a bite. And the Great White North Network--" "How did you find out about that?" Mr. P. demanded. "No one outside my office knows about the deal with GWNN! "--Has decided to renew _Rin-Tin-Tin, K9 Cop_ instead." Mr. P. closed his eyes in despair "You've left me no choice, have you?" LaCroix merely smiled, and handed over a script. "My proposed third-season pilot," he said. "Courtesy of my own staff writers. I wanted to give a preview of the direction I intend for the upcoming episodes." If Mr. P. was dismayed, he hid it well--for a mortal. "I see. Well, I'll certainly take it under consideration, Mr. LaCroix." He accepted the thick folder from his new business partner and sighed. What was it about Hollywood that made the financiers fancy themselves creative spirits? "Why don't we do lunch--" "Dinner," LaCroix corrected him. "Right, yeah, dinner with your writing staff next week. Now that you've provided the go-ahead for Season Three, we need to coordinate proposed story lines, that sort of thing." Mr. P.--was nothing if not a seasoned producer, and he had bounced back quickly from the shock of finding LaCroix in charge of the show. After all, Mr. P.--had survived CBS and Letterman. The screen writing undead held little terror for him. "I look forward to it," His victory assured, LaCroix was the embodiment of graciousness and sophisticated charm in his black Armani suit. "Let us drink to our partnership, Mr. P.-- I'm quite certain that it will be a rewarding one for all of us." "To the third season of Forever Knight," Mr. P. toasted, raising his own glass of Kenwood Chardonnay. ---------------------- Later, comfortably ensconced in his home study, Mr. P. read the last few pages of the script and sighed wearily. It was good--it just wasn't quite what he had envisioned for show. LaCroix's show, now. But it a third season, never mind who was writing the checks this time around. And Mr. P. owed a lot to the fans that had kept the momentum for renewal going, who had written and phoned and never lost hope. Somehow, a free t-shirt seemed a paltry gift with which to thank them. He stared thoughtfully at the blank screen of his home computer. He couldn't. He . But he would. It was a way of foiling LaCroix's coup d'etat while at the same time allowing his faithful supporters the creative input they craved. Mr. P had a devilish smile on his face as he brought up his email program, and began to compose a message. ------------------------------------------------------------- Received: April 1, 1995 18:56 From: Mr. P To: FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: FK Renewed! We've just received word that Season Three has the green light, thanks to the generosity of a certain unnamed sponsor who's also a big fan of the show. Thanks, everyone--we couldn't have done it without you. To express my gratitude, I am inviting you all to be in the third season pilot episode. Forever Knight would be Forever Not without you, and it's only right that you should be able to participate. I look forward to working with you. Mr. P ------------------------------------------------------------- ************************************************************* A Visit in the Night by J. Michele Freemon Michele pulled the Li'l Orange Witch into her usual parking spot and killed the engine, sighing with relief. 'Home at last! Why I *ever* gave up my Monday off...' She climbed out and loaded up with the Diet Pepsi and canned cat food she'd stopped to buy. She gave the hood of her pickup an absent pat as she headed for her large efficiency. She pushed open the door and heard the familiar welcoming 'Mrrrrooooww!' "Hello to you, too, Tiger cat." She dumped the groceries in the kitchen, automatically ducking the phone line stretching from the wall plug to her 'puter. 'One of these days I'm gonna have to tack that up a little higher,' she thought. Heading back toward the closet, she flipped on the 'puter as she passed. "Hey! The Suns ought to be back up by now. Cool! I can catch up on the FKfic list!" Some part of her mind commented on the folly of talking to oneself, but she ignored it, as always. Lady Jane Grey had joined Tiger in demanding their evening treat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," Michele tossed over her shoulder, quickly changing into her favorite oversized tee. Back in the kitchen, she opened a can of Super Supper and grimaced at the smell. She divided it between the two bowls and presented the cats with their treat, stroking each of them once as they dug in. Continuing her homecoming rituals, she lit a stick of Night Jasmine incense and placed it in the brass holder on her altar. She brushed some ash from last night's stick off the pentagram and straightened the cloth. Grabbing a Diet Pepsi, she plopped down in front of the 'puter. She grabbed 'From Every Stage' and popped it into her boombox, smiling at the sweet tones of Joan Baez. The best part of her yearly "Alphabetical Listening Spree" was the tapes she forgot the rest of the time. She lit up a ciggie and logged on to her net account. For the next 45 minutes Michele went through her newsgroups, grumbling at a few posts bashing poor Dr. Kevin, her favorite GH character. She finished up with a return and stretched, flipping the tape. Grabbing another DP, she called up Pine and eeped. "Fifty new messages! I *hate* it when they do maintenance on the Suns!" She sorted the new mail into folders and started with the other lists, saving the FK posts for dessert. She finished the last HIGLA-L digest, then opened the FK folder. She read quickly and reached the final message, a short one according to Pine. "Maybe I should work on that story for James' and Darkangel's list, hmmm, Lady?" The cat glanced up, gave her what looked remarkably like a shrug and went back to rubbing her head in Michele's shoe. Laughing, Michele glanced back at the 'puter and nearly choked on her DP when she saw the From: line. "James Parriot?! Writing to the list?" She read carefully, a grin forming on her face. A minute-long fantasy of agents and producers beating down her door after her stellar performance in the FK season premiere flitted through her head. "Oh, yeah, *that's* gonna happen! Stick to reality, 'Chele!" She hit the Compose key and dashed off a quick message to her stepmom, requesting a fresh non-revenue pass. "Having a relative who works for an airline does come in handy occasionally..." The grin still on her face, she leaned back and sung along to "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts." 'I really gotta pull Joan out more'n once a year!' she mused, silently for once, then jumped at the light knock on her door. "Now, who is that at 1:17 in the am?" She trudged over to the door and stretched up to look through her peephole. "Huh. Nobody there. Probably a prank." She turned back to the 'puter, her thoughts already on the evil-but-oh-so-fun things LaCroix was doing to Janette in her story. She made it halfway before the knock came again. The peephole still revealed only the parking lot, but before she got more than a step from the door, the knock was repeated. "All right, that's quite enough of that!" She threw both deadbolts and flung open her door. LaCroix calmly stepped into sight and through the door. Michele's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Close your mouth, my dear, and then close the door," he ordered, once it became obvious she was going to do neither. She automatically did as he commanded, then turned to face him. "Lucien?! Uh, I m-mean *Uncle*? I-I mean, Mr. LaCroix, sir..." she finished feebly. LaCroix smiled, "Uncle will do nicely, I think." He strolled over to her futon and sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 'Good thing I actually folded that up this morning,' Michele thought, followed swiftly by, 'How *does* he manage to look threatening and sexy at the same time--sitting on a futon six inches off the floor no less!' The sound of thunderous applause came from the boombox and Michele jumped, rushing to it and hitting stop just after Joan asked her audience, "Would you do 'Amazing Grace' with me?" She turned back to the gorgeous vampire sitting on her sofa-bed, the bed part somehow being uppermost in her mind, even though it was currently a sofa. LaCroix merely nodded slightly. "Thank you. Please, my dear, have a seat." Michele eyed the spot next to him, decided she wasn't that brave and stepped over his legs to the armchair instead. She curled her own legs under her and leaned over the arm to face him. Her Southern Belle hostess instincts kicked in--he was, regardless of anything else, A Guest. "I'd offer you something to drink, but..." her voice trailed off and she cursed her Southern heritage for the first time since she found out her family had once owned slaves. LaCroix chuckled, the sound sending delicious chills up her spine. "Perhaps one day I will take you up on that offer," he murmured. "But not tonight. Tonight we have more important things to discuss." Michele's eyebrow raised at that. She was regaining her composure and his offhand reassurance sped up the process. "What might those be? And why discuss them with me?" "I was... Intrigued by your 'Forever Not' story," he replied. "A bit blunt, but it showed promise. And your story for the erotica list is most... Absorbing." His tone was dry, but his eyes were glowing just the tiniest bit. "But I haven't posted that, yet!" One of LaCroix's eyebrows rose, and Michele's eyes narrowed. She made a mental note to get her cracker friend to install some protections, then quickly crossed it out. She had a feeling Uncle wouldn't appreciate that. "Your first assignment is to finish that. And send me a private copy." He grinned at her and her jaw almost dropped again. She gave him a shaky nod. "I trust the current hostilities have not escaped your notice." "No. I'm pretty good about keeping up with my mail." "Good. Communications are paramount in wartime. And prompt replies to my messages are, of course, compulsory." "Of course," Michele replied, her tone as dry as the dead cactus on her bookshelf. One side of LaCroix's mouth raised as he contemplated the petite brunette. He rose smoothly to his feet and pulled out a business card. He stepped over to the 'puter desk and, glancing down, placed it on her chair. "I won't keep you from your writing, but expect a message in the next day or so." He returned to stand in front of her and extended a hand to help her to her feet. She wound up standing uncomfortably close to him and both sides of his mouth turned upward as her heart rate doubled. LaCroix led her to the door, keeping her hand wrapped in his cool one. "You will have that finished by morning, won't you?" "Somehow I don't think that will be a problem," Michele replied. "I'm feeling rather... Inspired." "Good." He raised her hand to his lips and, just as she'd written, let his tongue lightly graze the back of her hand. Michele grinned as she realized she'd been right about exactly how much of a turn-on that was. She closed the door behind him and snapped home the deadbolts. Turning, she leaned weakly against the door. "Oh, wow." LaCroix lingered outside until his acute hearing picked up the tappity-tap on the keyboard, then turned and launched himself into the night sky with a decidedly wicked smile. ************************************************************* Casus Belli (1) Michelle D. Noel Michelle was sitting at her desk, reading the article she had to prepare for Wednesday's seminar. She couldn't keep her mind on her work, however. Mr. P.'s e-mail message she had received earlier in the day kept distracting her thoughts. List members; in the third season premiere. That was great news. She just had to make sure she was back in Toronto by June, so she could participate. She smiled at the prospect of actually being *in* an episode of FK. But who was the mysterious benefactor who had assured the third season? Michelle had her suspicions of course, but then did it really matter who it was? She tried again to concentrate upon the article--she was pretty sure that her Religion and Society in the Later Middle Ages class would be much more interested in that than in a vampire-cop show, even if it *was* set in Toronto. And even if there was the occasional flashback to medieval Europe. As she continued to read about historiography of medieval religion, sipping at her Diet Coke, it reminded her that she still had to compose that letter to Lisa about Pagan survival in Janette's time. *You've got Forever Knight on the brain tonight, don't you, Mitch?* she thought to herself. It was Mr. P.'s message. That and the fact that on the previous Monday, the topic of the lecture in her mediaeval law class had been the theology and canon law concerning penance in the early 13th century, just when Nick had been brought across. And the fact that Shannah had brought her tapes of the first season from home this week, and so she'd finally had a chance to see "False Witness" (filmed right across the street at Trinity College). And because she had met Valerie too (and Valerie had brought a tape of "TFI," "The Fix," "Father's Day," *and* "Be My Valentine"). She sighed. This just wasn't working. *Maybe I should go to bed,* she thought. She could always read the article tomorrow. She was still debating when she heard a knock at her door. She looked at the clock. Four-thirty a.m.? Even if it was really only 3:30 standard time... She got up. "Hold on a sec. The door's locked," she called out quietly as she walked the few paces to the door. She didn't know who to expect at that hour, but she certainly wasn't prepared for the man who faced her. Startled, she stepped back to let him enter. She tried not to stutter, but was largely unsuccessful. "C-c-come in." He smiled at her discomfiture as he entered and she closed the door after him. "You must know why I am here, Michelle." The sound of her name on his tongue chilled her spine. "I think I have an idea..." she hesitated, unsure of what to call him "LaCroix." The last was said as a question. He had taken his gaze from her after his initial statement, and was looking around at the decoration of the room, her posters, her shrine. It seemed a casual activity, that of any visitor. But Michelle knew that LaCroix was not just any visitor. He looked at her again. "You are a Cousin are you not? You may call me Uncle." She swallowed and realized that her mouth was dry. She wondered if it would be rude, or worse, a loss of face for her to take a drink from the Diet Coke still on her desk. "Uncle." she said. He walked to the bookcase and picked up a piece of marble which was displayed on the top shelf. "Tell me. Why do you think I've come to see you?" He was testing her, she knew. "The message. From Mr. P. about the episode. You are the mysterious benefactor?" He put the marble back where it had been and took up a piece of clay. "They will attempt to wrest control from me. The followers of Nicholas and the others. You will prevent that from happening." "I'll do everything I can. I have sworn loyalty to you." "Indeed." He looked again at the piece of clay in his hand. "Where is this from?" She was taken aback for a moment at the change of topic. "Ostia. Ostia Antica. I got it this summer when I was in Roma studying Latin. It's a brick." She tried not to giggle hysterically at the pun. He ignored it anyway. "I had a house in Ostia." He put the clay brick back where he had found it, and then looked back at her, his eyes piercing into hers. "Here are my instructions." He let her drop her eyes and held out a piece of paper to her. She took it, trying not to let her hand shake. He grabbed her by the wrist. "Me non defice," he said in a voice menacing enough to make her legs almost give way. She dropped the page onto the floor. He laughed a little at this and released his tight grip, moving his hand down to take hers. "Bon soir, cherie." He kissed the back of her hand lightly, caressed the side of her face, and then he was gone. It took a while for her to recover. But she picked up the sheet of paper and glanced over what was written there (in New Roman Cursive script, the scholar's part of her brain told her). She had to get the word out. She turned her computer on, dialed in, and logged in to ncf. First she sent a message to the list, to let all the Cousins out there know how to contact her. And to tell the Mercs that she would offer to buy loyalty. Then she sent a message to her fellow Cousin, Craig. He had connections in Ottawa, after all. He would help. Especially when he found out what Uncle had in mind. (trans. note: "casus belli" means the justification or opportunity of (the) war; "Me non defice" means "do not fail/disappoint me") ************************************************************* Casus Belli (2) Craig Gilmore Craig hobbled into the bedroom and tossed his backpack into the corner with a clumk. "I must be mad, five hours of Ju- Jitsu is entirely too much at my age." The computer whined as he turned it on, and flipping off the lights, he flopped down into the chair in front of the computer desk. He logged onto NCF and as he waited for it to get through the usual blather he started sorting through the tapes on the table beside the player. "Right. Theme music I need theme music, Vangellis? Nah too mellow. "Lost Boys" soundtrack? Nah, too upbeat. "Hellraiser" soundtrack? Definitely not, way too dark and grim." As he rejected each choice it was tossed back onto the desk with a clatter. "Ahhhh, perfect." Slipping the tape into the radio, Craig pressed play and the strains of Bach's Toccate and Fuge in D-Minor filled the room, just in time for the computer to finish preliminaries and get down to Business. Craig headed to the post office and with a clicking of keys started to read Mail. Shortly thereafter a startled exclamation burst out of the room. "Mr. P. wants us to be in the FK shoot! All right! Oh by the gods, how am I going to get to TO? Hey maybe I'll actually get to talk to uncle." Craig puzzled for a moment, and then amended, "Or maybe Uncle will talk to me." Having been completely cut off from watching FK since the rackinfrackin CTV had canceled the show Craig's only contact with FK had more importantly Uncle's wishes had been the list and via Michelle. Thinking of Michelle, Craig scanned through the rest of his mail. "Ah ha!", he exclaimed with delight," Cousin Mich has sent me mail." Having recently decided that he was too nasty to be anything else but a cousin and that Uncle was the most stylish thing in fangs to come along in a long time, had caused Craig to beg for inclusion amongst Uncles loyal followers. Turning back to the message he began to read. As he read his eyes grew wide behind his glasses, and then narrowed. "So, it seems that someone has been interfering with Uncle's radio station. He must have pulled a few *strings* to have CERK put on the air, and if someone had found out, and started to complain. Perhaps someone was working against Uncle to prevent his takeover of the FK show. This could also explain the sudden switch that CTV had pulled. Interference by the CRTC into the broadcasting industry could be inconvenient to say the least. Uncle's loyal followers had to have contact with Uncle, or else their well co-ordinated effectiveness would be lost. And from what was contained in the letter, Their plans for the upcoming filming would require most of the Canadian Cousins to co-ordinate very closely to prevent interference with Uncles enlightened concept. This little problem in the CRTC would have to be found and defused. Craig leaned back in his chair, and slipped in the "Hellraiser" tape. "It looks like I have some calls to make." ************************************************************* GERthering Together by Sandra Gray Sandra lay awake, staring up into the darkness. After the events of the last two days, she should have been wiped out. But the excitement of being at A Weekend With Ger apparently was hard for her to throw off. Her two Knightie roommates had succumbed to fatigue, but Sandra was still restless. More than restless, she was thirsty. And there was nothing in the room to drink currently except water. Sandra decided a soda would be better. There was a pop machine in the hotel. She quietly got out of bed and slipped on pants and a shirt in the bathroom. Taking some coins from her purse and the room key, she quietly left the room, careful not to wake her roommates. At the pop machine, she looked over the selections. She put in the first coin and had started to add another when she heard footsteps coming up the hall. Looking toward the sound, she saw Geraint Wyn Davies approaching! She felt her face flush as she dropped her second coin. She quickly bent to pick it up and so did he, their hands touching. Sandra pulled her hand back and he picked up the coin. She swallowed and straightened. Ger held out the coin with a smile, and Sandra found herself being distracted by his blue eyes. "I see I'm not the only person thirsty," he said. Sandra regained enough presence of mind to take the coin and turn to the machine. "I couldn't sleep," she said, putting in the coin and then the third one. "Neither could I," said Ger. Sandra's heart pounded and she could feel herself starting to break into a sweat. She busied herself pushing the drink button, hoping she wouldn't say something else stupid. "By the way, I know I mentioned it before, but I wanted to say again that the picture you drew of... Nick... for the auction was very nice." Sandra looked at him. He smiled. "Thanks," she murmured. "You're very talented. I appreciated you using your talent to help the Children's Hospital." "It's just a hobby," Sandra said. "I was glad to help." Then she remembered her soda and bent to retrieve it from the slot. "Are you going to participate in the filming of the third season premiere episode?" Sandra looked at him. He looked so very much like Nick, it was hard not to think it was him. "Ummm... Yeah, I--I'll be there." Ger put his coins into the pop machine. "Great!" he said and pushed a button. He retrieved his drink and looked at her. There was a moment of silence as Sandra became lost in his blue eyes. "Well... Good night," he said, almost hesitantly. Sandra felt a chill run down her spine. What if he...? He had come alone to the "GERthering", after all. She licked her lips and swallowed, heard herself say, "Good night." He smiled slightly, then turned and walked off down the hall. she chastised herself as she watched his retreating figure. Maybe he'd just wanted to talk to someone. Now he was gone. Sandra sighed and walked back to her room. ************************************************************* A Rock and a Hard Place by Sarah Welsh Sarah regarded her INBOX with growing distress. She should have known that LaCroix and the Cousins wouldn't let her alone after his visit. She jumped back up the list of War posts to the personal message from Cousin Candice. "See you in Toronto," she had written. Was that a suggestion or an order, she wondered. Officially, she wasn't a Cousin anymore so she shouldn't have to take orders from them. However, she decided with a sigh, "officially" had very little influence over LaCroix. She logged out of her account, turned off the computer, and stared at the wall in thought. She was hardly in a position to disobey a direct order from LaCroix. Once a Cousin, always a Cousin, Candice had reminded her. Well, that wasn't exactly true Sharon Himmanen, she knew, had switched sides once and had survived it. But Sharon had gone back to the NatPack. Sarah wasn't affiliated with anyone; she had no protection. She wasn't even an official mercenary, despite her wonderful video tapes. She had always prided herself on being independent. Now she wasn't so sure. So should she go to Toronto, or was she safe staying home in Fort Worth for the duration or at least until she heard from the one to whom she had pledged her services? On the one hand, she had three exams and a fifteen-page paper due this week. On the other hand, she doubted very much whether LaCroix would accept academic responsibility as an excuse. She had never been to Toronto, but she had friends who lived there; if she did go, she would have a place to stay. But she didn't really know anyone on the list that well. Her one close friend, her intrepid editor Jen Lackey, was driving a car full of Cousins according to the latest reports from the front lines. She could use some advice, but Cousins Candice, Caile, and James were the last people she wanted to have any intimate knowledge of her intentions or lack thereof. How to get a message to Jen? Sarah grinned. She knew that memorizing her ex-college roommate's login and password would come in handy someday. Turning the computer back on and logging back into the system, she telnetted to North Carolina and rattled off a quick note to Jennifer, filling her in on the situation and asking for guidance. Hitting ^X to send the message, she sat back in satisfaction. The assorted Cousins wouldn't have any interest in an e-mail from someone in North Carolina who wasn't even on the list. Her query should be safe from any prying eyes next time Jen checked her mail. Nothing to do now but wait for a reply. And study. ************************************************************* What is it good for? Lorelei Feldman Lorelei grumpily pulled her long hair out of the computer, where it had managed to fall for the umpteenth time, dropped her screwdriver, pushed the cover back on the CPU, and hopefully held her breath and pressed the power button. *Yay! It's working, it's on... I HAVE A MODEM!* She breathed a sigh of relief. *Finally! And it's only...* She looked at the clock. *2:30 in the morning. Which means my >body< thinks it's 5:30... No, wait, there's been a time change! Spring up makes it... 6:30. Oh, joy. Just what >I< needed.* She rubbed her neck, stretched, and looked wincingly over her shoulder at the mess that was her apartment. *Gee, I >thought< I had a floor in here somewhere.* The entire studio was knee-deep in clothes, food, and music. The three suitcases and one large bag which had formerly held said flood stood near-empty in the middle of it, victims of her frantic search for a three-by-one modem that she knew was in there >somewhere<. *And what kind of idiot designs a 2400-baud, non-removable, modem, and attaches it to the motherboard?! Probably the same fool that trains hardware support people to tell you, at the end of a hellish 19-or-so-hour and three-time-zone day that you've just fried said motherboard. I'm glad I looked in there again. Bending two pins back into shape is certainly a lot cheaper than a new computer.* She sighed again, reconfigured her software for the new, faster modem, and logged on, waiting with dread for the certain flood of mail after a week and a half off-line. *Only 405?! Did I get unsubbed?!* Frantic, she checked the date of the last posts. They all seemed to be there. *Guess I wasn't the only one on Spring Break.* Several hours later, she was even more tired, but far too excited to sleep. *Toronto?! And we get to be in the premiere?!!* Bouncing slightly in excitement, she considered. *Well, I know I can make it, my prof's understanding. Besides, I can always tell him it's further vampire research. It worked in the last war, why change a good thing? And at least this time I have a little more warning. Let's see, there's time enough to iron some clothes, and I just bought all these great gorgeous outfits back home in Atlanta... This will be so much fun! Back to Eastern time... Or is it Central?* She leaned over the bed and grabbed her dayrunner out of her black leather backpack. *I don't believe this! Does the world end at US borders? Where's Canada on this map? Oh, well. I can always ask Janette. One last quick visit to the e-mailbox resulted in a message to the Raven, confirming that the usual expense account accommodations would be made, and when she would be needed. Stretching out her back and legs again, which seemed to be eternally cramped, she grinned smugly. *Well, at least with Janette paying, I'll be able to afford first class this time. I'm sick and tired of coach!* At last, she took a shower and collapsed onto her black-and- burgundy satin-sheeted futon, falling asleep to plans of clothes-shopping, acting, and socializing in Toronto. *And just wait until my non-list friends see me in the premiere!* ************************************************************* What Show Was That, Again? by Amparo Bertram Amparo finally returned to her dorm room after a long weekend at home going over taxes with her parents. She dumped her duffel bag out on the laundry pile in her closet, kicked off her shoes, and settled into the creaking wooden chair in front of her computer. Her roommate, Lisa, glanced up briefly from where she sat at her desk, busily studying like a good pre-med. "How did it go, Pod?" "Fine, fine," Amparo muttered. She could tell the agonizing tale of her financial woes some other time. Right now she had a lot of e-mail to catch up on. She dialed into her account and spent the next few minutes oblivious to everything in the world but her computer screen. Suddenly she let out a high-pitched yelp. Lisa jerked up her head. "What happened?" she asked, concerned. Amparo just pointed mutely at the white characters filling the screen until she got her breath back. "See that? I can't believe it! The fans of "Forever Knight" have been invited to be in the third season's pilot episode." Lisa wrinkled her brow. "Which show is that? The one with the FBI agents?" Amparo sighed in resignation. "No, it's the one with the vampires. Remember?" The light dawned. "Oh, yes, the one that keeps you up so late Saturday nights. So... Is that good news?" "Are you kidding? To be in an episode? To actually meet my favorite..." She stopped herself, realizing she was on the verge of gushing uncontrollably. "Ignore me squealing to myself for a while until I devise a way to get to Toronto." "You mean you're actually going?" "Of course! Besides, here I am, living in Michigan, and I've never been to Canada. This is my big chance. I'll never forgive myself if I pass it up." Lisa turned back to her book on how to prepare for the MCAT. "Well, I hope you have a good time, Pod. Don't forget to set your VCR for that Mountie show you like so much. I know how you get when you miss it." "Don't worry." She scrolled through the rest of her e-mail in a euphoric daze. "They don't start filming for another month. Plenty of time to find some like-minded individuals to stay with." ************************************************************* Unexpected Encounters... by Amy Bittenbinder *It really is a good think I've managed to escape Uncle's attentions for the last few weeks. With this new war, he'd have me doing all the drudge work... As punishment for my weakening, he'd do something awful like that.* "Come on Nika, it's time to go outside, you can chase birds or bugs or something out there... Leave Pandora and Lucifur alone! *And* Delilah!" *You would think by now she would know those rats are *not* play toys... Silly cat* The street was empty, too empty... It felt just a bit too quiet. It made me nervous... And Nika was struggling against her walking leash just a bit more than usual. *Funny, you'd think she wanted to go back inside, usually she just wants to get off and run without me attached..." Suddenly a cold chill ran across my spine... *Oh, no, no!, no no no...* I stopped still. I was hoping I was wrong, just once could my feelings be wrong! Nika, after several minutes of desperate trying was loose. She let out a fierce Yowl, and ran up the street, and around the corner. Chasing her was not my favorite activity under any circumstances, but if I was right, all I wanted to do was get Nika and get back in the house. Running and the corner, my worst fears were realized... There stood Uncle, and my cat, who doesn't like *anybody* but me... Having their own conversation... At least Uncle was talking to her... And of all things, about Hunting... Only I was sure mice were not the topic. All I wanted to do was turn around and get back to the house... Now was not the best time for a confrontation with Uncle.... I slowly turned around, but soft words sounded behind me... "Lashoka, come here." The voice was soft, but I could hear the anger beneath it. Knowing better, I meekly went over to him. He handed me my cat. "Thank you." was all I could manage. "We have to have a little talk." he said. "About what..." I said feigning ignorance. "I think you know... But, let me remind you... You are a Cousin. You are NOT a Knightie...You know how I feel about people following that Brick Nicholas..." he said, becoming more agitated as he continued. "I know I said, I really did, but they pulled me in, the had me convinced that morality, and The Cure for Nick were the best things, that I really *was* a Knightie, that is was fun to be good, and kind, and warm-fuzzy all the time..." "Your excuses are not acceptable, and on top of that you've been hiding from me... I hope you are ready to accept your true nature, and work for us in this war... I expect you to be as obedient as all the others... *You are Mine to deal with,* not a toy for Nicholas's enjoyment, or an aide for Natalie's use... *You WILL stay away from them, unless I otherwise tell you, UNDERSTOOD?* "Y-y-yes Uncle... I promise... What ever you need me for, you or the other Cousins, I promise, just tell me what to do..." And giving me one last look, a look of mixed disgust and understanding, he was gone, and Nika and I stood by ourselves on an empty street corner, contemplating what I had just gotten my self into with my promise of help, too *all* the other Cousins. *I could get very busy. fast.* ************************************************************* Waiting for Action (1) by Sandra Gray Sandra turned on the computer. Supper was over, Bruce was still out, and Amanda was watching TV. She wondered if she'd find anything this time. Sandra had checked the FK list several times that day already, expecting to see word of the outbreak of war hostilities. But the list had been quiet. And the longer the quiet went on, the more concerned she became. She scanned the mail messages. There was nothing new from Nick or his temporary roommate, Romulus, aka Ron the Enforcer. They were just as concerned about the lack of war action as she was. Silence, in this instance, was certainly not golden. Sandra scanned through the list messages and was brought up short by one message, which read: ------------------------------------------------------------- Received: April 1, 1995 18:56 From: Mr. P To: FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: FK Renewed! We've just received word that Season Three has the green light, thanks to the generosity of a certain unnamed sponsor who's also a big fan of the show. Thanks, everyone--we couldn't have done it without you. To express my gratitude, I am inviting you all to be in the third season pilot episode. Forever Knight would be Forever Not without you, and it's only right that you should be able to participate. I look forward to working with you. Mr. P. ------------------------------------------------------------- What was this? A letter from Mike Levine saying that a third season of the show had been approved had already been posted to the list. And who was this "certain unnamed sponsor"? Sandra checked the email address again. It was different from the address to which she had written Mr. P (and gotten replies back) on several occasions. Did that mean this was the start of the War? Some ruse of the Cousins to lure other listmembers to their doom? There was one way to find out. She looked up the address and sent her own message to Mr. P., which read: ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 19:30 From: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu To: jamesp@aol.com Subject: RE: FK Renewed! Dear Mr. P., I just saw a message (reproduced below) which states that FK has been renewed for a third season and that you want *listmembers* to be in the pilot episode?! Is this message actually from you or is it a hoax? Please let me know. Thanks for reading this and I hope to hear from you soon. Sandra Gray tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu Begin forwarded message: ------------------------------------------------------------- Sandra read the message over and, satisfied with it, hit send. After some thought, she wrote another message: ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 19:30 From: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu To: NicKnight@aol.com Subject: Message from JP Dear Nick, Did you see the "message from JP," FK Renewed!, on the list? Sounds a bit suspicious to me with that "unnamed sponsor" bit. What do you think? I'm just writing to let you know that I know of another e- mail address to Mr. P and have written him a letter about his "post." If it's a hoax, I expect he'll write and tell me. If it's *not* a hoax, well, LaCroix *did* try to substitute his own episodes of Forever Knight in War 2. Could it be possible that he's trying a *legitimate* way of controlling the show again? I'll let you know what Mr. P tells me as soon as I hear from him. Of course all this could just be an April Fool's Day joke. :) Sandra tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu ------------------------------------------------------------- Sandra looked over the note to Nick and then sent it. Now there was nothing to do but wait to hear back from Mr. P. ************************************************************* Waiting for Action (2) by Sandra Gray Sandra came back into the living room. She had just finished reading Amanda her bedtime story and had tucked her into bed. She scanned the computer for new mail messages. There was one from jamesp@aol.com. She called it up and read it. ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 17:00 PST From: jamesp@aol.com To: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu Subject: RE: FK Renewed! Sandra- The message was not a hoax. I meant every word. Filming will start on June 5th. I hope that you will be able to take part. I'll be posting a more detailed letter with all the specifics to the list soon. Right now, though, I have a dinner engagement so I have to cut this short. Thanks for everything and thanks for your support of the show. -JP ------------------------------------------------------------- Sandra looked at the letter in some slight shock. Mr. P. *was* going to let listmembers have an input into the premiere episode! The list post wasn't a hoax! Man, talk about fulfilling a fantasy! Being part of the show would be almost as good as... She'd better not think about that. Her mind raced with all the possibilities. Surely it would be chaos trying to find parts for who knew how many listmembers. Sandra had every intention of trying to get there. In June-- Bruce could take a vacation and they could leave Amanda with her mother. Sandra drew her thoughts away from the future and back to the present. Nick needed to get this information. She extracted Mr. P.'s letter and then composed a letter to Nick. ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 21:00 From: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu To: NicKnight@aol.com Subject: Not a Hoax! Dear Nick, I have heard back from Mr. P. (his message is reproduced below). The message from him posted to the list today is a legitimate message from him--not a hoax! So now what do we do? The day isn't over yet, but surely if there was to be a War, we would have heard something by now? Unless you think the Cousins plan to make trouble at the June filming? There is that "certain unnamed sponsor" from his list letter. Then again, maybe the filming is just all on the up and up. Say, maybe you could use your "credentials" to get some first hand information from the production office up there? :) Sandra (excited at the prospects regardless) tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu Begin forwarded message: ------------------------------------------------------------- Satisfied, Sandra sent off the message to Nick, hoping to soon hear back from him. ************************************************************* Sitting It Out by Valery King Valery logged off her university computer account with a sigh. So the third season of FK had a mysterious benefactor, did it? She could guess who that was! Karin and Jennise had been strangely silent lately about their writing activities, and Valery being Valery she hadn't pressed them about it but that hadn't kept her from speculating. Ever since that weekend three years earlier at Karin's she had been avoiding any discussion about LaCroix. Her memories of his visit were very vague, but she figured that whatever it was the master vampire had tried to do to her mind hadn't "taken." Her remorse over what she and Karin had done to Susan over that faked script business, along with those crunchy frogs she'd sent Scottie had been a bit too much for her conscience and she had dropped the Cousin business. Of course, the Cousins believed that no one ever escaped their--and their master's--clutches. "Once a Cousin, always a Cousin!" was their cry. If they chose to forget that Valery had faded out of their ranks, well, that was fine with her. But perhaps she should get her offer out on the board anyway, despite the dangers of attracting LaCroix's--and his minions'--attention. She felt she still owed something to those people attacked by Cousins that felt too shocked and demoralized to be able to strike back right away. Because of her involvement in the local opera company's upcoming Rigoletto production she could not do anything but offer Sanctuary for a few days. It ought to be safe enough; after all, hardly anyone knew where *Oregon* was, let alone Albany! Besides, a Cousin or vampire who chose to come after a victim here would have to get past Singh first! Valery would bet her Siamese cat could outstare any vampire in existence, and those wicked claws would take care of the Cousins. She herself wouldn't be around much; rehearsals were taking her out of the house almost every night for the next three weeks. As for her own safety, well, those rehearsals would mean they'd have get at her at the theater, and she had yet to meet a vampire that could best an opera conductor! And she would wager that any confrontation between LaCroix and Dr. Marlan Carlson would see LaCroix as the loser. Well, it might well be that such an event would never happen. Most of the War participants could, she knew, take care of themselves and each other very well, and no one would need Sanctuary. But she'd put the word out anyway. ************************************************************* Specifics, Give Me Specifics! by Sandra Gray April 5, 1995 12:00 PM Sandra sat down at the computer with a cup of coffee and switched it on. She scanned the mail messages and noticed an address of interest. She called up the message. ------------------------------------------------------------- Received: April 5, 1995 12:30 PST From: Mr. P To: FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: Premiere Filming My e-mail has been flooded with questions about the previous message I posted to the list a few days ago (FK Renewed!). I am overwhelmed at the response! After discussion with other members of the staff, we've decided on a few things that I am now writing to you about. 1. The third season premiere episode will be the first episode filmed. Filming will begin on June 5, 1995. 2. Because of the *large* number of listmembers who are interested in being part of this episode, we have decided to extend the normal one week episode filming period to *three* weeks. This will allow for sufficient time to consider inputting your suggestions for this episode and for logistics in having people on the set. 3. In accordance with number 2, extra security will be on the set. 4. We will be working from a basic script that has already been approved but which will still have room for adjustments. Anyone who wishes to participate in the filming of this third season premiere episode should e-mail me again so my staff people can confirm a list of people who want to be involved. Thanks again for your support of Forever Knight and see you on the set June 5th! --JP ------------------------------------------------------------- Well, there was more confirmation of Mr. P.'s intentions to allow listmembers input into the filming of an episode of FK. Sandra was glad to finally see some more specifics. She wondered how many listmembers would be taking part in the filming. Time to write some messages. ************************************************************* A Knightie Joins In (1) by Amy M. Denton I walked into the Boynton Computer Lab at 11:55 p.m. to check my e-mail. Since the summer had started back in May (in Texas, there *are* no seasons) it was just too humid to check mail during the day. I had a laptop but it was in Houston (why, I don't know, it just was). Fortunately, the Boynton Building had been persuaded over the course of several semesters to leave at least part of the lab open. I waved to the lab assistant then sat down and logged in. 'You have 85 new mail messages waiting.' is the prompt that greeted me. "I swear, I'm switching to digest, this is ridiculous." I muttered and proceeded to wade through all 85 messages. I suppose it's my fault for being on 4 mailing lists but come on folks. I was almost done when I got to message 82. I had to read it twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Then I almost got up and danced around the lab. The lab assistant, Rebeccas, long use to my weird behavior looked at me as I bounced in my chair. I quickly zapped mail off to Sandra asking what the deal was. Almost instantly I got back the message: ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: z_dentonam@titan.sfasu.edu FROM: TMP_HARKINS@PHYSICS.JMU.EDU SUB: Re: What's the deal? Amy, You weren't seeing things. JP has indeed offered the fans the chance at being in the season premiere. Shooting starts on the 5th so if you're going, you better leave soon. Also Nick has kindly offered to pay all of the Knights/ies way to Toronto. Just e-mail him the nearest airport to where you live and what time you can leave and tell him if you need a ride to where the Knighties are staying. See you in Toronto. Sandra, tmp_harkins@physics.jmu.edu ------------------------------------------------------------- By this point I *was* dancing around the lab. By this point lab assistant was quite certain I had lost my mind. After e- mailing Nick, I waited anxiously for a reply. I didn't have to wait too long. About a half an hour later the computer beeped to tell me I had new mail and lo and behold it was from Nick. ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: z_dentonam@titan.sfasu.edu FROM: Nickni@aol.com SUB: RE: Transportation Amy, Glad to hear that you will be coming. This should prove to be interesting. The travel arrangements have all been taken care of. You just have to get to Houston. Someone will be there to pick you up at the airport here in Toronto. Nick Knight nickni@aol.com ------------------------------------------------------------- I quickly logged off and dashed out the door. Who cares if it was 12:30 a.m. I was going to Toronto!!! ************************************************************* A Knightie Joins In (2) by Amy M. Denton As I looked out the plane window at the darkening Toronto skyline, I could feel my excitement grow. So much had happen since I had walked in the computer lab less than 24 hours ago. After running home, and throwing what stuff I could find in a suitcase, I collapsed on the bed promising myself I would only sleep for a few hours. When I woke up almost 12 hours later I panicked. For a few minutes but then I calmed down, called InterContinental and found out that the plane Nick had me on didn't leave until just after 7 p.m. >>Now why did he do that?<< I thought. Oh, well, no matter. It was only 1:30 p.m. and Houston was just 3 hours away. I had hopped in the car and was on my way. I was keeping an eye out for Cousinly tricks but the trip was uneventful. I arrived at Houston InterContinental at 4:35 p.m. I called my mom let her know where I was going and then sat down to wait. Only problem was I was so excited, I couldn't sit still. Now, just a few hours later (3 and 1/2 to be exact) I was about to land in Toronto and have the time of my life! As I got off the plane and walked down the gangway (I think that's what it's called) I scanned for familiar faces. I was looking for Sandra but I got the surprise of my life when none other than Nick Knight himself walked up and said hello to me. I was stunned and blurted the first thing that popped into my head. "What are you doing here?" >>Real good, Amy.<< I thought. >>That was intelligent.<< He smiled and said "I can leave, if you want me to." He turned to go. "No, that's quite all right. I just wasn't expecting you." "Life is full of surprises. Do you have any luggage to claim?" I nodded. We waited for a few minutes for my suitcase to appear and talked about nothing in particular. I had to keep my imagination firmly in check. (That was not easy) He offered to carry my big bag and I gratefully accepted. I thought about making some crack about trunk space but changed my mind. All I needed was to convince that I really was weird. (Like flying to Toronto at the drop of a hat wasn't weird enough) "Why did you come get me? I flattered and all that, but aren't you on duty?" I asked as we walked to his car. He smiled again. (He really needs to do that more often, he has a gorgeous smile) "Well, I am but I left Schanke at the precinct and...This will sound a bit odd... I wanted to meet one of you. I know I had the chance during the last war but I was preoccupied then and I kinda blew that chance." I almost snorted. >>Preoccupied? I'll say. Hypnotizing another person would take a lot of attention.<< I thought. We reached the *car*. That infamous sea-green Caddy. I giggled when he opened the trunk. He looked at me. "What?" Something wrong?" 'The most trunk space in 30 years.' floated through my head but I didn't say anything. I just shook my head. It was a nice drive to the house Nick had set up for the Knighties and that Caddy of his has the *smoothest* ride of any car I've been in lately. It was all over too soon. We pulled up in front of the house and Sandra came out to greet us. He took my bag out of the trunk and handed it to Sandra, who promptly put it on the ground. He bade us good-night, watched us walk into the house and drove away. I almost floated into the house. My day had been made. ************************************************************* Toronto, Here I Come by Perri Smith "Let me get this straight. You've been offered the chance to be on that vampire series you like so much, you're not getting paid, so you're taking time from the temp agency and your job hunting and flying Toronto, and some police detective you've only met once is paying. And there are going to be a lot of your Internet friends there?" "Yeah, Mom, that's about it. And it's not like I can't call around from Toronto to follow up on those resumes--how are the newspapers going to know where I'm calling from. And I know Nick from more than just the one meeting." "Joe, talk to your daughter." Perri's father didn't even look up. "Need help packing?" "No, Dad, got it covered." Perri grinned down at her mother. "Mom, you didn't even blink when I said I was going to Boston. Why should this bother you? I'm gonna be on tv! On Forever Knight, no less." "I'd feel better if you knew more of these people." Perri sighed. "Look, Mom, Tara's going to be there, a lot of the Knighties are going to be there, it's going to be fine! Are you going to drive me to the airport or not?" "Of course I'll drive you, I just..." Perri tuned her out with years of experience. she had been getting ready for this trip for two months, it wasn't likely she was going to get talked out of it know. Besides, she couldn't leave Sandra up there all alone. As long as someone met her at the airport... And that someone wasn't Ron... **** Actually, it was Amy Denton. Perri met her partner in crime from the last war with great glee. They hopped a cab (after Amy displayed the traveling money passed to them from Ron) and headed for the Knightie house to meet Sandra and the others. They had a lot of catching up to do, a premiere episode to film--and a Cousinly plot to foil... ************************************************************* Toronto on a Spare Minute by Selma McCrory *I don't have time for this,* Selma thought as she boarded the airplane that would take her to Chicago, and ultimately, Toronto. *This is not a good time.* But she'd seen the posting by Mr. P., and she occasionally enjoyed visiting. And some of her friends had talked her into it. So here she was, visiting Toronto for a second time. To act. She'd taken time away from her job search to *act.* Considering the last time she'd done acting in Toronto, she was amazed that she was even considering this. And worse, she was expecting a decision on that job for the California State Legislature to come any day now. She couldn't afford to miss that. She wanted that job very badly. But sometimes, friends came first. And she owed a certain loyalty to Natalie... ************************************************************* From Texas to Toronto by Elaine Polemenakos "Elaine, you are out of your mind to be doing this!" I thought to myself as I checked and double checked that I had my plane ticket. "You have little enough time to work on your Senior Thesis as it is without jetting off to Toronto for a couple of weeks." Of course, when I ordered the ticket, I had used plenty of rationalizations. My thesis is on television's role in the civil rights movement. I would be going to a television production, and Nick had spent time in the 60's, so he would be a valuable resource, right? Right. I had never been to Toronto, so this would be an educational experience, right? Absolutely! But in all honesty, I was going to visit Natalie, (who had no idea I was coming for a visit) and to try and put those years of high school and community theater to good use by trying to get a part in the premiere. Since all the other NatPackers were headed in the same direction, now was the best possible time. I would just be a good girl and work twice as hard when I got back. Yeah, sure I would. As I left the confines of Texas A&M University, I felt a shiver of excitement run up my spine. At least I'm pretty sure that's what it was... ************************************************************* Decisions by Catherine Boone and Courtney Hilliard It was many years ago that I became what I am I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb Now I can never show my face at noon And you'll only see me walking by the light of the moon... The familiar strains of Sting wandered through the cramped computer lab as Catherine plopped in front of an IBM to check email and chat a bit with netfriends before her first class. *I really should hook Nick on Sting one of these days. I think he'd fully identify with this song.* As she logged in, though, the song continued... How could I be this way when I pray to God above I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love... "Hmm, on second thought, better not. The last thing that boy needs is to be more depressed," she muttered, and fiddled with her account to read her latest mail. First was a message from JP, then almost immediately after was an e-mail from Courtney, with the enigmatic title, "So, When Are We Leaving?" Confused and intrigued, Catherine waded into the first message. In mere minutes she was bouncing up and down excitedly in her chair, knowing that if anyone wandered into the lab at that point she'd leap up and give them a big hug, completely ruining her reputation of being a calm and rational human being. To be able to go to Toronto and actually _meet_ all of the people who'd until now been simply netpals! Taking a break will be a minor challenge, given her summer work schedule, but they promised flexibility, so they'd better give it to her! Preoccupied with thoughts of new friends and the possibility of actually influencing the third season premiere, Catherine nearly fell out of her chair when a voice interrupted her reverie: "Catherine! Did you get my e-mail?" Courtney was grinning widely. "You bet!! So, when _do_ we leave?" Catherine was still bouncing. "Man, I can't believe how many miles I'm going to put on my car..." Courtney sighed, then brightened. "But its for a good cause." Catherine, an irrepressible Knightie, began to gush about all of her wonderful ideas for Nick and how he would fool LaCroix and find the cure he always wanted, while Courtney listened and smiled. After several minutes of this, Courtney decided enough was enough. "Catherine, snap out of it! If you want to do this sometime this century, you'd better start packing!" Catherine broke off the gushing. "Packing! Right!" She dashed out of the computer room, still smiling widely, barely remembering to logout in her haste. Courtney, left alone in the computer room, turned back to a computer with a thoughtful look on her face. Several minutes of websurfing ensued until she had what she wanted displayed on the screen. Leaning forward, she stared intently at the two pictures. One was of a Nicholas Knight, homicide detective, gleaned from the new web pages of the Toronto police. The other was of a radio personality known as the Nightcrawler. Courtney sighed. Decisions, decisions... Nick was so endearing, so adorable sometimes--and he might honestly need help. But LaCroix was so very intriguing; something in him appealed to Courtney's darker side. She stared at the pictures a few minutes longer, then made her decision. There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she went off to see how Catherine was doing; she intended to keep her decision to herself, at least for a while. ************************************************************* Real Estate by Sara Orel BRRRRNG . . . BRRRRRRRNG . . . BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNG! Sara thought, rather annoyed, that it was amazing how long the telephone rings could get when you were waiting for someone to answer... She tapped her foot and bit the end of a fingernail. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNG! Just as she was about to give up, there was a clunk, a crash, and a rather breathless "Hello?" "Wendy?" A few more crashes, and there was a yelp. "Ramona!" "Ah, yes--the killer cat. Wendy, this is Sara, from Missouri." "Oh, hello Sara. Good to hear from you. You know you haven't written since you were up here last spring..." Sara didn't know quite what to say. It was true; over the course of the last year she had been a lousy snail mail correspondent. "I do wish you would get a modem; we could keep in closer contact then. I really am much better via e- mail." "I have access through work now, actually. The hospital is on-line. But if you don't write or call it is difficult to get an e-mail address for you." Sara knew that Wendy wanted her to feel guilty; a bit of guilt is a good thing. Particularly since she knew what she was going to ask of her friend was a huge imposition. "So, are you really going to work in Africa this spring?" "I'm really excited about it. I didn't tell you in your Christmas card but I got funding to do a study of prenatal care in Ethiopia and I hope to do some comparable work in Cairo. You are actually lucky you caught me; my flight to Paris is Monday night." Sara sighed mentally with relief. "Yeah; I am very lucky! What are you doing with your cats?" "George and Ramona, who by the way is now chewing on my hair, go to my sister's tomorrow." "Your sister? How lovely. I guess that means she has gotten over her morbid fear of cats?" "Good lord, no! But they survived last year, so I am sure they will manage to tolerate each other again this time." "Well, maybe we can help each other out" Sara said hopefully. This was her first try at Mercenariness (others seemed to have the idea of always trying to get something out of even social transactions fit them much better; Sara was simply too nice to be a Mercenary, she sometimes thought. It was followed by the thought that she would have to do something about that niceness really fast, but back to the phone call). "I was actually hoping to freeload off you for a couple of weeks. I have some research to do in Toronto, and I was going to be able to come up on Tuesday. If you don't mind, can I borrow your house when I am in the city?" "And you are offering to watch the cats while you are here? I guess that would be okay." A sigh of relief. Darkangel will be proud of me. My first foray into the world of something for nothing. Let Wendy think I am doing her a favour. I know her sister hates her cats. Wendy was speaking... "But since I leave Monday evening, how do I get the keys to you?" "Will you be going around the museum on Monday?" "Well; I work at Cedar Sinai. That's not too far away." "You could leave the keys for me at the Egyptian Department. Or you could drop them off at Near Eastern Studies at U of T." "No; I always used to get lost when I tried to find you there. Why don't I just leave them for you at the security desk at the ROM?" "Great. Thanks, Wendy. I'll take good care of your cats. Promise." "Just let my sister know when you will be leaving town and she can stop by and pick them up. I'm sure she will be thrilled to avoid them for a couple of weeks. I'll leave instructions on the coffee table in the living room." "Great. I'll pay you back sometime." "I doubt I'll be coming to Missouri anytime soon, but I will have lots of questions when I get back from Egypt. I'll call you." "Have a great time in Ethiopia, too." "I will. But I have to go--I just was coming in from the pizza store when you called and the slice is a bit congealed." "Enjoy it. By the way do you know a Doctor named Natalie Lambert?" "No. Should I?" "No reason--she just works for the coroner's office. I thought you might have run into her in medical school--I know you were doing research for a murder mystery novel, and I thought you might have run into coroner types then." "Nope, sorry. Look, I really have to go... I'll leave the keys at the ROM Monday." "Thanks a lot, Wendy." Sara listened to the click as her friend hung up. At least she had been her friend before this week. Heaven only knew what she would think when she came home to a house that had been used as a mercenary base for the War. It was well situated, on Crawford just south of College Street, in an area renowned for its coffee shops and Italian bakeries. At least the mercenaries would not have a problem staying awake for the war's duration. ************************************************************* Resurfacing by Sara Orel Sara heaved (rather undignified term, that) a sigh, and closed the house door behind her. It was more difficult to get away from Missouri than she had thought, and then arriving in Toronto in the middle of the night and unable to get into the ROM until morning to get the house key had necessitated a serious ramble on the 24-hour streetcar routes... But she was now at Wendy's house, and ready to sleep off the last several days of hectic disentanglement. But there was something she had to do first (besides feeding George and Ramona, both very affectionate creatures). "Here you go, kitties." She poured out dry food into the cat bowls and, having completed that task, sat down at the computer. ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: forkni-l@psuvm.psu.edu Greetings to my fellow Mercs! And salutations to all the rest of you out there. I am now in Toronto, with great enthusiasm and freedom for battle. I can be evil if necessary, will be evil if no one hires me. I might attack the Cousins first, but I could go after Ravenettes... Anyone who wants to take advantage of my evil impulses before they come back to haunt you and make your life unbearable should catch me now. I have radio programming experience, am good with ancient languages and know way too much about ancient Rome for my own good. I also know Toronto and can use that knowledge to your advantage (or my own). I am not cheap, but I am verrrrrry goooooood (could provide references if desired). I would love to be bought... Interested parties can contact me via e-mail. I accept all interesting assignments for all solvent parties (artifacts are fine as well). Mercenarily yours (I hope), Sara ------------------------------------------------------------- Sara sat back and smiled. She probably sounded anxious for a job, but that really wasn't the case. She had spent the last couple of days figuring out some fundraising ideas that would not involve anyone hiring her. Of course, if she could get money for the ideas as well as their execution it would be the best thing. She had hoped to get in on the friendly and Cousinly offer of a Spanish fishing trawler, but if it wasn't going to happen that way, she still wanted to earn the money to buy one herself. And she had ideas how to go about it, too... ************************************************************* The Ambitions of an Artist by Cousin Candice Candice arrived in Harder Hall around 8pm Sunday night. "It's only 8?... It feels like it's midnight," she groaned and turned the handle to the entrance door. The whole west wing of Harder had been remodeled with the exception of this one, heavy old door. She shook off her jacket, a storm had just settled over Alfred, and she had gotten caught outside when the rain started to fall. Candice trekked up the four flights of stairs to the newly renovated Design studio, cursing herself for leaving all her work till the last possible minute on this particular weekend. She had hoped to be able to sleep--the week-nights were just to full of other studies for her to take a sufficient amount of time for normal sleeping habits. "Hell,... They don't call me the Openhym Vampire for nothing." She mumbled to herself, smiling slightly at the affectionate nickname her friends in the Openhym dorm had bestowed upon her, as she unpacked her supplies from her now soggy green backpack. The thunder rumbled outside and the rain pounded harder on the roof. Candice turned on her discman with the portable speakers and soon the empty silence was with the sounds of Santana--Moonflower. Her project, the last of the evening, consisted of cutting and pasting--very tedious and very time consuming. It also required all of her attention. She bopped along unconsciously to Flora de Luna, cutting, pasting, sticking, getting into a routine as the hour went on. Around 9:30 the storm was kicking up into a torrential downpour, and then suddenly the lights went out. Candice shot up out of her seat when the flash of lightening cracked at the same time. "What the he..." She was cut off by another flash of lightening. Candice went out into the hallway, and saw that the lights were on in all the other rooms. When she returned to the design studio, the lights were back on. "Well, that was *odd*," she said, puzzled, returning to her work. At a quarter after 10, the lights went out again, but this time she felt something was wrong. Just wrong. she told herself, But the lights didn't go on. She started to get up and walk towards the door when she heard a slight rustle that sounded more like a whisper. "It's the lack of sleep, that's all... You haven't been sleeping much at *all* lately and _that's_ why you thought you heard a whisper. It's nothing but your mind playing tricks on you -you're just overtired." "Guess again, cherie," and Uncle stepped out of the shadows. Candice tried to shrink into her own silhouette on the wall, regretting her procrastination more than ever. She saw the shadows disfigure and out of them stepped a tall, blonde man. No doubt who it was. Her first encounter with LaCroix was making her trembling and shake, so much so that she couldn't make her vocal chords work correctly. "Come now, don't tell me you've forgotten what today's date is..." He looked at her with that questioning stare. "April Fool's? Right?" she squirmed and then she remembered why it was important. It was the official start of the War. "That's right. No I'm not angry at you, after all you lurked for the last war, isn't that so?" Candice nodded silently and remembered watching from the sidelines as her Cousin Caile took part. She wouldn't be missing out this time. Not a chance. LaCroix noticed her slight change in resolve as she became less a shaking leaf and more a... Cousin. he thought to himself, LaCroix grinned and stepped closer to her. Candice couldn't move backwards any further, so she did the only thing she could and matched his stare, refusing to let herself become intimidated anymore than she already was. LaCroix chuckled throatily and smirked. "Let's not make this... Difficult, hmm cherie? You have friends that write scripts." Candice nodded once again then said "Yes, but they're on other lists and I hardly think they're concer..." "So you are familiar with screen writing?" he interrupted, giving her a cold, hard look. "Well,... Yes." Candice stated flatly. "And what of this 'Significant Other' of yours, is *he* a Cousin?" LaCroix sneered and bit of his sentence, turning away from her, giving her a bit of breathing room in the pitch dark studio. "No, he isn't," she replied, not wanting to reveal any information about Brian, the less Uncle knew about him, the less Uncle would have to threaten her with, and she didn't want to drag anyone that was unwilling into this war. "But what do you want with me?" "Ahhh... Now we get down to it. Let's just say I don't have the utmost faith in Jennise and Karin when it comes to my 'investments.' I'd like to have a little reassurance that's all. What I want, is for you to get to Toronto and do some 'creative writing' to keep the Cousins on guard and on top of things." "But what about my classes, and my work in the stu..." Candice protested, but LaCroix was before her in an instant. He pressed one long finger to her lips and said staring into her eyes, "You would do this for me. You are a Cousin. You have never been anything _but_ a Cousin. You remember that little prank that DieHard pulled during the last war, don't you. And remember how angry you were at how someone would have the gall to do such a thing? Now is your chance to extract that revenge. You can do this, and you _will_." LaCroix smiled and backed away from her "And another thing, you have no need to worry about my harming your precious Brian--I value your loyalty, but I know your limits as a mortal. I know all about it--I *am* on the Forever Erotica list you know." Candice felt a blush running from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, and knew if she tried to speak, she would just stammer. LaCroix grinned and bowed to her, kissing the back of her hand, and then he was gone. She started making mental notes of which professors she had to speak with before she left the next day, and what books she had to take with her so that she'd keep up with her studies, no matter *how* little sleep she got. Candice knew this was her chance to prove herself worthy of Cousinhood. First impressions were always the lasting ones. And she knew that paybacks were a bitch. ************************************************************* Pawn to Knight Four by Cousin Candice Candice sat before her terminal the next day, trying to figure out who to write to first. It was hard for her to lose the feeling that she was being moved around on a chessboard. Like she had no control over the events in the days to come. She decided the best plan was to get her professors out of the way first, so she drafted a generic "Sorry, but I won't be around..." note and sent it out to her Prof. distribution list. Her next move was to send out a message to all of her "Cousins," to get a general idea of where they would be at if she needed any 'assistance.' ------------------------------------------------------------- To: FKFIC@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Cc: Joshua@cornell.edu Subject: Cousin Check Point Well, technically this isn't a war post, but I'd like to know just where you all are and what course of action you're taking. If your plans aren't working out, please notify me at *once,* and I'll see what I can do to help. I won't be arriving at the screening due to circumstance. I'll see you all there eventually. Keep up the "good" work. Yours, Candice -obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, Cousin by choice Toreador by default winter@jbx.com ------------------------------------------------------------- Satisfied with her note she hit ^X and off it went to the internet. Her last move before she left was to write a cautionary note to her 'Significant Other.' She shuddered as her mind returned to the previous evening when LaCroix had sneered at the thought of her actually being in love. she thought, trying to lighten up her spirits. ------------------------------------------------------------- To: Macleod@vm.temple.edu Cc: Subject: I'm going to be incommunicado for a while My dearest Brian, I have recently been offered a position as a temporary writer on a television program that requires me to be in Toronto for the next few weeks. I just want to let you know that I won't be around very often, just an occasional e-mail check. Oh, and another thing, the people I'm working with are very crafty. I just want you to be careful in who and what you reply to--you never know what they have planned. Be well. I love you. Yours, Candice ------------------------------------------------------------- She looked the message over again, just to see if she sounded a bit *too* apprehensive in the note. she thought with an audible sigh. She was _not_ happy about not being able to tell Brian exactly what was going on, but she had to do what Uncle said. Uncle had reminded her just how dearly some people had to pay. She grabbed her bags and walked out the door to the waiting cab that would take her to the airport in Rochester. ************************************************************* Frolicking Into the Fray by Deborah Menikoff Tap tap tap. There it was again. I threw back the blanket and stomped in to the darkened living room. ( I know normally tapping sounds in the middle of the night induce you to *creep slowly* into darkened living rooms but I just hate being woken up and pulled out of a particularly fabulous dream. So I stomped. As I was saying...) ...the darkened living room. Tap tap tap... That wasn't radiator. It was much too subtle a noise for that. Tap tap tap... I whirled around at the sound and saw just about the last thing I *ever* expected to see. LaCroix. Standing on my fifth floor balcony. *Oh, Deborah,* I thought to myself, *it is time to go no mail. And to lay of the Java before bed.* I was just about to pinch myself when my hallucination slid the door open and stepped into the room. "Ms. Menikoff, I don't believe that we have been formally introduced, but you will forgive my unannounced visit and the hour. I have a matter of some import to discuss with you and I wanted to make sure you were at home." He paused and seemed to be waiting for some response from me. It was only then that I realized I had been standing there staring. I shook me my head to clear it. "I... Uh, yes of course I... No problem, I was just... Ummmm... Would you care to sit down?" I indicated to couch to his left. "I'm sorry I generally don't fluster this easily but you *have* taken me bit... Unawares." I sat as well, not really sure how I had remained standing up till then. "I understand. I *do* have that effect on some people. Please be assured, I haven't come to harm you but to advise you and perhaps, if necessary offer my assistance. You are aware of the... Hostilities among the faction on the list?" I nodded and he continued "These disagreements, I hesitate to call them *wars* really. There not like the old days... (the really old days, I thought but kept it to myself) but that is what you all call them isn't it?" I nodded again. Really I couldn't remember being this speechless since... Well never, frankly. He went on "It is about the newest war that I came to you about." "Yes, but I *just* got on the list. I mean, I posted a note and lurked around but no one really knows who or where I am. I can't have *done* anything to anyone yet. I'm not really the person to..." "But that is exactly *why* you are the person to," he interrupted "No one knows anything. Nothing but you declaring yourself one of my followers. Good choice that, by the way. Excellently thought out. I commend you. You have... Potential and I see certain qualities that remind me of myself. Your taste for revenge, I might add, is well documented. They must have been quite relieved when you left Houston to go to college in New York." "They were even more relieved in New York when I graduated from Sarah Lawrence," I said wryly "But I admit it. Why not. My daddy always said he couldn't respect anyone who didn't hold a grudge and my daddy was usually right about these things." "A wise man. Now apart from these admirable qualities, you are as of yet fairly anonymous. Have you corresponded with others? Anyone who might know anything that can be used against you?" Well I *did* ask Lisa McDavid lots of questions and stuff like that when I first subbed. Apart from short requests for info on stuff no one else... Oh, well I *did* hear from Perri and we have traded short notes but I don't think I said anything damaging. Besides, she's a Knightie. She won't attack except to defend. Right? So, I guess you're right no one really knows about me. Ooh! How stealth." "Excellent. You will be of great use then. You will be hearing from either myself or other Cousins soon about how you can best serve our ends." He rose and went to the door. I followed to shut it only then realizing that it had been open this whole time and I was *freezing.* As he stepped out on the balcony, he turned back to me and took my hand. "Welcome to the family," he said, kissing my hand... And then he was gone, leaving me standing in the open door. But suddenly, I wasn't cold at all. ************************************************************* Down But Not Out by Deborah Menikoff Looking back on my visit from LaCroix, I half convinced myself that I had been dreaming and put it out of my mind... Until this afternoon. This afternoon, I was the victim of what I can only describe as a pre-emptive strike. *Someone* got to my mail server. Luckily, *someone* didn't do enough damage to keep out of the picture completely. Everything got straighten out thanks to some *Cousinly help.* I am now completely on guard and prepared for anything. Revenge is, of course a time consuming business and while I'd be pretty busy over the next few weeks, what with everyone being invitied to the third season pilot and Uncle's instructions to wait for (oh yeah, and my job, but that is of secondary importance), I promised myself that would find out who messed with my server and when I did... ************************************************************* I Really Want To Be A Part Of This War Richard Hudson Richard was frantic. He spent the day e-mailing as many FoD's, Knighties and Natpackers, hoping that at least one of them would let them tag along with to get to Toronto so that he could be a part of the filming of the episode. "Please", he wrote in desperation. "Please, will some one let me tag along with them. I would be willing to share costs or pay for all food and gas to Toronto." ************************************************************* Picking up a Passenger (1) by Amparo Bertram Amparo navigated her way through the airport. She had gotten Richard's flight information, but she had neglected to ask for his description. How was she supposed to find him? All she knew was that he was about her own age. Add that to the unexpected delay due to road construction, and she was rather late. She hoped he hadn't wandered off in the meantime. She arrived at her destination and scanned the area slowly. She didn't spot him, but then she didn't really know what he looked like anyway. She was turning around a second time when she heard someone call out. "Hey! Are you one of the NatPack? You're wearing an affiliation pin." A young man approached her from the direction of the telephones. She smiled a greeting and held out her hand. "Richard? Hi, I'm Amparo. Pod for short, if you like. Sorry it took me so long to get here... Best laid plans, and all that." "I was getting rather frantic. And hungry," he added with a chuckle as he shook her hand. "Well, grab your gear and let's get going. Betsy's waiting for us out in her car. Now, if I can find the exit--" "Over that way," he pointed helpfully. "Right. Come on, the adventure's about to begin!" ************************************************************* Picking up a Passenger (2) by Richard Hudson Richard looked gratefully at Amparo, smiling as he entered his car. He was black, about 6' tall, slightly overweight with a kind face that looked slightly detracted as looked out the window of Amparo's car. He asked, "So where do we go from here?" "Well, we're going back to Don Bassingate's house where the other Natpackers are staying. Hope you brought all that chocolate you promised us." "I have," answered Richard as he opened up a large duffel bag and pulled out a box of Ferreor Rocher chocolates and handed her one. She took one and popped one in her mouth. She smiled surprisingly and exclaimed "This is good! So you brought 100 boxes of these? Good, we have a lot of chocoholics in our group." "SO I've heard So what have the Natpackers planned to do first?" Richard asked. "Oh by the way, I just changed U.S. $3,400 to Canadian currency, so we can hire Mercs if need be, but I hope we don't have to. So what are the Natpackers planning to do first?" ************************************************************* An Offer of Alliance by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger When her human pet was soundly asleep, Tuppence walked downstairs and took up her favorite perch, on top of the Victrola in the living room. She settled herself comfortably in a compact bundle, paws tucked under and tail curled around. She needed to think. Her pet simply was *not* being sensible about this War business. She actually seemed to think she could stay *neutral.* Tuppence's whiskers twitched in annoyance. she thought charitably, She shifted slightly. Diane was obviously incapable of protecting herself. And Tuppence knew that when you adopted a human pet, you had certain responsibilities toward it. So, since Miz was too timid to be of any help in this--just *suggesting* it had sent her into hiding under the stairs--it was up to Tuppence to see to it that her human was protected. She half-closed her eyes and began the first Mantra. She came from a long line of Temple Cats, and had learned most of what was needed to be a human's Guardian before her eyes opened. There was, of course, no question which of the Fanged Ones she would contact... ***** Toronto LaCroix poured a second glass of blood--A+ today--and carried it over to his stereo. He dropped the Yo-Yo Ma CD into the player and settled onto the couch. As he relaxed, he sensed a gentle, exploratory probe at his mental shields. Not one of his kind, and *certainly* not a human. Cautiously, he responded to the probe, and identified the sender. A Temple Cat? Not many of *those* tried to contact him. Curious, now, he lowered his shields. Ten minutes later, he ended the contact and sipped his breakfast with a smile. This Tuppence could be very useful. She was obviously a clever creature, and leaving her "pet human" alone was a small price to pay for her assistance. After all, he hadn't even known the woman existed until her cat contacted him. Now, how to get the cat to Toronto for the filming...? ************************************************************* The Word Goes Out by Diane Echelbarger Diane snuggled deeper into the blankets, trying to ignore the kneading paws that pummeled her abdomen. After a moment, the Tonkinese stomach torture was augmented by the application of several pounds of thick, weight bearing fur over her nose and mouth. Miz was hungry, too. She heaved a silent sigh and gave up. The cats' dish was probably empty again, and on the rare occasions when Miz and Tuppence cooperated, it was wiser to give in before they got *really* creative... As soon as she showed signs of actually getting up, the younger cat, a slightly pudgy Tonkinese with gold-green eyes, ran for the stairs, determined, as always, to be the first one at the dish when it was refilled. Miz, the older, longhaired tortoiseshell, lowered herself carefully to the floor and prepared to rub against her human's ankles when they appeared. In nine years, she had never made the connection between this behavior and her human's tendency to step on her in the early morning. Diane pulled a cotton sweater and blue jeans out of the cedar boxes she used for a dresser. Turning off the electric wall heater had become a reflex, since it was expensive to leave it running all day in the cold Wisconsin winters. When she was dressed and had stuffed her feet into a pair of battered Dearfoams, she ducked past the Indian cotton curtain in the bedroom doorway and crossed the landing to the stairs. Avoiding the low, sharply slanted ceiling didn't take any thought at all; she'd been doing it so long, she frequently forgot to warn her house guests about it. Tuppence was yowling demands from the kitchen, but she detoured long enough to kick on the surge protector her computer was plugged into. As she scooped Science Diet Feline Maintenance Light out of the Currier and Ives tin for the cats, the theme from Forever Knight wafted in from the dining room. Her computer had activated Windows. She sent a mental thank you to the person who had placed it on the ftp site as she pulled a pound of Colombian Supremo from the freezer. By the time the music ended with a whoosh/growl, she was pouring water into the coffeemaker. The cats were eating as if they hadn't been fed for a week, as usual. she thought idly. She dropped a pair of cherry PopTarts in the toaster, but didn't turn it on. That could wait until the coffee was done. While it brewed, she activated her Internet account and downloaded her mail. Since she'd gone straight from work to dinner at a friend's and arrived home well after midnight, she had a fairly large volume of stuff. Digests for both FORKNI-L and HIGHLA-L, some new fanfic from the associated fiction lists, and a half-dozen personal messages. One subject line caught her eye, and she clicked on it to bring the text up. As she read, a grin spread across her face. Without canceling the connection, she switched from AIR Mail to Notebook, and checked the list she'd been keeping there for the last month. Sure enough, this message was the one she'd been waiting for, the last detail she'd needed settled. She re-entered her e-mail program and clicked on "Compose". Clicking "TO:" brought up her address book. She chose the group name "Hit Squad" and clicked "OK". The text of the message consisted of two words: Do it! She hit "Send" and cut the connection to her account. She could read the rest of the mail off-line, and save her on- line time for other things. But first, she needed to get a cup of coffee, and turn on the toaster. She smiled. No one would ever figure out who had done it... ************************************************************* The Planes of War by Dianne T. DeSha Dianne leaned back, enjoying the leg-room that came with a first-class seat, as the plane took off over the ocean. Los Angeles could look downright pretty from this high, she mused, especially at night when the tiny pinpricks of light stretched out for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see... She took another dainty bite from her substantial supply of the finest Lanark maple-sugar chocolate and let her mind drift back to the last time she'd made this trip... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* June 4th, 1995 This far into the summer semester it was simple to get time off from work. Her ticket was pre-paid, the kittens were safely stashed with her mother, everything else would take care of itself for a week or two, and, since Sara had cleverly arranged free accommodations downtown, Dianne was already well ahead of the game. Best of all, her personal belongings would remain safely in South Pasadena--far from harm's way. She had brought only the bare necessities in order to make room for the wide array of specialized "supplies" she had collected for this particular trip--a brand-new CERK shirt, a striking outfit suited to the patron of an exclusive nightclub, several bags of microwaveable popcorn, a quick reference guide to "Eateries of Toronto" with the prime donut shops already highlighted, a small bag of catnip, a supportive (yet non-committal) FK t-shirt, an extra pair of men's black silk PJs, and autographed photos of _both_ captains. Add to that her idea notebooks, a good supply of editing pens (in every conceivable color), her copy of "So You Want to Be a Scriptwriter?", a few extra blank Mercenary contracts (you never know!), and a small Canadian-English dictionary, and it was a wonder she could carry those bags at all! Then, of course, there were the few "defensive" supplies she'd tucked in her shoulder bag--a Merc can't be too careful, you know. Ah, a chance to flex those creative muscles, she thought wistfully. If only her co-workers had any idea what she was planning to do on her "little escape up north"... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* A few simple precautions while on the shoot had ensured that she was nowhere credited for her work in this episode. She believed in the advantages of anonymity. Her more _creative_ efforts had, after all, been performed entirely on the behalf of others. Her employers should properly receive the credit--and the retaliation--that was their due, she thought, smiling. An unfortunate side-effect of such subtlety, however, was that she had been left off of the guest list for the private screening. Never mind, her "business" connections had been properly notified and would be there. They'd even arranged the ticket for her--"a gesture of gratitude for a job well-done"--and someone to help clean up the mess you've made, she thought, without rancor. Well, that will cost a bit extra... So here she was on her way to crash a little party. Her smile took on a decidedly wicked air when she imagined how certain parties would react upon seeing those few, _choice_ revisions. ************************************************************* Special Delivery (1) by Dianne DeSha and Diane Echelbarger As her plane touched down at O'Hare Dianne vividly recalled the phone call that had brought her to this point... (*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.) "Dianne la Mercenaire?" "Yes," Dianne responded in some surprise. She was used to getting phone calls under several different names (and even more numerous botched and garbled mispronunciations of same), but not that one. And the voice sounded strangely familiar... "I'm calling from Paragon Entertainment Corporation and I have a small commission for you." Dianne swallowed hard. she thought, But she was very good at recognizing voices, and, frankly, his was rather hard to miss. She was all too sure who she had on the line. "I see," she managed to choke out in what sounded like a reasonably normal voice. "I understand that you will be attending the filming of the Forever Knight first season episode this June?" "Yes..." , she thought. "I have been authorized to offer you a round trip, first- class ticket to Toronto, and a modest amount of spending money, in exchange for your transportation of a certain package." <*Drugs*?> Dianne thought crazily for a moment, After a moment, however, common sense intervened. "You will pick up this package, this _live_ package, at a layover in Chicago and deliver it, upon your arrival, to a local address in Toronto. All paperwork and customs clearance will, of course, be arranged by us in advance. Is this acceptable?" <*Live*? Did he say a *live* package?> Dianne's first instinct was to drop the phone and back away quickly, but she managed to get a grip on herself. , she reminded herself. "Yes, I think that will be quite satisfactory," Dianne managed to whisper. , she thought as she rapidly jotted down the specifics, *--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--* Diane parked the car in the first lot she came to. "I *hate* O'Hare," she grumbled as she pulled her little, rust-speckled Chevy Sprint into an empty slot. Living by herself for the last fifteen years had left her with the habit of thinking out loud. She made sure she had her keys *and* her canvas tote before closing the driver's door. Then she walked to the passenger side and removed the off-white cat carrier from the bucket seat. "Tuppence? You OK in there?" she asked. The Tonkinese had been unnaturally quiet the whole trip down; usually, she yowled in that Siamese-imperious voice every time the car turned a corner, slowed, or sped up. Diane peered into the carrier. Tuppence was tucked into a compact, calm bundle. She squeezed her eyes at her human contentedly, and licked a morsel of catnip off one paw. "Hmph. You're so zoned, you don't care, right Pushy Cat?" Diane asked affectionately. Then she hefted the carrier and started her search for the correct gate. she thought. As she followed the signs, and asked directions, and followed signs again, she replayed the request that had led to this trip. Why did the people at FK need a gray cat for the shoot? There weren't any cats (except Sidney, of course) in the synopsis Mr P had sent *her*. And were they just trying to be nice by asking to use Tuppence? After all, they *could* probably have hired a trained stage-cat for the job... Then again, when the request had come, on Mr P's letterhead, no less, she hadn't felt she could really refuse... Oh, well, it would probably all make sense when she saw the episode She finally located the correct gate. The 'Arrivals' board said she had about 10 minutes to wait, so she found a seat near the door the passengers would come through, sat Tuppence's carrier next to it, and pulled "Falling Free" out of her jacket. When the speakers announced the plane's arrival (late, but that was usual at O'Hare), she put the book away and stood up to have a better view of the gate. The stream of passengers had begun to thin when she spotted a tall, red-haired woman dressed in a dark-patterned palazzo jumpsuit and carrying a large shoulder bag. She stepped toward her and said, "You must be Dianne; you look just like Maeve!" ************************************************************* Special Delivery (2) by Dianne DeSha and Diane Echelbarger They had talked for a good half hour about everything and nothing, as people in airports tend to do. The primary topic had been the filming of the third season premiere, of course, and when that started wearing thin, Dianne asked the ordinary-looking brunette for suggestions on what to do in Toronto. The woman had told her about all-day transport passes ("But they don't sell them on Sundays. Buy a bunch; they don't expire or anything."), exactly where in the ROM they had shot the "I can't" scene in the first season premiere, suggested a day trip to Toronto Island, and offered a few dining suggestions ("Best Cajun alligator I ever tasted!"). Dianne just let her talk. It was a way to pass the time, she thought as she idly jotted down mental notes for possible future use. Dianne was much too tired to want to talk herself and, frankly, given the nature of her work, there really wasn't all that much she could disclose anyway. <"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you,"> she thought. Great line, too bad she'd never found a way to use it. Diane finally ran out of restaurant suggestions, and peered into the carrier on the seat between them. "I hope she's OK," she worried. "She's been awfully quiet. Tuppence usually hates being in that thing; yowls all the time until you let her out." Dianne had been _greatly_ relieved to find that her "live package" was in actuality a perfectly-normal looking gray cat. Considering who she was working for, she'd braced for something far worse. <"Yowls?"> Dianne thought. The shorter woman glanced around nervously and lowered her voice. "Are they going to use my flashback idea?" she asked softly. Dianne thought, "Uh, yeah, they are." Diane reached oh-so-casually into her canvas tote and placed a burgundy-colored box on the cat carrier. Just as casually, Dianne slipped it into her shoulder bag. She cut _that_ thought off and stood up abruptly. "I'd better be getting ready to board," she said reaching for the carrier. "Oh, right," Diane responded. "Here's her ticket and the papers to see you through customs... And her I.D." Dianne raised one eyebrow in surprise, "_I.D._?" Diane smiled and looked slightly embarrassed, "It's an NRA membership card, actually." As Dianne's second eyebrow joined the first Diane hurried on, "Well, you see they want I.D. for all passengers on international flights and, well, it's the only one she's got." "Your cat is a member of the NRA?" Dianne asked, her professional Merc equanimity slipping slightly. "Well, she isn't actually a _member_," Diane confessed. "You see I signed her up to win a 25 pound bag of Science Diet at the state fair one year and ever since she's been getting all sorts of mail. They sent her the card with a letter asking her to join..." "*Your attention please*," the speaker above their heads said with less than stunning clarity. "*Flight 202 to Toronto is now boarding at gate 7...*" Dianne thought with great relief, "That's really great," she assured Diane, "But we need to board now. It's been grand and all..." As Dianne moved quickly away Diane suddenly started to worry. "Be careful with her, it's not normal for her to be this quiet. And tell them not to overfeed her..." "She'll be _fine_," Dianne called back over her shoulder, maneuvering [o.k., o.k.: "shoving"] her way to the front of the boarding line. , Dianne retorted under her breath as they headed down the walkway and onto the plane. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* "We're here." Dianne looked up from a quick study of her small Canadian- English dictionary to see that they had, indeed arrived at the Toronto address she had been given. Handing the man a brightly colored bill (pink, she noted absently--what denomination was "pink" again?) she told him to wait and entered the building. Arriving at the appropriate apartment, Dianne took a deep breath and knocked smartly. As the door opened she announced in her best professional manner, "I have a delivery for a Mr. Cruz?" Prepared or not, LaCroix was quite an experience in person. Looking directly into those penetrating eyes, she just managed to keep from taking a step backwards. "Your package." She handed the carrier to him. "A pleasure doing business with you, 'Mr. Cruz'," she said with an inflection that made it clear she knew just who she was dealing with. "Should you need any further assistance, please feel free to contact me again." Dianne turned to go quickly, not wanting to reveal just how much the vampire's steady gaze was unsettling her. "But you've forgotten your tip." The smooth voice tugged at Dianne's senses. She _knew_ better than to turn around; the promises suggested by those sounds were far too dangerous to try to collect on. she told herself, Her mind kept a hold of the reality of the situation just long enough to realize that her body had already betrayed her. She was turned towards him, gazing into those eyes, as her own heartbeat echoed in her ears... And the words he spoke seemed to come from within her own mind... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* As she opened the cab door, Dianne paused for a moment and shook her head to clear out the faint sense of vertigo. She'd been spacing, she realized. Walking on auto pilot with her mind miles away. , she berated herself silently, Getting into the cab she gave the driver directions to the house Sara had arranged for the Mercs. , she reassured herself as she settled back against the seat. She'd made the drop: one gray cat, left with the manager... Ms.... Oh _whatever_ her name was! It didn't really matter. Here it was only a few minutes later and she could hardly even _remember_ the woman anyway. Dianne sighed. ************************************************************* Getting There is Half the Fun by Diane Sudduth, Amy, Valerie, and Jennie "I can't believe we're doing this," Amy said as she rifled through their tape bag for a new driving tape. "I can," Diane said, grinning as she glanced at Amy. "It seems very normal to do things like this since I met you. Not that I didn't do crazy things before that... And just imagine! Being *in* an episode of FK! What fun!" "No, I mean, one, we're *driving*... Of course, that gives us transportation in Toronto... Like we need it with the Toronto public transport system... And, mainly, I mean, I *expected* to go with Valerie and Jennie, but now we're not only bringing a Die-Hard along, we're letting you *drive*." She cast an ever-so-slightly malicious glance at the Die-Hard at the wheel and added, "Of course, this way, only *your* lovely, relatively new (at least it still *smells* new), charcoal gray Mazda will be at risk in traffic there rather than our cars." She grinned evilly as Diane turned a glare on her. "Oh! Here's the first Indianapolis turnoff." Amy pointed, hoping to change the subject. Diane's look indicated that the comment was not going to be forgotten, but she turned her attention to navigating the roads leading to the airport. This time Jennie had arrived first and was waiting for them. It was only about half an hour before Diane's car was repacked, Jennie's safely parked in the Indy airport long- term lot, and the three were on the road. "Now remember," Jennie said with a giggle, "we need to stop for food *before* we hit that vast wasteland after Indianapolis." "True," Amy agreed. They stopped at what turned out to be the last fast food island before the stretch of nothing that lay between Indianapolis and Columbus, and arrived at Valerie's house at 2:00 am or so. The next morning they were on the road by 9:30, with Diane's car repacked yet again and more full than anyone dreamed possible with luggage, costumes, and other useful paraphernalia. "I can't believe we only got five hours of sleep," Valerie said brightly. "You are just too chipper under the circumstances," Diane protested. "Oh, it won't last long," Valerie assured her. "Oh, and thanks for letting me in the front seat guys. I'm much less likely to get carsick this way. I might even be able to stay awake and not carsick." "I'm not carsick because I'm *driving*," Diane commented. "Holographic images and back seats. Both really get to me!" "Hey, and I can't see the 3D magic pictures," Valerie rejoined. "No one's perfect." "It's morning," Amy mumbled by way of clumsy explanation to Valerie's claim, her voice muffled by the pillow which she always traveled with--even on airplanes--and with which she was currently snuggling in the back seat. "I never even woke up yet." "Like that's unusual," Jennie teased, poking her gently in the side to try and tickle her. "Watch it or I'll come and tickle you when you're too tired to still have defenses against it," the fuzzy voice-like sound retorted. Several hours later, Diane said, "We need to make a stop soon. Keep an eye out for a good place, okay?" "Yeah, we need to find food. I'm getting hungry," Jennie concurred. "I think I'm a little hungry too," Amy added, lifting her head slightly from her pillow. "Of course you are," Valerie chastised from the front seat. "You didn't eat breakfast!" "Well, no. Sleep was *much* more important than *food*. Like that's a surprise." "At least you'll eat well for once while we're in Toronto. Staying with a FoD means we'll *all* eat well," Jennie grinned, then frowned slightly. "Hey, our host doesn't have cats, does he? I brought Benadryl just in case of various allergens and pollens and such, but if there are cats, I won't have enough drugs." "I don't' think there are cats," Amy thought out loud. "Hey, do FoDs and FoSsiLs get along? I mean, I guess they would, the FoSsiLs could feed on the crumbs and scraps. Don't you think?" "Quote list!" Valerie crowed. "Jennie, hand over the laptop!" Jennie gave it to her, giggling. "Don't you love how I'm using it to diligently write the tutorial for the Methods Database at work? I wonder I they'll question me borrowing it if I come back with very little done. I mean, it's not like I'm going to have much *real* time between filming stuff and Toronto stuff." "Naawww," Diane reassured, grinning, "they'll *never* notice... Oh, here' s a good Feed Stop. Let's get off. How far out are we, by the way?" "I think we're less than an hour from Detroit," Valerie said, scanning their surroundings. "Hey, that means we're only an hour, hour and a half from Canada!" Jennie enthused. "Canada?" Amy looked up dazedly again. "Oh. We're stopping. Are we in Canada already?" "No, Amy," Diane said patiently as Valerie typed furiously. "We're getting food." "Oh. Yeah. And let's make *sure* this place has no smoke. I *HATE* smoke. I don't want to be anywhere *near* smoke. I won't be able to breathe and it will make me *cranky*." Amy frowned expansively at the very thought of smoke-filled restaurants, hair, sweaters, papers, and the like. "Me, too," Jennie said. "I don't care for it either," Valerie agreed, looking up from the respectable beginning of a quote list on the computer display in her lap. "You know," Jennie commented, "I think Sharon hates smoke too. That's a sizable chunk of the NatPack who despise cigarette smoke. Interesting." "Yeah," Diane agreed, "Interesting. But this Die-Hard hates smoke too." * * * "What time is it?" Diane asked. "About 6:00," Jennie said. "Hey, we're making really good time," Amy bounced. "Does anyone remember what airline Sharon's coming in on?" Diane asked as the Toronto exit signs began to proliferate. "Yeah, she's flying United," Valerie said. "And we're getting close. The airport turnoff is the other way from the Regal Constellation but at basically the same exit. Yeah, right up there." "Has anyone thought about how we're going to get a fifth person and a fifth person's stuff into my car?" Diane asked. "We could tie Sharon to the top of the car," Jennie offered. "Or drag her along behind," Amy added. "Come on, guys, you shouldn't pick on members of your own faction like that," Diane teased. "Watch us," the other three chorused in perfect unison. It only took an hour and a half to get Sharon from the airport and stuffed in the car between Amy and Jennie. No one had any remaining leg or lap room with Sharon's stuff and the other four's soft items stuffed around the floor and balanced on everyone's knees, but the mood in the car reflected the general hilarity of gathering mentality. "Hey, Sharon, how are the cats and monkeys?" Jennie demanded first thing. "They're fine. Causing trouble in turns, but mostly fine. The biggest problem right now is that I'm trying to write my dissertation and the program I'm trying to use won't work." "Oh, you didn't get ahold of that virus I got on my computer, did you?" Amy asked. "Dunno. It's just not working. Dunno why, dunno how to make it. It's making me nuts." "Well, that's good about the critters but rotten about the program. It's a good thing you didn't ride up with us," Jennie giggled. "We stopped at Denny's and they had a special on the turkey and dressing that they were doing as an experiment for their Thanksgiving platter. Two of us got it... You would have had to go sit somewhere else." "If I could have even stood to even be *in* the Denny's! I can't *stand* dressing--even the smell of it. Yuck!" Sharon made an elaborate face to go along with her proclamation. "It's the cow blood face! I'm not the *only* one who makes the cow blood face!" Amy shouted. "How far to the FoD house?" "Not far," Valerie said, "I think we turn here." They wound through the very familiar-looking streets for a bit and arrived before it was too terribly late. The accumulated luggage of the five of them filled the entire floor of their host's living room. They settled in to relax after their trips and catch their breaths before heading out to the Toronto night life. Suddenly, Amy opened the eyes she'd been resting and asked, "Does anyone know when we're supposed to show up on the set... Or even where the set *is*?" They all looked at each other blankly, then burst into giggles. Jennie gasped through her laughter, "But we're *NatPackers*; we only *think* we know what we're doing." When they got control again, Valerie said practically, "We'll go see Nat tomorrow then. She'll have to know." ************************************************************* Message from Nick (1) by Sandra Gray After writing to Mr. P. and Nick, Sandra started to scan her other messages. A "beep" of the computer signaled another incoming message and she saw it was from Nick. She called it up and read it. ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 19:40 From: NicKnight@aol.com To: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu Subject: RE: Message from JP Dear Sandra, Hi! I was just going to write you. Yes, I saw the message from Mr. P on the list. That "unnamed sponsor" bit sounds suspicious to me too. Please let me know as soon as you hear anything back from Mr. P. If his message is *not* a hoax, it's certainly possible that LaCroix is trying to control Forever Knight directly. Of course it's also possible that the war rumors have been one big April Fool's joke. :) Guess what I had today... Chocolate! Nick Knight April Fool! ;) ------------------------------------------------------------- Sandra smiled a little. Then she sobered. she thought. ************************************************************* Message from Nick (2) by Sandra Gray It didn't take long for Sandra to hear back from Nick about her second letter to him Only about ten minutes. ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: April 1, 1995 21:09 From: NicKnight@aol.com To: tmp_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu Subject: RE: Not a Hoax! Dear Sandra, Thanks for sending me the information that the message from JP on the list was legitimate. Guess it explains why things have been so quiet. And after I got all that time off from work too! Not that it's not nice to have a vacation, but... :) Just to be on the safe side, I think I'll stay off work for the next week. If nothing happens, I guess we can assume that some mischief is planned for the filming. I'll also try to check into who the "unnamed sponsor" of the filming might be. Speaking of the filming, please tell the rest of my followers that I will help with their expenses to come to Toronto for the filming this summer (if anyone needs that kind of help). Write and let me know who's coming and I'll make arrangements for everyone to stay in one place. Who knows, by then I might actually be able to eat some Chocolate! Nick Knight ------------------------------------------------------------- Well, it was nice to know that Nick was willing to help his contingent get to Toronto for the filming (if necessary). She dashed off a note of appreciation to him. Then Sandra decided to send a message off to her fellow Knighties about the recent developments. ************************************************************* Message to the Knight by Ron the Enforcer Romulus dialed Nick's beeper and left the number at the loft so he'd get a callback. Yeah, it *was* getting close to dawn and Nick technically would be home soon. However, Perri's information was not exactly something that could wait for Nick to get home. He needed this information while he was still in the field and someplace where he could act on it. The phone rang. "Romulus grabbed it before it could ring a second time. "Nick?" He asked. "Yeah, what's up?" "Perri called. She told me she thinks Stonetree's murder fits the MO of other killings of high-ranking police officials elsewhere in the country." "Really? Anything you can follow up on?" "Yeah. I'll get on-line to Metro's databases and see what they have on those other murders she mentioned. I'll have all the information waiting for you when you get home." "Nice having a hacker for a roommate." "Thanks," Romulus grinned then asked. "Hey, do me a favor. Pick up some bottles of Red Wolf ale on your way home. Hanging out by this machine is, uh, thirsty work..." Nick groaned. "Okay," he acquiesced. "What are you moaning about? I *could* have asked you for some Chinese take-out-" "I don't *do* take out anymore.. At least not *that* kind!" "Yeah, I know." A beat. "Nick, Lucien was right about one thing. You just aren't any *fun* anymore!" Nick hung up the phone without another word. Romulus grinned. He knew he promised to be good but there were just some times when he couldn't contain himself. He got right to work getting the information Nick needed about the related homicides... ************************************************************* Knightie Roll Call by Perri Smith She really didn't want to go check her e-mail. It would involve leaving the apartment and schlepping four blocks to campus. But if she didn't, the mail would be unspeakable tomorrow. Sometimes, she was tempted to chuck the whole e-mail thing but, since it would involve chucking the vast majority of her friends at the same time, not to mention her link to Nick, she shoved a few disks in her pocket and left the apartment. She sighed as she locked the door behind her. It ocurred to her that she was doing a lot of that lately. Job hunting will do that to you. She reached the computer lab safely, muttering under her breath about South Central streets, and opened telnet to check her mail. Usual stuff--DDEB2, loiscla, dsouth-l, forkni-l, fkfic (although not much of those, she wondered what was up with the server). She forwarded a couple of messages to the Mutant Forum, answered one of Abby's standard one-line posts, then spotted the message from Sandra. "Toronto? Nick's sending us to Toronto to be in an episode?" Several heads turned at the squeal, but most of the other night lab denizens ignored her. She tried to quiet down, and started reading between the lines of the message. *Something suspicious, huh? Enough that Nick actually _wants_ us there. Must really be wierd... Well, they know I'm in. Hope the Times understands -- they did let me go to Boston...* It took only a few seconds to type the response to Sandra. ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: TMP_harkins@dirac.physics.jmu.edu From: ksmith@scf.usc.edu Subject: Premiere ep I'm in. Perri ------------------------------------------------------------- She sent it off and started mentally packing. ************************************************************* Idle Hands by Dianne T. DeSha Dianne sat glumly on the couch at Merc Central, debating whether to run out to one of the nearby coffee shops and get another fancy hot cocoa. _Then_ she could mope in public--oh terrific! she thought [hmmm... "mournfully?"... Nah... "Morosely"... No, no! lousy thesaurus!... Oh, _here_ we go...] dejectedly, stroking Ramona's head. No, this was ridiculous! she announced [apparently to the cat, as no one else seems to be around. (Unless Maureen the Mad is lurking somewhere in the back)] She had accomplished her first commission (quite cleverly, she thought) and had another in the wings, but she was just getting antsy sitting here with nothing to do. Moving the purring cat gently to the couch she paced to the desk [wondering idly if you _could_ technically "pace" while moving in only one direction]. She logged on and immediately spotted Sara's return to the fray. (That's funny, she thought, I wonder when she was here? I must have just missed her). Reading her fellow Merc's announcement only stiffened her own resolve. "O.K. that's it! I'm done sitting on the sidelines and waiting to be invited in. Time to strike out on my own!" she exclaimed [after several, increasingly dramatic revisions, and without benefit of an editor's sensible restraint]. "If I can't get more people to hire me to work for them, I'll make them pay me to leave them alone," she said [to no one in particular--she's just done too much "thinking" aloud; might as well start talking to herself, too] with a devilish grin on her face. She called up the saved email folder, the one she'd started months ago when the war was first announced, the one she kept adding to as she read through the posts to ForKni-L...the one she'd simply entitled [drumroll, please, Anton!] ..."ammo." [esc] :w :r "melodramatic pause border" *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. "Oh, Drat!" she said [since the censors refused to approve what she was _thinking_], "Most of this dirt is on Darkangel... How can you blackmail or publicly embarrass *her*?" "Besides," she added hastily, "I would _never_ just attack another Merc!" Or, not for _free_ she thought to herself [so what does _she_ know?]. "Let's see," she continued [to herself--I mean, the _cats_ don't care!]. "Cousin James?... Nah, same problem. Cousin Caile? Cousin Candice?... Nah, I've already annoyed the Cousins; wouldn't want to be accused of being biased or anything. I mean, Mercs are just Die-Hards with an attitude, right? Hmm... Now _there's_ a thought..." No one seemed to be giving the Die-Hards any grief yet. And if all else failed, well maybe she'd just use her twisted little imagination to _create_ a little random mayhem... She continued to scan through her file until a smirk rose ["rose"? "rose" from where ?] to her face and she started to sing softly "I _enjoy_ being a Merc..." ************************************************************* Discovery - The Benefits of the Graveyard Shift by Heather Parks and Vicki Merriman Heather finished typing her research paper, just in time to have some fun looking at next year's proposed scripts. The one good thing about working the Night Shift was lots of computer time. It had been mentioned on-line which network JP was hooked up to and that was all she needed. She wasn't as good as half the people she knew at hacking but her friend Cramer had offered to walk her through it. Heather started reading the developed scripts and went through several of them before it hit her how strange these scripts were. She started skimming faster. There was no doubt about it. Over the course of the episodes LaCroix was slowly winning Nick over to vampirism again. She cringed as she read a part where Nick was drinking human blood from a glass, "It really tastes better fresh from the source, doesn't it LaCroix? A microwave just isn't the same." Heather immediately forwarded the scripts (breaking numerous federal laws but after all, this was war). ------------------------------------------------------------- To: All Die-Hards, FoDs, Natpackers and Knighties From: Heather Parks My friend helped me get the third season scripts and there is a real problem with them. Who is this mysterious backer and is it possible that he is responsible? This is a total change from Mr. P.'s previous direction that he wanted the show to take. I also notice that Nick and Natalie are still close, but Natalie seems to be coming closer to taking "a blood oath." If the backer is responsible, we need to regain control of the scripts. Balance must be maintained. ------------------------------------------------------------- ************************************************************* Sandra Arrives in Toronto by Sandra Gray Sandra picked up her luggage and walked through the terminal. She scanned the people for Nick, but didn't see him. "Hi," came a male voice from behind her right ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Sandra turned to see Romulus--Ron the Enforcer--standing there. She let out a sigh. "Gosh, you scared me," she said. Romulus smiled, his eyes twinkling slightly behind the tinted aviator glasses. At least she *thought* they twinkled. She wasn't exactly sure. "Sorry," he said. But Sandra had the distinct impression that he wasn't sorry at all. Sandra had met Romulus in New York in the last war. He hadn't changed, but then he was a vampire so he *wouldn't* change. His trim form was clad in tight leather and he had a Stetson pulled down over his dark hair. He didn't tower over people like Nick or LaCroix, being only about an inch taller than her... Maybe 5'8". But there was a leashed animal quality about him that she imagined made people think twice about messing with him. Sandra swallowed and asked, "Where's Nick?" "He had to work. Don't worry, though. He'll have time off for the filming. He asked me to come pick you up." Sandra was slightly disappointed that Nick couldn't make it. She'd been looking forward to riding with him in his Caddy. "You got all your stuff?" asked Romulus. Sandra focused on the vampire again and nodded. Then she wondered how she was going to get to the safe house Nick had secured for her and her fellow Knighties. She had a sudden vision of herself being flown through the air by Romulus. Romulus smiled again and said, "Let me take that." He took her suitcase. Then he walked for the exit. Sandra followed. He smiled once more at her and hailed a taxi. Minutes later they were on their way. "Is anyone else here yet?" asked Sandra. "No. You're the first," replied Romulus. The cab wound its way through the city and into a university district. "I don't know if I should be staying with the others." "Why?" "Well, Bruce is a Die-Hard." "So? Why isn't he with you?" "Amanda, our daughter, doesn't get out of school for the year until June the ninth. Bruce couldn't get that much time off from work. And we didn't want her to have to miss school." "So he's coming up after she gets out?" "Yeah. He'll be leaving Amanda with my mother and flying up. Nick didn't tell you any of this?" "Yeah." Romulus grinned. Before long, the cab pulled up in front of a large house. Romulus paid the driver and we got out. He gestured with his free hand and said, "Well, what do you think?" "It certainly looks big enough," said Sandra. Romulus started up the walk, Sandra following. "We've put in defenses in case of trouble. And I had my friend Dragutin put some magic wards on the place." "Dragutin is going to be around?" "No, he's got other things to do. He might be available in case of emergency. But I think Nick and I will be able to handle things." Romulus set down her suitcase and unlocked the door of the house. Then he picked it up again and walked inside. Sandra followed him into a living room, where he set down her suitcase again. "You can have your choice of rooms. As far as your... Husband's concerned, there's no sensitive information here and since he's a Die-Hard, he shouldn't be wanting to damage our defenses." Sandra, who had been examining a painting on the wall, looked at him. "No, he wouldn't," she said, a bit irritated that he would suggest such a thing. Romulus smiled. "Hey, don't get all bent over it!" he said. "Seriously, you don't have to be worried about it. He can find something to do if we have to discuss strategy." He gestured toward the hall. "Come on and show me what room you want." He picked up her suitcase again and waited expectantly. Sandra walked into the hall and started up the stairs, Romulus following. She was not exactly comfortable being alone in a house with an ancient vampire. They had conversed by e-mail and she'd learned a bit about him--such as the fact he was LaCroix's "brother" in darkness (his sire was the same as LaCroix's sire)--his *older* brother. And that there was no love lost between the two. She also knew Nick had extracted a promise from Romulus that he wouldn't try to "charm" any of the Knighties. Not that he would ever be interested in her. She was no great beauty with her light red hair, freckles, and large-lensed glasses. Besides, she was married. At that moment, she wished Bruce was there. But she had needed to be on hand for the start of filming. Sandra selected a room near the front of the house and Romulus put her suitcase on the king-sized bed. "I'll let you unpack. After that, we can go out and get something to eat or send out for food," he said. Then he left her. Sandra unpacked, hoping that some of the other Knighties would get to Toronto soon. ************************************************************* Open For Business by Maureen Wynn Maureen was suffering from serious eye-strain. After being incommunicado (isn't that just a wonderful word?) for so long, catching up on her email had taken her much longer than she had anticipated. Rubbing her eyes, she took another sip from her Diet Coke, and looked out the window, thinking. Turning back to her keyboard, she composed a note to go out: ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: June 5, 1995 2:57 From: Maureen the Mad To: FORKNI-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subject: Open For Business Greetings, all! Having ended my previous entanglements, I am now ready and willing to take any commissions from anyone who has need of certain... Talents. No job too big, no job too small! Juries suborned, tickets fixed, virtue defiled, taxes cheated, reputations defamed, innocence lost, death defied, politicians bought, elections rigged, money laundered, wills broken, lost things found, found things lost, will fix what's broke, and break what's fixed! Interested? Call now! (p.s. We also walk dogs) Fees negotiable, references upon request. ------------------------------------------------------------- Maureen looked over the message, wondering if she should make any changes. she thought. Disregarding her doubts, she sent off the message into the net. Considering her other messages, she decide to send off a couple more notes, one, an offer of help to a comrade who seemed to be in trouble, and the second to her favorite Knightie, offering to pay back the favor she owed. She gazed thoughtfully at the glowing screen, wondering if she had any bait that would make those lines more tempting... (To bring this analogy to it's completely ludicrous conclusion!). ************************************************************* Random Acts (1) by Diane Echelbarger Nat answered the door just as the bell rang for the second time. "Natalie Lambert?" the delivery man asked. "Sign here, please." "There must be some mistake", she told him. "I'm not expecting a delivery." The man shrugged. "Hey, I just deliver 'em, lady. The name and address are right." Puzzled, she signed the receipt and took the box he handed her. It was unexpectedly heavy, shaped like an old fashioned hat box, and covered in paisley patterned fabric. She closed the door and sat the box on her dining room table. There was no delivery label, no indication of who had sent it. She lifted the lid. A mass of iridescent mylar strips expanded outward, and she pulled them aside, then began removing the things they cushioned. Three different scented soaps, a natural sponge, two bubble baths, a jar of bath crystals, a hardwood nail brush, a jar of bath oil beads, a loofa--- The box was crammed with the most incredible assortment of luxury bath products she'd seen outside of a specialty store. She burrowed deeper into the box. Herbal body moisturizer, a pumice stone, chamomile shampoo, lilac scented talc, four mineral bath packets--- Sidney jumped up on the table and pounced on the packing strips, rolling onto his back and raking at the shiny mass with both hind feet. As she tried to take the slippery tangle away from him, a small envelope dropped to the floor. She abandoned the mylar to its fate and picked up the envelope. Nothing written on the outside. The card was an ordinary gift enclosure, "For You" in gold script across a paisley ground. The inside was blank. ************************************************************* Investigations and Recriminations by Amy Hull, Jennie Hayes, Di Sudduth, and Valerie Meachum Natalie sat at her computer, tapping abstractedly on the keyboard, as the group of NatPackers, accompanied by Di, entered the lab. "Hi. Come on in, make yourselves at home," she said without looking up, "I'll be done in a few minutes." "Cool!" Amy enthused, looking around. Most of the group looked equally curious, and they began examining various instruments about the lab, poking into whatever cabinets captured their interest. Sharon and Selma even dared to open the drawers while Jennie looked through a cabinet. After poking about a bit and latching onto some rib spreaders, Amy hitched herself up onto one of the exam tables. With her feet swinging off the edge, she fidgeted with the spreaders while watching the others as they examined everything. Diane picked up a scalpel that was laying on a prepared tray and turned, holding it in the air with a broad grin on her face. "My friend Beth says these are the *best* for craft projects!" she proclaimed delightedly. "Di, I'm staying away from you." Valerie said, also smiling. She then looked dubiously at the pillaging the others were engaging in and began, "Uh, guys... Do you really think we should be messing with--" She interrupted herself as she spied the black corner of a notebook peeking out from under a stack of papers on a filing cabinet. Discretely slipping over to the cabinet, she slid the book out and began leafing through Natalie's notes. "*Ahem*." Jennie slammed closed the door of the cabinet, and, like the others, looked toward the sound. Grace had just entered the lab and was looking at them with one eyebrow raised. "What *are* you doing?" she queried. "It's okay, Grace. They're waiting for me to finish this." Nat called, eyes still glued to the computer and fingers tapping furiously now. "Waiting? Looks more like ransacking to me." Now Nat looked up. "Oh. Well, I did tell them to make themselves at home. They seem to be good at taking orders." Jennie immediately turned to Sharon. "I'll have a cheeseburger, extra onion..." "Only if you get it yourself," Sharon retorted. Grace was still looking quite dubious about this obvious intrusion into what she clearly considered as much *her* lab as Natalie did. "They're friends, Grace," Nat consoled. Grace seemed to be more pleased at this statement and began to relax. "Look, I'm basically done, and I need to have a talk." The set of her jaw for that moment did not bode well. "Grace, why don't you take these three of our guests," Natalie indicated Di, Sharon, and Selma, "on a tour of the building. I'm sure they'd be interested." "Oh, yeah!!!" Di grinned enthusiastically, "That would be great! Please!?!" "Oh, yes," Selma chimed in. "We *have* to see the labs!" Grace smiled at their excitement, "I suppose that could be arranged. Come on, I'll show you around." She smiled and gestured for them to follow her. Sharon leaned over and whispered to Jennie, "I didn't realize you'd already had the tour." "I haven't," Jennie said, a bit nervously. "Hmmm." Sharon looked rather amused and sympathetic. "Good luck, you guys," she said a bit louder as she followed Grace out. As soon as they were through the door, Natalie turned a look of pure annoyance on the three remaining NatPackers. She snatched the black notebook from Valerie and frowned disapprovingly. "Are you sure you should have that so accessible?" Valerie asked, returning the look of disapproval. Natalie quickly stashed the book safely away and turned back to the three fidgeting NatPackers. "Ladies, I think we need to have a talk about glitter," she said, her voice taking on that particular quality that it only had when she was well and truly angry. "Oh, you know about that, huh?" Valerie asked, chagrined. "Well, I suspected there was something a little odd, then I got a call from Janette." "But she wasn't even there!" Jennie blurted, turning bright red as Nat turned a glare full on her. "*Goooood*, Jennie," Amy said quietly, then saw Nat's glare turn on her and looked down, "Sorry," she said, even more quietly. "What were you *thinking*? We are not here to antagonize anyone, least of all Janette!" Nat was looking more disappointed than annoyed by this point. Jennie was still quite pink and Amy looked as though she was trying to vanish while carefully studying her hands. "Oh. Did you catch it for this?" Valerie asked. "That's not the point," she replied briefly. "If you took the heat for us it's the point. What did she *say* to you, anyway?" Valerie asked. "Enough. I want to hear *your* explanation." "Well," Valerie volunteered softly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. We weren't really thinking much; I had just been doused with water and locked in a bathroom." "And they stole her suitcase," Amy added, looking up for the first time in a couple of minutes. "It was really all my fault. I came up with the idea to get them back." "It was *not* all your fault; *I* came up with the vegetable oil and the glitter. I even suggested putting the oil in the ketchup bottles," Jennie protested. "Well, you guys never would have done anything if it wasn't for me. "You were having second thoughts and I insisted that we had to make things even," Valerie insisted. "So it's really *my* fault." Nat had been looking between them like they were hitting a ping pong ball around, and her amusement had been warring with the stern expression she was trying to maintain. A slight sound escaped her as she attempted to contain her laughter, and Jennie turned to her with a concerned expression. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You guys are as bad as Nick!" she burst out, laughing out loud. "As bad as *Nick*, huh?" Amy commented, looking pointedly at Nat. "Well, almost. But *anyway*, I don't want any more trouble, or I'll send you guys to Nick and make him put you in protective custody," Nat grinned. They all laughed and then turned as the tour group came back in, chattering excitedly about what they had seen. "I see you three survived," Sharon commented. Jennie, Amy, and Valerie smiled a bit sheepishly and Amy quickly put in, "So how was the tour?" The three who had been shown around started chatting animatedly about their experiences and the other three NatPackers breathed a sigh of relief that they were basically off the hook. Jennie resumed looking around and leaned over Nat's desk curiously. Soon she picked up a report that was laying on top of the In box. "Hey, this looks like soap. What'd you have analyzed?" Amy leaned over her shoulder, "That gibberish is soap? Oh yeah, I kind of remember some of that from Org. Chem. It's been just too long though; I'd have never recognized it on my own." "Oh, that. It was nothing," Nat said dismissively. "A couple of months ago, I got a strange package. It wasn't signed and I wasn't sure if it was safe to use. So I've been checking the stuff out a little at a time. I think that was the last one." "So what was it?" Sharon asked. "Bath supplies," Nat said, shrugging. "Someone sent me really nice bath soaps and oils, and they were all real. Kinda strange. I don't know who would do that." "Well, you know, Nat, men *do* sometimes take a second look at you," Di teased. Natalie actually blushed. ************************************************************* Knightie Conference by Sandra Gray Sandra looked around at the Knighties assembled in the living room. Some of them she recognized from previous Wars: Perri Smith, Sharon Scott, Ava Chan-Crowder, Linda Roth, Pat Kong, and Amy Denton. She had an episode idea involving Amy, but they could discuss that in more detail later. There were also some new Knighties in attendance at the meeting: Vicky Bratton, Nancy Duemling, Crystal Guffey, Abby Albrecht (or was Abby involved in the last War?), and a couple of others whose names she couldn't recall at the moment. Nick was also in the room, seated in a chair slightly apart from the main gathering. And keeping a watchful eye from his position standing near the front window was Ron the Enforcer. "First, I'd like to thank Nick for providing this house and other assistance to us so that we can be here for this filming." There were scattered murmurs and clapping. "As you all know, this headquarters has been fitted with ordinary defenses in case of any trouble and with... Magical defenses courtesy of our... Ally Ron the Enforcer's mage friend, Dragutin." There was a more subdued grateful reaction to that piece of news, as Ron inclined his head to the group. "Everyone knows how to avoid tripping the magic wards?" asked Sandra, although she was sure everyone understood how to enter by the front door. Silence greeted her question. "Okay. Nick, what have you been able to find out about the 'unnamed sponsor' of the third season?" asked Sandra. "The production secretary didn't have any information on that as the deal was apparently made in California. But, as you all know, I was able to get an advance copy of the third season premiere script." Sandra and the other Knighties looked at the copy of the script that they each held. "Well, this script confirms the rumors we've heard and our suspicions, I think," said Sandra. "Karin and Jennise," said Perri. There were other murmurings as the other Knighties leafed through the script. "It's awful," said Abby. "Why would LaCroix want to do something like this?" asked Crystal. "Well, he attempted to replace Forever Knight with his own version one time. Another time he cast a spell on the actor who plays LaCroix to make those with Cousin tendencies decide to follow him. My guess is he doesn't like how LaCroix is portrayed and wants to gain more followers," said Sandra. "But Mr. P. must not be fond of the idea or he wouldn't have opened the filming to listmembers' input. We have our work cut out for us." Some discussion of the script and comments on its contents followed. Finally Sandra said, "So we're agreed. We have to try to come up with scenes that put the series Nick in a good light and make LaCroix look bad or at least ridiculous." "And the Cousins?" asked Vicky. "Well, we can make efforts to rewrite or alter some of their scenes. Some of you have video skills that we can make use of if necessary." "What about the other factions?" asked Perri. "Well, I'm hoping they won't do anything that puts Nick in a bad light, but if they do... Our goal should be to see that Nick stays the hero of the episode." Nick cleared his throat and said, "Well, maybe we should just try to keep to the show's previous standards." "Okay," said Sandra, although she didn't see any difference. "The scenes by *any* faction that keep him in a favorable light or make sense to the episode are usable by us." Sandra paused. "Come up with good scenes. A lot can happen in three weeks of filming. I guess that's it for now." The group began to split up, people pairing off in smaller groups to discuss the script and their ideas for scenes in it. Sandra walked over to Nick, who rose from his chair. "We'll do what we can to see that the series isn't substantially altered in its focus. But if things start looking bad, I may have an idea to run by you." Nick frowned. "What?" "I want to see how things go first. My idea might not be necessary." "Well, I've got vacation for the next three weeks so I or Ron will always be available to consult with." Sandra glanced over at Ron, then smiled at Nick. "Great," she said. ************************************************************* They Have Me Doing What? by Perri Smith Sandra and Nick's chat was interrupted by a loud howl of rage, worthy of a vampire, Nick thought absently. Everyone in the room turned to look at Perri, who was holding a script in her hand and yelling furiously, if unintelligibly. She was certainly angry about something. Amy and Nancy tried to calm her down, but backed away when it only seemed to make her angrier. Abby didn't bother to try, just stayed out of firing range. Ron finally resorted to yelling. "Quiet!" Perri shut up, clenching her jaw and looking as if she would start again any minute, with Ron as an easily available target. Nick jumped in before blood could be shed. "Perri, what's wrong?" "Act. Three." She said it tightly, rage in every taut muscle in her face. Her changeable eyes were hard, steely gray. Nick picked up his copy of the script and leafed through it. "Let's see, karaoke night, you're just in from Houston, talking to Scottie... Oh." "Oh," she mimicked nastily. "They have me singing. Let me rephrase, *he* has me singing. Hank Williams. "There's a Tear in my Beer." Twang and all." "I thought you liked country?" Abby ventured hesitantly. "Modern country," Perri gritted out through clenched teeth. "Not this crap! I hate Hank Williams with every breath of air in my body! And they've got me singing that stupid song! No way! This is WAR!!!!!" "Calm down, Perri," Nick advised, trying not to laugh. "It's just one scene in the show. How bad can it be?" She smiled nastily in his direction. "Oh really. Check out Act Four, in the prison. You and LaCroix... Excuse me, Inspector Cross." He flipped the pages warily, warned by the look on her face. Sandra looked over his shoulder. Together, they started to read. Nick's face got progressively darker as he went through the scene, and Sandra looked close to the state Perri was in by the time they were finished. "They're making him look like an idiot!" Sandra said. Perri considered a smart aleck comment, opened her mouth to deliver it, and rethought at Nick's glare. She settled for, "Well, it's only one scene. How bad could it be?" Nick glared again, but had to acknowledge the point. By now, most of the Knighties had read the scene. No one looked happy except Ron, who was trying not to laugh. One chortle slipped out and about ten pairs of eyes looked daggers at him. He choked back the next one, but couldn't keep the grin from spreading over his face. He knew it was serious... But it was also funny! "We have to do something," Amy said. "We will," Perri answered. "I've already got one thing planned," Sandra said. "So do I," Perri responded. "Everyone, we've got five hours to do rewrites." "I'll do the prison scene if you do the karaoke." "Oh, I will..." Perri's voice was grim as she answered Sandra. "I will." A sneaky smile spread over her face. Fortunately, no one saw it. ************************************************************* Stage Fright (1) by Sandra Gray with input from Amy Denton "I don't know if I can do this," said Amy. "You'll be fine," said Sandra in what she hoped was an encouraging tone. She smiled and added, "Just think--you get to smooch a really cute guy." Amy rolled her eyes. "Please! I haven't been able to think of anything else!" "Sorry. Well, you won't have glasses on. Just imagine he's your boyfriend." "It's going to be awful, I know it." "You'll be fine." Amy put her hand to the long-haired red wig she wore. "This wig is going to fall off." "No, it's not. But if it does, they'll just reshoot the scene." Amy groaned. "Why did I let you talk me into this?" Sandra frowned. "Are you sorry you agreed to do the scene?" Amy sighed, then smiled. "No, I guess not." She looked over to where Geraint Wyn Davies was talking with the director. "At least I'll have something to remember." "No doubt of that," said Sandra. "Getting to kiss Nick... Well, at least someone who's a pretty passable copy." She sighed. "Okay, we're ready for the scene," said Mr. L. "Amy Denton? Where's Amy?" "Looks like your cue." Amy took a deep breath and rose. Then she walked out into the set of Sandra Gray's "apartment". "Okay, we'll do a run through to check the lights and blocking," said the director. Sandra watched as Amy and Ger ran through the scene. Amy still seemed a bit nervous. When it came time for them to kiss, Ger did an exaggerated pucker and Amy giggled. As he grinned, the director said, "C'mon, Ger!" But Amy seemed a little more relaxed after that. They went through the kissing scene (sans the fangs), then the director said, "Okay, let's shoot it." A woman checked Amy's appearance. She tucked in a strand of brown hair that had escaped the wig and took Amy's glasses. Amy looked a tad overwhelmed, but when the director told her and Ger to take their positions, she obeyed. Everyone was quiet as the scene was filmed. It was filmed in two separate shots--the "human" Nick parts followed by the "vamped" Nick parts. It looked kind of odd out of order like that. The director took several takes of each, then pronounced that the scene was in the can. Ger smiled, then moved off to divest himself of the "vampire." Amy remained on the couch. Sandra walked over to her. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" "No," sighed Amy. ************************************************************* I Need A Few Good Mercs... by Cousin Candice ------------------------------------------------------------- Job Requirements: Must have good aim Strong like bull *grin* [Russian peasant woman filter OFF] Sneaky Underhanded Sure-footed Fearless--like your employer *even bigger grin* Job Description: Must move semi-fragile, but highly dangerous materials from the back of a truck... RESPOND ASAP!!!! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!!!! Yours, Candice--obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, Cousin by choice Toreador by default winter@jbx.com ------------------------------------------------------------- ************************************************************* Stage Fright (2) by Sandra Gray Sandra looked at the set of "Nick's" apartment. It was amazing how much it resembled the *real* thing. She smoothed suddenly wet palms over her skirt. "Don't worry, Sandra, you'll do fine," said Amy, smiling. Sandra wondered if her similar encouragement to Amy when she filmed her scene had sounded just as hollow in Amy's ears. Sandra thought. "I'm going to blow it," she said to Amy. "I talk too fast when I'm nervous and slur my words together. They'll need fifty takes." "No, they won't," Amy assured me. Sandra told herself. "Okay, we're ready for a run through. Miss Gray?" said Mr. L. "Mrs. Gray," said Sandra. She went through the scene with Ger, who did his best to put her at ease. Then the makeup lady came over and took her glasses and fussed with her hair a bit. "Okay, we're ready for the take. Action!" Sandra's glasses gone made a world of difference. She couldn't see the camera or much else except large shapes hazily. She had a brief moment of panic about whether she could see well enough to get around, but soon paid more attention to trying to remember her lines and trying to remember to speak slowly enough so she didn't slur her words. Kissing Ger was definitely an... Interesting... Experience. "Okay, cut. Let's do another take," said the director. Sandra quailed. "Don't worry," she heard Ger say. "You did fine. We usually do more than one take." Sandra calmed some. she thought. She was glad Bruce was off being an extra in another scene. ************************************************************* Lurkers (1) by Maddog Lacroix approached yet another of his minions, the Cousins. Then a small noise interrupted his quest. It was the pop, fizz, fizz of a Diet Coke being opened. He had heard the noise frequently since the war started. Determined to find out the cause, he approached the source of the noise. It was a female dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt proclaiming "Sandman" on it. "Are you following me?" LaCroix asked, his voice soft but filled with menace. "Me?" Came the startled reply. "No, uh, I'm just lurking about. That's what I do." "You lurk in the dark and follow me around?" "Yeah, well, not just you, everybody," the woman took another deep draught of Diet Coke. "Gives me something to do when I'm supposed to be working." "You will cease following me," LaCroix ordered. The Knighties, the Ravenettes, Die Hards and lapsed Cousins were giving him enough problems without strange people staring at him. "Nah, 'fraid I can't do that. It's in the Lurker's code, I have to watch," finishing the Diet Coke with a humongous gulp the woman added, fading back into the darkness, then her voice echoed out, "I like to watch." Deciding that he had better things to do, LaCroix flew off to his next rendezvous. ************************************************************* Double Vision by Sandra Gray "Okay, that will be a wrap for tonight," said the director Mr. L. to the assembled cast and crew. People started to move off in different directions and went through the motions of shutting down production. Several minutes passed. "Hey, Tom, where did you park the caddie?" asked Dick. "I didn't move it," replied Tom. "Well, someone must have. It's not there." Tom went to look, saw that the car was indeed gone. He and Dick went frantically around the crew and remaining cast to see if someone was pulling a joke. But no one seemed to know anything about the car. "My God, you don't think somebody *stole* it, do you?" asked Dick. "Who'd want it?" asked Tom. "Hey, it's a classic," pointed out Dick. "Should we call the police?" asked Tom, as Mr. L. neared them. "No, not yet," said the director. "Someone could have taken it as a prank. If it's not back by tomorrow night, *then* we worry." Tom and Dick nodded. After the director moved away, Dick said, "I hope it's back tomorrow. Lord knows where we'd find *another* car like that to use as a replacement." ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Grease Monkeys by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger "Hey, Joe, what've I got on the schedule for tonight?" Ernie asked when he checked in for the evening shift. "Let's see--" Joe, the Head of Maintenance, flipped through the work orders. "Got some repairs on the AC in Studio 4--The sinks in the dressing rooms on Stage 8 are stopped-up-- Nothing unusual--Oh, and that classic Caddy FK uses is due for an oil change. Check the shooting schedule they sent, and see when we can grab it." Ernie picked up the folder marked FK SHOOTING SCHED and flipped through it. "Says they'll be finishing up with it late afternoon today, and they won't need it until after lunch tomorrow. I could do it tonight, easy." "Good, I'll write up the notification and you go over and get it after you fix those sinks," his boss said. "They're top of the list; the actors are threatening Guild action." "Gotcha," Ernie agreed. He grabbed his toolbox, and the shop's 'everything on the lot with wheels' key ring, and left. Joe grabbed a memo form. ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: FK Production Company FROM: Maintenance We'll be picking up your Caddy early this evening for routine maintenance. It should be back by 9 am tomorrow. If this is a problem, let us know. J. Stanopolous ------------------------------------------------------------- He tossed the memo in the department's STUDIO MAIL basket, poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, and went into his office to start on end-of-shift paperwork. No one was in sight when the gray cat slipped through the door and jumped up on the workbench. She read the top memo in the basket, then grabbed it firmly in her teeth and dropped it over the side of the counter. The next memo interested her much more. A Karaoke scene had *so* many possibilities. She jumped down from the bench and ran from the shop. Behind her, the memo about the Caddy slowly sank out of sight in a barrel of waste oil... ************************************************************* Life Imitates Art by Cousin Deborah Deborah relaxed in the back seat of the taxi that was taking her to her office. Work seemed like another world at the moment. It would be her first day back after Toronto and all that happened there. Well, she'd be at work soon and it would all seem familiar again. She let her mind drift back to the last day she was on the set, filming her last scene... **Fade In** Episode Time: The case has been wrapped up and everyone has gotten home Interior shot: Deborah's office. Deborah seated desk and Catherine, her boss seated on the other side "So how was it?" Catherine asked "What?" Deborah spoke absently, searching her desk for the keyboard she knew was somewhere under the accumulated mail. "Toronto. How was it?" "Oh, fine, fine. It was fine." Deborah said, still burrowing. "Did you come up with anything?" Deborah looked up sharply "What do you mean? Like what?" Catherine rolled her eyes " Like anything worth publishing. I mean that is why you went, isn't it? You went to Toronto for a writer's conference." "Oh, oh yeah." Deborah appeared to think a moment and then slowly shook her head. "I don't think any of it was really Cambridge material, Catherine. It was all... Pretty outrageous stuff." As she stood to leave, Catherine stooped and picked a package up off the floor "Here. This must have fallen off one of the piles." She handed it to Deborah, who inspected it curiously "What is this? It's not marked or labeled?" Deborah said, turning it over and over in her hands. "Well, open it." Catherine urged Deborah shrugged and did so. It was a book. A very old book. Deborah gasped. "Oh. A Dorothy L. Sayers mystery. A first edition Sayers." Catherine, also a great Sayers fan, was impressed. "Can I see? Who's it from?" Deborah shook her head "I don't know? Here have a look." Deborah handed the book over to Catherine. As she did, a card fell out. She opened it. ------------------------------------------------------------- To a dear niece, Until next time. Adieu, Uncle ------------------------------------------------------------- **Fade Out** Deborah suddenly realized that the cabbie was waiting for his fare. "Sorry" she said as she gave him the money and dashed to her office building and rushed into the elevator. When she got to her office, it did feel sort of strange. *I've just been gone a while, that's all.* She looked at her desk. It was covered in mail. *Just like on TV* she thought, starting to laugh. "Well you're in a good mood." It was her boss, Catherine. "So how was it?" "What?" Deborah said, not really listening *I know the keyboard is here somewhere,* she said to herself. "Toronto. How was it?" "Oh, fine, fine. It was fine." Deborah said, still burrowing. "Did you come up with anything?" Deborah looked up. "Like what?" Catherine rolled her eyes " Like anything worth publishing. It _was_ a writer's conference. " *De ja Vu!* Deborah thought. She glanced at her desk, but didn't see an unmarked package. Deborah shook her head and heard herself saying "I don't think so. It... Pretty outrageous stuff. " "Well, it was worth a shot." she shrugged and started to leave. "Oh, I almost forgot why I came in. This came for you this morning special delivery. You weren't in, so I signed for it." Deborah didn't do anything for a long moment. And the she smiled and put the package in her briefcase. "Aren't you going to open it? Don't you even want to know who it's from?" "Oh, I know what it is. It's a gift. From my Uncle." ************************************************************* Special Duty by Diane Echelbarger and Cousin Candice Candice parked the car in the alley and grabbed the script from the seat. She had no idea why Uncle wanted her to deliver it to him at this time of night--morning, really--but one didn't argue with Uncle if one wanted to keep on breathing. And eating... She unlocked the alley door with the key Karin had given her, and climbed the stairs as quickly as she could. A thin line of light could be seen around the door at the top. She pushed it open and walked into LaCroix's apartment. The first thing she noticed was the cat. She hadn't known Uncle had a cat. It was built like a Siamese, but its coat was steel gray, with a band of coppery flecks around the middle, and a small cream patch under the chin. It gave her one of those stares cats are good at, and stalked to the black leather couch. Where it started sharpening its claws on the arm. "Hey!" she shouted at it. "Stop tha--" "Don't," Uncle snapped, and she almost bit her tongue, swallowing the rest of the sentence. She turned around to face him. He was standing in a doorway, his black leather trench coat draped over one arm. "It is natural for a cat to sharpen its claws," he said, much too gently for Candice's peace of mind. "I assume you would not wish her to deny what she is?" , she thought, but all she said was "No, Uncle." Very quietly. "Very good," he purred. "You brought the script?" "Yup, s'right here in my back pocket." She grinned, feeling her confidence returning, along with her breath, and held it out to him. He took it from her, and put it on the mahogany table. Then he turned and looked at the cat. The cat finished sharpening her claws and jumped up onto the arm of the couch. She raised her head and looked back at Uncle. Her eyes were green-gold. They didn't blink. Neither did Uncle's. After a moment, the cat said "Mrrrrrnnn," and scrunched her eyes shut, the way cats do when they're pleased. LaCroix smiled. It was *not* a nice smile. Candice thought as she watched her Uncle nod to the cat, directing that smile at *her*. The cat strolled regally down the couch, and jumped from there to the table. "Candice," he said, watching the cat. "Hmm?" she said trying not to stare to long at the various and sundry artifacts that were placed all around the "living" room. "This," he gestured toward the cat, "is Tuppence. She is--an ally. I want you to make certain that *all* my Cousins know this." The cat nosed the stack of loose script. She said, "What would you have me do? Phone every Cousin in Toronto for the shooting to tell them we have a _cat_ working with us?" Knowing she was pushing her uncanny luck just by saying anything other than 'Yes, Uncle.' Tuppence pushed the script harder. It shifted sideways. LaCroix turned his back on the cat, and looked at Candice, doing his best not to snarl at the mortal woman. he thought to himself. "She will be--working with us during the filming of the premiere," he continued. "I want all the Cousins to be ready to assist and protect her, if necessary. You will do whatever it takes to get the word out." "Yes, Uncle." Deciding, from the look on his face, it was better to back down--she didn't particularly like the knowledge that he *would* snack on her at the drop of a hat. Nor did she like being quite so close to him, for reasons of her own. Tuppence pushed the script again, and it slid off the table. Pages scattered everywhere. Candice ignored it. Uncle said, very softly, "I need someone to be responsible for her. To see to it that she is fed, and has a warm place to sleep, and is happy. "I have chosen you for that task, Candice. Will you do this, -ma chere-?" "Yes, Uncle." , she thought, giddily. The cat had jumped to the floor, and was examining the scattered papers with great intensity. "Very good," he said, and caressed her cheek. "When she is finished with the shooting script, take her to the studio lot. Find her a safe place to stay. See that she is fed. Protect her." He stepped away from her and pulled on the trench coat. He was suddenly by the tall window, lifting the sash. "Lock the door as you leave." He stepped out onto the sill. "And, Candice..." "Yes, cher Oncle?" "I will know if she is not happy. And if *she* is not happy, *I* will not be happy." Very softly. "Understood?" Her mouth was suddenly dry. Candice merely nodded in response. "Good girl," he whispered. And was gone. ************************************************************* Making Arrangements by darkangel I grinned as I pulled my just-purchased motorcycle up to the curb in front of the Raven. The filming of the third season opener would begin in a few days, and I had a few things to do before the fkfic-l listmembers arrived en masse to Toronto... I arrived in the city the night before. My first stop had been the nearest Harley-Davidson dealership--I had cash to spare, as the business was doing well, and I planned on driving it home after the war. Sure, Florida was far from Canada, but what biker didn't love a good road trip? After that, I met the truck containing my war supplies--I'd had them shipped up here a few days before my flight, and the driver and I had moved the items into temporary storage at a local warehouse. Tonight, though, I was well-rested and ready to bargain. I cut the engine of the fatboy and walked up to the door of the Raven, ready to deal with the bouncer if I had to. To my surprise, he just waved me in after taking my cover charge. I didn't mind paying, this once, as this visit could net a rather large profit for me and my Mercs. I supposed that my ease in getting in had something to do with my outfit--all black leather seemed rather apropos to such a place, even if I wasn't into the whole flaky Goth scene. And I was taller than the guy at the door... I shrugged and made my way past the writhing dancers, reaching the bar. I supposed that the guy at the counter was Miklos. "Where's Janette?" He narrows his eyes. "Who's asking?" I grinned. "I have a business proposal for her." He thought about it for a moment before pointing towards a table across the room. I thanked him and slipped him a few bills. It never hurt to be remembered as someone who gives out cash freely. Janette looked bored. "What do you want?" She obviously didn't like mortals hanging about. Who could blame her? If I was a thousand years old, I wouldn't want to be around people who must seem adolescent. For that matter, I didn't enjoy adolescents, either. "Hello, madam. I am Darkangel. From the Forever Knight lists?" "And?" She still looked annoyed. I could deal with that. "I have a business proposal for you." I sat down, and began outlining my plan. "A video game?" She looked skeptical. "Yes, well, you know how some people enjoy shooting things down and such. It wouldn't take up much space, and I guarantee that the players will drink themselves into a stupor afterwards. And that's easy money for you. Especially because this is a new and highly publicized game, and your establishment will gain customers simply by virtue of it being here." I was starting to get into this sales pitch thing. It wasn't very difficult, as long as I avoided looking at her well-displayed cleavage. And she seemed about as likely to try the game as I was likely to worship Elvis Pressley. This was a good thing, as I'd hate to have her discover what the "video game" really was... "We'll try it for a week. You can set it up in that corner over there," she said, indicating the spot, "and I expect you to make it as invisible as possible. I don't want any flashing lights or beeping noises disturbing my clientele." "Don't worry, Janette. The game is in a small, soundproof booth to minimize disturbances." "Fine." The look of boredom was back. I knew when I'd overstayed my welcome. "I think, if you don't object, I'll have a drink at the bar before I leave. Good evening, madam." I stood and bowed, and made my way across the room, to where a cute redhead was ordering a drink... ************************************************************* The VR Booth by darkangel "There. All done." I stepped away from the booth, looking at the panel I'd just finished screwing on. It was the day after Janette had told me it was okay to set up, and I had gotten the storage men to meet me here. Once it was put in its place, they were gone. As it was four in the afternoon, the club was deserted, and Janette was sleeping. Jennifer Lackey, fellow Mercenary and handywoman extraordinaire, finished adjusting the seat inside the large, black box. "I still can't believe we're doing this. I mean, Steff, it's a PG-13 war!" I sniffed. "Hey, it's not like I'm actually going to describe the programs to the list. And it's not as if the Raven lets minors in." "I can just see the Knighties, lining up for a 'close encounter' with the Brick..." She giggled. "This was a brilliant idea." "Why, thank you. And the Knighties won't be the only happy ones, you know." "True, true. I mean, you've got the whole cast in there." She frowned. "Was it really worth the extra programming to put in Schanke, though? I mean, does anyone actually find him attractive?" "The FoD's do. In fact, I let Cousin James script the whole Schanke section. You spend more time eating dinner with him than, well, you know." Jen laughed. "I almost want to see this. Almost." I shuddered. "Hey, I had to write the darned thing. Yuck." I checked a few components of the virtual suit. It seemed to be in working order. I had the machine hooked to a radio link. Every half hour it would page my beeper with an "I'm okay" message. If something went wrong, it would either page me with the problem or not page me at all. This way I didn't have to sit around and baby-sit it throughout the rest of the war. "So, what was your favorite part to code?" Jen teased. "Heh. Most of them, cher." As if I would tell. Besides, it could be so hard to choose... "Have you tried it out yet?" She grinned mischievously. "Of course!" I laughed. "You know, beta testing and all that." "Yeah, sure. Steff, how long did it take for your significant others to pry you out of the machine?" "Why, Jen, whatever do you mean?" She wasn't buying my innocent act. "Okay, okay, I liked it. The damn thing's totally realistic. After all, you can make LaCroix romantic, or give Natalie a whip, or..." I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering. Ah, what fun. "Um, Steff?" I opened my eyes, having forgotten Jen. "Yes?" "Can I have a turn?" She looked slightly embarrassed. I laughed. "Go for it. Just follow the directions on the panel, and I'll tell the machine that it doesn't need to take any money from you." "Cool. Thanks." She closed the door almost all the way, and paused. "Back in a bit!" "Yeah, well, be careful. After all, you wouldn't want to touch the wrong button, have have to watch Nick and Schanke-- " "Ewwwww!" She turned green and shuddered. "Thanks for the warning..." As the door closed behind her, I chuckled. If the program was as good as I thought, she wouldn't be able to walk straight when it was over... I sat back and sipped the beer I'd filched from behind the bar. This war was turning out to be a lot of fun. ************************************************************* Advertisement by Darkangel Darkangel sighed and leaned back in her chair, having just finished catching up on her e-mail. The Merc headquarters were strangely quiet, as everyone was either out on jobs or asleep. She lit a cigarette and set about typing a mail message. ------------------------------------------------------------- To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Subj: Mercenary for Hire Mercenary seeks employment. Has knowledge of explosives, chemistry, and computers. Ask about rates. ------------------------------------------------------------- Short and to the point. Perfect. She was envious of Dianne, who had more jobs than she could handle. Ah, well, Darkangel was glad for the time to work on the VR booth. It was producing quite a bit of cash, and would soon produce even more... ************************************************************* Party Favor by Sharon Himmanen and Jennie Hayes The view out of the window of Don Bassingthwaite's apartment was spectacular. But not nearly as spectacular as the view of the buffet table when one turned a scant 45 degrees to one's left. Filling nearly three tables pressed up against the far wall, it was a spread the likes of which none of the assembled NatPackers had ever seen. And it was all theirs. They'd arrived back at their host's after an aborted attempt to find a bar. Amy had rejected five in a row for excessive smokiness, and the rest of the group had only too readily agreed. They'd finally given up and called Don, who was delighted to have an opportunity to treat them to a birthday- party FoD style. And so, not wanting to completely impose on their host, they stopped at the excessively well stocked super market close to Don's home to pick up alcohol, caffeine, and other supplies. Don had greeted them at the door, proudly informing them that at least two of their ranks were worthy of FoDdom, and then proceeded to give them a tour of the buffet table which had lasted nearly half an hour and had involved numerous exchanges of recipes and pastry shop locations. The celebration was in full swing and getting rather out of hand, so when the messenger arrived with a package, barely anyone paid any attention. "This was really a great idea," Sharon said, turning to Jennie. "I didn't realize so many of us were June babies." "So what could be better than an affiliation group birthday party! Nat, Selma, you, me... And that redhead, umm... Now where'd she go?" Jennie searched the room with her eyes. "Oh, her--she fell asleep under that table over there." Sharon pointed out. "What? Is she OK?" "Oh, yeah, just tired from traveling. We just check her pulse every hour or so." "Oh cool!" they heard Valerie exclaim. She looked up from where she'd been peering over Nat's shoulder. "It's the script for the third season premiere." After that, the room was completely silent as the large group passed around sheet after sheet of paper. "Wait a minute!" Selma exclaimed. "That's it?" Amy yelled indignantly. "Oh man, Nat! You've only got two lines in this whole thing!" Sharon added, passing the last sheet over to Jennie. "And they're stupid lines, too. You might as well just stand there and say 'duh' each time," Elaine observed. "I mean," she added, pawing through the pile of sheets on the coffee table, "Look at this. They're going to have you fawning all over LaCroix, telling everyone how you're *such* a big fan of his," she scornfully. Amid the noises of exasperation and disgust, Jennie said, "LaCroix is his own fan." and rolled her eyes expressively. Sharon was busily leafing through the sheets. "LaCroix... LaCroix... LaCroix... Schanke gets a good line there, but he's *been* getting good lines... Nick... Nick... LaCroix... Nick... Janette... Janette... LaCroix... LaCroix... LaCroix... I think it's pretty safe to say that this episode was written by Cousins. No Cohen, barely any of you Nat. Everyone else got a sizable part, even Schanke," she said, tossing the papers back onto the table in disgust. "This is just outrageous," Amy said indignantly. "It's unacceptable!" There was a chorus of agreement. "I'm *tired* of being ignored!" "But what can we do?" Betsy asked. "There's gotta be *something* we can do!" "You know," Valerie said, her eyes narrowing as she looked about the room, "we *were* invited up here to take part in the third season premiere." "That's right," Nat said. "And nobody's told us yet *exactly* how we're supposed to do that, have they?" Selma said, grinning. Both Sharon and Jennie grinned as they reached under their chairs and pulled out their laptops. "OK, two things," Jennie said as everyone gathered around. "First, we gotta work on that script and get the changes in. Anyone know the color page order on the rewrites that the show uses?" "I do," Sharon said, turning on her laptop. "I'll start typing in the script so we can make revisions on it." "Good. The second thing is, we've got to take out anyone else from the other groups who might be doing rewrites. If we're planning on rewriting, you *know* the other groups will think of it too." She hit a few keys and pulled up The Database. "Who from the other groups are prolific writers." "Susan Garrett," several people echoed at once. "Yeah, we've gotta do something to keep Susan busy," Jennie agreed. "But Susan's a good writer," Nat said. "Maybe we *should* let her--" her voiced trailed off as Sharon looked up at her. "She's a Ravenette," Sharon began. "But she *is* a writer first." "No," Sharon said, shaking her head. "If Janette tells her to rewrite that script in a certain way, Susan will do it." Everyone nodded in agreement. "I still say it wouldn't be a bad idea to let Susan do it," Nat continued to protest. "I mean, what could she really do to me?" "Lets see," Sharon said, holding up her hand and beginning to tick items off on her fingers, "Ever After, Nemesis, the fake Party Favor, and... Kind Soul kinda tops the list, don't you think?" Nat dropped her eyes quickly. "Oh, yeah," she said softly, her face draining slightly of color. "I've got her listed in the database," Jennie said. "And there's plenty of stuff here. Who else?" As they worked on the list, inspiration struck. "Wait," Jennie said, "why go to all this trouble when there's a much simpler way of getting final say on the changes? I've always wanted to try my hand at directing, and with my faithful *staff*," she paused and looked significantly at each of the Natpackers gathered around her, "this could work. I think I know who can help us get Mr. L. out of the way without hurting him..." While that was going on, Sharon and several others gathered around the kitchen table and began to make their changes on the script. "OK," Sharon said, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling as Nat reached over and turned the powerbook toward her so she could read what was on the screen. "So the episode opens up with them finding Stonetree's body in a hotel. You have a line or two there, Nat," Sharon said. I think that scene's OK, we'll leave that alone." "Hey!" Jennie said, coming into the kitchen, "How about making Nat the murderer?" Before Nat could turn to glare at her, Sharon began laughing. "Yeah, she was having a torrid affair with Stonetree, but he broke it off because he decided he was gay, so you killed him and dressed him up like a woman!" "That's not funny!" Nat protested, trying not to laugh. "Wait, how about everyone *thinks* she killed Stonetree?" Valerie suggested. "They even arrest her for it!" "Oh, I like that," Sharon said, pulling the powerbook over and typing a few notes. "That'll give us a really good scene or two in the holding cell between you and Nick." "Wait a minute..." "So how come they suspect Nat?" Selma asked. "Because..." Um, I have something to say..." Natalie tried again. "Oh, I know! Janette frames her!" "Janette partially frames her, then LaCroix frames her even more and it begins to look really bad." "Can I say something?" Natalie protested. "Oh, it'll be cool! Valerie, you get locked up with her for a while and do your filthy crazy person schtick!" "And we can get that bitch lawyer to be your lawyer!" "No--" "Conflict of interest. Nat could point that out, then we can have... Who can we have?" "I'll be Nat's lawyer," Elaine volunteered. "I can play it competent but extremely inexperienced." "Great," Nat said, without much enthusiasm. "Great. And you guys think Susan would do terrible things to me!" ************************************************************* Lurker (2) Maddog Maddog and Rastro popped out of the Lurker's Patented Tesseract and into LaCroix's apartment. They were on a mission of vital importance. "Rastro, you remembered to bring IT, didn't you?" "Oi, what do I look like? Of course, I brought IT." The Australian woman pulled something large and furry out of the bag she was carrying. "Do you think we should do this? After all, we're Lurkers and not supposed to get involved." "Well, we're not actually interacting with anybody are we? No, so we're still sort of lurking. Do you think IT would look good in the refrigerator?" "No, how about on the couch?" Rastro placed IT on the couch and they both stared at it for a while. Both thinking more about what could be done on LaCroix's couch than was healthy for either of their blood pressures. "Nah, how about the bedroom?" The two Lurkers tiptoed into the bedroom. Maddog carefully laid IT on the black satin spread. Stepping back, both women admired the scene. The pink, fluffy, stuffed bunny with floppy ears sat atop one of LaCroix's pillows. "I'm fulfilled, what about you?" Rastro asked. "Yeah, should freak him out. He'll probably think somebody involved in the war did it" Maddog sighed, "Where do you wanna go lurk now?" "I don't know. Want to go grab some Godiva and think about it?" ************************************************************* Bribery Supplies by Diane Echhis ------------------------------------------------------------- Memo: To: Jenny and Fellow Natpackers Subject: Bribery and Sustenance It occurred to me yesterday between the office and driving the boys to the doctor that you are going to need bribery goodies and sustenance while in Toronto. Therefore, I have shipped via FedEx, and in care of Don Bassingthwaite, the following: 4 New York Style Chocolate Cheesecakes 4 Amaretto-Amaretti Chocolate Cheesecakes 4 Countess Toulouse-Lautrec French Chocolate cakes Enjoy! If more supplies are needed, let me know--I can always whip up a Key West Rum Cake. Karen - Mother of five (Three children, two cats) westonk@uwwvax.uww.edu ------------------------------------------------------------- ************************************************************* It Was a Dark and Stormy Night by darkangel I scanned through the printout slowly, chuckling to myself. Ah, the joys of computer logs! I tucked the papers into my jacket pocket and strolled through the door. I had work to do. An hour later I found myself in a dark, smoky club. It was great atmosphere, really. A great place to meet creatures of the night. I was still giggling over the cliched-ness of it all when LaCroix sat, no, _appeared_ across from me in the booth. "This list of yours better be good." His face twisted into a grudging smile. "Although, I must say that your little scheme is quite Machiavellian." I arched an eyebrow. "Machiavellian? So tell me, do you actually respect the man or was that some sort of hidden insult?" His expression didn't changed, but I got the feeling he was amused. "Touche." He extended a hand, palm up. "The list, please." I mirrored his gesture. "The payment, please." "Oh, yes, that." He feigned surprise and pulled a thick envelope from his wallet. "You ask a high price." I laughed. "As if you can't afford it." Too casually, he smiled. "You should be careful, young one. I could quite easily take that which you could ill afford to lose." What a way to be told that I could be lunch. I had to admire the man's, er, vampire's style. I simply smiled in return, feeling oddly calm. "Come, LaCroix, if you had wanted to kill me you would have done so by now." "And ruin the pleasure of toying with you? Tsk, tsk, dark angel. You underestimate the chase." He reached across the table to run a finger along my jawline in a parody of affection. "And, at the moment, you amuse me. Thus I will spare you--for now." He leaned closer. "Ah, you would make such a fine addition to my followers." His voice was silky. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stop this greedy madness of yours?" I squelched the temptation to press his hand against my cheek, to kiss his wrist, to close my eyes and whisper oaths of devotion. I shuddered and pulled away from his hand. No, that was what he wanted me to do. I lit a cigarette as he laughed, and barely kept my hands from shaking. Was it possible to want someone this badly, or was it the vampire charm? It must be the charm, I thought. After all, from a pure looks point of view I preferred Janette over every other being, mortal or immortal, involved in this silly battle... I smiled, calm again somehow. "I'll let you in on a little secret, LaCroix. I'm not in it for money." "Oh?" As if he didn't know. "Then why?" I leaned towards him and grinned. "It's the freedom to be my own person, to not have to take orders. Especially from ancient and impervious creatures who could care less for their followers. As to why I'm not a Die-Hard, well..." I shrugged. "I might as well get paid for enjoying myself." I handed him the printout. "This is a list of everyone who's used the VR booth--except the Mercenaries--and what they did while there." As he scanned it, I stood to leave. "Enjoy." Suddenly his cold hand was around my wrist. "Wait. I have another job for you." He looked delighted, and I knew that someone was in trouble. "It seems Cousin Candice has been betraying my affections." Oh, that's right! I thought to myself. Candice had paid for an unusually mushy scene starring her, Nick, and a deserted Turkish harem... "You know her better than anyone involved in this war. I think it's apropos that you take care of her for me." He was still grinning. "I will deal with the rest of my errant... Nieces." "Define 'take care of her.'" Practical jokes were on thing, but anything harsher was out of my league. "You know how to torture her. So have a good time with it." He shrugged. "Whatever you feel is necessary." He rummaged around in his jacket pocket and took out a thick roll of bills. "This should more than cover your fee." I looked at it and thumbed the top few bills. Hundreds. "Thank you." This job would be fun! He nodded. "Now, dark angel, I believe you have work to do?" It was obviously a dismissal. After I was clear of the club, I allowed myself to dance my way to the car. Finally, a job worth doing! ************************************************************* Life of the Party by Amparo Bertram Amparo left Richard roaming the buffet spread, in FoD heaven, and curled up in a corner of Don Bassingthwaite's apartment with a good book, taking occasional sips from her cup of soda. A while into her reading she noticed the others become excited about something, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with her, so she only paid it peripheral attention. She wasn't the best at socializing with a large group of people. The rest of the NatPack clustered around Jennie and Sharon, tossing out suggestions for script rewrites. Soon they had all volunteered for parts they wanted to play in their "Nat- in-Jail" sequence, encouraging each other every time a new idea was revealed. "Is everyone covered?" Jennie asked. Betsy looked around, spotting her driving companion sitting alone, out of the loop, oblivious to the world. "What about Pod? What part should she play?" "You know, she reminds me of that officer in `Capital Offense.' The one reading a romance novel while on guard duty," Selma put in. Sharon typed that information into her laptop. "Perfect. May as well go with what she's good at. Amparo Bertram--Natalie's guard." Amparo, hearing her name, looked up at the rest of the faction. "Hmm? Did I miss something?" "You don't mind being a police officer, do you?" Betsy asked. "Not at all." "Great," said Jennie. "Oh, by the way... Can you sing?" Amparo frowned in confusion, wondering why anyone would be singing in the middle of a _Forever Knight_ episode, but shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. No problem." "Excellent. Why don't you come over here and give us your input?" Amparo cast a hesitant glance at Natalie, whom she had so much wanted to meet and now found herself too shy to approach. She couldn't make a fool of herself if she didn't say anything, after all. On the other hand, as Betsy had assured her, the NatPack didn't bite. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She slid her book aside and joined the others. "What song did you have in mind?" ************************************************************* Change of Command by Jennie Hayes Jennie hung up the phone excitedly. "OK, I just talked to LJC. She's not happy about the season pilot script putting Janette in jail like that, so she's willing to make a deal. If we allow her to rewrite that part of the script, she'll put us in contact with some people who can give us pointers on directing. On top of that, she's got friends in the production of the movie "Sandman" who are looking for a good director. She thinks they can spirit Mr. L. away without doing him any serious harm. They'll keep him busy in LA with preliminary meetings for the production. And then, while all is in confusion, in step Valerie and myself. I get to be second unit director! If we act official enough and get the right people in the production office to smooth our way in, we're home free. LJC's working on those contacts now." "This isn't gonna work. They're going to *know*," Amy fretted, "and *then* we're in trouble!" "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyhow, LJC is sending someone up who should be able to help us a bit, to be another assistant director. She's got stage experience, and she's willing to help us look good, here. With her input and Valerie's background, maybe we can pull it off. Assuming things stay confused enough... That's your job." ---------***---------- "I'm beginning to think it was a good thing that we packed everything under the sun coming up here!" Di giggled. "We're gonna wind up using it!" "OK, does everyone know their parts?" Valerie asked. "Here we go; the limo's arrived." "See ya later! I'll probably get to the set at about three!" Betsy yelled from the other room. "Bye!" They all chorused. They trooped out the front door of Don's apartment building and down to the waiting car en masse. They presented a very different sight than the relaxed, comfortable bunch who had visited the Coroner's office and thrown the huge birthday party. Everyone wore smart business clothes now and was trying on a business attitude. This didn't last long, however. "I get to ride backwards!" Jennie crowed. Amy shuddered. "How can you do that without getting carsick?" "I dunno, I just don't. I'm glad you're being the actual director, Valerie; you've got a *much* better idea what to do with the part than I would. I'd be just realizing that I haven't a clue what to do now!" Jennie was beginning to chatter a bit fast, and Amy wondered if that was nervousness or the fact that she'd been on the phone with LJC so much lately. Valerie just shrugged and commented philosophically, "The worst that can happen is they realize who we are and kick us out. At least we'll have tried!" "Hey, Sharon?" Pod leaned forward and peered at what Sharon was doing. "What *are* you doing with that?" Everyone looked at Sharon. She was systematically tearing an empty Styrofoam cup to shreds and putting the pieces inside it. She shrugged. "Bad habit, I guess." ---------***---------- The takeover went remarkably smoothly. LJC had done her work well, and nobody on the set questioned the new 'director'. Apparently 'Mr. L.' had left rather quickly once the deal from LA was firm, although Jennie was starting to wonder if the 'deal' had been a bit 'firmer' than she'd intended. No, she didn't want to think about that possibility. All she knew was that the Ravenette had an *awful* lot of connections. Each of the Natpackers took over a position within the production staff, most of which were 'temporary augmentations to aid in dealing with all the fans present.' It worked beautifully; by the end of the first night they had several of the basic script changes they'd wanted in place and had worked out a tentative filming schedule. "Ooh, it's about time to call it quits for the night," Jennie yawned, stretching lazily, then she stopped and looked around the office. And counted heads. "Wait, did Betsy ever make it here?" "I haven't seen her all day," Elaine replied, "do you think she got lost?" "I hope she didn't get into any trouble. There *are* Cousins about, you know," Pod put in. "Oh, she probably had trouble getting in or something, or couldn't find this place, and went back to Don's. We've had all of the phone lines busy most of the day, after all!" Valerie noted. The rest of the pack looked a little guilty as they packed it in for the night. -----***----- Later that night (morning, actually,) at Don's, they were rather upset to find that Betsy hadn't been seen since she'd left, right on time, that afternoon. "Hmm... Maybe we should call the police..." Amy suggested, picking up the phone. "She's been gone too long, and this *is* a strange city." "Perhaps she called Nat, check with her first," Selma suggested. "Oh, yeah, good idea," Amy said, dialing the numbers. -----***----- "Yes, it's a gray Escort, and it's got one of those little yellow signs in the back window. I think it says something like, 'Who's on Board'," Amy said into the phone. "Yes. I think she said it made it easier to find her car. No, none of us know the license plate, but it's probably a Michigan one. We're just worried, we don't *know* anything's happened. She could be lost, or she could have run into a friend or something. Yes. OK, thanks!" She hung up. "Nat is going to pass the information on to Nick. He can get the officers to keep an eye out for her. If she's still missing tomorrow night, we should call the station directly." She sighed. "OK, lets get some rest." Sharon suggested. -----***----- The following day, Sharon looked up from her lunch, just in time to catch the traffic report on the TV. "Hey! Look!" she yelled, startling everyone in the room. "What? You live in New York and you've never seen traffic like that before?" Pod jibed. "Oh, wait, you're not used to it moving that fast, are you?" "No! Look in the center of the screen! Isn't that Betsy's car?" "Oh, you're right!" Amy started to say, as the scene flickered out to be replaced with the reporter's face. "It *did* look like hers, I thought I saw blue Michigan plates, and I know I saw the yellow thing in the back window! Let's call the station and find out where that was!" she grabbed phone and phone book. ---*--- "Yes, OK, thank you anyhow. Good-bye." Amy hung up the phone, a dejected look on her face. "They traced down the footage, but it was taken at 7:00 this morning. She could be anywhere in the city by now," she reported. Jennie sighed and looked out the window. "I suppose we should call and tell Nick," she said wearily. ************************************************************* Breakfast on the Set by Cousin Candice Candice thought groggily as she turned into the blue Probe into the parking lot of the main set. Granted it was 10:30 and she was about an hour late, Cousinly duty said she should get a head start on reading the script, but her night of carousing said she should stay in bed. Candice smiled to no one in particular with that thought as she stepped out of her rental car, a little sad that she couldn't have driven the Jeep up for filming. She buttoned her black blazer over her white t-shirt and denim jeans, adjusted the rim of her black sunglasses, and grabbed the small brown leather bag containing her ward's breakfast and her own. Candice walked at a brisk pace onto the set, thanking whoever was watching out for her that she didn't ever suffer from a hangover, and looked for the sleek, fuzzy, gray form somewhere on the set. Tuppence had set up camp somewhere in the studio--after all, she did have her own agenda, and she couldn't have Candice getting in her way--all the better for Candice, for she too had her own plans. So it didn't surprise Candice when she found the cat--entrusted into her care by her Uncle, sitting in her chair--given to her by the studio with "Candice" stenciled on the back. "Alright cat--outta my chair." Candice scratched behind Tuppence's ears, making up for disturbing the cat's comfortable position. Tuppence lingered a few moments more on the chair and then hopped onto the raised table infront of the chair where Candice had laid her bag and nosed-open the drawstring. "Oh, so you want your breakfast, too... Huh? Well gimme a second to get settled and we'll have breakfast together, okay?" Candice smiled and eyed the cat for some kind of response. Tuppence was no ordinary cat, she'd known that from the first night when Uncle had called her for an early evening chat about a week ago. Candice closed her eyes and shuddered at that particular memory. Tuppence flashed her golden eyes at Candice and closed them, almost nodding her fuzzy little head. Taking that as a 'yes,' Candice went off to one of the gophers and obtained her copies of the "approved scripts." Being a "special assistant writer" for the producer of the show, Candice received every single script written, re- written, and re-re-written, until it was good enough for Unc- -the Producer's liking. In the meantime, Tuppence had been up to some bit of nastiness for the Fanged One in the costume department (-- shedding fur as it were) and had resurfaced the minute Candice had sat down in her chair with her black coffee. Tuppence circled the chair and hopped up onto Candice's lap purring softly, quite happy with herself for some reason unknown to Candice as of yet. Then Tuppence hopped back up on the table, staring at the bag. "Right then, breakfast for you.." Candice pulled out the cat food she had bought along with her own breakfast--California rolls and more coffee. She opened up the tin and _prayed_ that Tuppence wouldn't mind too much eating off a paper plate (she'd forgotten to buy a proper dish.) Tuppence looked at Candice, then looked at the plate, then looked at Candice as if to say 'Uncle will _definitely_ be hearing about this,' and reluctantly started in on her meal. She started thumbing through the schedule of events--filming wise for the day and stopped dead when she got up to the "Flatfoots" part of the day's episode. "Uncle isn't supposed to get caught, he *never* loses track of his things, let alone his sword pin... What the hell has been goi..." Before Candice could finish mumbling aloud, a loud _Achoo!_ rang out from behind the costume rack and Jennie Hayes came running out sneezing up a storm with Valerie in tow yelling "Your scene's next! Jennie!!" Candice couldn't help but laugh at the annoyed expressions on Sharon Himmanen and Heather Templeman's faces--it's no fun waiting around in costume having to wait on *one* person, and it was apparent that neither Heather or Sharon were in any kind of mood to be sympathetic. Suddenly Candice looked over to where Tuppence was-- correction, *had* been sitting, then felt a furry presence around her ankles. "*You* wouldn't have had anything to do with that now would you?" Tuppence looked up at Candice with eyes as wide as a kitten's, feigning innocence oh-so-well. She merely grinned down at that cat, knowing full well that the cat was responsible. After the realization that filming had been taken over essentially by Ravenettes and Nat-Packers, keeping Uncle's head above water was getting more difficult by the page, so Candice fwapped herself with the pages, took a deep breath, and leaned back in her chair. How she _wished_ more Cousins could have been around. There simply wasn't time enough to go through each scene and rework lines and actions to suit Uncle's purposes. The more she thought about it, the more Candice became enraged at Karin and Jennise--the _supposed_ writers for the show. They were COUSINS for crying out crap in the rain!! (sorry, I felt the need to embellish)... Well one was a Cousin and the other was his daughter, but... Well Same Difference! They were supposed to be working _for_ Uncle, not against him! How could they let their co-writers get so out of hand? Candice sat in her chair and fumed for a bit, and she glared at anyone who made eye contact with her, or even crossed her line of sight. And then it came to her... "We'll just have ourselves a nice, civilized conversation..." Candice thought aloud as her brow wrinkled, she sank lower into her chair, grabbed her cellular phone out of her bag, and dialed Dianne DeSha's number. A few minutes later, and a pin from Tiffany's later, Candice had a diversion. That accomplished, she returned to her pile of papers, some of which were for next week's shooting. Candice glanced at a few titles and some of the ones that required her to "do some acting"... A Little Action Drama and The Story of C caught her eye. Interesting. She'd read The Story of O, and since this was a PG-13 show, she wondered what the writer had in store for that particular episode. Candice looked at her watch and jumped out of her chair, Candice needed to find a certain truck and round up some misguiding leads if she was going to pull this off. That would take a while, plus she had to write up a extra scene or two and have that delivered to the other set that was currently being filmed on. It also needed to be approved, but that wouldn't be much trouble seeing that she could just get a hold of the correctly colored paper and type directly on it. There was also the matter of planting other distractions around the set. Tuppence meowed at her and suddenly Candice was drawn into the cat's stare, and a voice echoed into her head Candice shook her head and stared slack jawed at Tuppence. No, no ordinary cat indeed. ************************************************************* A Car's Cameo by Amparo Bertram Amparo finished up her last scene for the time being and took a much-needed break. She hadn't realized acting could be such tedious work, and all she had to do was stay in the background and guard prisoners. She didn't even want to imagine how tired the main characters must be. Speaking of whom, she had seen on the shooting schedule that they would be filming a Caddy scene not too far away. She hadn't had a chance to see The Car in action yet, and she certainly didn't want to miss it. She quickly found the specified location and stood out of the way, observing. She hoped costuming wouldn't mind that she was still wearing her uniform, but she loved feeling like such a part of everything. Besides--she glanced down and brushed at an invisible speck of dust--it looked rather flattering on her, if she did say so herself. "You! Come stand over here." She looked up to see the director pointing at her. "Who, me? I'm not in this scene." "You are now. I've decided I want a cop walking by in the background, and you're already in costume. I don't have all night." "Sure. Whatever you say." She listened carefully to his instructions. All she had to do was stroll down the sidewalk, projecting an image of vigilance. Nothing to it. She heard "Action!" and began her walk, taking in the details of her surroundings like a good policewoman. Suddenly she caught sight of a familiar dark gray Escort driving around a corner and disappearing. Wasn't that--? No, it couldn't be! Could it? She had certainly spent enough time in Betsy's car, she should recognize it. It was too late to do anything about it now, the car was long gone. she thought, eyeing the cameras surreptitiously in the guise of checking for crime. She nearly grinned at the idea of Betsy being in the shot, despite getting lost. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: The Leader of the Pack by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger Tuppence slipped into the costume shop through the window again, and prowled around the space, looking for more clues to how she could assist the Fanged One. As she stalked past a rack of costumes, a familiar scent caught her nose, and she hissed. *That one!* That *Jennie,* that was always luring her pet, Diane, away for hours, sometimes *days*--Her ears flattened to her skull, and she approached the hanging rack carefully. A moment later, she had identified the garment to which the hateful scent clung. It was a long, dark-green trench coat. She hissed again, then remembered something from one of the few times her human had convinced the Jennie-human to enter Tuppence's home. The Jennie-human was *allergic* to cats! And she was one of the ones the Fanged One disliked. So, he would *want* her to make the Jennie-human unhappy-- Her hiss became a thoughtful rumble as she reared up and snagged the coat with both front claws. She leaned her weight on it, and the garment slid free of the hanger and landed in a heap on the ground. She burrowed into it, until she was completely wrapped in the plaid flannel lining. Now, she needed only to shed... Yes, to shed, that was the difficult part. She was impeccably groomed, as always, and did not have a great many loose hairs to lose. Now how... Her head came up, suddenly, and she gave a little "yow" as inspiration struck. Of course! It was so *simple!* Tuppence crouched lower, closed her eyes, and thought, intently, of... The **VET.** In less than a minute, a thick cloud of sleek, gray hair was released inside the coat. She rolled around a few times, to be sure all the coat was well covered, then left the costume shop, purring in satisfaction. Nothing like catching two birds with one pounce to put her in a good mood--and the Candice-human would be here soon, with breakfast... ***** Some time later, on the set... "achoo! Achoo! _Achoo!_ *Achoo!* ACHOO! _ACHOO!_ *ACHOO!*" Jennie sneezed. She itched, and her nose was clogging. "Hey," she sniffled, "I tought du said dere weren't ady adimals on de sed?" "There aren't," Valery replied. "I checked." "My dose says dere are," Jennie snuffled. "Where's by Benadryl?" She pulled off her coat and walked over to her purse. As she tossed the coat on her personally-monogrammed cast chair (Mr. P. had had one made for every FKFIC-Ler who had worked on the show), she noticed something on the plaid lining. A cat hair. And another... And another... *Dozens* of short gray hairs... "Ay!" she cried through her completely-blocked nose. "By goat is govered bit gat air!" She grabbed the Benadryl from her purse in one hand and began brushing her clothes off with the other. "I deed a shower. I'll be bag zood..." "But, Jennie!" Valery called. "You're scene's next! Jennie! *Jennie!*" Her only answer was another explosive series of sneezes. ************************************************************* Chaos, Incorporated by Maureen Wynn (with a little help from my friends!) Maureen's face was buried in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking. Tami stopped just inside the door, startled, and wondered if she should leave. "Um, Maureen?" she said uncertainly. Maureen looked up, and Tami was relieved to see that she was laughing, not crying. "Come on in, Tami," Maureen said between giggles, "I was expecting you." "So, what's the joke?" Tami asked, sitting down in the chair next to Maureen's desk. "I just heard that there was a little food fight down at the commissary. A Knightie got a Cousin in the face with a lemon meringue pie!" Maureen grinned, "Just one of the many joys of working security on this set! That reminds me... Excuse me a second." She picked up the phone and dialed. "Hi, Pete, it's Maureen. Listen, tell the caterers not to provide any more desserts with whipped cream or custard, or anything like that. No sense in providing temptation to people who don't need it anyway! Thanks, Pete." She hung up the phone, and turned to the other mercenary. "Are you ready to start?" "Sure! I'm just sorry I couldn't start sooner." Maureen said, "Oh, I understand, you weren't the only person with prior commitments when I called. I know it was short notice, but when Mr. P. called and told me his regular security firm had unexpectedly quit, and he needed a new crew immediately, I had to pull together a team as quickly as I could. It's worked out, for the most part, although I wish I had more Mercenaries in the crew." "What's it like--besides the food fights?" Tami asked, grinning. "You know that Chinese curse that says, 'May you live in interesting times'? Well, working here is always interesting! Thank goodness *all* the list members aren't here to film their parts at the same time." Maureen shuddered, thinking of the... Complications... That could arise with certain people in the same room at the same time. "I thought, at first, the worst thing would be the animals; you *never* know what's going to happen on a set with animals involved. But the tarantula wranglers were very professional. It helps that the little critters were de-venomed. I wish the same could be said for those South American tree frogs! Those red ones were cute, but their poison sacs can't be removed without killing the animals, so they had to be handled _very_ carefully. That was the biggest headache... Except maybe for the monkeys... Or the trained dogs that weren't *nearly* well enough trained..." "So, lots of problems," Tami said, frowning slightly. "Oh, yeah, but _lots_ of fun, too! Having input on the episode is great--I even wrote myself into a couple of scenes!" "Cool!" "Why don't I show you around, and get you started..." Maureen began, when she was interrupted by a voice on her headset. "Security Two calling Mother." Maureen said, "Excuse me, Tami..." On the headset, "Mother here, what's up?" "We have an unscheduled delivery at Gate One. Could you check the invoices for a load of costumes? The invoice the driver has says Lederhosen?" "What? Why would we need lederhosen?!" Tami looked up, and tried to get Maureen's attention. "Oh, I forgot to give you something..." she said, digging into her backpack. She pulled out some blue pages in a clear plastic cover, and handing them to the Security Chief, said, "As I came through the production offices, someone asked me to give you this. It's a new scene... I read it while I was waiting to be passed through the gate. You might want to read it..." Puzzled, Maureen took the pages, and started to read: INT. - LACROIX'S LIVING ROOM TRACK IN ON: LaCroix, lounging on a black leather sofa, TV remote control in his hand. He's nodding off while watching TV. PAN TO: Television playing scene from "The Sound of Music". DISSOLVE TO: NIGHTMARE "What the...!" Maureen exclaimed, reading further. "Demon children in lederhosen... Goat-herds... Yodel-a-hee-WHAT?! Who wrote this?" She looked up at Tami. "Mr. P. *approved* this scene?" She shook her head. "This place gets weirder by the day..." She toggled on her headset, and started to say, "Mother to Security Two..." when she was interrupted by screams coming from the east end of the lot. "Hold on Security Two... Mother to Security Three! What's going on?" "Security Three here... I don't know what's going on, I had to take a bathroom break!" "Well, zip it up and get out there!" she said. "Security Four, where are you?" "Security Four, on my way, boss! Uh, oh... I see smoke!" "Smoke!" Maureen said, bolting from the office, followed by Tami. "Mother to all available units, emergency on the set. Report to Area Three immediately!" she said, running toward the east end of the lot, where the big enclosed sound stage was located. Coming closer, she could see smoke pouring from the open loading door of the stage. When she got a whiff of the smoke, she started to cough, and quickly backed up. she thought, dismayed. She looked at the smoke continuing to pour from the building. <*Big* ones, too!> She looked around at the pandemonium, looking for her security crew. Several members of her team ran up to her. "What do we do now, Maureen? The firemen aren't going to be able to do anything about *this*, are they?" "No," she replied, thinking hard. "What we need are air handlers." She grabbed the arm of one of the security crew, and said, "Start calling around to chemical laboratory suppliers, and rent us two or three of the biggest laboratory air handlers they have. Offer them whatever they want--we're already behind schedule as it is!" She looked at another Security crew member. "Steff, start getting people out of the area, and see if you can find a gas mask to get in there and deactivate that thing." She suddenly focused on one of the crew standing there. "Dianne, who's covering Gate One?" Dianne looked surprised. "No one--you said there was an emergency! I got here as fast as I could..." Maureen had a sinking feeling. "The front gate isn't secured?" She looked again at the smoke still coming out of the sound stage, and said "Diversionary tactics! Oh, no...!" and turned and ran for the west gate, hoping that truck was still where it was supposed to be. Arriving out of breath, with her staff pounding up behind her, she looked around for the truck. "Where is it?" she asked Dianne. "Where's what?" Dianne answered, confused. "The *truck*. The one with the *lederhosen*." "I don't know. It was here just... But what could they have done? I've only been gone a couple of minutes!" "I guess we'll find out soon enough," Maureen said grimly. They were to find out very soon, indeed... Mr. P. sat on the floor of the truck, trying to hear his captors through the thick fabric of the hood that covered his head. All he could hear was whispers, but it sounded like the kidnappers were arguing. he thought. He strained to hear what they were saying, but they were quiet now. As the truck sped away from the set, all his stunned mind could think was Maureen sat at her desk, gloomily waiting to see if her staff could find any more clues left behind by the kidnappers. She looked again at the items that were in the satchel that apparently fell off the truck as it was speeding away... Several books, an advance catalog for the American Library Association's summer conference, pens and pencils galore, and a pencil case that had printed on it, "Librarians DON'T do it Quietly!" She picked up one of the books, _The Transitive Vampire--A Handbook of Grammar for the Innocent, the Eager, and the Doomed_, and looked inside to see if, against all hope, the owner's name was written inside. She tossed down the book again when Steff entered the office, and looked up at her questioningly. "Nothing, nada, zip!" Maureen groaned, and closed her eyes. Steff said, "Well, at least we know one of the kidnappers was a librarian, right?" "Oh, right, and that just narrows down the field a whole hell of a lot, doesn't it? *How* many factions have members who are librarians? Not to mention the fact that we found this satchel awfully easy--it may have been planted to lead us in the wrong direction." "That's true." They gloomed together for a little while, then Maureen said, "Well, I better go let the Assistant Director know that he's in charge. This is going to be *fun*--Mr. P. was the only one who could keep the list-members in line. That wuss of an A.D. is never going to be able to control the chaos." "Well, that's why we signed up, right? For all the *fun*!" Steff said with a wicked grin. As the two women left the office, Maureen could be heard asking her fellow Mercenary "Hey, you want a promotion? I could change your title to "Chief Listmember Wrangler..." ************************************************************* Double Take by Dianne T. DeSha Dianne chuckled quietly to herself as Maureen left. She'd really bought the "duh, I thought it was an emergency" act? There was a certain advantage to working with those who trusted you, she mused. And an even greater advantage when you were amongst those who would understand such a betrayal... As long as it was well-paid for. Volunteering for Maureen's security squad (sheesh, Maureen should *know* Mercs never _volunteer_ for anything!) had been a piece of cake. Leaving a crucial gate unguarded for just a moment was almost too easy to be worth mentioning. She pulled the small cellular phone from her pocket as she stepped around a corner. Dialing from memory she waited until her employer picked up. She got no greeting and expected none. "It's done," she said succinctly. Then she added, "I'll expect prompt payment?" There was a click as the line went dead. Dianne chuckled again. All this cloak-and-dagger bit was most likely unnecessary, but if it made the boss happy, why not? She quickly joined the rest of the security force in their futile attempt to find some trace of Mr. P. After all, she considered double-dipping a high art form; why shouldn't the Mercs get paid both to run set security and to disrupt the proceedings? ************************************************************* A Substitute by Sandra Gray "That Caddy is still missing?" asked the director, Mr. L. "Man, someone is gonna pay for this!" He sighed, then said to the assistant director, "Okay, we're going to change the day's shooting scenes to shots that don't involve the car. Make the changes. In the meantime, I'm going to Mr. P. about this problem. Maybe he can do something to get the pranksters to return the car." The assistant director wandered off in one direction while Mr. L. walked off in the direction of Mr. P.'s office. Sandra Gray, who had been standing nearby eavesdropping on the conversation, hurried to catch up to him. "Mr. L.," she said. He looked over at her briefly, but continued to walk. "Whatever the problem is, see the assistant director. He'll take care of it." "It's about the Caddy." Mr. L. stopped and looked at her. "You know where it is?!" "No!" stammered Sandra. "But... But I know someone in the city who has a car that looks exactly like the Caddy you use on the show." "You're saying this person would be willing to loan us his or her car?" "Well, he might. I could ask him." "We'd take good care of it. I'll put it in writing. I'll write it in blood!" * * * * * * * "No way," said Nick. "But Mr. L. promised he'd take good care of it. It might make a difference to how our proposals are treated," said Sandra. "No." "I bet he could be convinced to let you be on the set... To keep a watchful eye on your car. Besides, it's only until the other car is returned." "Has the other car been reported stolen?" "No. They think it's been taken as a prank. They expect it back soon or..." "Or what?" "Well, I guess if it's gone too long, they will report it stolen." "They should have done it already." "Well, maybe you could convince the director to do that. He finds out you're a cop--" "I'd just as soon he didn't find that out." "Well, maybe you... Or Ron could turn up something on the missing Caddy while you were on the set." Nick frowned. "Might learn other useful things too." He looked at Sandra and sighed. "If they can give me a good enough contract against damage, I'll do it." Sandra smiled. "I'm sure they'll be very accommodating. Thanks, Nick. Let's get over to the set." Sandra walked away. Nick sighed again and, taking out his car keys, followed. ************************************************************* Kidnapped! (1) (or ...Where's Nancy Drew when you need her, or the Hardy Boys at that???) by Cousin Candice thought Candice as she started up the "leiderhosen" truck, it was time to get a move on. It was so easy for her to just dial a number and hire a Merc when she needed some work accomplished. Well now that utter chaos ensued on the main set, she could get on with the plans Uncle had laid out for her. After seeing the "approved" scripts--well let's just say he was ready to take some heads... Or necks as it were... "So how's our guest doing back there?" Candice shouted above the hum of the engine. As Lane finished tying the last knot, he decided not to shout and join Candice up at the front of the truck. "Snug as a bug in a rug--well chair if you want to get specific." "Oh good, we should be getting a phone call any second, answer that, would you? Now on to the other sound stage--we have another "pick-up" to make." As if on cue, the portable phone rang, Lane picked it up and said nothing--seeing as Candice hadn't said to say anything (after all she *was* his employer for the time being) and hung up after they knew the pertinent information. "Oh he... (Heck, I said heck)--I forgot to tell Dianne where to meet us next. Damn--gimme the phone." Candice hit the button programmed with Dianne's number (handy little Merc that Dianne :). "Hi, Dianne. Listen--meet us at Sound Stage 2 in 10 minutes, the next part of your job requires you to be there for some,... Ah... Lifting." "See you there." and Dianne hung up the phone. "Where are we taking Mr. P. anyway?" Lane asked of his employer. "Oooh, not too far I imagine--we'll be needing to ask him some questions in a bit and we don't want him to be uncomfortable for too long now do we?" Candice smiled as they passed the abandoned warehouse on the way to Sound Stage 2--a perfect place for an interrogation. They arrived at SS 2 just as Dianne pulled up in her own mode of transportation. "Are they ready Lane?" "Yes, ma'am." Lane picked up the tranquilizers and loaded them into the gun. "Great, let's go--and Lane?" "Hmm?" Lane mumbled as he checked the safety on the gun. "Don't call me ma'am." ************************************************************* Kidnapped!... etc. (2) Pawn switched to Rook going for Bishop by Cousin Candice Candice got out of the truck and went to meet Dianne at the side of her car. "Speeding again?" "Oh we're only in a studio lot, c'mon Candi--live a little..." Candice just snarled in retort, walking around to the back of the truck to check on their "guest." She cracked open one of the panel doors and slipped inside the back. "Wait here and watch for... Well anything." She'd wanted to say vampires, but they were kinda busy inside the sound stage and they had *no* idea of what was in store for them. Aside from the fact that news of the wreckage probably hadn't reached this end of the lot yet, so it was business as usual. "Hello Mr. P., just wanted to make sure you were,... Ahh... Comfortable. Well as comfortable as one can be, tied up in a chair like that. So, are you? Just bob your head--drool if you must." The tousled and disheveled man looked at Candice with pleading eyes to be let go. Candice snorted in a very un-lady like manner, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Not till I get some answers, I'm afraid. Just answer the question... Are you ok?" Mr. P. started fidgeting around in the chair that was bolted to the floor of the truck, grunting and whimpering, trying to break free from the ties that bound him to the chair. He gave up when he saw Candice grinning down at him, her eyes full of mirth and general menace directed at him. He simply nodded and then much to his shock and embarrassment, felt drool slide out from beneath the gag. Satisfied that his response was a 'yes,' Candice slid out the back of the truck again, chuckling as she joined her latest "For Hires" out in the night air. She locked the back and walked up the path to the sound stage. "Ok Lane, so the guns are all loaded and you've got extra darts just incase you miss? And Dianne, you have the garlic and holy water mixed in that container?" "Mhmm, and the mixture is positively *loaded* onto those ropes you had me buy at the hardware store. Plenty of rope and plenty of ammo, right Lane?" Dianne and Candice both turned to Lane, both a little more than anxious to get this part over with. Both knowing that Lane was integral in their plan and getting away with it. Lane was a little too relaxed and sure of himself for either of the women to feel "safe." "Would you two relax! Everything's set. I *won't* miss" "You'd better not--timing is _everything_. If you miss the first time, you probably won't get a second chance and Dianne and I will be dead." Dianne stopped in mid stride and nearly shrieked were it not for her keen sense of tact. "Candice, what do you mean *WE*? This was _your_ plan and..." "And _I_ hired YOU. End of story. Screw it to the sticking place and follow me inside. Now. Lane, stay close behind us, but Out Of Sight till we get them alone in the main office. There's an exit out into the alley where we parked the truck. As soon as you hit them, take them out into the back of the truck and get them tied up in that rope of Dianne's. I'll just run out and make their excuses and we'll high-tail it out to the warehouse. Okay?" They had reached the front doors of sound stage 2. This was it. "Ollie ollie oxen free..." Candice mumbled under her breath, and the two women strode into the sound stage with their best hell-bent-for-leather-mad-as-hell attitudes in place, with Lane close behind. They looked down the corridor and saw some people milling about, reading scripts, reciting lines, smoking, drinking soda or coffee--basically taking a break. Candice thought to herself, allowing the sardonic grin to spread across her face as she and Dianne got closer to their destination. Candice re-adjusted the weight of her backpack (filled with heavy duty, Garlic-and-holy water rope) onto her other shoulderblade. The people didn't look up except to get out of their collective way. Candice and Dianne turned down the hall, reaching the end of it faster than either had expected, looking behind them to see Lane close at hand, with no one else in sight. Lane pulled the tranquilizer gun and out from under his trench coat, bringing the gun up to a set position, ready to fire the minute they walked through the door. "Ready or not, here we come..." Candice pushed open the door, leaving Lane to come in of his own accord, with Dianne in tow. "Karin, dear Cousin, we need to talk." "Who.. Um... Are--oh wait--if this is about the fiasco down on the set, Jennise is just getting off the pho..." Karin turned to face the other vampire, her back to the door and to Candice and Dianne when Lane chose that exact moment to step just inside the door, aimed his gun, and shot Karin with the first tranquilizer in the shoulder. Karin turned and hissed, her eyes glowing red, and then promptly fell to the floor. Candice and Dianne both ducked in unison when Jennise came out of the back room, knowing they were in Lane's line of fire. Jennise was looking down at a clipboard and started to speak, not realizing there was anyone but Karin in the office. "Ok, most of the smoke down on the set's been cleared... Something's still unclear about a... Leiderhosen tru... ... *snarl*... What the..." Jennise looked down at the dart sticking out of *her* left shoulder, then to Lane who was just lowering his gun, then to the body of her co-writer lying prone to her desk, and then fell to the floor in a heap. "Piece of cake." Lane said to the ladies who were still conscious on the floor (also still mortal at that), and blew on the top of his gun to clear away the imaginary smoke. "Uch... Would you just get over here and give Dianne a hand tying them up? I would be ever-so-grateful." Candice got up off the floor, turned to the backroom reaching for the phone to make Jennise and Karin's excuses for not returning to the remainder of filming or sound editing for the night due to the chaos that still ensued over on the set and more re- writes. By the time Candice finished making all the calls to the important people in production, Dianne and Lane had already brought Karin out to the back of the truck and were just lifting Jennise's limp body into the air. "I'm never working for you again Candice. Never." Dianne grumbled as she followed Lane out the door holding Jennise's feet up. Dianne grimaced, knowing her weakness for jewelry was too strong to resist *any* job offer. "Uh huh... Sure Dianne. I believe you." Candice snickered and ran around to the front of the truck, climbing into the driver's seat. As soon as she heard the back door slam shut, Candice turned the ignition and waited for Dianne and Lane to join her up front. They sped off into the night cruising out to the old warehouse. ************************************************************* Playing Possum by Jennise Hall and Karin Welss "Ow! My wrists hurt!! What the @#$% did they soak these ropes in? And, Karin dear, why the hell are we in the back of this truck, playing ?" Jennise was cranky. Jennise was very, very cranky. Karin edged away cautiously. She wrinkled her nose at the scent of sizzling flesh, trying to ease the fierce itch in her wrists. "It was the only way to find out what they wanted." "What they WANTED?" Jennise's anguished howl was by carried away by the night wind rushing over the bed of the truck. "Well. I hope what they WANTED was to piss me off, because IT WORKED!" Jennise took a deep breath and forced herself to some semblance of calmness. "So, Karin, since this is all your plan, what is our next move?" "Uh, we wait until they stop the truck, and then... Lunch time?" Karin hadn't quite thought that far ahead. When the three absurdly overconfident mortals had turned up at the office, and shot her with those laughable toys, her first instinct had been to play possum. "Lunch time? Got it." But Jennise's voice was skeptical. "No, seriously. I didn't think they knew we were vampires. I mean, like, ?" Karin sighed. "But at least now we know who's been trying to sabotage our episode." Jennise said nothing. But then again, she didn't have to. Her bloodthirsty smile was visible in the velvet darkness. The ropes binding their wrists parted moistly. Jennise rubbed her smoking wrists in relief, then settled into a more comfortable position in the truck bed. Vengeance would be hers. Karin's stomach growled noisily. ************************************************************* The Story of C (1) by darkangel "Hi, Candi!" Me showing up at my friend's hotel room was not an uncommon thing during the filming. In fact, we quite often went out for drinks after watching the FKFIC-L members make fools of themselves at the set... "What's up, Steff?" She finished brushing her hair and set the brush on the counter. "Going drinking again?" "Not exactly." I walked up behind her and quickly pressed my fingers to a spot on her neck. She slumped to the floor, unconscious. "Wow, John was right. That really does work!" I scooped her tiny 5'2" body into my arms. Damn, she was light. I put her on the bed. I went to her closet and fished out her garment bag. There were a few dresses inside, which I hung neatly on the back of the door. Just because I was kidnapping her didn't mean I had to ruin perfectly good clothes. I laid the garment bag on the bed next to Candi. As I'd thought, it was bigger than she was. I fetched my satchel from beside the door where I'd dropped it and pulled out two sets of leather cuffs, spreader bars, and a ball gag. I grinned. And Candi had thought I owned these for purely non- PG-13 reasons. I slipped the cuffs around her wrist, and locked them to the black steel spreaders. When she woke up, she would be much more comfortable--and much better restrained--then if I'd simply ties her hands behind her back. After all, this equipment was designed to keep someone bound comfortably for hours on end. I did the same to her ankles, and put the ball gag in her mouth. She'd be waking up soon. I had to finish quickly. I opened the garment bag and laid her inside. hooking the spreader bars to the hooks inside the bag. I zipped it closed, leaving a tiny space at the top for air to reach her. Perfect. I lifted the bag. It looked as if it was stuffed with clothing. As long as no-one touched it besides me, I'd be fine. I slung her over my shoulder, and headed downstairs to where Jen Lackey awaited me in the van... "Murfle! Murfle!" Candice said from the garment bag. It lay on the floor in the back of the van. I smiled. "Don't worry, Candi. We'll be there soon." "Ef? Oo mifch!" The bag replied angrily. "Stop insulting your friends, Candi." Jen glanced at me from behind the wheel. "How'd you know what she said?" I giggled. "Do you have any idea how many conversations I've had with gagged people?" "Steff, you're incorrigible. What did she say?" The bag began shrieking and twisting. I ignored it. "She said, 'Steff? You bit--' Oh, yeah, can't say that. Um, starts with 'b' and rhymes with 'witch'." "Got it." Jen grinned and screeched up to the curb in front of the Raven. I hopped out and pulled open the sliding door of the van. I peered into the garment bag. "Hi, Candi!" I chirped. "Onna kill oo! Uckin mifch! Uncle ill--" She looked furious. I laughed. "Uncle will what, Candi? Oh, by the way, he told me when he paid me that this was in return for your disloyalty." "AT?!?!?!?" That was as close as the bag could get to "what" with that gag in. I heaved it over my shoulder, chatting with Jen on the way inside the club. It was just after sunset, so the Raven wasn't open for business yet. Janette, luckily, was nowhere in sight. I set the bag down next to the VR booth, which was in use. I wondered who it could be. Janette emerged from the back of the club, looking surprisingly bleary. She wore a black silk nightgown with matching robe, and she yawned as she went behind the bar. She poured herself a drink. "What are you doing here so early?" She sipped her drink. "Work." I smiled politely. "Ah." She went back to drinking, polishing off her glass and then drinking straight from the bottle. Tami LaFrank emerged from the VR booth with an extremely large, extremely satisfied smile on her face. She seemed to be having trouble walking. "Ohhhhh, Steff, I'm impressed!" She stated drunkenly. Suddenly she noticed Janette, immersed in the bottle of blood she was gulping. Tami turned a most interesting shade of red and slumped into a chair. She watched Janette intently as the vampire, paying no attention to us mortals, stuck the empty bottle behind the counter and sleepily drifted towards the back of the the club. As soon as she was gone, Jen and I broke into peals of laughter. Tami blushed even redder. "Can't a girl have a good time without being harassed mercilessly by her friends?" Jen and I looked at each other for a moment, than back at Tami. "No," we said together. She groaned. "But how can you stand being in the same room with her when she's just so..." You could tell she was trying to find a word which properly expressed Janette's beauty. "Wonderful," she finished lamely, knowing that no single word could express the radiance of this divine creature. For surely she could not be of the devil, as Lucifer could never have created such beauty... As Tami sat staring towards the back of the Raven dreamily, Jen and I prepared Candi for the torture. I performed the "Cajun Nerve Pinch" again, as I liked to call it, knocking Candi once more unconscious. As we unhooked her from the bag, we glanced knowingly at Tami. "I was this bad, with my first crush." I grinned. "I was thirteen, and her name was Sarah..." I drew myself of out a flashback [hey, humans have them too sometimes. shut up. *grin*--ed.] forcefully. "Where did you think I got my penchant for redheads?" Jen put her hand to her head in a mock "woe-is-me" southern belle look. "You mean, I'm not the only redhead in your life?" We giggled. "Poor Tami," Jen said. After all, the only way Janette would ever have her is for lunch." "That's what the machine's for, chere!" I grinned as I tightened the last strap on Candice. We had added bondage straps through a few well-placed rings inside the VR booth. She was now completely immobile. We attached the sensors into their places and I put the VR helmet onto her. There, all set. "Hey, Jen?" I pulled a small kit from my satchel. "Do you know how to give shots?" "Uh, yeah. Why?" I handed her the box. "Something to make sure she doesn't pass out from agony. I put a lot of work into this. She'll stay awake for it or else I'll eat my hat." I chuckled. "Hey, I don't have a hat. Oh well, guess we'll have to find more Cousins to torture." Jen administered the shot, and I told the booth what to do. In a few minutes, the punishment would begin. ************************************************************* Homecomings Are Never Easy... by Dawn Steele Dawn Steele dropped her dark green duffel bag on the floor. It was quite a bit more battered that it had been when she'd last stood here. Her apartment. Home sweet home. Sanctuary. Refuge. With a tired sigh, she started fishing for her key. *Where did I slip the blasted thing?* Dawn had found it, slipped it into the keyhole, and turned it before noticing an alarming fact... It wasn't locked. Pulling the duffel bag after her, she slipped inside. After flipping on the overhead lights, she stared blearily at the bill taped to the inside of the front door. Cleaning bill? With great apprehension, she investigated the rest of the apartment. The posters were ruined. She stared with disbelief at the remains on the "Common Whales of Newfoundland" that she'd picked up as a souvenir. Her Susan Seddon Boulet posters... Sparkly flakes ground into the rug in the living room. Black rubber marks all over the kitchen floor, as if equipment had been dragged through. The futon chair cover that her mother had made for her was gone, replaced by a dark blue pattern. Her VCR's were missing. The goldfish were gone... So were are Forever Knight, and Highlander tapes. "AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Clearly a primal scream. With shaking fingers, she patted the bare spots in her Entertainment center. Flipping through all the other tapes, she searched frantically. Starman, Superman, Sliders, tape after tape of old TNG eps... The most important ones were gone. Missing. Kaput. Lost. With a sigh she sat down in front of her computer. Almost afraid to turn it on... What if they'd left some sort of horrible virus? *Later. Right now I need something to drink...* Opening up the fridge she stared at the unfamiliar container. *I might as well get it over with.* She opened the lid, and stared at a purple liquid within. *Grape juice?* Dawn got out one of her water glasses with the Christmas trees on it. After pouring some of the grape juice, she stared dubiously at the small white flecks swimming inside. *Garlic? Grape juice with garlic? I've tried stranger things...* And with that thought, she tried it out. Not bad. A little strong on the garlic perhaps, but it gave a definite... Spark to the grape juice. Taking the glass to the living room she sat down in front of the tv, and pondered the past week. She'd loved the idea of appearing in an FK episode, latching on to the opportunity of a lifetime. All those weeks preparing, getting into the character of a private investigator... The preliminary scenes where she followed Stonetree around Toronto, *I wonder if they'll hit the small screen? probably not.* The small touches that the tv crew had insisted on putting into her apartment. The tv crew. They must have been in her apartment filming part of the episode. *Why? Re-writes? There wasn't anything planned except for a brief shot of the back of my head as I typed on the computer.* Dawn paused as she remembered signing a waiver... A waiver to let the filming crew use her apartment in the episode. They'd clearly gotten someone inside to clean it up a bit, but... Where were her goldfish? She'd clearly stated on the waiver that stunt goldfish were to be used for any dangerous scenes. Writers could be so cruel to the little things. Putting them in all sorts of unlikely containers... *They could be in a thermos for all I know!* Okay. Someone had the goldfish. Someone had the stunt goldfish. Dawn slumped into the computer chair and took another sip of the grape juice. She closed her eyes, and slipped into a flashback... do de do da do de do da do de do da... deep deep. Realtime filming. 1 week earlier. Dawn flipped though her yellow copy of the latest rewrites. "I'm going to Tibet?" "Our sponsor insists. We've got the scene all planned out. You get home. All tired from your mysterious investigation, only to receive... *Mysterious instructions*! It'll be great!" The assistant director was trying to project an air of enthusiasm. "Sure. Why not. So my character goes to Tibet..." "No! *You're* going to Tibet! It'll be fun! An all expense paid trip to the nether regions!" Her eyes danced a dance of joy at the clearly not-to-be-missed-once-in-a-lifetime- opportunity. "We'll send a single camera man along, and he can shoot some scenes of you getting on, and off the airplane! Dealing with the locals! Hiking! Climbing! Eating the food! All in a quick 5 to 7 day trip! By the time you get to where we need you, it'll be time to come right on back!" Dawn was trying to resist an urge to slowly choke the life of the the annoying person in front of her. "This is for the Forever Knight episode? Are you sure? I get jet lag bad you know..." "Of course! It's a very important role. Another foul plot of LaCroix's to deprive Nick of some mysterious goblet. If it's not used in the premiere we can always recycle it later. We've done that before you know." The last was said in a somewhat conspiratorial tone. "I know, I know. The Nick and Nick in the diner with the French fry scene. Filmed for "Feeding the Beast", it ended up in... What did it end up in?" "How should I know? I just work here. It's not as though I've watched the reruns a couple of gazillion time like fanfolk." "Tibet... Are you sure it's for the show?" "Of course!" With those final cheerful comments, the assistant director walked away, slipping out the pink rewrite copy as she went. No need for the poor girl to see it. Orders were orders after all. The word had come down from on high. Poor connections, bad scheduling, sidetrips from hell, a mugging to steal her passport, and at the end... It only made sense. After all, the episode was filmed as an "April Fool's Day" episode. Maybe the editors would be able to slip in the shot of Dawn's face. Tired, and haggard, as she discovered her trip had been nothing but a diversion. The film was to go directly to the new benefactor to check out... Television was much fun! da do de da da da do dee dee dee da dum... Back to Dawn's Apartment. Dawn's eyes flipped open, and took on a strange menacing air. It was time to get back to Toronto. Time to read the latest rewrite and find out just been filmed in her apartment. Then she'd use some of her contacts to do some rewrites of her own. She wouldn't rest until she got her tapes back. Perhaps she'd even write it into the episode... The perils of dealing with the possessions of a Di... Oops! The possessions of a ticked off P.I. with a background in the martial arts!!! ************************************************************* A Little Action Drama by Dawn Steele Candice looked at the unconscious Mr. P., and let an evil looking grin cross her face. The possibilities were endless... "Dianne! Get over here, and help Lane move Karin and Jennise into the back room. I don't want Mr. P seeing them, or vice versa. No sense in letting them know they have company." "You know, maybe kidnapping Karin and Jennise wasn't that great an idea. What happens when they wake up?" Dianne's voice sounded worried as she started to drag Karin's limp body to the back. Reinforced steel doors covered the back storage area. "We'll just have fun, that's all..." Candice heard her cellular phone start to ring, and pulled it out of her pocket. "Hello?... But my next scene isn't scheduled for... Alright! I'll be there in twenty minutes." She shoved it angrily back into her pocket, and motioned to the two Mercs to join her. "Dianne, I need you to come with me back to the set. Maureen will be suspicious if you're missing too long. Lane... You'll have to stay here and watch Mr. P. It shouldn't be a problem, and I'll be back in a couple of hours." Candice read over the script in disbelief. She'd rushed from the warehouse, only to find... These sort of things weren't supposed to happen to the Cousins. Wasn't Uncle in charge? "I'm not doing it." The assistant director's face creased with an evil smile. "It's in the latest rewrites. Do you want to be in the episode?" "Have it rewritten. Again." "I'm sorry, but with Mr. P... Missing, no one has to authority to approve any more drafts." "Then what are these?" Candice waved the fluorescent green sheet of paper in the assistant directors face. "They were orange yesterday! Who approved these?" "They were on Mr. P's desk. With his initials on the master copy." The assistant director turned her back on Candice and started to walk away. "Filming starts in ten minutes, you get to costuming..." Candice just looked at the green sheets, and muttered. "What I do to be in same show as Uncle..." Cast: D.L. Steele, P.I. -Dawn Steele Cousin Candice -Cousin Candice Assorted Ninjas -Extras Sunset. Fog shrouded the streets, and deep shadows held secrets. Black on black shapes moved swiftly through the night. With a faint whisper of air, wire ropes flew into position. Agile black shapes could barely be picked out as they moved smoothly up the sides of the... Royal Constellation Hotel. After rising to dizzying heights, the leader paused outside a particular window. Signaling silently for the others to wait, she quickly brought out a diamond cutter, and cut a large hole in the window. Without a word being spoken, they slipped into the room. The room was suddenly awash with light. "I was expecting you." Cousin Candice moved away from the light switch, and into the main portion of the room. "You really didn't think I'd let you get those tapes back did you?" The leader had moved away from the window, and let the other two black-clad ninjas follow her through. Her voice was soft, and yet the words carried distinctly to her opponent. "They're mine!" "Perhaps you don't understand... What Uncle wants, Uncle gets!" "I can understand the goldfish. I hear Uncle has a... Weakness for them, but I sincerely doubt he mentioned anything about stealing my !" The leader ripped off her black headgear. Revealing a pale face framed by wild wisps of brown hair that had escaped her braid. "D.L. Steele. Not that there was any doubt..." And with that, Candice slipped a hand into her short leather jacket, and pulled out a two foot long sword. "There can be only..." CUT! CUT! CUT! The director slumped into his chair, almost defeated. Shooting this episode was beginning to look like Hell on Earth. Carrying a thick set of green sheet, the Assistant Director slinked onto the set. "What do you think you're doing?" Candice's tone was sullen. "Making it more interesting!" "No ad-libs today!" Skinny fingers jabbed at the paper. "See here? You run out of the room. Steele runs after you while the other two get the goldfish, and the tapes. You join up with some other Cousins, and now outnumbered! There's a big martial arts scene! See that comment?" Dawn moved closer to the assistant director, and pulled out her eyeglasses from one of the ninja-pockets. She smiled at the rapidly written notes on the rewrite. Her handwriting. The Assistant Directors voice had somehow developed a slight nasal quality. "Mr. P.'s own comment. 'Martial Arts: attract a wider viewer audience!'" "But why do we have to get beaten up, and tossed into the pool?" "Because it's a classic scene! The hero, surrounded by evil Co... evil ninjas! Symbolic of the fight for freedom against oppression, the grail at the end of the light, the human belief of overcoming overwhelming odds, the..." "It's 'symbolic' of a fight scene! Bloodied faces, ripped clothes exposing muscle toned bodies, and senseless violence!" The Assistant Director just smiled, and pointed for Candice to resume her position by the light switch. "Then as a Cousin, you shouldn't have any problems with the senseless violence. Move!" Later... Co-ordinator's notes: Other Cousins are now dazed/unconscious: -> Candice executes the famous Van Damme flying head kick, stumbles upon landing. While off balance, Steele moves -> Rushes up. In quick succession, executes solid: Mawashi Geri to Candice right side, stepping through--Rekken, Aku Zuki, bow-and-arrow punch to head Candice slams against the plate glass window, Solid Yoko Geri Kekomi to stomach, leads to: -> Candice being thrust the plate glass window, and falling backwards into the pool. Later... Candice stumbled over to the side of the room, and grabbed one of the ice packs. Weaving a bit, she stumbled up to Dawn, and sat down. "Why did you do that?" Dawn looked over at Candice, and then continued on in checking to see if any of her teeth had loosened. "Do what?" Candice waved her arms and gestured to the milling crowd of people. "...All this. You re-wrote the script, right? I didn't think most of these people would be interested in watching a fight scene get filmed." "I got my tapes and goldfish back... Why would I need another reason?" "A diversion?" Dawn looked at the crowd. The key people she wanted to attract were there, and Candice was sitting right beside her. Mission accomplished, in more ways than one... "Why do you think I'd need a diversion?" She leaned back into her chair, moaning in pain as she found another bruise. *A diversion. heh heh heh. Now why would I want that?* Meanwhile... "Are you sure?" Deb looked at the damp cloth in front of her, and then poured some more chloroform on it. Better to be safe than sorry. "Of course! Most of the people we'd have to worry about should be on the set. There's only the skeleton guard on Mr. P. A single Merc probably." Catherine peered around the corner of the boxes they were hiding behind. The van was in plain sight. No signs of alarm. She motioned for Nichole to complete her part of the plan. Deb put a restraining hand on Nichole's shoulder. "Why don't we just bribe him to let us rescue Mr. P.?" Catherine just motioned for Nichole to continue, and whispered to Deb, "Unethical. He's bound by his contract after all. I wouldn't want to cause him any problems with the guild." Deb responded. "How did Vicki manage to get the information out of Dianne then?" Nichole whispered her contribution. "I think it had something to do with Maureen. Or at least that's what Vicki said when she called with the information an hour ago. Something about Dianne violating a Guild contract, so Maureen forced the information out of her." She crouched on the ground, in the classic firearm position, and methodically shot two of the tires. The possible getaway vehicle was put out of action. The gun, even with the silencer, seemed quite loud to the three Die-Hards, but the occupants of the warehouse seemed unaware of their new visitors. "You ready?" Nichole carefully unloaded the bullets from the gun, replaced all of them with blanks, and unhitched the silencer. Still dangerous pressed next to the skin, but they should be safe enough since it would only be used in a bluff as a last resort. "Why do I have to be the one to knock the guard out?" Deb sounded a bit nervous. "Because I shot the tires, and Catherine wants to drive the getaway car. Now hurry up!" Lane sat in a comfortable chair, reading a book. Mr. P. was in plain sight. Lane would look up occasionally, but his normal watchfulness was missing. Not good war-time behavior. He looked up however at the sound of loud footsteps walking into the warehouse. Lane moved quickly in order to intercept whoever it was before they could get a look at Mr. P., bound to a chair. "Excuse me?" Deb voice was hesitant, and she managed to convey an impression of a hassled tourist. "You wouldn't be able to direct me to Bay Street? I seem to have lost my map, and it's getting pretty late at night. No one seems to be around..." "Miss? Let's go outside, and I'll give you directions." Lane watched in disbelief as Deb tripped on the coils of rope that had been dumped near the door. Spilling the contents of her (very large) bag. Small items flew everywhere, and Deb scrambled to pick them up, cursing under her breath. Keeping a lookout for other presences, Lane crept closer, and casually kicked a few items closer to Deb. Suddenly a shot rang out from behind him. Lane turned, and was caught as Deb thrust the chloroformed cloth over his mouth and nose. He almost overpowered her. Nichole quickly ran up and pointed the gun at him threateningly. "Don't resist, and you won't get hurt." After a few seconds of struggle, his form went limp. Squealing tires rang out, and Deb looked up to see Catherine pull up into the warehouse entrance in a black convertible. "Hurry up!" Deb carefully arranged the Merc's body next to the disabled van, and Mr. P., bound and gagged, stared at them. "Mr. P.? My name's Bond, Catherine Bond. We're here to rescue you..." ************************************************************* You Realize, Of Course... by Perri Smith "Ouch!" "Shhhhhh! Keep it down and act casual!" "Something just tried to trip me!" "Yeah, I saw it jump out at you." "Keep it down!" "Yeah, like no one's going to notice a crusade of Knighties running around the studio." "If you look like you're supposed to be here, no one will bother you. I do it all the time." "Well, maybe reporters are naturally sneaky..." "Hey, I resemble that remark!" "...but some of us aren't experienced at breaking and entering." "This is just like what we pulled at the Jack the Ripper, when we messed with the sound system last war. Except that the security guards here don't tend to turn you into a vampire. Now quiet!" Nancy, Amy and Vicky finally quieted down. Perri and Linda rolled their eyes at each other, and kept walking, trying hard to look like members of the cast. Fortunately, Perri had filmed her Houston scene and Nancy her scene a few days before, and they knew their way around. "The shooting scripts should be in the main office," Nancy said. "They won't be distributed until everyone knocks off for today." "So we've got to get to them first." "We will," Perri said. "Everyone got your rewrites?" "Yes," the other four chorused. "Good. Scottie said they were into the green sheets now, so these should blend right in." She paused outside a door. "This is it. Vicky, do your stuff." Vicky had the lock picked in under two minutes. Perri was impressed, but didn't waste much time expressing it. They shoved the door open, and closed it carefully, heading for the pile of script pages on the desk in the corner. They pulled out their own piles of paper from various places around their bodies, and started substituting. Perri made sure everyone else was distracted, then pulled out a second sheaf of papers, carefully inserting them in the appropriate place. ***** They arrived at filming the next day doing their best to look innocent. It wouldn't have fooled anyone who knew them, but it was enough to get past the director, who looked strangely familiar... The karaoke scenes went perfectly. Nigel had certainly had a ball with his. In the car back to the safehouse, the four amateur burglars traded congratulations. No one had noticed the substituted pages, and luckily, Karin and Jennise had never shown up on the set. The Knighties didn't spend too much time wondering about it, but thanked various deities for small favors... While Perri huddled in a corner and wondered if she should be regretting what she'd just done... ************************************************************* The Story of C (2) by darkangel Candi opened her eyes groggily to the sound of her Uncle's voice. She had been having the weirdest dream, in which her friends Jen and Steff kidnapped her... "Candi, cherie, get up. It's a beautiful night!" LaCroix smiled as she opened one eye. "Oncle?" She looked at him disbelievingly. He was dressed in a sunny yellow terrycloth bathrobe, embroidered with daisies. Weird. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine, sweetling. Come on, rise and shine!" He dragged her from the bed. "Tell you what--you go have some breakfast while I get dressed, okay?" "Whatever you say, Uncle." She yawned and stretched as LaCroix took off his robe on his way to what she presumed was the bathroom. What she saw made her choke. He was wearing the exact outfit Tim Curry had worn during his "Sweet Transvestite From Transylvania" number in Rocky Horror. He turned around and blew her a kiss. "Out in a minute, love!" he called, and disappeared through the door. Uncle? In *that* outfit? Had somebody spiked his breakfast or something? Puzzled, she made her way towards the kitchen. The fridge was full of bottles of juice, and there was no blood in sight. This was getting too strange. "Sorry about the delay, dear. It takes a minute to get out of those fishnets." He chuckled. "You won't tell anybody my little secret, will you?" "No, Uncle." Candi would have said more, but she was trying to get over the fact that LaCroix was now wearing overalls and a plaid flannel shirt. It wasn't even a pretty plaid. Instead, it looked like all the colors had been mixed with mud. On his feet were white socks with sandals. Ewwww. "Good!" he chirped, and took a bottle of orange-colored liquid from the refrigerator. "Try some of this juice. It's good." He drained half the bottle and handed it to her. She sniffed it, then took a sip. It really was orange juice. "Um, Uncle? Why are you not drinking blood?" This was getting stranger by the second. "Well, see, there's this book called 'Bunnicula', and it gave me a great idea. After all juice is simply the blood of plants, right?" He took the bottle back and drank some. "So now I can feast on helpless plants as well as animals!" He grinned. "And this tastes much better." He finished the bottle and put it into the fridge. "What do you say we go watch a movie? My tape of 'The Sound of Music' just arrived, and I loooove Julie Andrews!" He giggled and grabbed her hand, dragging her towards the living room... Darkangel grinned at the scream coming through the open door of the VR booth. "But Uncle, I don't like--" Candi stopped and gulped. "Yes, sir. Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens..." "Gin," the dark-haired Merc said and laid her cards onto the table. Tami LaFrank and Jen Lackey were too busy listening to Candice miserably warbling "My Favorite Things" to pay attention to the fact that their money was rapidly disappearing into Darkangel's pockets. All the better, she mused. At this rate, she'd be the only Merc with cash. The game wore on. Each of Candice's screams of agony was met by curious looks at Darkangel. "Oh, he must have gotten out the Leiderhosen and made her dance the Laendler," said Steff the first time. The next answer was "Geez, LaCroix singing Barney songs while strumming a badly-played, out-of-tune guitar isn't _that_ painful." After that, it was "Hey, I _like_ that Vampire Truck Driver song. Michael Longcor is too cool for words." The answers kept getting worse. "Ooh, hey, he must have gotten out the marshmallows and skewered them onto fangs, and done his Godfather impression." Then, "What's wrong with velvet paintings of Nick? The woman has NO taste." And, "All right! The lime-green leisure suit worked!" After that last scream, two hours into the torture, Jen slammed her fist into the table. "Steff, enough's enough! I wouldn't make my worst enemy suffer like this!" She thought about it for a moment. "Well, maybe I would. But not Candi. What did she ever do to you?" Darkangel frowned. "Sit down, Jen. I'm just doing my job. Besides, she's only got another hour left." Steff stopped explaining the screams after that, but giggled privately to herself when she realized Candi was being forced to watch LaCroix do a kiddie play with shadow puppets on the wall, with LaCroix wearing Count Duckula pajamas... Finally it was over. The three Mercs gave Candi a knockout injection, and started the procedure to get her back into her bed at the hotel before the Cousin realized what was happening. A half hour later, they were back at the Raven. After all, the Raven didn't open for an hour, and they all wanted to use the machine for the previously specified non-PG-13 reasons... ************************************************************* Pay-backs Are A B@#$%! (1) by Maureen Wynn Dianne was relaxing on the set, in the Security ready-room, enjoying the fruits of her labors. She took a sip of wine, and looked again at the bracelet in her hand, twirling it slowly around so that the light caught the facets of the jewels, twinkling softly. When the knock sounded at the door, she groaned, wishing she had a little more time to relax. she thought. She got up to unlock the door. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Maureen standing in the hall outside the room. She quickly shoved the hand still holding the bracelet into her pants pocket, and leaving it there, she leaned casually against the door jamb. "Hi, Maureen! Are they finished cleaning out the sound-stage yet?" "They're still working on it," Maureen answered. She added, "May I come in? I have something important I need to talk to you about." Dianne stilled the panic that rose in her briefly. , she thought confidently. "Sure, come on in... Can I give you a glass of wine?" she asked, picking up her own glass. Maureen looked at the bottle sitting on the battered table, raising her eyebrow slightly at the vintage. "Pouilly Fousse, '74... I wouldn't mind a taste of that." She smiled slightly as Dianne poured her a glass and handed it to her. "Business must be good for you lately...?" she asked. Dianne replied "I can't complain; I've had some good commissions. So, what did you need?" she said, changing the subject before Maureen had a chance to ask about some of those commissions. "Well, something's come up. I need you to listen to something, and tell me what you think it means..." She pulled a small tape-recorder out of her pocket, and pressed the "Play" button. They both heard a familiar voice say: "It's done." Then, "I'll expect prompt payment?" There was a moment of silence on the tape (matched by the sudden silence in the room), then a new voice on the tape said, "Hi, Dianne. Listen--meet us at Sound Stage 2 in 10 minutes, the next part of your job requires you to be there for some... Ah... Lifting." Followed by the first voice saying, "See you there." Maureen turned off the tape, and said, "Cellular phones are a wonderful invention, and so useful that everyone uses them. Isn't it a pity that they're not a very *secure* form of communication? I'm glad that I decided to pay the expense of the equipment needed to monitor transmissions to and from the set." She looked at Dianne's shocked face, and raised one eyebrow. "I guess you didn't know about that..." She finished her wine and set the glass down. "I know these calls were made on *your* cel line, so don't try to deny it." "I don't need to confirm or deny anything. You realize, of course, that I can't talk to you about my commissions? Confidentiality, you know?" Dianne said, having decided that silence was the best defense. she thought smugly. "I was paid to do a job, and I did it. I would think that *you* would understand my position...?" Maureen's eyes flashed angrily, and Dianne backed up a pace, startled. Maureen moved quickly, and Dianne suddenly found herself backed up against the wall, Maureen nose to nose with her, glaring into her eyes. Dianne thought. "I understand that your *position* is that you took money to provide a service that you had *no* intention of providing! I hope *you* understand that you have violated the Guild Charter?" "Not the way *I* read it!" "Let me quote for you-- '...All Guild Mercenaries have an obligation to complete all jobs that they accept contracts for, or return their fee, unless specific provision has been made in the contract for payment regardless of the success of the job.' You contracted to help keep the set secure, and then deliberately *violated* security by leaving your post unguarded, not to mention giving information to others. How else do you read that?" Dianne said "But I thought double-dipping was sanctioned by the Guild! *Every* Mercenary has taken multiple payments for the same job..." Dianne stopped, her eyes widening, as she realized that her rationalization didn't apply to this situation. Her confidence started to crumble, as she saw her cozy little loop-hole closing behind her, leaving her stranded on the other side. Maureen saw the chink opening in Dianne's armor, and shoved another wedge into it. "If I take this to a Guild tribunal, you could lose your membership." She turned away from Dianne, and walked to the table. Picking up the bottle of wine and refilling her glass, she added, "Without your Guild protection, there are certain... 'People'... Who might want to take the opportunity to repay you for past indignities." Dianne went pale, thinking of *who* might want retribution. "You wouldn't!" "Oh, wouldn't I?" Maureen replied, raising one eyebrow. "I'd even make the phone call!" she added, the dangerous glint back in her eyes. Dianne glared back at her erstwhile employer. "OK, what do you want? 25 percent? Half? I won't give you any more than that!" She jumped as the wineglass smashed against the wall. "I don't want money, you greedy back-stabber!" Maureen took something out of her pocket, and tossed it to Dianne, who caught it automatically, then looked at it in surprise--it was her bracelet! She put her hand into the pocket the bracelet should be in, and when she discovered that it was empty, realized that her pocket had been picked. Quite expertly, too. Warily, Dianne asked, "What exactly *do* you want?" "You're going to help us get Mr. P. *back*!" "Oh, no! I can't do that! If nothing else, I'm still being paid by Can... Um, I mean, my other employer--I can't help you against her." "You *can* provide us with some information... Like where they're holding Mr. P., and how many people are likely to be there." Dianne thought carefully about the wording of her contracts, trying to see if there was a way to honorably do this. "I don't think I can do that, Maureen." Maureen held out her hands, palm up. Dianne thought, startled. Then Maureen said, "On one side we have your ethics," holding up the right hand, "on the other side, your Guild membership," holding up the left hand. "Which one is more important to you? Hmmmm..." as she moved her hands up and down, as if seeking a balance. Suddenly, the left hand moved down as if filled with a heavy weight, while the right hand moved up. Maureen looked up at Dianne, and said "Looks like your ethics are rather light- weight. I think keeping the protection of the Guild probably wins out here." Dianne glared at Maureen, but she had the sinking feeling that the other woman was right... ************************************************************* Kindness and Senseless Beauty (1) by Dawn Steele It was near the end of the filming, and Dawn had decided to take a break from the hassle in Toronto, and to head back to Hamilton for the night. She was sure that Tracy was tired of her crashing in her apartment. Especially since there was still a few hard feelings about the--chocolate incident in the last war. Mr. P. had been rescued, and Dawn was looking for a little relaxation before contacting the other Die-Hards again. Just a breather. Dawn sat down at her computer, and carefully turned it on. She hadn't used it since before her little to Tibet. Surely computer viruses were passe by now. Overused in previous wars, she probably didn't have anything to worry about. It booted up. She entered Norton Desktop, and ran the Disk Doctor, and the Virus Checker. Nothing. It looked as though her hard drive had been . Unless there was a Doomsday virus on her system, she was okay. Dawn flipped the modem on. Then off. Then on. Then off. And on again. She started cursing underneath her breath, "...bloody... Wish I had the cash to..." Giving it a lethal rated stare she finally flipped it one last time--and it worked. Now to check her e-mail. She'd thankfully set all her subscribed listservs to "nomail" while she was gone, so she shouldn't have more than twenty or thirty messages. Most of them would probably be "where are you?" types. Junk, junk, junk, junk, hmmm e-mail from Sean. Terror of the e-mail circuit, and beloved/tolerated younger brother. Di Sudduth? She was a Die-Hard. She hadn't been involved with the Mr. P. venture due to the fact that she'd been hanging out with the Nat-Packers, and trying to keep them out of trouble. Or at least that's what she said... ------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Mon, 3 Jun 1995 16:13:36 -0500 From: "Di Sudduth" sudduthdj@sluvca.slu.edu To: "L.D. Steele" Subject: gifts Dawn, Just thought you could help me out. I was with some Nat- Packers the other day, and we went to visit Natalie. While we were there, I discovered that she received a mysterious "gift," a couple of months ago near the beginning of April. We were all curious, so we asked for details (see attached article). It turns out that Nat also received a gift for "Sidney," and that Grace also got a package. Natalie tested out the contents of her gift, (soap and bath products) nothing hidden. Sidney got a package of catnip, and Grace received an autographed box set of the Vampire Chronicles by Emily Weiss. Whoever this person is, they know quite a bit about Natalie, and Grace. I'm a bit worried. Could you call around? Despite what happened in the last war, I'm sure you'd be able to get the needed information. Or at least I think so. :) Call me when you get this. I'll be happy to try and add more details. Di ------------------------------------------------------------- (attached article) Natalie: the package was delivered by... ------------------------------------------------------------- Dawn got up from the computer, and started to make herself a cup of Raspberry Zinger herbal tea. It looked as though she had something to keep her occupied for the next few days. ************************************************************* Kindness and Senseless Beauty (2) by Dawn Steele <6am> "...And you're listening to CBC Radio, stay tuned for..." <7am> "That'll be $7.50" "I thought the price to go to Toronto was $7.25?" "Inflation." <8am> "Hi, ummm Natalie Lambert?" "You better not be trying to sell me a vacuum cleaner, I work nights!" "Sorry! I hope I can trouble you for a couple of minutes... I heard you got an unsigned gift a couple of months ago. I'm trying to track down the people who sent it." "... you want coffee?" <9am> "The Raven's closed." "Tara? It's Dawn. We met at DOWII, remember?" <10:30 am> "...That's quite all right Mrs. Schanke, I understand completely. We don't need to wake him up. Do you think I could get the wrapper it came in?" *And at noon, she rested...* Dawn placed her head in her hands and took a deep breath. Then she looked at the piles of notes on her table. She'd followed the first command of research... Research compile. She'd spend the afternoon on the phone at the Raven. Janette had been curious enough to agree to pay for any long distance calls. Try and track down the leads she had already this afternoon, and then go to the precincts to talk to Nick and Schanke. It sounded as if Cohen got a package too... What about Stonetree? It was going to be a long, long day. <9pm> "Nick Knight? I'm Dawn Steele. Natalie Lambert asked me to check into some anonymous gifts that were received a couple of months ago. Are you willing to talk to me?" "Gift... Oh, the book! A very good read. It brought back a lot of memories..." "Book?" "_LOST CITY OF THE TOLTECS_: _An annotated photographic record_ You know I was going to look into it myself, but then the war came up and..." "I understand, how about we go into one of the interrogation rooms?" "You look... Familiar. Have we met before?" "I believe I got your autograph once." "Something else..." "Not while I was in my right mind. The room?" <9:30pm> "Yes?" "Good Evening Captain Cohen. I hear you received a gift a couple of months ago? Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" "Who sent you? The F.B.I.?" "...No." <10:00pm> "...Schanke even invited the rest of us to join in. What a feast!" "And the name of the restaurant?" <11:30pm> "...I'm going in! Why give LaCroix a chance to get revenge in person? I'll see if I can track them down his input." ************************************************************* The Pot and the Kettle by Dianne T. DeSha After Maureen had left, that annoying little smirk still on her face, Dianne dropped back into her chair, stared at the door, and growled low in her throat. She snarled. She even hissed once, for good measure. "'Ethics,' 'Guild membership'," she mimicked at the empty room, raising and lowering her hands. "'Violated the Guild Charter', *Indeed*!" she snarled. "So who _hasn't_...?" Her voice trailed off as a memory struck her. Then Dianne smiled. It was not a particularly nice smile. She _distinctly_ remembered the use of the phrase "Bite me!" It had been directed at a vampire. It had *not* been a friendly invitation. Maybe she'd just make a quick phone call herself... ************************************************************* Kidnapped! (3) by Cousin Candice The blue Probe pulled into the lot in front of the warehouse at around 11. Behind the wheel, Candice almost screamed. Lane was no where in sight and the back of the truck was empty-- totally empty. Mr. P. was gone. Candice pounded her fists on the steering wheel and found herself fuming for the second time today. She brought the car to a screeching halt and jumped out of the car, running to the side of the truck. There she found Lane's semi-conscious form sprawled on the concrete. Candice grabbed Lane by his shirt, propped him up against the truck and hissed "What. Happened. Here." "Dae caugmeofgird" Lane managed to garble out some coherent speech. "Who? Who caught you off guard? Oh never mind..." Candice dragged Lane to the Probe and shoved him into the passenger side seat, knowing he'd be groggy for a few more hours and that it would be useless trying to get any answers from him. Candice frowned as she headed towards the side door of the warehouse. It had been hellish on the set--being called in last minute like that and not having had the chance to read the script ahead of time, Candice was totally caught off guard. She was bruised and battered and more sore than she'd ever been in her entire life--and she was still mad as hell at Jennise and Karin. Candice stepped through the door of the decrepit building and steeled herself for the confrontation of a lifetime. Candice heard the most blood curdling snarl as she walked through the warehouse to where she had left the two vampiresses. Yes, she had known the two were vampires from the beginning--Uncle kept her informed. The litany ran through her head over and over. Armed with her spray bottle of garlic and holy water, Candice arrived back at the spot where she'd tied the two vampires up. Tuppence was circling the two women, her ears laid back against her head and her face set in a permanent snarl, eyes squinted, glaring at the vampires. Tuppence sent to the Candice-human. Tuppence joined Candice who was still a good 20 feet from the vampires. This was a good thing, because if Candice got any closer, she'd see that the ropes that bound them were starting to loosen, meaning that they could get away any second, and Candice would lose her nerve. "*YOU*" Jennise hissed at Candice, "Uncle mentioned something about having some of his little mortals running around the set, but _YOU_... Uch, how on earth did you come up with this?" Jennise glanced around the warehouse, utterly annoyed that she had agreed to go along with Karin's little plan. she thought to herself and elbowed Karin roughly in the ribs. Candice faltered a little, almost feeling Jennise's words scorching her. "Never mind how, I just wanna ask some questions." Tuppence nodded at Candice and went back to circling the vampires. Karin groaned inwardly. "Great--so this was your big plan. _We_ have to answer _her_ questions? Geez Karin-- plan, just great." Jennise whispered to her co-writer. The cat brushed by Jennise's left foot and Jennise kicked (well tried to) Tuppence. The cat lashed out with a clawed paw, drawing blood from Jennise's shin. It took all her will to not break the ropes (breaking their facade of "strength".) Then again--the holy water and garlic had severely weakened her. "Okay, I'll make it simple--just one question. How could you let Uncle take all the blame for the murders in the plot line? How could you let that happen?" Candice, now ready to drop, found her second wind and managed to stay on her feet till her question was answered. "Yes, do tell." All three women craned their necks around to see LaCroix emerging from the shadows. Karin and Jennise both gulped audibly. LaCroix would never forgive them for this charade-- toying with Candice. He knew what they had planned. He knew. And he was NOT about to let them do anything rash. Karin broke down and began to tell the whole story from beginning to end of how at the start things were going great during the first week of production, and then Jennise got called away on other business. That taken into account, Karin was swamped with all the other work that had to be done--so naturally she couldn't handle it all by herself (not even a vampire can do the work of 7 at one time)... So Karin related to Uncle and Candice how she'd asked other prolific writers to help her on the scripts. And then all hell broke loose on the other set... "So when Candice came charging into our office, I was curious to know what it was exactly she wanted. And that's why we're here now." By this time, Jennise was thoroughly pissed off to no end. Being kidnapped by a mortal at her friend's behest was one thing, but taking abuse from a _cat_ was something else entirely. As Karin continued with her rambling tale, Jennise slipped herself from her bonds, catching everyone off guard, and held Candice by the throat and snarled "Pops, I hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna have to killer her now." "You'll do no such thing. Sit down _daughter_." Candice remained absolutely still while Jennise and Uncle had their argument over her demise. The phrase popped into her head, rather fitting for the moment. Then suddenly Jennise dropped her, and Candice crumpled into a ball on the floor, half dazed and very confused. The last thought that registered in her head before she lost consciousness was, ************************************************************* Kindness and Senseless Beauty (3) by Dawn Steele (who deserves all the credit) and Diane Echelbarger (who just got the fun parts... ;) {D.S.: I don't think so. } Dawn was sitting in Natalie's apartment. A hot mug of tea in her hands, and a comfortable couch underneath her. Heaven. "You think you know who it is?" Natalie's voice was calm, and even. Dawn had her eyes closed, and she enjoyed the sound of Natalie's voice. Almost enough to make her a Nat-Packer. That voice, and her sense of humor. "Um-huh. It took awhile, but I was able to track her down. She didn't her tracks exactly. Just avoided making them when possible." "None of the gifts were malicious?" "Nope. Not even LaCroix's. I talked to a couple of Cousins yesterday. He's been enjoying some new CD's around his apartment. Even took a couple into the radio station." "Do you know where she is?" "I have her home address, but when I mentioned her name to the Nat-Packers, they said she was already in Toronto for some filming." Dawn chuckled, and remembered her martial arts scene. She still had a few bruises. "I'll try to catch up to her at her motel in a bit, or try the Raven later on. There's supposed to be a party tonight." Natalie reached over and picked up her cup of coffee. She took an appreciative sip. Tea wasn't for everyone. "Appease my curiosity. Just how did you track her down?" Dawn looked over and smiled. "Are you sure you want to know? It was a lengthy process..." "I hired you remember? Oh great detective?" "Heh heh. Only in Forever Knight. A Master's student's education just didn't prepare me for what I had to go through..." Dawn tipped her mug up, and drained the last of the tea. "I spent most of Thursday afternoon trying to track down the delivery people. None of the delivery services would admit to delivering the gifts. Then I tried the costume stores, and hit paydirt. One of the stores vaguely remembered the young man who gave you your present, but they didn't keep the records any longer than a month. Bad business practice that. I had better luck with the woman who delivered Janette's and Miklos' presents. I managed to acquire her name from the costume store, and then started calling people with the right initials. There are a of people in Toronto, do you realize that?" "I have an idea." Natalie smiled. Dawn had gotten quite worked up by now, and was a lot more animated than when she'd entered the apartment. The novelty of talking to a (relatively) famous person must be wearing off. "Right. The woman. Managed to talk to her for a few minutes. She thought it was a practical joke. Got 'talking' to our culprit through the alt.native newsgroup. I managed to get an e-mail address." "Educational address? That would narrow it down quite a bit." "No such luck. So I decided to forge on... To Myra's gift. They came from a store in Oregon, WI, called 'The Chocolate Caper.' The card, and packaging seemed to indicate a friendly atmosphere. I called them up and tried to get some information." Dawn threw her arms up, and slumped back into the couch. "You'd think I was asking for national security information. No dice. I could barely make out what the man. Claude? Something like that, was saying. He had this heavy accent. Refused. Said if someone wished to give anonymous presents, they should !" "And then?" "VISA cards! Both the huge Chinese dinner that Schanke got, and Grace's set of books were charged to the same card number, and name. I now had the name, but I still had to track her address down..." "I doubt the VISA companies are that friendly about giving out confidential information." Dawn's expression turned faintly sheepish. "I didn't even ask. I was doing most of the phone calls at the Raven, remember? There was this guy there who managed to hack into their computers and get the address..." "Hacking?" "There seems to be a large percentage of Forever Knight fans who know a about computers." Dawn absently picked up her empty mug, and then put it back down again. "One I knew the name, I went around the set. Apparently she's been sending in all these costume designs in for the Wardrobe department to make up. Drives them crazy." She broke out in a victorious smile. "She also... Drove up to Toronto yesterday. She's staying at Motel 6 out in the west side with Karen Weston." "Karen Weston? She's a Nat-Packer." "I know. I've already spoken to her. She didn't know anything about it. Our... Culprit wasn't there. She's on the set now, and almost everyone is planning on being at the Raven for one of the 'almost at the end of the filming wrap up' parties. Supposed to be a big blast. I'll try to catch up with her there." "Did you enjoy yourself?" "I have to admit that, yes, I did enjoy myself." The Raven, 11pm The last Saturday of filming Dawn paid her cover at the door and squeezed past the crush at the entrance. Glancing around, she realized that half the people working on the premiere were there. She spotted Di Sudduth at a table on the balcony, and made her way over there. "Di?" "Dawn! I didn't know you were coming tonight." "You know that little matter you asked me to look into? Well I tracked the culprit down." "Who is it?" "Diane Echelbarger." "Diane Echelbarger?" "Um-huh." "You know... I think that makes sense in a weird sort of way. She's over there by the bar. See her? She's the one in the red silk top, and black broomstick skirt." "Thanks. I'll see you later!" Dawn worked her way through the crowd, placing her order with Miklos on the way. He was still a bit cool with her, but Dawn thought she might be winning him over. At least she knew he probably wasn't thinking of dining on her. Having vile tasting blood (to vampires that is--Ed.) was an advantage these days. Diane was discussing the relative esthetic merits of tights vs. kilts with Lorelei Feldman. The woman didn't look particularly devious. She was average height, wore glasses, and could afford to lose a few pounds. All in all, a pretty typical mid-30s fan. "Diane?" Dawn asked. "Yes?" the woman replied. "Sorry, do I know you?" "No, but I need to talk to you about Chinese dinners and pocket watches," Dawn replied. Diane's face went wary. "Lorelei, do you mind?" she asked, carefully. "Dawn and I need to talk." Lorelei frowned, but nodded. She collected her drink and departed. Dawn took the vacant seat. "Want to tell me why?" She leaned forward and stared into Diane's eyes. "You've caused quite a bit of speculation amongst your recipients." Diane sighed and stared at her soda. "I didn't do it *for* something, I just--did it because I wanted to." She sipped from her drink, then smiled wryly at Dawn. "I really like the show, and it was a lot of fun, figuring out what each of them would like best, and how to get it to them, so they wouldn't know..." "But why *not* let them know, if it was harmless?" Dawn asked. "Have you ever noticed," Diane replied, "that when you do something for someone, they think you expect something from them? Or they think they *owe* you something?" Dawn nodded. "Well, I *like* giving people presents. It makes me feel good," Diane explained. "But it takes all the fun out of it if people feel they have to pay you back. So, sometimes, I try to find a way they *can't* tell it's from me." "But," Dawn asked, "didn't it occur to you that, sending presents out at the start of a War, people would *assume* there was something behind it?" Diane frowned at her in confusion for a moment. Then, her eyes widened. "God, that never occurred to me!" she said, slumping in her seat. "Honestly, it took me so long to set it all up, I didn't even connect it with the War. I was so glad everything was ready, I didn't even check the date..." She covered her face with both hands. "That was *so* stupid..." "Thoughtless perhaps. stupid. They were very nice gifts. Well though out, and executed." Diane took her hands from her face, where a blush was slowly fading. "You aren't going to tell them, are you? I mean, you could just tell them you checked it out, and it's OK... Please?" "Well..." Dawn broke off as Miklos came up and placed her drink in front of her. She thanked him, and when she turned back, Diane was smiling. "What?" "He's wearing the watch," Diane said, obviously pleased. "And Janette's wearing the choker, I think. You won't tell, will you? It's not as if I did anything *wrong*..." "I'm afraid I've already told Natalie. She was the first one to receive a gift, and was the reason I checked into it in the first place. I thought she deserved to know..." "But you won't tell anyone else, right? I don't think I could look Miklos in the face without blushing if he knew. And I just Nick would think he had to do something back." "How about I telling them? Filming is almost over, and I could just sneak out... If Janette asks me though--I'll probably tell her. She'd just use the hoodoo stuff to get it out of me anyway." Dawn smiled back at Diane, and lifted her glass of red wine. "What to you say? Here's to avoidance of embarrassment." "I'll drink to that!" "And to 'Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Beauty'." The two women sipped their drinks, and then Dawn leaned forward inquiringly. "So how'd you figure out what to give them..." ************************************************************* Paybacks are a B@#$% (2) by Maureen Wynn and Betsy Vera "Tell me who was involved!" "Boss, that's not impor-" "I want to know! I was the one who was kidnapped, wasn't I? I think I have a right to know!" he said, pacing around the office. "Now, calm down, Boss. We know you wouldn't have been hurt-- they just wanted to frighten you, and get you to go back to the original version of the script." "*I* didn't know that I wouldn't be hurt! I was tied up, blindfolded, gagged--I was totally helpless. That's not a position that I *enjoy* very much, no matter *what* Darkangel says! How happy would *you* be in that state?" She shuddered, thinking about it. "I wouldn't like it at all; that's the main reason I became a Mercenary--I don't like to leave my life in the hands of anyone else." She smiled wryly, as she added, "I *like* being in control." "So do I; that's why I became a producer, which, after all, is much the same as a Mercenary." His expression changed, and he looked very much, for the moment, like an angry vampire, as he stood over the desk, pounding on it with his fist in syncopation with his words. "Now, I want to know. Who. Was. *Involved*." "Can you at least tell me what you're going to do with that information?" "Yes, I can tell you *exactly* what I'm going to do with that information. I'm going to find every last frame of film they're in and I'm going to cut them out of the episode, and, and... *Jump* on the pieces! I'll edit them out of existence, if I can! And then maybe I'll have a nice little fire and burn the frames and toast some marshmallows over them. Hey, I *like* the sound of that. Hmmm, I wonder if props has some charcoal I can borrow..." "You might wind up with a really short episode, Boss... Boss? Where are you going?!" ************************************************************* Snip! by Maureen Wynn "What do you mean, you can't open the door?!" "He's got it locked, I don't have my key, and the hinges are on the *other* side. I mean I *can't* open the door. We're just going to have to wait until he decides to come out." "We can't *do* that. In his state of mind, he might wind up destroying tape that we need to keep, for the episode to make any sense. And we have neither the time *nor* the money to re-shoot!" "What do you suggest, then? You want to *blow up* the door?" "Why not?" "Hey, I was just kidding! We can't do that!" "Again I say, 'Why not?' We can use small charges of plastique, placed over the lock, calculated to just blow out the bolt, without radiating much force into the room..." Maureen continued, as she dragged the protesting film editor down the hall. Inside the editing room... Mr. P. cackled with glee as he found another section of tape with the face of one of his tormentors on it. He carefully checked the film, frame by frame, to be sure he got it all, then cut those frames out of the reel. He dropped the film he'd excised on the floor, and went on to the next part of the reel. he thought, He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts to come more clearly. The fact that he'd barely slept for the last month was decidedly affecting him. The dreams... The dreams kept waking him, and then he'd be afraid to go back to sleep again, afraid of what would happen to him in the dreams. he thought as his producer's instincts kicked in for a brief moment. His thoughts wandered away again, and he went back to searching out the hated faces. Some time later, the floor of the editing room was piled with bits and pieces of film, as he sat in the midst of one large pile, desperately trying to set fire to one piece of film with a cigarette lighter. as the piece of film melted onto his fingers. He barely felt the pain from the melted plastic, as he grabbed up another piece of film and tried again to set it alight. He looked up briefly as he heard something at the door, then down again at the film, his post-traumatic-stress- demented mind not caring about anything but the need to *edit*... He looked up groggily as he heard someone calling to him through the door. "Mr. P.? Can you hear me, Boss? Come on, Boss, just answer me, please? Pretty please?" "Go away! I'm not opening the door, so just go away!" "OK, I'm not going to ask you to open the door. Just do me a favor, go stand over by the corner where the fire extinguisher is, OK? Please?" "Why should I?" he asked petulantly. "I don't *want* to!" he added, as he went back to the piece of film in his hand. "Come on," Maureen wheedled, "Just do it as a favor to me. You trust *me*, don't you? Don't I keep you safe? Didn't I get you that chocolate pudding that you like so much, but couldn't find in Canada? Right?" "Chocolate pudding..." he said, realizing for the first time how hungry he was. "You've got chocolate pudding for me?" "I promise you some chocolate pudding, if you'll just go stand over by that corner." "Oh, OK, if you promise," he said, as he got up from the floor and staggered over to the corner furthest from the door, then collapsing on the floor again as a wave of dizziness passed over him. "Boss? Are you there?" He could barely hear her through the door, and he tried to raise his voice enough so that she could hear him. "I'm here, already! What do you want?" There was a pause, and he started to get up, then decided that it was too much trouble, and decided to lie down, on the nice soft, comfortable floor, and take a little nap. There was a soft "boom!" from the door, and it swung open. Maureen was the first one through the door, looking frantically around for Mr. P. She ran over to him when she saw him on the floor in the corner, and started to check him over to be sure he wasn't hurt, when the film editor came in and screamed. She jumped up, startled. "What the...?" "Look at this! Oh my god, *look* at it! It's ruined!" Maureen looked down at all the pieces of film on the floor, then bent down and picked up one of them. "Well, can't they be spliced back together?" The film editor picked up a piece and shoved it toward Maureen, and she winced, seeing that it was half melted. "We can't splice *this*! And besides which," he moaned, looking at the chaos of pieces, "Re-ordering all this... If it can be done *at all*, is going to take *forever*. We're not going to have time!" And he moaned again, holding his head in his hands. Maureen looked again at all the pieces, and said, "Um, I hate to ask this, since I guess I know the answer, but... Isn't there a back-up copy of the film?" The only response from the editor was another moan. "I'll take that to mean 'no'." She sighed, and said, "Well, since we don't have much time, I guess we better get to work," and, stooping down, started to gather up pieces of film. She stopped for a moment, looking down at the weary producer, and smiled. He looked so peaceful, for the first time in weeks, as he lay curled up in sleep on the floor, with a sweet smile on his face. "Sleep well, Boss. You've earned it!" ************************************************************* Lawyers vs. Vampires (what, there's a difference?) by Maureen Wynn Briinngg... Briinngg..."Moriarity, Chicanery, Burke and Hare." "Hi, Judy Beth, can I talk to Clark?" "Oh, hi, Maureen! Long time, no see! Uh, oh, you're not in jail again, are you?" "No, no, nothing like that. I don't need to be in jail to want to talk to my lawyer, now do I?" "Well, no, but usually when you use that 'Ms. Professional' voice, it means you're in *some* kind of trouble..." Maureen laughed, but thought, "Sorry, I guess I'm just in professional mode right now; I have contracts I need to finish up, and not a lot of time, and I also have a small problem that I need to deal with right away. Speaking of which, I really need to talk to Clark. Is he in?" "Sure, let me connect you..." , , brriinngg!! "Yeah, what do ya want?!" "That's a charming way to greet a client." "Hey, Maureen! How're ya doin'? Drumming up lots of business?" "Enough to keep me busy. How about you--are the Mercenaries I sent your way giving you enough business?" "Can't complain. Weird contracts, though. I keep having to go back to my Contract Law and Torts books, to make sure that these things will actually hold up in court, if, gad forbid, it ever came to that." "Speaking of which, I need you to look up one of my contracts to check something for me..." ***** "...so that's the long and short of it, Mo. I'm glad we were careful enough to put in that 'termination at any time by either party' clause on all your contracts. Nice little escape clause, that, even if I do say so myself." "Yes, it does come in handy, you egotist--or is it redundant, calling a lawyer an egotist? Keep that contract close to hand; I may need you to back me up on it sometime soon. And I have something else I need you to do..." ***** "Sure, Mo. I'll call you as soon as I have all the pieces in place. This is going to cost you, though. It doesn't exactly fall under our "usual services" clause. Should I invoice it separately, or just add it to your monthly bill?" "Add it to the bill, you bloodsucker!" "Considering the company you've been keeping lately, you have the nerve to call *me* a bloodsucker?" "With a lawyer, that's considered a term of affection! And, Clark... Don't call me 'Mo'!" She hung up the phone with a feeling of relief. If anyone could provide the services she needed, Clark and his law firm would. she thought gleefully. ************************************************************* A LaCroixian April Fool's Joke by Dawn Steele Dawn stumbled into her apartment. She was dead tired, and yearned for the sweet softness of her futon bed. A quick brushing to the old teeth, a quick change of clothes, and she'd hit the sheets. Taking off her jacket, she tossed it onto the dining table, and collapsed into the computer chair. *email? I'm too tired tonight.* Dawn started to flip through her mail. *Bill, bill, ad, ad, ad, bill, forwarded T-slip--Good! I can finish my taxes.* She tossed the T-slip onto the table, and continued sorting mail. *I never get this much mail. Weird day. What's this?* She turned the letter over in her hands. No return address. *Who would use black envelopes anyway?* Hesitantly, she ripped it open. The single sheet of dark gray paper slipped out. Dawn read the instructions. Over, and over, and over. They didn't change upon repeated viewings. She glanced at the wall clock. With shaking hands she opened the desk drawer, and pulled out her secret stash of chocolate covered coffee beans. Ripping off the cover, she grabbed some and started popping them into her mouth. It looked as if the night was just starting. LaCroix leaned back into his luxurious (and expensive) black leather chair. Things would be getting hectic in the days to come. He could tell. He had a sixth sense about these matters. He thought back to the previous war, and his little showdown with that Die-Hard. *Ruin a broken-in pair of cowboy boots, will she?* Revenge was sweet. He'd already sent her the instructions. By morning she'd be on a plane trip to Tibet. Or he'd visit her personally. Poetic Justice that she'd be leaving on her on April Fool's Day. She owed him. BIG. And he planned on extracting every , ounce of punishment he could out of the situation. *I wouldn't mind being there when she finally reaches that remote temple, and finds out it's been a wild goose chase.* He chuckled, and reached for his goblet of blood. Warming it up in his hands, he studied the golden goblets intricate patterns. He'd picked it up on his little side-trip in Tibet last month. *The golden goblet of Shakmuor. I'm not going to let Nicholas get his hands on it.* Things looked good. Without their... unpredictable leader, it was unlikely that the Die-Hards would be a force in the upcoming altercations. *An entire faction taken care of, and all it took was a forty-three cent stamp.* ************************************************************* Formula 409 (1) by AC Chapin The secret to cleaning the bathroom is getting in the groove of the thing. The secret to getting in the groove of cleaning the bathroom is to leave the door closed and the hot water on so that the cleaning fumes get to you. AC had cleaned the bathroom that night, so it was hardly surprising that when her sight cleared and her breathing returned to normal she saw a tall blond man in a black coat standing in her room. She even got as far as starting to apologize for the itty bitty window of the dorm room he'd had to enter by before she realized that he wasn't there. "You're not there." she said, brightly. "You're a side effect of the formula 409." He smiled slowly, his sensual lips curving into a sweet, patient shape. He didn't disappear, or even turn into a stuffed animal or a Scotsman with a kilt and an oatmeal fetish. "LaCroix. Lucien LaCroix." He nodded his head in what was almost a bow. "Charmed." Hand into and out of the closet very quickly, picking up the katana hidden there. It wasn't her favorite; it was the decorative one, a little too heavy. But her favorite was by the bed, very near where Lucien LaCroix was standing, in fact. But he didn't know that; and it wouldn't do him much good if he did. "Now get out." Great, first attractive man to show up in her room all semester and it had to be Lucien LaCroix. "Unfortunately, that won't be useful." He took a step towards her. She held the katana up, still in its sheath. "From what I've heard, you'll remember when this sort of cross was the only cross there was, burning it's way down from Europe and across the holy land." LaCroix stared at the stubby cross formed by the pommel of the katana for a moment more, then snarled and flew (a little awkwardly) out the tiny open window. AC snatched up the telephone from under her desk and dialed a very long distance number. "Hi this is Nick Knight. I'm either..." the message droned. "Nick, I don't want to alarm you, but LaCroix had business in Washington DC tonight. I don't know what it was about, but he knows where I live." She hung up and the camera panned down the sword and into darkness. * * * In the screening room, AC winced as LaCroix moved beside her. "That scene was... not exactly played as written." "I guess there was a rewrite, you know what happens when things get to the editing room." "Your acting was not entirely off though, it had the kernel of truth to it. Your reaction to me, at any rate, was appropriate." "I've done a little amateur theatre." She pushed the hair out of her face, then let it fall right back over her right eye. "Is that how you met our Nickolas?" "No. He was looking for Pagan help." "His eternal quest for a cure." "Yes... I don't think he felt really comfortable around us though." "No, he wouldn't. But you were charmed." She looked away, nodded. "And in our little theatric offering, you seem to be playing a..." his expression twisted a little at the word, "... Knightie." "Yes." She started to stand. He stopped her with only his gaze. "You know better. You belong to me." She hurried away from his smile. ************************************************************* Once a Cousin... by Sarah Welsh He didn't knock. Knocking wasn't his style. He simply opened the door and stepped inside the apartment. It's a good thing the door wasn't locked, Sarah thought in a moment of stunned surprise; it would be difficult to explain to maintenance how the door got torn off its hinges. She had no doubt LaCroix would have done so in a second if he had met with the least resistance. She glanced warily around the apartment, trying to think of something she could use as a weapon. Everything in there was plastic, it seemed, cheap and mobile, which was what she had bought it for, but of no use against a vampire. The only wooden furniture was what had come with the apartment, and that was the old-fashioned kind, made of sturdy oak, so heavy she couldn't even move her desk, let alone break off a table leg. It looked like she was on her own on this one. LaCroix broke the silence. "Come now, surely you cannot be surprised at this visit. You must have known that I could not let a backslidden Cousin off so easily at the beginning of a War." Her eyes must have betrayed her surprise, because he continued, "Of course I knew you had disaffiliated yourself from me. Did you think I wouldn't notice when you stopped signing your messages `Cousin Sarah?' He eyed her papasan chair and apparently decided that sinking into it would compromise his dignity too greatly. "You seem to have a very short attention span. You were a NatPacker before you were a Cousin, weren't you?" As if he didn't know. "Yes. But you really threw me for a loop replacing Nat with Kate when Alix Logan visited the precinct." He smiled at the memory. "I knew you couldn't remain loyal to a woman who would obsess over such tripe. But even after Kate's part in that ploy was revealed, you didn't go back over to Dr. Lambert's side." "No. It got me thinking. A NatPacker is supposed to be pulling for Natalie to find the cure so she and Nick can be together. But I started asking myself, what do I get out of this deal? Assuming she succeeds, she gets Nick, but what's the NatPackers' reward? Serving cake at the wedding? Providing free baby-sitting? I couldn't go for that. As long as Nick's on the prowl, so to speak, the rest of us can at least fantasize about him with a clear conscience." "So you came over to me." "Well, there's something very seductive about evil incarnate." "But you still maintained sympathy for Nicolas?" "Well, there's something very seductive about eternal despair." "And Schanke?" "Well, there's something very.... All right, there's nothing *seductive* about Schanke. But he's Nick's partner and a nice guy." "So even when you claimed the name of Cousin, you were not completely loyal to me." He took a few steps toward her, and Sarah edged nervously away. "And then you denounced me entirely. I do not take kindly to such usage, my dear." She was in for it now. Might as well stand on her principles. "I couldn't keep calling myself a Cousin, not after what you did to Nick and Natalie on Valentine's Day." He emitted a short, harsh laugh. "You are a shocking hypocrite. You just told me that the very reason you could not remain a follower of Dr. Lambert was that you did not want to see she and Nick entangled romantically. You should have applauded my actions." "Well...." She struggled for an explanation of the way she felt. "It's different. I didn't want to place any actual impediment in their way. It seems like there's a large enough one there already. I didn't want to see anything to actually happen to Natalie. I just couldn't wholeheartedly work on her behalf." It sounded feeble even to her own ears. LaCroix seemed amused at her attempt at rationalization. "You have a dark side you are not willing to admit, ma chere. Give in to it. Come back to me. Once a Cousin, always a Cousin, hmm?" He lifted an eyebrow, that delectable eyebrow, the "What have you done now, Nicolas?" eyebrow, and she teetered. For a brief moment, she could feel the current pulling her down into the dark depths of Cousinhood again. But then she broke eye contact with him. "No, I can't." "Can't?" His voice was dangerous. "What do you mean?" "Well," she explained nervously, "officially I'm unaffiliated. But in a sense, I've become a Mercenary. I've promised my services during the War to another listmember should she need them. I don't know if she's going to call on me for help, but if she does, I have to fight on her behalf. It's the least I can do after what she gave me." "Gifts?" LaCroix sneered. "I have it in my power to give you the ultimate gift of immortality. What could a mere mortal offer you of any greater value?" "See for yourself." Sarah gestured to a table against the wall. He crossed to it and picked up the objects that lay there, examining them one at a time. Then, with a howl of rage, he threw them back down and stormed out the door and into the sky, leaving the ex-Cousin slumped in relief. For once, LaCroix had been utterly defeated. It was true that he could offer immortality, but that was nothing compared to what Sarah had been given. The entire first season and Rick's Nick on videotape. It was a crushing blow. ************************************************************* A Business Deal is Concluded by Dawn Steele D.L. Steele (known as "Deal" to her friends) walked into the Tiki room of the Royal Constellation Hotel. It was just after sunset, and the bar was almost unoccupied. Seeing her client, she heading towards the far corner of the room. The bar was only faintly lit, and the few lights in this corner has obviously been either deliberately broken, or not turned on. Deal gave herself a resigned smile. This wasn't the first client who wanted confidentiality. She didn't try too hard to discover their identities either, it was usually safer that way... Especially with the information she was about to impart. "You're early." The voice was soft, and faintly husky, giving no hint to it's gender. The background music covered up any traces of a distinguishing accent. The body was similarly shrouded in a large enveloping trench coat, with the head shadowed under a brimmed hat. "So are you." Deal slipped into the booth, and faced her client. Slipping a thin legal sized envelope out of her carry-all, she slid it across the table. "My report on Joe Stonetree." The envelope lay on the table. "Your impressions? I paid you to be thorough." "Stonetree was writing up his memoirs on his days in the Toronto police force--but then you knew that already. The information you want is all there. Stonetree managed to discover the predilections of a certain 'Nicholas Knight', and planned on including that information in the book." "Predilection? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." The voice had become even fainter, and acquired an almost reptilian hiss. Deal voice was also soft, but calm with assurance. "Nicholas Knight, the one with the very nicely manufactured background, and a certain... Taste for blood." Silence. Deal watched as her client assumed a menacing, yet oddly protective air. "Don't worry. I get paid, I do my job, and I talk about past clients." She hesitated, "the money's in the bank?" "Yes." Deal gave into one of her vices, curiosity, and tried to cajole a bit more info from the client. "Southern Ontario's a weird place. I wasn't surprised. You wouldn't believe some of the cases I've heard rumors of... Demons, mummies and even werewolves." "Our deal is finished." Deciding to slip away while she still could, Deal left without a backward glance. ************************************************************* The Premiere by Jennise Hall and Karin Welss TEASER- FADE IN INT. ROYAL CONSTELLATION HOTEL - CORRIDOR - NIGHT SHARON SCOTT follows MARGARET NEWMAN up the hall. She smiles patiently at Margaret's excited burbling. MARGARET Do you think he remembered me from last year? SHARON Yes, Margaret. MARGARET He wore the T-shirt I gave him. SHARON He always wears the T-shirts you give him. You have good taste. Now, hush up. We've got to get some sleep. Margaret opens the room door, stops dead in her tracks her mouth gaping open. SHARON Margaret, what is it, girl? Margaret begins to scream. INT. ROYAL CONSTELLATION HOTEL - ROOM 1657 - NIGHT Sharon and Margaret huddle against one wall. SUSAN GARRETT has her arms around Margaret, comforting her. NICK KNIGHT caresses Sharon's cheek. She steps into his arms crying on his shoulder. NICK Are you okay? SHARON (she shakes her head "no") Why would someone do that? MARGARET And why in our room? Nick continues to stroke Sharon's hair comfortingly. NICK I don't believe we've met. SUSAN I'm Susan Garrett. This is Margaret Newman. We're here for a writer's conference. NICK Did anything unusual happen tonight? SUSAN You mean other than the dead body? BY THE BED NATALIE LAMBERT, hands gloved, bag beside her, ready to work, stares down at the sheet draped body, shell shocked. She jumps when CAPTAIN COHEN lightly touches her shoulder. COHEN Are you okay, Natalie? NATALIE Why? Uh. Yes, Captain. I'm fine. She leans down and lifts the sheet. Cohen studies her a moment, decides that she's telling the truth and moves over to SCHANKE. SCHANKE stares at the body. He's barely in control of his emotions. He notices Cohen heading his way, forces his attention to an open suitcase and pretends to take notes. Cohen joins him, peers into the suit case and gingerly lifts a pink fur-trimmed teddy. She glances over at the women. SHARON glances up embarrassedly at Nick and hastily steps back from him. She opens her mouth to say something then changes her mind. MARGARET (sniffing) That's Sharon's. COHEN drops the teddy and turns to Schanke. COHEN I know this one is difficult. I need professional detachment. Can you handle that? SCHANKE I just wanna get my hands on whoever did this. COHEN We all do. Just make sure you play by the rules. In the background, Nick heads over to Natalie. BY THE BED NICK Nat? NATALIE (she takes a big breath) His throat was slashed, but there's not as much blood as you'd expect. He could have been killed somewhere else or ... NICK Or what? NATALIE I'm not sure yet. His throat is so ripped up that I can't tell if it was one of you guys. (beat) I can't believe it. I can't believe something like this would happen to him. Not him. She lifts an evidence bag containing: A BLACK VELVET CHOKER. THE CORNER Susan's mouth drops open. SUSAN (whispers) That's Janette's. BY THE BED Nick stares at the contents of the evidence bag. NATALIE Recognize this? Natalie holds up the evidence bag. Schanke, Cohen and the ladies gather around the bed. SCHANKE What the hell was Cap'n Stonetree doing with Janet's necklace? PULL BACK TO REVEAL Captain Joseph Stonetree lying face down across the bed partially clad in a black negligee. EXT. SKYLINE TORONTO - NIGHT The opening credits run. LACROIX(V.O.) He was brought across in 1228. Preyed on humans for their blood. Now he wants to be human again. To repay society for his sins. To escape from his endless Forever Night. ACT ONE INT. PRECINCT - NIGHT The normally chaotic room seems just a bit more sedate than usual. SCHANKE We've got nothing. NICK We've got something. We just don't like it. SCHANKE Do you think it'll be difficult to keep...uh... how he was found out of the papers. NICK No one here is going to talk about it. Stonetree was one of the good guys. Cohen sticks her head out of her office. She pauses a moment. Closes her office door and heads for their desks. COHEN Knight. Schanke. My office. As they rise. COHEN (quietly) Internal Affairs is involved. SCHANKE (under his breath) I'm not surprised. INT. PRECINCT - COHEN'S OFFICE - NIGHT Cohen heads behind her desk. She gestures towards a corner. Nick's eyes go wide for just a second. He regains his composure as she says... COHEN Gentlemen, Lucas Cross. Internal Affairs. Captain Cross. Detective Knight. Detective Schanke. LACROIX It is a shame to meet under these circumstances. Captain, we have a potential time bomb on our hands here. COHEN How so? LACROIX Your lead detectives on this case not only reported to the victim, but an acquaintance of theirs has been implicated. Startled, Cohen stares at the detectives. LACROIX You can understand why my office would be concerned? SCHANKE Are you accusing us of killing the Captain!? LACROIX If that were so you'd be off the case. However, I do expect your full cooperation or things may change. EXT. PRECINCT - PARKING LOT - NIGHT Schanke walks a few paces ahead of Nick and LaCroix. They walk toward Nick's Caddy. SCHANKE Can you believe someone could turn a profit selling negligees for MEN!! NICK (softly) What the hell are you up to, LaCroix? SCHANKE Darkangel's Dangerous Liasions Boutique. Geez what a name. LACROIX (softly) Why Nicholas, more than one kind of internal affair is being investigated here. SCHANKE It's.... They reach the car. Schanke leans the front seat forward and stands aside for LaCroix. LaCroix stares at him a moment, glances at an amused Nick, then climbs into the back seat. Nick turns the key and looks to Schanke. NICK Where to? SCHANKE Haven't you been listening, Knight? Darkangel's. On Yonge. They might have something in your size. LaCroix chuckles, low as Nick peels away from the curb. ************************************************************* It Was A Joke by Sharon S. Scott Margaret couldn't stop crying. Every time she'd think about the body in *her* bed, she'd start up again. She looked over at Sharon in a confused daze. "Why? Why? Why us? Why here? Why *him*?" "I don't know, Margy. It's just too weird." "Why did everybody leave?" "Well, Susan went to her room to hit the bottle of Amaretto, Nick & Schanke have their jobs to do, just as Nat has hers. I think Captain Cohen said she had to go talk to Stonetree's wife and child." She got up from the sofa, lit a cigarette, and went to the window. Because of the... Mess... In their earlier room, they'd been moved. This was the same room they'd had the year before, and if you turned your head just the right way, you could see downtown Toronto and the CN Tower from the window. "I wish this damn window would open. I need some air." Margaret kicked off her Reeboks and pulled her feet up under her. She smelled of Icy Hot, an odor which would soon be covered by the pungent smell of cigarette smoke. "*You* need some air? What about me? I'm the one who saw him first." She started crying again. "It's hot in here. Where's the thermostat?" She found it hiding behind the door. "Damn, it's in Canadian. Should I turn it down to "25"--whatever that is?" Margaret was freezing, but she thought it was in her best interest to humor the Texan. You don't want to piss off a Texan. Laurie had found that out the hard way last year. "Whatever. If it's too cold, we'll turn it back up." She blew her nose and tried to regain her composure. Which was difficult, since watching Sharon pace back and forth was driving her bananas. She ventured a question. "Will we have to go down to the police station and get interrogated?" "I would imagine so, but then what do I know? This is Canada, not Texas. In Texas you get the death penalty for not cleaning up after your Chihuahua, remember?" "No need to bite my head off." "I'm sorry. I despise that episode. I just keep thinking about poor Captain Stonetree. Who could have wanted to hurt him? He was such a sweet guy. And you have to admit he went way beyond the extra mile for Nick. Why did they dress him up like that?" She shuddered. Pink fur-trimmed teddies weren't her style *at all*--but somebody had sent her the hideous thing, and she'd brought it with her to Toronto to try to find out who. Thank God Nick hadn't tossed her other suitcase and found the other things she'd brought. There was a knock at the door. She peered through the peephole, just in case, and found Susan Garrett standing there. Opening the door, Susan thrust a bottle of Amaretto at her. "Thought you could use some of this." "Come on in. And thanks, but no thanks. Gives me migraines. But I could use a Diet Coke. Be back in a minute." She grabbed her set of room keys, kicked the door shut, and started down the hall in search of a soft drink machine. Susan seemed puzzled by her abrupt departure. Margaret said, "She'll be okay. She just needs some time to herself. She wants to remember every last detail about Nick holding her." A wicked grin accompanied the last remark. "Yeah, she's got it bad for him, that's obvious." Susan sat down, opened the Amaretto, and poured both of them a drink. This could be a *long* night. ********************************** Sharon knocked on the door when she got back to the room. Her room key was in her pocket, but her hands were full and she couldn't reach it without dropping something. She heard footsteps, then quiet. "Margy, let me in." All she heard was a giggle. "What are you two up to in there? Let me in. Now." She kicked the door for emphasis. More giggles, then a muffled, "Okay, okay, hold on a minute." When Margaret finally opened the door, Sharon came in and put the bag she'd been holding down on the table. "What've you got?" "Stress relievers." Margaret looked at Susan and sighed. "She's from Texas. They're different down there." Susan giggled. Sharon started taking stuff out of the bag. A two-pounder of peanut M&M's, a bag of toffees, a heap of Snickers bars, several bags of Reese's peanut butter cups, a white chocolate rabbit with one of its ears nibbled off. "It's comfort food, Margy. We've had a major shock. We need chocolate in a big way to help us get over the stress." Susan looked more than a bit doubtful. "You bought the rabbit pre-nibbled?" Sharon closed her eyes and bit back her retort. "I got hungry in the elevator." "Shouldn't we eat dinner before we start in on all this sugar?" Margaret had a Snickers in one hand and was trying to open the M&M's with the other. "The hotel restaurant is having Mexican food night again. Do *you* want to eat Mexican food with squid in it?" Margaret made a disgusted face. "Chocolate, here we come." ******* Thirty minutes later they were all three on a sugar high. And getting silly. "So, tell me, why *did* you have that dreadful teddy in your suitcase?" Susan asked innocently, then fell off the sofa laughing. "Don't ask dumb questions. She was planning to entice Nick with it. Go running out into the hall in it, screaming, "Nick! Nick! Save me, Nick!"" Margaret joined Susan on the floor, giggling uncontrollably. "It's not funny. Somebody sent me that thing in the mail. I don't know who. There wasn't a return address on it, and the postmark was so smudged I couldn't read it. No name inside, no card. Whoever sent it probably thought it was a big joke. I wasn't amused. But I *am* going to find out who sent it-- *that's* why I brought it. Not for any other reason." Margaret and Susan looked at one another and went into spasms of laughter again. "S-u-r-e. We understand. It had nothing to do with Nick. Right," Margaret managed to gasp. "I swear it! You've got to believe me!" "Uh huh. And Cleopatra had herself rolled into a carpet just for the ride, not to entice ol' Julius, right?" "I should have known better. Rooming with a Cousin ... " Suddenly there was another knock at the door. Margaret and Susan were still on the floor, in hysterics, so Sharon went to answer the knock. She was *quite* surprised when she saw who it was. ************************************************************* Scorpio Rising by Lisa McDavid Lisa McDavid flung herself into the room. "Shut the door, quick! They may be --" She took a deep breath and started again. "Thank you," she added as Sharon closed the door. "I'm sorry to bother you after all that's happened, but would somebody mind taking my key and looking in my room, *very* carefully?" Lisa was leaning against the wall, but she was still swaying. "Here, you look like you need to sit down," said Sharon. "Have some chocolate." Susan snickered. "What Lisa needs is black coffee. Lots of it." "I do not! At least, I don't think I do. Feliks and I didn't quite finish that magnum." Lisa nearly fell over her own high heels, swore under her breath, and kicked them off. The shoes became entangled in the long skirt of her evening dress. Lisa was obliged to sink down on the foot of the nearest bed and work them loose. She began to hum the triumphal march from Aida. "There were elephants in that scene," she remarked, talking about the opera performance she had attended with Feliks Twist. "One of them got out of control for a few minutes on stage. I'd like to borrow that elephant and turn it loose on whoever designed these shoes." Lisa giggled. "We were in the front row. Feliks stared the beast into submission." "Feliks?" asked Margaret "I thought you were working for Dorian." "I'm on vacation," said Lisa. "Dorian's interviewing Larry. Larry won't talk if I'm in the house." Lisa's younger brother was master computer hacker and vampire Larry Merlin. "So I decided to come up to the writers' conference. Feliks invited me to stay with him, but I'm allergic to most of his plants. Please, won't *somebody* look in my room? And tell me what you see?" "Oh, well," said Sharon, ever the kindly soul, "tonight can't get any worse. Unless -- Lisa, on your word of honor as a fellow southerner, this thing in your room isn't a frog?" Lisa bit into a Snickers bar. "No. I wouldn't mind frogs. And there may not be anything. Just crack the door and tell me if you see anything unusual in the room." Sharon still looked dubious. Susan smiled craftily. "Well, if she is drunk, you've got another excuse to call Nick." "Huh?" asked Sharon, taking the Lisa's key. "To get the emergency number for 12 Steps." Sharon let herself out. Margaret and Susan finished the Amaretto. Lisa sat hunched over, eyes closed, humming the Triumphal March from Aida. The door exploded open as Sharon vaulted through it, then slammed shut. "What the hell?" "Sharon?" "You saw them too?" Sharon glared at Lisa. "This better not be your idea of a joke!" She reached for the phone. "Her room was full of scorpions. There must've been thousands of 'em." "Thank God," said Lisa. "I was afraid I was having the dt's." Susan held up a hand for silence. "Wait a minute. There aren't any scorpions in Canada." "Yeah," snapped Sharon. "Nobody told *them* that." Margaret had gone to look through the peephole. Now she gave a yelp. "They are scorpions! They're swarming down the hall towards us!!!" At the night table between beds, Sharon tried wildly to convince the front desk that she was not attempting to be funny and did not need to be reminded of the strictness of Canadian drug laws. Meanwhile the first scorpions made it under the door. Dropping the phone, Sharon joined Susan in stomping the invaders while Lisa and Margaret jumped onto the beds. The scorpions pushed the bodies of their mangled comrades away and continued to march under the door. Lisa switched from humming the Triumphal March to the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Finally Susan and Sharon were obliged to take the better part of valor and join the refugees on the bed. Susan was climbing aboard when Lisa suddenly asked Sharon, "do you have your lighter on you?" "Yes," said Sharon, with the flat calm of incipient hysteria. "Why?" "Just let me hold it for a moment." Lisa took the lighter, flipped it on, and held it directly under the smoke detector. Alarms blared, sprinklers came on, and best of all, the hotel staff arrived in time for the young smart alec on the desk to get bitten. ************************************************************* Investigation by Sandra Gray Nick pulled the car out of the police parking lot and headed for Yonge Street and "DarkAngel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique". All the while his mind was working furiously. Who had killed Captain Stonetree? And *why* was LaCroix posing as "Captain Cross" from Internal Affairs? And Janette's choker on the scene? Even if she didn't wear them anymore, if Nat found Janette's prints on the choker... Well, it would then be obvious that someone was trying to frame Janette for Stonetree's murder. He pulled up in front of the lingerie shop. That was the strangest thing of all. What possible reason could anyone have to dress Stonetree in that... That... *Thing*? Unless it was to make Janette look guilty of seducing him? Schanke opened his car door and Nick said, "Schanke, why don't you see what you can find out here? I've got something else I want to check out." Schanke frowned, and LaCroix clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder. "No, I think not," said LaCroix. Nick glanced at the other vampire. "I wish to observe all the elements of this investigation. I'm sure you understand." He smiled urbanely. Nick looked back at Schanke. "Sure. No problem. I was... Just trying to save some time," he said. Then he got out of the car. Nick walked around the front of his Caddy to join the other two men on the sidewalk. "I must say I am wondering why we've come here first instead of going to speak to your friend, Janette... DuCharm, is it?" asked LaCroix. "We have to follow up on all leads," said Nick. "The... Attire... Captain Stonetree was found in carried this shop's label. Besides, there's no real evidence yet that Jan--Ms. DuCharm... Is involved." "There is circumstantial evidence," said LaCroix. "We know our jobs," said Schanke, "...sir. We'll talk to Janet." "Well, I should not need to remind you gentlemen that should she be... Missing... When we go to speak with her, it will not look good for you." Nick didn't reply. He put a hand on Schanke's shoulder and pushed him gently in the direction of the shop. LaCroix stood by the car and watched for a moment, then followed. Nick glanced back at LaCroix, then said in a very low tone to Schanke, "I got a bad feeling about this case." "Me too," muttered Schanke. "You don't think Janet--ow!" The last word was a tiny yelp as Nick squeezed on his shoulder, then released him. Schanke saw that Captain Cross had come up close behind them. He smiled at the man and then opened the door to DarkAngel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique. ************************************************************* Once Upon a Forum by Dianne T. DeSha Dianne arrived at the studio just as the screening began, having stopped only long enough to drop off her luggage at the Mercs' lair. She was dressed in black and blended easily with the shadows at the back of the darkened auditorium. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she scanned the audience as the flickers of light and shadow on the huge screen played out the discovery of Stonetree's body and the inevitable chain of events that would lead to the investigation of the lingerie shop. Just as the three detectives (no...that was "two detectives and a vampire"... No, wait... Make that "a detective and two vampires"... Uh... "1 1/2 detec..." ...oh _forget_ it!) entered Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Lingerie Boutique, Dianne caught sight of the unnaturally still figure presiding over this event from his throne in the back. With a start she also noticed Abby sitting very near him. Dianne shook her head in disbelief, Knighties could really be _much_ too trusting. She had really chosen that spot, considering what was coming? But it was too late. As Dianne recognized the lead-in to her first little contribution to this evening's entertainment, she found her eyes glued to the silent figure--so imposing, so controlled, so intimidating... And a truly wicked grin spread over her face. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* With a certain degree of trepidation, "Captain Cross," Nick, and Schanke entered Darkangel's. As the two detectives paused just inside the door--in awe or shock, or both--the faintest hint of an exotic perfume caught at LaCroix's senses. His eyes lost focus as the scent pulled him back into memory... <*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.> Lucius glanced up from his seat on the temple steps at the sound of sandals slapping against the hot pavement of the Forum. Recognizing the sedan chair instantly, he jumped to his feet, self-consciously straightening his toga. Standing at attention just to one side of the path the bearers would take, his anxiety was evident in every line of his body. As they passed, a woman's hand parted the silken curtains of the litter and brought the bearers to a halt with a slight gesture. Lucius' sigh of relief was audible. The curtains were slowly pulled back and Lucius got his first close look at the dark-haired beauty whose fair countenance had haunted him for months. The scent of her exotic perfume enveloped him as he fell to his knees beside her chair. "Oh Great Lady!" he began, his voice cracking with emotion. "From afar I have loved you; in your divine presence I worship at your feet!" Abby looked at him for a moment, then turned to consult with the tall, redheaded, Celtic barbarian who served her as a lady's maid. But Dianne just shrugged, then rolled her eyes descriptively. Turning back to her ardent admirer, Abby asked him, "And who are you?" "One who, stirred by the beauty of your voice, almost forgets his own name!" Because he apparently dared not raise his eyes higher than Abby's feet, he missed Dianne expressively circling her forefinger at her temple, and he continued, "I am Lucius, a common foot soldier, whose heart you may have to trample upon!" Abby paused for a moment, then gestured to Dianne, who handed her a coin from her purse. Dropping it to the kneeling man, she called out "Continue!" to the bearers and let the curtains fall. In a moment she was gone, leaving behind only the trace of her scent. Lucius picked up the coin and clasped it to his breast as he stared after the one whom he would never have--and whom his heart could never forget. <*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.> As LaCroix returned to an awareness of his surroundings in the boutique, he quickly wiped a single blood tear from his cheek. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Dianne watched out of the corner of her eye as a few of the braver Cousins in the audience sneaked looks over their shoulders at the figure behind them. But all they could see in the darkness were two terrifying eyes, glowing bloody fury... ************************************************************* Rendezvous With Dangerous Liaisons By Sandra Gray and Heather Parks Heather Parks was working the counter at Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique. Well, business was slow so she was reading the latest Dean Koontz novel. She was not happy to be have been called in. She had gotten a call around 9:00pm to break her date because Darkangel planned to be busy that night. But it wasn't a bad place to work, after all. The shop was cozy and intimate, with dark red brocade fabric walls and an exotic scent always in the air. It was not as tacky as a Frederick's, but not as classy as a Victoria's Secret since they carried some tasteful "toys". She glanced down at the bondage items in the glass case that she stood behind, then briefly adjusted some fur-lined collars and cuffs on display on top of the case. When three men walked into the shop, she wondered if she knew why Darkangel wasn't available. They had cops written all over them--well, except for the tallest one, who looked more like he had thug written all over him. Hoping she was wrong, Heather smiled and said, "Can I get you something? We have a great selection of items. Male, female depending on your tastes." She smiled up at the handsomest man, who had blond hair and the most striking blue eyes she had ever seen. Sure, he looked a lot older than her--she was only 19--but... He interrupted her before she could go further. "Information. We just need to know who bought this." He held up a plastic bag. Inside was what looked like a black teddy with pink accents. "A gift from a secret admirer, Mr..." Again Heather smiled at the man. He was almost a head taller than her. She pushed back a stray lock of her brown hair. "No, found at a crime scene." He showed her a police badge and said, "Knight. Detective Nick Knight. And Detective Schanke and... Captain Cross," he said, indicating his companions. "Oh, well I have no idea if it was bought here or not." "The tag said it was," said Captain Cross. Examining the label visible through the bag, Heather had to agree. "Well it appears to be a product we carry. Let's see now." She walked off to the wall racks and rummaged through the lingerie there. She pulled out a black teddy with pink accents and came back over to the checkout desk with it. "Yes, I think it's like this one." "Looks the same to me," said Detective Schanke. "Yes, it is. Same label, see?" She held it out to Detective Knight. Detective Knight smiled. "Well, do you have a list of who has purchased this particular item?" "Well, I'm just an employee. The manager isn't here right now." Detective Knight leaned on the counter and gazed at her with those so blue eyes. She almost wished her own blue-gray eyes could be so blue. "But... I can check in the back and see if the records are there." She smiled at him again and tugged at the bottom of the brocade vest she wore. Then she walked into the back office area. Darkangel had apparently taken the day's receipts out to deposit in the bank and the safe was locked. Heather knew the Teddy was not a common store item. As she recalled, they hadn't sold many lately. She remembered special ordering one for someone on the Forever Knight Erotica List. Someone named Janette Du Charme or Duchene or something like that. But there was no way to be sure without being able to check the receipts, which she couldn't currently do. Heather walked back out into the sales area. The dark-haired policeman was examining a woman's lace night shirt. "This would look good on Myra," he was saying to Detective Knight. Mr. Cross was looking mildly pleased with himself. Detective Knight was playing with a choker, wrapping it around his fingers and then unwrapping it. "A gift for your girlfriend, Officer?" she asked him. "No," he said and put it back on the rack. Mr. Cross picked up a pair a black fur-lined hand cuffs. "We did have some pink ones but they sold out this morning." Detective Knight interrupted her sales pitch. "Miss..." "Parks. Heather Parks." "Did you find anything out?" She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I tried to check the receipts but Darkangel must have locked them in the safe before she left. You can get them when she gets back." "When will that be?" "Probably not until tomorrow." Captain Cross didn't look pleased. In fact, he looked livid. "Well, tell her I'll come back tomorrow for those records," said Detective Schanke. Then they departed. ************************************************************* Lurker (4) by Maddog After deciding you could be at two places at the same time as long it wasn't the same place at the same time and you didn't eat lentil soup for dinner, the Lurkers decided to check out the action at The Raven. They noted the other fkficlisters hanging out at tables, plotting and going deaf from the loud music and blind from thinking about their proximity to their favorite obsessions. "Can I have another Diet Coke and Amaretto," Maddog instructed the waitress, having to shout over the pounding music of The Raven. "And I'll have another wine cooler," Rastro added. They'd been sitting in The Raven watching various Ravenette's report in to their Boss. It was interesting and the War certainly seemed to be progressing well. "Hey, Rastro, look at this!" Maddog held up the play dough sculpture she'd been working on for the last hour. It was an Iron Maiden made out of yellow playdough with blue play dough spikes. "Not bad, how'd you get the spikes to stand out?" "Heated them a little over the candle on the table. What you make?" Rastro held up a white play dough coffin with a large red spike driven through it. "Wot you think?" "Great, it not only represents the Vampiric fear of death but man's inhumanity to trees," Maddog said as she accepted the drink from the waitress and gulped it. "You know the action seems to be moving again. Shall we join our fellow Lurkers over there somewhere?" Rastro nodded and tossed back her wine cooler with an experienced hand. The two walked over to the bar and then left The Raven. "Merde!" muttered Janette as a knock on the door distracted her. She looked up from her computer with a threatening scowl as Miklos came in. "I told you I was not to be disturbed," she hissed at him. "I'm in the middle of a war!" She had a really bad feeling that the rather private note she'd just sent out had been posted to the whole list instead of just one person. It was NOT something she wanted Nicholas to find out... "Oh well, what is it?" Miklos smiled slightly. She only ranted like that when she was embarrassed or Nick was around. "This just arrived for you," he said, putting a package on her desk. "I thought it might be important so I brought it right in." Janette looked at it suspiciously. The package was done up in gilt paper and gold ribbon, and smelled faintly of something. She pulled it closer. It was fairly heavy and she couldn't quite identify the odor. But at least it wasn't garlic. In wartime it paid to be careful. "You open it." She pushed it back to Miklos. He shrugged and picked it up. "You might want to read this." He tossed the card to her and proceeded to tear the paper from the box. "I thought you might find this useful", it read. "Signed, Your Secret Admirer," she finished aloud. Puzzled, she looked at the box Miklos was holding out to her. She took it and stared in bewilderment. "Dremel Tool?" She tore the box open and ripped off the plastic. Pieces flew everywhere. "Ugh, it's all greasy. What is it?" Miklos was laughing. "It's called a 'power tool'. It has many different uses and lots of attachments. See?" he handed her the catalogue. She perused it slowly, her look of bemusement and annoyance fading as she considered the possibilities... "Why Nicholas," she purred softly, a wicked smile on her face, "I didn't think you had imagination." How did Nick know that she wanted to install vanity molding, loosen sticking doors, face plywood shelves and build a squirrel guard? All could be done with this marvelous device. "Maybe it's from LaCroix," Miklos suggested, a look of total innocence on his face. "Oh no!" she dropped the Dremel tool in horror. Suddenly those little sandpaper discs took on a sinister aspect. "Don't you have any idea who it came from?" "Well," said Miklos, "I did find this sitting on the bar..." Janette stared at the empty Diet Coke can, her face once again a study in total bewilderment. ************************************************************* Sun Tzu by Lane Lombardia The haggard wino tottered out of the alley. He drunkenly tripped over his own feet. Dragging himself to his feet, using the Cadillac as a handhold, he stood and shuffled off into the darkness. Later, drenched in shadow, Lane (aka Long Path) listened to the small wireless microphone planted in the Cadillac on the Walkman, testing the bug. He wondering what he'd learn, who he could sell that information to, and for how much. Having read Sun Tzu, he knew, as any Mercenary would, that one must know both friends and enemies at least as well as one knows oneself. He clutched the "space" blanket around him hoping to conceal his body's heat signature. He didn't want to alert the vampires when they exited the boutique. ************************************************************* Lurker (3) by Maddog Rastro and Maddog exited from the Tesseract. It had been a long day of lurking for both of them but they had one more item on their non-list of non-things that they could not do. Dr. Natalie Lambert's apartment was lit from the sunlight streaming in the windows. There was no one about except Sidney, who ignored them because they weren't food. "I think she'll like the Mocha Raspberry Cheesecake," Maddog said as she looked around the apartment, noting the cat hair laden bookshelves. Wondering if Natalie would notice a book or two missing. "Probably, I mean, we ate an entire one by ourselves last Saturday and it normally takes us two days to polish one off. Do you think she'll like the hat?" Rastro held up a ten gallon white Stetson. She'd wanted to keep it herself but decided a black one would be more fitting. "Sure she will, it is the proper kind of hat to eat cheesecake by," Maddog grabbed the hat and put it on her head. "Cheesecake, I've got you in my sights. Surrender now or be eaten!" "Your calories or your life?" Rastro suggested. "These here jeans aren't big enough for the both of us, cheesecake." "Stop me, Marshall, before I overeat again." "I got it," Maddog grabbed the cheesecake and held an imaginary gun to it. "Cheesecake, one more move and you're on my hips forever!" The two Lurkers began giggling uncontrollably. Then, one of those events that often happens when the probability fields are never in your favor occurred. The cheesecake jiggled itself out of Maddog's hands onto Natalie's carpet. "Uh, oh," said Rastro. "Uh, oh," said Maddog. "Meow," said Sidney as he started helping himself to the mess of tasty dairy product on the floor. "What are we going to do?" Maddog asked, carefully putting the Stetson down on the table near the fallen cheesecake. "Won't the cat get sick from eating all that?" "Yeah, he'll probably barf all over everything," Rastro shook her head judiciously, after all, didn't she have barf cats as well as fart cats. "Think we'd better go lurk elsewhere before he does," Maddog suggested as Rastro activated the Tesseract and the two Lurkers found themselves elsewhere. ************************************************************* A Little Help From My Friends by Mark Elliott The Magister, Vampire and Raven, pulled up outside the Raven in his silver Chrysler New Yorker, got out and went around to open the passenger door. Out stepped a young lady who took in her surroundings, and said worriedly, "Are you sure Nick won't mind that we're here, together?" Magister slipped his arm around his new paramour and guided her to the door and said, "My darling Darkstar, as I explained to you when I picked you up in Milwaukee, our relationship mirrors that of Nick and Janette. We are the next generation, so to speak." He nodded to the bouncer at the door who seemed surprised to see him and proceeded on into the club. "Heather, you know that Nick and Janette help each other out all the time. We will need your connections with the other Knighties. I am sure Nick would approve. He cares for Janette as much as the rest of us." They had by this time reached the bar. Miklos greeted them with an open-mouthed stare. "Bon apres-midi, Miklos. Ou est Janette?" It took Miklos a few minutes to respond. "She's in the back. Wait... You two didn't exactly part under the best of circumstances." "I know. But, she's in trouble. I had to come." While this exchange was going on, Heather Templeman was wandering around the inside of the club. She was having a hard time believing that she was there. She was having an even harder time believing that her NetPal, The Magister was actually a vampire. She wondered how she was going to explain running off to Toronto with a man she barely knew to her mother. "Heather, dear, would you like to meet Janette? Come with me." She walked over to The Magister and together they walked to the back room where Janette's private office was. A knock on the door was followed by another and after a few minutes, the door was opened by Susan Garrett. Susan looked just a surprised as Miklos had. The couple strode into the room and Janette said, "Look, the prodigal son returns at last." As she said this, she looked past him to the young girl and said, "What's this, cherie, a peace offering... Or... A snack?" The last said with much sarcasm. The Magister ignored her insult and said with a flourish, "May I present Heather Templeman, aka Lt. Darkstar. I thought she might come in handy considering the situation." Susan spoke up and said with a nervous laugh, "Another Knightie. We're getting a real collection here." Janette looked the girl up and down. "You may join the others out in the bar. Magister and I need to have a little chat." After Heather walked out, Janette looked at her Raven Mage and said, "What is your relationship with the mortal girl." "Our relationship is akin to yours with Nichola. Please, mon amour, I am only here to help, not to open old wounds." "Very well, we need all the help we can get." Janette said with a sigh, she then gave him a look that Susan had seen her give Nick many times. "Susan will bring up to speed and then we will decide what we are going to do and to use your new toy to it's best advantage." Magister started to say something, but, the look Janette gave him then could've froze steam, so he remained silent. ************************************************************* A Fly In The Ointment by Lt. Darkstar Heather Templeman aka Lt. Darkstar tried to make herself blend into the background while Nick had been talking to his Knighties. Especially since she was supposed to be one of them. Nick would know in an instant that she wasn't one of them. However, she did envy Scottie throwing herself at Nick the way she did. Nick was dreamy. Uncle caught her eye at that moment, scowled and slightly shook his head. She immediately banished her wayward libido back to its cage and nodded her head back. As Magister walked out of Janette's office, he almost ran into Dirk Giles. "Hello, So-Krates. Comment-allez vous?" "Bonsoir, yourself Magister. How's the Boss?" The man with the military air about him, asked, inclining his head towards the door. "Things are getting weird around here. Let me fill you in." They wandered over towards the bar as they talked in low tones despite the blaring music. Magister looked up with a start as he heard his name come across the club's PA. He then relaxed and smiled broadly as his dedication was broadcast. Heather had managed to work her way over to the pay phone and placed her call to the radio station. She just had to know what was going on. She received a busy signal on *both* lines the station had. This *was* really strange. She then placed a call to her contact in the Cousins. She knew this was a risk, but, her curiosity was getting the better of her. She finished her conversation, turned around, and slammed straight into her vampiric paramour. "Oh! I'm sorry!" she said and then all the color drained from her face as she realized who it was she ran into. "So, cherie, you have friends amongst the Cousins?" he asked dryly "It seems a bit odd to me." She looked at the floor for a minute and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Well, you see, it's like this... I... Ummm..." "So now I know why you weren't with the other ladies when Scottie launched herself at Nick like a pro halfback. Socrates," he glanced over his shoulder at his Raven brother. "I believe we have just caught a Cousin Spy in our midst. What are we going to do with her?" Socrates walked over to where they where standing and glared at the young girl, and said menacingly, "Do you know what we do with spies around here?" Darkstar looked at him and said stammering, "You... You... Can't hurt me, I'm under Uncle's protection." "Ma petit chou, we don't intend to hurt you. But, I do think that it's time we capitalized on our advantage, eh mon frere?" He said with a nudge to Giles. "Yes, Magister, I think you're exactly right." With that they each took hold of one of the girl's upper arms and led her into the back room. ************************************************************* Interrogation by Dirk Giles The Magister and Socrates carried Lt. Darkstar into the back room, ignoring her protestations about the situation. After closing the door and bolting it shut, the Magister pushed her into the solitary chair in the center of the room. "A spy among the Knighties, no doubt using her position to shift blame away from Oncle", the Magister said. "For all we know she's trying to frame Janette *again* for the murder." Heather glared at the two men. "I have done nothing wrong!" Socrates nodded thoughtfully. "That is true; you have done nothing wrong *yet*. Who will take the blame next? Perhaps Nick?" At that Lt. Darkstar started, shock showing on her face. "No, I would never frame Nick! He's..." "He's what?" the Magister asked, standing behind her. "No *Cousin* would think they way you are thinking now." She closed her eyes and thought to herself, *why did Nick have to be so cute? I don't know what to do!* Opening her eyes, she said, "You can't make me talk!" Her defiance faded as she saw that Socrates had retrieved a worn, black leather case from a table in the corner. "I'm afraid this calls for extreme measures," he said. "We *must* know your true loyalty. Since you won't talk..." The Magister spun the chair around so that Lt. Darkstar was facing him. "You must understand that Socrates was in the military and was introduced to torture methods at survival school. If you talk, I will prevent him from using his implements of torture on you!" he said. "No!" she replied, "I'm not afraid of torture!" "You will be," Socrates said, and opened the case, revealing the hideous torture instruments within. Heather screamed, as she realized she would not be able to withstand the torture. The Magister smiled, glad that the black leather case of chocolate poptarts had been stashed away for just a situation as this. ************************************************************* Decision Time by Dirk Giles Socrates closed the door behind him, leaving Lt. Darkstar inside, and found the Magister waiting for him in the hallway. "I can't believe she didn't crack," he muttered. "You made a mistake, letting her get her hands on one of those poptarts too soon," the Magister replied. "Once she fortified herself with a poptart it was all over." Socrates stared at the floor and said, "Yes, but I still don't know how she was able to get the rest of them. They were locked in the desk!" The Magister laughed. "Never underestimate the power of a chocolate poptart!" His face became serious. "So now what?" At that moment the door from the bar proper opened, and Janette walked in. "Hey, boss, um, Janette, you're back! How'd it go at the station?" Socrates asked. Janette's fangs retracted, and she smiled, knowing she could still unsettle even these cocky Ravens. "The evidence no longer implicates me in this *mortal* affair," she said. "Somehow the internal affairs *inspector* has become implicated." "What inspector?" asked the Magister. "Lucien LaCross, or something like that, is what he's going by," Janette smirked. Socrates look bewildered. "You don't mean..." "Yes," she replied, "LaCroix has got himself arrested." With that she headed off to her private apartment. The Magister suddenly turned to Socrates, and said, "I've got an idea on what to do with Darkstar." "Don't worry; we're taking you to see Oncle," Socrates said to Lt. Darkstar as the Magister and himself escorted her into the station. Finding a mass of confusion inside, with many civilians milling around the harassed police officers, they were able to make their way back to the cell area. Socrates looked back into the squad room. "You know, I think I recognize some of those people. It looks like a FORKNI-L (pronounced fork-nile ;) ) convention in there." Searching around, they found the door leading in to the cell area ajar. The Magister looked in and saw Nick pacing in front of some cells. "There's Nick," he said. At the mention of Nick's name, Lt. Darkstar looked up happily. *This won't be so bad,* she thought to herself. "Is Oncle there as well?" Socrates asked. "Yes," replied the Magister. Lt. Darkstar's face fell. *This will be bad.* The two men pushed her through the door and slammed it loudly. "We'll just let *them* take care of the problem!" Socrates said, and the Magister and he left the station for the Raven. Nick spun around so fast he blurred to Lt. Darkstar. "What are you doing in here? What a minute, I've seen you before. Weren't you at the Raven not too long ago?" She started to swoon as he came up to her. As the world started to spin, Nick caught her. "Thank you," she said, smiling dreamily up at him. "Nicholas, I think you should know that she is *mine*," LaCroix spoke from the cell. "And Heather, I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps you are too Knightie-like for your own good." Uncle's voice brought Lt. Darkstar back to reality. *Oops, now I'm in trouble.* Nick helped her to her feet. "LaCroix, you have no influence over her. She belongs to no one." "She is a *Cousin*!" LaCroix snarled, "and does what I say. If not, she will do nothing ever again!" Nick turned to Lt. Darkstar. "You don't have to follow his commands. If you do, he will use you and then discard you. If you wish, I can place you under my protection." "Take care, Nicholas!" LaCroix snarled. "She *is* a Cousin, and belongs to me!" "Let's let her decide," Nick replied. To Lt. Darkstar he asked, "what do you want to do?" Lt. Darkstar thought, and decided. ************************************************************* Rescue by Vicki Merriman Catherine Bond, Vicki Merriman, Dianne Sudduth and the other Die-Hards opened the door and entered the cell holding area. LaCroix and Nick barely noticed them. "She is a *Cousin*!" LaCroix snarled, "and does what I say. If not, she will do nothing ever again!" Catherine and Vicki glanced at each other and nodded slightly, as though in agreement. Nick turned to Lt. Darkstar. "You don't have to follow his commands. If you do, he will use you and then discard you. If you wish, I can place you under my protection." "As Susan Garrett was under your protection? That was a fine job you did, Nick," Dianne pointed out. She received a glare from both LaCroix and Nick for her pains. "Really, Nicholas," LaCroix sniffed disdainfully. "I had no idea that your mortal jails were Grand Central Station. First those Ravens come in with *my* follower and now this rabble intrudes. No wonder the mortals have a problem with criminals." Nick just glared at him and the Die-Hards universally. Then he looked back at Lt. Darkstar. "I can and will protect you from LaCroix," he said. "Take care, Nicholas!" LaCroix snarled. "She *is* a Cousin, and belongs to me!" "Let's let her decide", Nick replied. To Lt. Darkstar he asked, "what do you want to do?" Catherine reached out her hand to Lt. Darkstar, who looked torn and confused between both Nick and LaCroix. She was still buzzing from the sugar overdose of the chocolate poptarts. "You know, you don't need to choose either one of them. Come with us and we will take you to a safehouse the Die-Hards have set up. You'll have time to make a decision if you want to or to simply recover." "You may NOT go with them," LaCroix stormed. "You're a Cousin and I demand that you affirm it." "You are behind bars and aren't in a position to demand anything," Vicki retaliated swiftly. "You two are pulling her shoulders out between you like two little boys with a toy. That is why we Die-Hards have arrived to protect her from being forced into a premature declaration. You might call us 'pro-choice'," she finished with a small smile. "Besides, Lt. Darkstar needs rest and to recuperate from her ordeal at the Raven. She is in no condition to make a rational decision." "What ordeal at the Raven" Nick and LaCroix said almost simultaneously. "She has been tortured to get information and to try to force her into declaring where her loyalties lie." Both Nick and LaCroix frowned at that. "She can't leave," Nick said. "I've questions to ask her and I want to know about her loyalties also." "Is she under arrest for anything, Detective Knight?" Debbie Martin asked sweetly. "You know she is not, but we don't want her where she can't be questioned." "Not to worry, Detective Knight," Vicki said, "Heather won't be leaving town anytime soon. We are just going to take her so she can rest and relax. Anyone is welcome to come to our safe house. Heather is just the first. If she wants to leave later she is free to do so. However, anyone who tries to take her or anyone by force from the safe house will be defended against quite forcefully, and we've a few surprises for both a vampiric and mortal invasion attempt." "Where is this ," LaCroix asked. "That would be telling," Catherine pointed out. "You will find out soon enough but we need a little more preparation time. "She is MINE. I won't allow you to take her." With his frustration limit reached, LaCroix snarled and reached through the bars to grab Lt. Darkstar. Vicki pulled her swiftly into the group of Die-Hards and stood in front of her, growling in her throat, to the surprise of all present except her. Her fellow Die-Hards looked especially startled. "You can't stop it LaCroix. If she wants to be a Cousin she will return to you, but right now she needs rest, food and some time out." With that the Die-Hards turned as a group and left the holding area with Lt. Darkstar, walking quickly through the police station to the van which Vicki had borrowed from her father. She hadn't volunteered that it was going to war, however. "Can you drive, Dianne?" "Sure." Dianne didn't want to disagree with someone who growled. "Great," Vicki replied. "Pardon me while I collapse in a small puddle in the backseat of the van." She felt very shaky now that she was actually out of sight of LaCroix and Nick and the crisis was over. "You're frightened?" Debbie Martin asked. "Terrified" "I thought you weren't afraid of LaCroix at all." "That is what I wanted him to believe. Adrenaline can do wonders, but there is a price to pay," Vicki said in a rather shaky voice. "How did you growl?" Catherine wanted to know. "Did you think that vampires were the only creatures that could growl? Decidedly not." The rest of the Die-Hards didn't seem to want to say anything to that remark, and the rest of trip to the safe house passed in silence. ************************************************************* Random Acts (2) by Diane Echelbarger Nick noticed the package as soon as he opened the door to the Caddy. It was about 18 inches square, one inch thick, and wrapped in plain white paper. "Nick" was block-printed across one corner in black felt pen. He picked it up gingerly. The shape and feel were unmistakable. A book? Why would anyone leave a wrapped book in his Caddy? Curious now, he unwrapped it quickly and turned it over to see the title. _LOST CITY OF THE TOLTECS_ _An annotated photographic record_ He opened the big volume and read the blurb on the flap. "This meticulously researched collection of photographs from the Altun Kinal excavations..." Altun Kinal? Who had sent *him* a book on the Altun Kinal excavations? He checked the inside cover, the flyleaf, the title page... No inscription. He riffled through the pages and a small white envelope fell at his feet. Nick dropped the book on the Caddy's seat and retrieved the gift enclosure. The card inside was plain white, with "A Gift For You" in gold print on the front. He opened it. It was blank. ************************************************************* Safehouse by Vicki Merriman and Catherine Bond The Die-Hards and Darkstar piled out of the van after Dianne parked it on a nearby side street. she thought. Catherine followed along with her car. LtDarkstar was starting to look a little worn, coming down as she was from her overdose of chocolate poptarts. "This is your safe house?" she asked in confusion. "Sure is," Nicole replied cheerfully as she led her up through the door and up the steps to the second floor apartment. "No one will think of looking for you here. It's very snug and defensible. You're welcome to stay here until the murder is solved or you may leave anytime you're ready." "Right now all I want is a shower, a change of clothes and a nap." "That we can do." Catherine said, putting on her mother-hen hat, "You should, however, eat something before you sleep, some protein and starch, perhaps a glass of milk. That will help your system with the sugar overload." "I'm too sleepy..." LtDarkstar replied. "Nevertheless..." Vicki wandered into the kitchen in search of milk and bread for her own adrenaline shot lag. LtDarkstar obediently followed her. After everyone had had a quick bite to eat, LtDarkstar was given a change of clothes and went to take a shower. Catherine had fetch the supplies from the trunk of her car. As the Die-Hards sorted their weapons and went over their defense plans for both vampiric and mortal attacks. "Where did you get this?" asked Nichole. She held up a plastic jug filled with a pungent brew. "There's a health food store around the corner that sells the stuff by the gallon!" smiled Catherine. "Fill the squirt guns with it. It won't kill a vampire, but it will blind them long enough for you to get away." "I know it is best to be prepared but I hope that we can use reason," Heather commented. "Reason doesn't seem to be much in evidence right now amongst the factions or the police force," Nicole observed. "Right," Vicki agreed. "Then let's finish the other preparations. I'm feeling wiped and want a good night's... Er, day's sleep before we face Karaoke tomorrow. With a little luck we can use the Karaoke evening to have a rational discussion with all the other factions. After all, it will be at the hotel and we can hope that no one will cause too much trouble in public." ------------------------------------------------------------- The next evening "And Away we Go!" They were tanned. They were rested. They were ready to go! Ok, so maybe they weren't tanned, but they were dressed to the hilt! Except for Catherine. Still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she had hooked up the computer and was surfing the Net, keeping an eye out for signs of trouble or Dawn Steele, whichever came first. She hoped the missing Chief Die-Hard and bottle-washer appeared on the scene soon. Playing den- mother to a bunch of Die-Hards during wartime was like (what was that phrase her friend, Allison, used? Oh yes.) "herding cats." "Aren't you going?" asked Nichole. "No, I sing like a wounded cow and the only songs I know all the words to are 17 th and 18 th century tavern songs. Not exactly Karaoke material." answered Catherine. The other Die-Hards and LtDarkstar headed out the door. Then Catherine thought of something. She ran out the door after them. "Hey! Are all of you over 21? What are the drinking laws in Canada?! Don't forget to designate a driver!" she called to the back of the van as it drove off. ************************************************************* A Mistake? by Blake Tullo Finally, I thought, after a hectic week at work I finally got here. Now were do I go? Not knowing which Hotel to check into was one thing but what am I doing here? Ah, my bag! The brown, overused case finally made its way around the luggage bin. Now to find a money changer and a hotel and things would be better. Maybe I would even run into some fellow listmembers. Shouldering the computer carrying case and picking up the suitcase I looked around. Having been to Canada before when I was 12 was of no help to me now. And the three years of French class is even more useless! Thank God everything was also in English! Was that a money changer? "Did you need some assistance, my friend?" a voice came from behind me. I turned around relieved and dropped my bag. "UGGH..." was all that came out of my mouth. There stood Uncle. I found it hard to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind I just kept thinking "PLEASE don't let him be hungry!" "So how was your flight?" he asked me as he picked up my bag. "We better get going." He started toward the airport exit. Stopping a few seconds later he added "Are you Coming?" Being in a limo with LaCroix was scary enough, but sitting there while he was grinning at you and pouring a glass of red wine was extremely unsettling, to say the least! My mind was reeling, What does he want with me? How did he know I was coming? What should I do? Of course I had no answers for any of them. They all came in a flood and I couldn't even begin to think. "Well, what brings you to lovely Toronto?" he asked as he handed me the glass. "Ummm, I guess I came because of the writing... Umm maybe it was becau--" "NO" he yelled. "I brought you here to serve me. You think you can just claim to be a Cousin and then sit back and watch?" An evil grin spread across his face. "Things aren't going as I planned, and there is something you can do for me." Stunned I took a drink from the glass and gagged. I forgot that I didn't like wine. Things were becoming a bit clearer. I tried to get a vacation from work and couldn't so I was resigned to not coming and then my manager just comes up, out of the blue, and tells me that she got everything cleared and that my vacation time was ok'd. I knew it was too good to be true. But then again I am a Cousin and if he needs me I'm here. As if reading my mind, which is probably what he was doing, a grin spread across his face. "I'm glad you feel that way. Now listen this is what I need you to do..." The black limo pulled away from the front of the hotel. Dazed I turned around and walked in. As I walked to the front desk I noticed a sign: "Karaoke Night at the Regal Constellation" a grin spread across my face. No I better not, I thought, if I go in there I might make a fool of myself. Arriving at the front desk a pretty blond clerk came over. Her name tag read Lisa. "Can I help you ?" she asked. "Yes, Lisa is it? I believe that you have a room reserved for me." "Your name sir?" she asked Bond, James Bond ran through my head. No better not. "Blake Tullo" I replied. After typing for a few seconds she looked up. "Yes here we go, we have a suite reserved for you for two weeks." Two weeks I thought what else does he want me to do? "Thank you." Signing the registration card and grabbing the key I walked toward the elevator, waving off the bell boy. I could carry my own bag. "Sir!" came from behind me. Turning around there was Lisa. "This was delivered for you a few hours ago." She handed me a wooden box. "Thanks" I handed her a five. "Let me know if anything else arrives." I smiled and entered the elevator. I was assaulted by 'elevator music' right away. Grimacing I hit the button for my floor. My eyes ran over the lid of the mahogany box, I wonder what is in it? ************************************************************* Small Tokens of Affection by Karin Welss After all the excitement had died down, and the hotel manager had assured the ladies that the exterminator would be called, pronto, Margaret, Sharon, and Susan G. were assigned new adjoining rooms one floor up. They sighed deeply as they packed up their belongings for the second hotel-room move in less than 24 hours... Dead bodies, dead scorpions... Margaret imagined that the manager was beginning to put them on the list of "Hotel Guests from Hell." Lisa followed the procession into the elevator, casting frequent skittish glances behind her, as if imagining the soundless rustle of thousands of tiny feet creeping up on the hallway carpeting behind her. The ladies settled themselves into their new digs, eventually drifting over to Sharon's for a revivifying shot of Amaretto or a row of Lindt Vollmilch chocolate. A half-hour later there was a brisk rap on the door. Everyone looked at Lisa, who sighed, and got up from where she had been sitting on the bed. "I'll get it," she volunteered wearily. "If it's another batch of scorpions, promise you'll avenge me." Fortunately, it was a hotel bellhop, neat brimmed cap pulled down low over her curly blonde hair, her arms full of packages. Lisa accepted them, stunned, and the bellhop marched off. "Didn't even wait for a tip," Lisa muttered, kicking the door shut and turning back into the room. The packages came in a variety of sizes and shapes, all prettily tied with tissue paper and bows. There were names written on tags attached to each package, and each of the ladies cautiously took the one addressed to her, and began opening it. For Margaret, there was a bottle of deep reddish-purple punch in a corked wine bottle. It reeked of black currant and vodka, which made the dear girl turn an interestingly pale shade of green as she flashed back to a certain housewarming party three years previously. The plain white label had a thin edging of mauve, and a single line written in calligraphy: "To Your Health." For Sharon, there was a pair of pink-fur-lined handcuffs. She blushed prettily from her collarbones to the roots of her curly silver mop of hair, and tucked them hurriedly away in the pocket of her black leather jacket faster than you could say, "Frog spit." After all, you never knew if they might come in useful... For Susan G., a black velvet choker bearing the "Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons" label. "Hey," she remarked, as she lifted it from its narrow enclosure. "It's got a garrote wire sewn onto the back of it." Amid the shocked stares of the others, Lisa opened her package v-e-r-y slowly, fearing what she might find. To her vague disappointment, it turned out to be a book -- an ancient, calfskin bound book, but a book nevertheless. Quite a mundane gift for a librarian-turned-Archivist's-Assistant. Why, oh why didn't she ever receive interesting gifts like handcuffs or black velvet chokers? Lisa put on her bravest face (which was not terribly brave, but understandable under the circumstances, scorpions, and all), and put the book down on the night stand. "Well, that's very, um, interesting." Margaret, having recovered from the shock of receiving the spiked Ribena, said, "Look, Lisa -- there's something sticking out of your book." Lisa lifted the tome, and discovered a small yellow Post-It Note (tm) marking a page. She opened the book. The words, "I know," were scrawled across the top of the page in pencil. Lisa squinted at the faded French text on the rest of the page, and paled. "What is it, Lisa?" Sharon inquired, reaching out to take the book. Lisa hastily clapped the book shut and clutched it close to her chest. "N - nothing," Lisa stammered, backing away. "Just some mumbo-jumbo about an ancient Indian curse. From the same twisted individual who sent all the rest of these goodies, no doubt." She did not release her deathgrip on the book. Sharon thought better of trying to wrestle it away from her. Although years of gardening had toughened up those arm muscles... "And that curse wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that swarm of scorpions chasing you?" Susan's tone was carefully casual, and she was seemingly occupied in wrapping the deadly choker around her fingers. "I could have sworn I've seen that handwriting somewhere before..." Lisa mused thoughtfully, avoiding the question. If only she could remember... She found herself rubbing a place on her throat that was suddenly tingling. * * * In the Royal Constellation's parking garage, Karin and Jennise jumped into the sporty, pale-plum colored Saturn coupe that Jennise had insisted on renting. Tossing the filched bellhop's cap merrily out the window, they zoomed into town, chuckling all the way their next assigned stop, The Happy Souvlaki Deli in downtown Toronto. ************************************************************* Past Lives by Sandra Gray and Amy Denton Sandra Gray walked into the lobby of the Regal Constellation to see a disturbing sight: a procession coming from the elevators of several policemen, a shrouded body being wheeled by a couple of what looked like ambulance attendants and followed by two suited women, and two men in suits bringing up the rear. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the blond suited man. She watched as he touched his dark-haired companion's arm and then turned to go over to the registration desk. Sandra walked quickly toward the desk, and heard the man say, "Remember, no one is to enter or clean Room 1657 until further notice from us." The young man behind the desk said, "Yes, sir." The blond man turned and Sandra looked up into blue eyes she had hoped to but had thought she would never see again. "Nick?" she said. Recognition flashed through his eyes and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then his gaze turned impersonal and he said, "I'm sorry. I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Sandra frowned and opened her mouth to say something else. But a voice somewhere behind her said, "Knight! Let's go, huh?" Nick looked past her, then back at her. "Excuse me," he said politely and walked away. Sandra watched his retreating form as he exited the building. She approached the desk and said to the man behind it, "What happened?" "Nothing to worry about. Someone was found dead in one of the rooms." "Murdered?" "I--I wouldn't know." "But that *was* the... Police? Who was that man who was just talking to you?" "I don't know. Some detective." The man got more nervous so she let the matter drop. She walked over to the elevator. What had the other man called him? "Knight," she said as the elevator door closed. * * * * * * * "Man, I can't believe what happened to the Cap'n," said Schanke, as he got into Nick's car. But Nick didn't hear him. He was staring thoughtfully out the window. * * * * * * * Nick poured two glasses of wine and turned back to the couch. Why did Sandra [played by Amy Denton] have to smile? Why did she have to be so... Full of life? She used both hands to pull her long red hair back, exposing her throat. Nick swallowed and sat down beside her--not too close--and handed her her glass of wine. He looked down at his glass and said, "I--uh, got a lead on some more manuscripts to research." "Great! Tell me what they are and I'll arrange the interlibrary loan." "I can't. That is, they're part of a private collection. I have to go look at them there." He looked up to see her smile had faded. He smiled and added, "I shouldn't be gone that long." "Where's the collection?" "In New York." "Pretty far." Nick nodded and looked away, faking a sip of his wine. Beside him, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sandra toss off the rest of her wine. She set the glass on the coffee table and said, "Is this some really weird brush off? Because if it is--" Nick set down his glass and turned to her. "No," he said, taking her hands. "I care about you more than you'll ever know," he said earnestly. Sandra leaned forward and kissed him. Nick shut his eyes, lost in the feel of her warm lips under his. She slid closer, her arms going around his neck, and he slid his arms around her back and pulled her even closer, crushing her lips under his. Then he felt the vampire rise up in him and pulled back from her. Sandra turned her head and laid her cheek on his shoulder, thankfully not facing him. "I love you, Nick." Nick put his hand on her head and held her there, struggling to suppress the gold he knew had risen in his eyes, pull back the fangs. The sound of her quickened pulse beat in his ears. "Take me with you," Sandra continued. "Or even make me what you are." Nick frowned, the shock of her words suppressing the desire to possess her life. The vampire side of him retreated, and he pulled back to look at her. * * * * * * * "Nick? Yoo-hoo, earth to Knight!" said Schanke. Nick looked at his partner. "I know, I can't believe what happened to the Cap'n either... But we're not solving the case sitting here, you know?" "Yeah," said Nick, his mind back on the matters at hand. He turned on the car and they drove off down the road. ************************************************************* Damage Control by Susan M. Garrett Enough time had been wasted. Now that the other witnesses were moderately incapacitated by Amaretto and/or a chocolate high (not to say that Susan wasn't high on the chocolate herself), it was time to make get things going. The problem was, of course, what on earth to do with Lisa? And whose side was she on this time? She'd been a Die-Hard, a Cousin, and, most recently, the Archivist's Assistant. Giving a mental shrug, Susan decided to let Janette deal with the problem--she the boss, after all. "Look, why don't we go out for a drink," she suggested, in what she hoped was a slightly bubbly (gak!) tone of voice. "We've all had a shock, but we're fine." "The police said we should stay in the hotel, in case they had more questions," noted Sharon, who was remarkably mentally intact, despite the quantity of chocolate she'd consumed (Susan estimated that any lesser mortal would have been spinning around in circles from the excess energy by that point . . . but you never knew with Texans). She was, happily, saved by Margaret, who leaned up against the bottom of the bed and said pointedly, "You mean 'Nick' said to stay put. And you'd do Nick says, right Sharon?" "Would not!" Sharon opened her mouth to continue, shut it, thought a moment, then added, "Well, there are a things--" "That's all right, Scottie," said Susan, in her most amiable tone of voice, "we understand. You stay right here and do exactly what Nick says. And be bored out of your mind, the hotel where they found Stonetree, dead as a doornail, while we find a nice little bar and more chocolate." "More chocolate?" echoed Scottie, looking down at the empty wrappers scattered around the room. "It might do you good to get out of here," said Lisa, lounging in the doorway. "Once the story breaks, this place will be a zoo. Newspeople. Photographers. Frogs." Scottie paled. Margaret hiccoughed and echoed, " frogs?" Lisa nodded sagely. "Didn't you know? The Summerians noticed that frogs tended to be attracted by the scent of death--that's why the spirits that carry the souls to the underworld are shaped like frogs." "Guess you're glad you're not Summerian," Susan said to Scottie, poking her lightly in the ribs, watching Scottie go white, then green. She glanced over at Lisa, wondering what her game was, but decided to let it ride. "Oh, that's neat," said Margaret. Then she started to giggle. "I can just see the grim-reaper--bulging eyes, little froggy fingers round his scythe--" She stopped momentarily and sobered. "Would he be a skeleton frog or a fleshy frog?" By that time, Scottie was on her feet, grabbing her purse on her way to the door. "Can we can the chatter about the-- let's just get out of here, okay?" "Fine with me," said Susan, helping Margaret to her feet, then steadying her. "And I know just the place where you can get your mind off your troubles, froggie or otherwise." "I'll bet you do," said Lisa, as Susan and Margaret passed her. **************** The Taxi ride was interesting (NOTHING compared to an NYC taxi, mind you, but interesting), and they soon arrived at The Raven. Both Scottie's and Margaret's eyes opened wide at the sight of the sign as they tumbled out of the taxi and Lisa led them onto the sidewalk. "I've never been here," said Margaret, almost in awe. Scottie frowned. "I don't think Nick would want--" "Oh, 'Nick-Nick-Nick'," countered Lisa. "He'd want you to unwind, wouldn't he? And you'd be safe here, right?" "Safe?" echoed Scottie doubtfully. Susan finished peeling off a number of multi-colored bills and handed them to the taxi driver (long ago having given up trying to match the colors to denominations), then put an arm around both Margaret's and Scottie's shoulders, shepherding them to the doorway, where a bouncer was brushing off some goth-wanna-bes. "You'll be safe," she promised, giving the bouncer a nod. "Trust me on this one." It didn't always work--sometimes the bouncers didn't know her (it amazed her how quickly Janette seemed to go through studly-young-vampire-or-mortal bouncers)--but this one merely gestured them into the club. Susan leaned in close to Lisa, almost shouting to be heard over the music, "Look, get them a table and some drinks. I've got to go visit the ladies." "One lady in particular?" asked Lisa. Susan just glared at her, more than pleased that Scottie and Margaret were both somewhat dazed by the interior of the club, hands over their ears and eyes glazed. "Just don't hit on Miklos," she warned. Lisa smiled in response. "Miklos and I have an understanding." "Miklos has an understanding with just about ," Susan shot back. Then she headed past them and the dancers, aiming in the general direction of the restrooms. Which, thankfully, also happened to be near the door to the back rooms. Taking a deep breath and hoping against hope that LaCroix wasn't paying Janette a visit, Susan slipped into the back hallway and knocked on the door to Janette's office. "!" She winced at the hint of annoyance in Janette's voice, but pushed open the door anyway and peered into the room. Janette looked up from the papers on her desk, then picked up a cigarette from her ashtray. "I didn't know you were in town." "Writers' conference," muttered Susan, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind her. She took a deep breath. "You've got problems, boss." " got problems?" Janette took a drag from her cigarette and regarded Susan with an assessing air. "You know that you're to let me know whenever you're in town. And don't call me 'boss.'" Susan swallowed and started walking toward the desk. "There was a murder at my hotel. In the room next door to mine." Janette raised an eyebrow, then looked down at her papers again and flipped through them, disinterested. "As I said, problem." "The victim was Captain Stonetree. He used to be Nick's boss." There was only the briefest second in which Janette froze, then she shrugged and returned her cigarette to an ashtray. "Then it is problem, no? You should deal with him, you're good friends now, aren't you?" Susan clenched her fists, but kept her voice even. "Stonetree was dead when they found him. He was wearing a . . . pink, fur-trimmed negligee." Janette looked up, blinking. A smile slowly crawled across her lips. "A pink, fur-trimmed --well, then he won't be any different from any of the other bodies Nicola has found. And it is still my problem." "They found your black velvet choker at the scene." The smile disappeared. Janette shook her head. " Not mine. There are so many black velvet chokers . . . ." She rose to her feet and walked to the credenza against the wall. Susan followed, at a distance, and watched Janette open a large teak box. There was a hint of red velvet and satin lining before items began to fly out of the box toward her-- pearls and diamonds, emeralds and sapphires, gold and silver rings and earrings and necklaces and anklets and chains. Ducking a majority of the missiles, Susan got tagged by a diamond studded bracelet on the cheek and a pearl pin lodged in her hair before she managed to get out of range. She stood by the door and watched as Janette dumped the entire box onto the floor and hurriedly scattered the items with the toe of her shoe. "It's your problem, boss. problem." Janette froze and looked up, her blue eyes going gold in anger. "I told you, call me--" But then she stopped in mid-sentence and turned her back, arms folded. "I had nothing to do with this. Nicola will know." "Nick might not have anything to say about it." Susan took a hesitant step forward. "Someone's trying to frame you. Okay, all they've got is the choker and that's circumstantial--like you said, there are of black lace chokers out there. But you're connected to Nick. Nick's connected to Stonetree." As Janette turned, Susan shrugged. "It might go nowhere, but it'll mean a lot of questions." "Ah . . . questions." Janette nodded. "So, I must have another choker, that I can show Nicola and the others." "Yes," agreed Susan, with a sigh of relief. She knew once Janette realized how serious this was, things would get easier. Janette took a step forward. "If, as you say, someone was trying to 'frame' me, there would be other clues. The room was in his name?" "The room belonged to two friends of mine. Writers. They found the body. They're outside." Smiling, Janette walked to her and put an hand on her shoulder. "You brought them here?" "Yeah. Thought you might hoodoo them and give their memories the once over. That's how most of these things are solved-- people see stuff they don't know they've seen." "And I suppose Nicola has already 'spoken' to them?" Susan managed a slight grin. "Brief interview--tearful witnesses, that sort of thing. The cops are going to get back to them later." "Ah--" Janette squeezed her shoulder lightly and walked away. "I suppose Nicola told you all to remain there, yes?" "Do do everything Nick tells you to do?" It was Janette's turn to smile. She nodded slightly. "All right, I'll interview your friends. I can't trust this to Nicola--there's too much at stake and he's such a bumbler at times." Sobering suddenly, Susan frowned. "Boss, you can't mean you want to find out who killed Stonetree?" "Why not?" Janette glided over, her expression thoughtful. "You've worked with the police, you know what to do. The others will help you--I'll have Alma send the word and they'll be here instantly." "But I'm a writer, not a--" "You," said Janette, her eyes narrowing, "are a Ravenette. A Ravenette. There's too much to do and Nicola would sense any vampires around. You're connected with the case--it would be understandable if you were interested in the outcome. As you said, I've got a problem. I want to solve it." She jabbed her finger in Susan's direction, then returned to her desk and picked up her cigarette. "I'll be out to see your friends shortly. Send Alma in when you leave." "Right, boss--Janette," Susan corrected herself quickly, then sighed and opened the door. Slipping out into the club, she wondered what Columbo would do in a situation like this . . . ************************************************************* Death By Acute Embarrassment by Lorelei Feldman Happy and excited in her seat at the premiere, Lorelei began to get more and more nervous as the episode wore on. A few minutes before her first scene was to air, she could no longer stand it. Squirming in her seat, she looked around, hoping to leave. Unfortunately, her customary habit of sitting in the middle for the best view thwarted her attempts; the only way to get out was to climb over about 30 other people. So instead, she just sat there and winced, biting her knuckles. *Oh, no. Are they even gonna use those bits? I can't believe I've gotten into this. Why did I let Diane E. talk me into this?! And >Isabelle> As soon as the door closed behind Susan, Janette lit a cigarette and pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. Her intellect knew it had no effect, but she found it soothing anyway. So, Nikolah's old captain had been a... What did they call it these days? A "cross-dresser"? It seemed fairly harmless, as fetishes went. And, of course there were times when one had other reasons for dressing "inappropriately"... <> Janette and Nick stroll down a narrow, badly lit street. On both sides are high stone walls covered with ivy. Janette wears a cote-hardie--a close-fitting dress of thin black silk, cut with a low scoop neckline and long, close fitting sleeves. The very full skirts trail on the ground and the sleeves end in bell-shaped cuffs that reach to the first knuckle of each hand. Over this she wears a "gates of hell"-- a full burgundy velvet skirt supported by a 4 inch wide, Y- shaped yoke of burgundy and silver brocade. The deep armholes and the hem of the velvet skirt are trimmed in silver-gray fur. Her hair is confined in two silver-filigree braid-cases, one over each ear, and they are connected by a silver circlet. Nick also wears a cote-hardie. It also fits tightly, and has long sleeves with flared cuffs. It buttons all the way down the front and each sleeve has buttons to the elbow. The right side of the tunic and the left sleeve are of black velvet. The left side of the tunic and the right sleeve are of the same brocade as Janette's yoke. He wears silver-gray hose, black shoes with pointed toes, and a heavy belt of silver plaques. The belt rests at hip level, just five inches above the tunic hem. A jewel-hilted dagger hangs from the belt. The ivy on their left shakes, and they look upward. Nick raises both eyebrows and almost smiles; Janette raises one eyebrow. The ivy shakes again. There is a tearing sound, and a figure lands in a shower of leaves, literally at their feet. Isabelle (played by Lorelei Feldman) looks up from her sprawl. She is dressed in a baggy, plain, knee-length green tunic and dull buff hose. Her hair is crammed into an oversized cap, which is slightly askew. One straight, red- brown lock slithers free as she scrambles to her feet. "Oh," she gasps. Then, deliberately lowering her voice, "Good even, milord, milady. I... I can explain..." "Can you, milady?" Nick asks, smiling. Janette considers whether she wants an early supper. The young woman is very... Appetizing. "Milady?" Isabelle asks, nervously. "You are mistaken, milord. I am... Pierre, a... A groom in Lord Henri's service, and..." "Oh, come," Nick shakes his head, cutting her off. "Even if I were to believe that a groom existed with skin so fair and hands so soft," he grabs her right wrist in his left hand, and turns her palm up, "only a blind man could ever mistake you for a stripling." He reaches out and snatches off her hat. Reddish brown hair cascades in all directions. "So," he finishes with a smile, "tell us the truth, milady." Janette, bored, folds her arms and sighs. Isabelle hesitates. "I..." Nick places his right forefinger under her chin and lifts, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Tell me the truth." "I..." Isabelle whispers, "am running away." Nick breaks eye contact, and her face mirrors her shock as she realizes what she has said. She panics and starts to babble. "Milord, milady, *please*, you cannot make me go back! My guardian, Lord Henri, will force me to marry Count Orthallen. The Count... He is a terrible man! Cruel, and heartless!" She begins to cry. "And he is so *old*! He must be at least forty! Please, please, you *must* help me!" she begs, clutching Nick's arm. Janette takes a step closer to the pair. "What is your name, _ma petit_?" she asks. "Isabelle," she stammers. "Isabelle du Brabant." <> Janette was jerked out of her reverie as Alma burst through the door to her office. The door smacked against the wall with a deafening and Janette's framed Rubens sketch fell to the floor, glass shattered. Again. "*Alma!*," Janette snarled, eyes glowing red, "how many times must I tell you to *knock*!?!" ************************************************************* Reach Out and-- by Susan M. Garrett Alma sat down at the computer terminal, flexed her fingers and contemplated her situation. Janette was not happy. When Janette was not happy, no one else was allowed to be happy. (It was probably something to do with Nick, as usual.) Janette had ordered her to contact the Ravenettes with an important message. If she screwed up, Janette would be even more NOT happy. With a small sigh, Alma typed out the message Janette had given her. WE ARE IN A STATE OF SIEGE. YOU WILL BE CONTACTED. DO ALL THAT YOU CAN. With affection -- Janette Alma smiled, having added that last touch herself. It amazed her that so many of the people who claimed to follow Janette seemed so obviously... Antagonistic toward her. As if they had something to prove. That maybe their mortal lives weren't so pathetically empty and they could stand against the big, bad ice queen of a vampiress? She shrugged. It didn't matter. What did matter was that she get this right. Janette wanted the message sent to ALL of her followers. Janette had a LOT of followers. Again, Alma gave serious thought to her task then touched one button, activating the automated mailing list. The message was sent instantly to every name on the list. With another sigh, she leaned back against her chair. Thank heavens was over. She hated work. It was SO taxing. ************************************************************* Dead Air by Andria M. Marcoux The song is almost over, Andria realized. What can I say? I don't want to say it. I don't want to believe it. The song was over, and still she said nothing, taking a long, shaky breath, determined that her voice would not betray her. "Well, this will be the last dedication on Nightwatch. For the past half-hour I've been staring at a little blinking light that means someone has found my last relay. I should have shut down for good... "I know what the sensible thing, the practical thing, to do is. But why start doing the smart thing now? Was it sensible to take this on in the first place? Is it sensible to believe in... The night, the way I do? The way we all do? No, not really. "Anyway, this song is going out to someone who wanted to stand in the eye of the storm, untouched, and to watch the night without being a part of it. To someone who should have known it can't be done. That there is no such thing as 'Sanctuary'." Andria removed the headphones as Annette Ducharme's haunting soprano filled her makeshift studio. She laughed to herself. Most commercial stations weren't as well outfitted as her little "makeshift" operation. She ran her hands lovingly across the equipment. The bugging devices were most definitely not standard issue. Others like to watch, she thought, and I like to listen. She lifted the trap door and climbed onto the roof. The industrial district felt abandoned, and she wouldn't have been surprised if she was the only living human being for miles. That was about to change. The only question was, who would be the first to disturb her solitude? She closed her eyes and let the music fill her. "Who will give you sanctuary? And slay you're vampires in the night?" "Oh, you can't mean that, can you?" He asked, his voice gentle. Andria couldn't help smiling, as she turned to face her benefactor, the man who'd made all her voyeuristic dreams come true, allowing her to eavesdrop on an entire city. "Who will comfort you And be your guardian angel?" "Not literally, of course," she said, as she slipped into his arms and hugged him. She pulled away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I guess the excitement of being hunted down like prey is getting to me." He brushed a cool hand against her cheek. "Don't be embarrassed," he said in his most soothing voice, "I understand." Andria closed her eyes and allowed herself to be transported by that voice, the way she had been every night for over a year. When she tuned in to Nightwatch, it was as if he was talking just to her. It was the only time she felt connected to anything outside of herself. She would do anything for him. "You had better leave. The authorities will be here any minute, and the time this little distraction has bought you won't mean anything if they figure out you were behind it the whole time." "Too late for that, I'm afraid," he said, and pointed to the street below. A car pulled up to the front of the warehouse, and a woman leapt out, rushing into the building. "Andria, you've been more of a help to me than you know. After tonight, CERK will be safe from government interference, and all of my deep, dark secrets will go back to being deep and dark." "I don't understand-" Anna Sawitzky pulled herself through the trap door. "I'm almost surprised to see you here, LaCroix," she said with a smile. "I guess you didn't realize how much you let slip. After that crack about me tracking down pirates, it was obvious that the entire takeover of CERK was orchestrated by you. Just answer one question: Why?" "To discredit you, of course. You see, if the person who brought the irregularities of my license to attention of the CRTC was proved to be unbalanced, those and any future accusations would be less likely to be treated seriously, wouldn't they?" "There's just one slight flaw in that brilliant plan. I'm right. This whole piracy business just proves everything I've been saying about you for months, and then some. I suppose that's the person you intended to go down for this?" she asked, finally noticing Andria beside LaCroix. "Actually, you are, Ms. Sawitzky." He waved his hand impatiently, and two shapes appeared in the darkness behind her. "I leave the methods up to you. Hypnotize her into confessing that her accusations against me were false and that she was responsible for the piracy, or fabricate a suicide note to that effect. Either way, the Community will be safe." Trying to pull away from the grasp of the Enforcers, Anna pleaded with the girl beside LaCroix. "Help me, please. He's just using you, can't you see that! Don't you realize what he's doing?" "A futile effort, Ms. Sawitzky. You see, Andria is my number one fan. Aren't you, my dear?" She beamed as he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her into the night. ************************************************************* Serenity (1) by Andria Marcoux I think I'm having a panic attack, Andria realized. She was seated by herself, near the back of the auditorium, barely aware of the buzz of excitement around her. She had been just as thrilled as everyone else, knowing she was about to watch an episode of Forever Knight that she had been a part of, until an absolutely horrid thought had occurred to her: What if my mother sees this? Andria had a hard enough time reassuring her mother that an interest in vampires was *not* a sign of an emotionally disturbed individual. How was she going to explain actually being in an episode of a vampire t.v. show? Not to mention the fact that her character *was* an emotionally disturbed individual, with an unhealthy interest in a certain latenight radio host and no small dislike for rebroadcasts. And she has my name, she thought grimly. Taking several deep breaths, she prayed for the serenity to accept whatever came of it. And anyway, she thought, the way CFQC runs FK it could be years before she ever sees it. Even if she does see it, the flashbacks will probably confuse her so much she won't notice I'm in the show at all! Her calm restored, Andria settled back in her seat and began scanning the programme for her name. When she reached the M's, her fists clenched convulsively, ripping the book in her hands. ***flashback*** The choir room was deserted, the church dark. "How long have we been friends, Lloyd?" Andria asked, her voice low and deceptively calm. "Oh, I don't know..." the choir director said, trying to remember. "Since sixth grade. Seems unbelievable, doesn't it?" He nodded. "And what kind of person do you think I am?" "Oh, you're very nice," he said, "You pick out songs for me so I don't have to." "Yes. Most people think I'm nice. Polite, quiet, patient. Do you think I'm patient?" He nodded again. She pulled an envelope out of her bookbag, and showed it to him. His eyes grew wide, and he took a step backward. "What does this say, Lloyd?" It was the Christmas card he had given her that evening. Lloyd suddenly realized how dark the church was, and how empty. "What... Does... It... Say?" Her voice seemed brighter, even more sweet than usual. "Andrea." "Yes. I've been very patient Lloyd, because we've been friends for such a long time. But I think it's time you and I had another little talk about the differences between Latin and Greek, don't you?" All he could do was whimper. ***end flashback*** Andria tried very hard to be a nice girl, and it was very rare that she allowed anything to disrupt her iron control. She smoothed the programme out in her lap, praying again for serenity, this time whispering the words out loud. "...and the wisdom to know the difference." Her eyes were drawn again to the M's. She was listed as "Andrea M. Marcoux". ************************************************************* Random Acts (3) by Diane Echelbarger "Mail for you, Captain," the patrolman said, and tossed a mailing tube on his desk. "Thanks," Stonetree said, and picked it up. The tube was four inches wide and a foot long. The mailing label had been typed, and there was no return address. He used his pocket knife to cut the packing tape away from one of the plastic end caps, then pried the cap out. The inside was packed with excelsior. Cushioning the open end with his left hand, he upended the tube. The contents shifted, and he drew his hand away slowly. Several inches of packing expanded outward before a black base appeared in the end of the tube. He laid the tube flat, dropped the excelsior, and gently pulled on the base, drawing the whole object into sight. It was a Kachina. Joe carefully freed the last of the packing material from the figure and sat it gently on his desktop. It was seven inches high, and exquisitely detailed. He frowned, and reached for the mailing tube again. A Toronto postmark. Who in Toronto would be sending him a Kachina? Sure, a couple dozen people besides his family knew he was Hopi, but he could count on one hand the people who knew he belonged to a kiva society, as well as being a practicing Catholic. Most of the people he worked with wouldn't even be able to understand how he could be both. And *this* Kachina... A single, curved horn jutted from the right side of the figure's black and white mask. The white deerskin shirt and blue and white kirtle were painstakingly detailed. A deerbone rattle was clutched in the right hand and the bow in the left. Anyone who knew he was from the southwest US might have sent him *a* Kachina, but this figurine was an exact copy of Caiastacana, the Hopi rain god of the north. And his brother was the personifier of Caiastacana, something he was certain *no one* in Toronto knew... He checked through the excelsior on his desk for a note. When he didn't find one, he pried the other end off the mailing tube. A gift enclosure had been wedged against the plastic plug. He pulled it free and slipped the card out. The front had a typical "Southwest" design of two Anasazi- style pots. The inside was blank. ************************************************************* Serenity (2) by Andria M. Marcoux Serenity only goes so far, Andria thought. She had been saved the horror of actually seeing herself on screen for most of the episode by the nature of her part, and she'd been sure she could handle watching the few minutes of film they actually shot of her. She had been wrong. After the first ten seconds she'd skulked out of her seat and fled to the lobby. She didn't notice someone watching her leave. She hovered by the water fountain, trying to look like she wasn't hiding, and she let out a little screech when a voice from behind her said, "Compelling performance, Ms. Marcoux." "I'm sorry," she apologized to the pale man behind her, "You startled me." "Then it is I who should be sorry. Why did you not stay for your triumph?" "I have this thing about pictures, mirrors, film. I hate looking at myself. That's why I was so happy with a role that had me off camera most of the time. If I'd had my way, the pirate would have stayed a disembodied voice..." her voice trailed off. "I see. Well, I was quite happy to learn that you were one of mine." "I beg your pardon?" "A Cousin." "Ahh, a Cousin." Andria began to inch along the wall towards the door. "You see, that was just t.v." she explained, hoping that LaCroix was not one of those people who had trouble telling the difference between real things and pretend things. "You know. Acting." "You are trying to tell me you don't want to be a Cousin?" he rasped. "No, it's not that, I just really don't plan on joining any of the factions. I have so much trouble making up my mind I can't even decide if I'm a Die Hard, and besides, I'm no where near mean enough to be a Cousin, not that there's anything wrong with people who are mean, I'm just not one of..." she was half way to the exit. "...I mean, I just don't have the what it takes for Cousinhood. I'm a nice girl, and it's really not for me... But thanks for asking?" "Even if I told you I could help you track down those responsible for misspelling your name in the program and the credits?" Andria stopped her crab-like crawl for freedom. "Let's talk." ************************************************************* Enter a Ravenette (stage right) by Hyo Moon Hyo paced around her hotel room frowning at the script in her hand. She had to admit the premise of the premiere episode WAS rather hokey. No big deal, she'll play along after all, it isn't everyday that you get to appear in a way cool show. Still, the script COULD use a few revisions. She pulled out her Kerokerokeroppi frog pencil(while strongly squelching any thoughts of Knightie torture) and began to scribble away..... ********* Hyo ....Don't argue with me, just put her on! Honestly Alma, I have NO idea why Janette keeps you on... Oh! Janette, this is Hyo... Yes the Miami based Ravenette... Well, I LIKE the year round sunny weather... Well, anyway I just checked into my hotel room and... Uh-huh, uh-huh... Ok, so what's the deal with Stonetree being dead, and what do you care about a mortal anyway?... Oh, yeah I guess that would be a bit of a problem for you. Hmmm... Thing is, if someone is trying to frame you... Ok WHOEVER, how could he/she have gotten hold of your choker in the first place? The way I see it, it's GOT to be LaCroix. It sounds like something he'd do just to get back at Nick... Well, you DO help him an awful lot... I know he's pretty hard to resist when he pulls that warm and fuzzy act, but still by helping him with his cases, you re-affirm his mortality. Nevermind that, back to what I was saying, I figure it HAS to be LaCroix because he's the only one I can think of with both motive and opportunity...I DO NOT sound like an Agatha Christie novel!... Yeah, ok. I'll look around and see what I can find. I'm not guaranteeing anything tho'. Whoever did this was VERY thorough... Ok, bye. ************************************************************* Taking a Dip in the Carpool by Amparo Bertram Amparo stowed her Guatemalan duffel bag, her pillow, and her stuffed puppy Zandria in the trunk of Betsy's Escort. She dusted off her hands after slamming the lid shut and took her place in the passenger seat, piling the rest of her belongings on her lap. Betsy eyed the heap. "You all set?" Amparo checked to make sure her seat belt was securely fastened. "Yep. Ready and waiting." "Is the trunk full?" "Oh, no, these are the things I might need during the trip. Walkman, tape case, a few books, munchies..." She rifled through her totebag. "...Pencil and paper, hairbrush, money, Tylenol... You know, the essentials." "Right." Betsy started the car and headed out of Ann Arbor. "So, this will be your first time in Canada?" "Yeah. I've been south of the border, but not north. I'm really looking forward to it. Thanks for giving me a ride." "Don't mention it." She watched as Amparo fished around in her bag, pulled out a rubber band, and bound her hair into a waist-length ponytail. Only then did the window roll down. "I wonder what kind of part I'll get," Amparo mused as she settled her things around her. "There are lots of fans. It's hard to believe they can all be squeezed into one episode." "Hmm... Maybe it's a three-parter? In any case, meeting Natalie will be a thrill in itself." She paused to clip on her NatPack affiliation pin. "I wore this around campus once," she explained, "and everyone I met asked if I belonged to a med student association. After that I decided simply to display it prominently in my room." Betsy flashed her a smile. "The trials of fandom?" "No kidding. Well, here we are, total strangers, cast together by a twist of fate to spend the duration of our journey in close quarters... Sounds like the plot of a novel, to me." She held up one of the paperbacks from her lap. "In fact, sounds like the plot of this novel. Oh, dear." She tossed it over her shoulder into the back seat. "One down, two to go." "At that rate you'll finish them all before we leave Washtenaw County." "Oh, no! You mean I may wind up actually having to talk to people?" She shuddered in mock horror and tucked the remaining two books safely away in her totebag for later. "Don't worry, we don't bite. The Cousins, on the other hand..." "Speaking of eating, would you like some potato chips? I got the flavored kind so you wouldn't have to worry about getting dip all over your car. I know how these trips can be." She opened the crinkly bag and carefully rolled down the sides to prevent tearing or spillage. "Thanks." Betsy helped herself to a small handful. "You travel a lot?" "Family trips, with my parents and three younger brothers. Six people in a five-seat car--every one of whom has different musical tastes, I might add. About the only tape we can all agree on is _Les Miserables_, and even so, there's a limit to how many times that can be played without everyone going bonkers." "I can imagine." "But don't let me do all the talking--once I get started, I'll monopolize the conversation. Tell me a little about yourself." They proceeded to chat about inconsequentials for some time before lapsing into a companionable silence. Amparo popped a tape in her Walkman, pulled a notebook and pencil from her totebag, and scribbled down random inspirations. The skill of writing while in a moving vehicle was one she had taken great pains to master, since she didn't have any hope of obtaining a laptop computer anytime in the near future. She had filled several pages when she noticed the car beginning to slow. "What's the matter?" she asked, turning off the music. Betsy pointed ahead. Bright orange road signs were clearly visible. "Construction. Just what we needed." "I hope it doesn't slow us down too--uh-oh." She spotted the line of cars backed up for what seemed like miles. "Slight delay." Betsy sighed as their speed decreased to zero. "That Michigan freeze-thaw pattern strikes again. It's all well and good to have nice, smooth roads, but at least driving around potholes is still *driving*." Amparo put a different tape in her Walkman and slouched lower in her seat for the duration. The sun beating in through the windows and the hum of the engine as they inched forward made her feel drowsy. As she was drifting in a comfortable haze, a sudden thought occurred to her. "We're picking up Richard at the airport in Toronto, right?" She glanced over at her companion. Betsy nodded. "We'll never get there on time at this rate. I hope he's the understanding sort." The car crept forward a few feet. She held out her hand. "Pass the chips. We're in for a loooong wait." ************************************************************* Playing Phone Tag by Elaine Polemenakos After an uncomfortable, but uneventful flight, I headed straight for the pay phone booths. Then I headed to an exchange counter to get the right kind of money, and then went back to the pay phones. I decided than rather than just showing up on her doorstep, I should give Nat some advance warning. Since it was early evening, I tried the Coroner's office first. "Coroner's Office" "May I speak to Natalie Lambert please?" "I'm sorry, she's not in the office right now. May I take a message?" "Sure. Hi, Grace. This is Natalie's friend, Elaine. I think we've spoken before" "The one from Texas, right." "That's me. I'm in Toronto for a while, and wanted to let Nat know I was in town." "Came north of the border to beat the summer heat, huh?" "Partly. Do you know when she'll be back?" "She should be back soon. She's at the precinct, discussing the Captain's autopsy." "Captain Cohen's dead?!?" "No, its Captain Stonetree. I can't believe you haven't heard. He was murdered." "Oh, my God. That's awful. Who's investigating it?" "Detectives Knight and Schanke, and somebody from IA named Cross." There was that cold shiver up my spine again. "Hmm. Well, I guess I picked a lousy time to visit, huh? Tell you what Grace. Just let Nat know I'm in town, and tell her I'll drop by the office later, after I'm settled in. Sounds like she'll be in permanent residence there for a while." "Sure, Elaine. Actually, she's been at the station for an awfully long time, even for her. I hope nothing's wrong." Another shiver raced through me. "I'm sure there's nothing to be concerned about, Grace. Maybe she's fitting in some quality time with Nick." "I certainly hope so. Those two need to wake up and get the ball rolling. Oops, I've just been paged to the lab. I need to go, but I'll be sure Nat gets your message." "Thanks, Grace. I appreciate it. Take care. Bye-bye." As I hung up, I realized I had two daunting tasks in front of me. Finding the other NatPackers, and getting out of baggage claim before it was time for me to go home again. ************************************************************* Playing Phone Tag part 2 by Richard Hudson Richard was standing at the phone booth next to a NatPacker who was speaking to Grace about staying with Nat. After calling the NatPackers who planned to give him a ride, he looked at the NatPacker,preparing to ask her a question... ************************************************************* Proof Positive by Tara LJC O'Shea and Selma McCrory Aristotle was very, very tired of this woman. "It's simple, I just want you to undo what was done." "I do not enjoy being ordered about by someone I would usually refer to as lunch." "Oh, do shut up. If I had to listen to what passes for wit with you for centuries, I'd gladly give up my life." "Impertinent chit," the vampire muttered beneath his breath as he once again accessed Natalie Lambert's credit records. "Pompous berk," Tara said beneath her voice, and closed the door behind her. One job down, but the list was long, and she was running out of time. * * * "Detective Knight? There's a Miss Kaye for you on line three." "Tara?" Nick was surprised to hear from her. "I need something from you." "Now what?" "Who ID'd me?" "You know I can't tell you that." "Look, you know I wasn't involved in the murder, I have to know. I think I know who framed me, but I have to know for sure before I can do anything." "Everyone is framing everyone else, this case is really starting to get to me." "Get to you?" Tara's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. "I'm the one who ended up behind bars, remember?" "And Nat." "And Nat. But I'm trying to fix that." "Ah, yes. How could I forget? You fix everything in the end." "This is far from over." "You are one odd girl." "Tell me her name, Detective." "McCrory, Selma McCrory. Promise me you won't do anything foolish, anything un-fixable." "You have my word." *click* * * * Janette looked bored, but appearances weren't everything. She just hated to admit to Tara that she too was interested in discovering the truth. She liked to pretend she was above all this mortal foolishness of courts, and laws, and frame upon frame. But she had been mocked by this entire affair, and that was a slight that would not be ignored. The hotel staff looked up as the two women entered, one in jeans and a sweater, the other in a long cloak over what appeared to be some kind of costume. They were getting used to weird goings on, what with murders and all. "Pardon me, could tell me which is Selma McCrory's room please?" Tara leaned forward, smiling sweetly. * * * Selma was wary when she heard the knock at her door, and peered through the peephole before undoing the chain. Outside her door stood an attractive dark haired woman in some kind of cloak. "May I help you?" "I certainly hope so," Tara stepped into view, and Selma's eyes went wide as she recognized the woman she had described so carefully for the police the night before. She wanted to scream, but the willowy dark-haired woman had a hand over her mouth in an instant, and Tara quickly stepped inside and shut the hotel room door. "Please don't scream, we're not here to hurt you." Selma nodded, and Janette released her. "You're the woman I saw with Joe! You killed him, didn't you!" Selma hissed, and Tara held up her hand. "I didn't arrive in Toronto until after Stonetree was dead, someone tampered with your memories, we're just here to find out who." "Tampered...? That's not possible." "Oh, I think you know it is." Janette circled Selma carefully. "Do you like being used, Ms. McCrory?" "Of course not." "Then wouldn't you like to know if you had been?" "I... I suppose so. How do I know you're telling the truth?" "Someone tried to frame me for murder on the strength of your description. I have my suspicions, but I need proof, I need to be positive before I can do anything else. And you are the only person who can help me find that proof. Please." Tara's dark eyes pleaded with her. Selma sat down on the end of the bed, running a hand through her hair. Her every instinct was screaming this was the woman she saw get into the lift with Joe, and yet what she was saying sounded like the truth. It could be the truth... What if it was? That would mean that the real killer was still out there, free. "How does this work?" She looked up at Tara and Janette, who visibly relaxed. Janette sat down next to her, and lifted her chin so that she was staring into her eyes, couldn't look away. "Listen to the sound of my voice..." * * * "I was sitting in my room at the hotel studying the program book and the latest sheet of alterations incurred mainly by Cousin Joe's death. There was a knock on the door, and I got up to open it, figuring that Hilary had forgotten my key once again. Framed in the doorway was a tall man in a leather trench coat. 'May I help you?' I asked, thinking perhaps that he was lost, or selling something. "'Actually,' he said, strolling past me into the room, 'We can help each other, Miss McCrory.' "'Who are you?' I said, and made defiant eye contact with the stranger. That was a mistake. "Suddenly, all that I could hear was the stranger's voice, giving me instructions. Then he was gone... And I had a sudden urge to go to the police station and tell them about the man *woman?* that I had seen in the lift with Joe. I gathered up my laptop and left." "And that's all you remember?" Janette prompted, and Selma nodded. She broke eye contact, and Selma shook herself, as if waking from a dream. "Oh my god," she whispered. "It's okay," Tara crouched next to her. "He's used us all." "And he will pay," Janette said, unchaining the door, and Tara got up to go. "Are you going to be alright?" "Yeah. It's just a shock, I guess." Selma watched them go, and quickly pulled herself together. This changed everything. * * * "I knew it!" Tara clenched and unclenched her fists. "LaCroix did it all. I could kill him." "Could you?" "Well I could give it a damn good try at this point," Tara watched Toronto speed by as they headed back to the Raven. "Careful, cherie." "I was careful for too long. All it got me was a day in jail." "Better than the morgue, non?" "Maybe. At least with Himself in jail, I have some time to do a little damage without being caught." ************************************************************* New Deal by Sandra Gray Sandra looked over as Ron the Enforcer slipped into the seat beside her. "Enjoying the premiere?" he asked. "Yes, but I don't think LaCroix is," said Sandra, glancing back at the vampire sitting in the back of the room. A particularly unflattering scene involving LaCroix appeared and Sandra glanced back again, to see the vampire scowling even more. "God, he looks like he's ready to spring!" she said. "Don't worry. He won't," said Ron. Sandra looked at the Enforcer, to see him looking intently at LaCroix. thought Ron. thought LaCroix. thought Ron. Suddenly the room went completely dark. "What happened?" said Sandra. "Power outage," said Ron and then he was gone. The lights and the premiere came back on soon enough. Sandra looked to the front of the room and saw that Ron the Enforcer had taken a seat beside Mr. P. "He's not happy with the episode," said Ron softly. Mr. P. looked at the man in tinted glasses sitting beside him. "Well, apparently we need to do some editing," he said. "He doesn't like the changes," said Ron in the same low tone. "The offer of my employer that we discussed still stands. We have an edited version of this episode that will, I think, satisfy you. And my employer guarantees you complete creative control." Mr. P. glanced back at his backer. He certainly did not look pleased with how the episode was going. "But what about the fans?" asked Mr. P., looking at Ron. "That's simple. Make everyone who was involved their own video copy of this version." Mr. P. thought about that. It could be an acceptable solution. And that Mr. Brabant was offering complete creative control. He glanced back at his backer again. Except... "Don't worry about him. He won't give you any trouble," said Ron. Mr. P. looked at the man beside him and saw a dangerous glitter in his eyes that chilled him. Mr. P. took a deep breath, then said, "Okay, I accept your offer." He held out his hand. Ron shook Mr. P.'s hand, then reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a folded paper and a pen. He passed them to Mr. P. and said, "This is just a simple form that says you agree to accept my employer's backing. We can work out the specific details later." Mr. P. scanned the page, signed it, and passed it back to Ron. Ron rose from his seat and nonchalantly walked over to where Nick was standing by the right wall. Sandra watched them. After a few minutes, Ron conversed briefly with Nick. She saw him pat his jacket and Nick nod. Sandra smiled. Everything apparently was proceeding as planned. ************************************************************* Blackout by Dirk Giles LaCroix's mood was becoming more foul as the story unfolded on the screen. All his plans for a triumphal third season were falling apart. *No!* he hissed, as on the screen Tara and Janette placed the blame on his character, "I will not allow this to progress further." He scanned the audience, and spotting JP, prepared to spring. Nick could see that LaCroix was becoming more irritated as the episode ran on. A sudden feeling came over him that LaCroix was going to try something. He looked across the auditorium to where Janette was sitting, and saw her looking back at him. *Trouble,* he thought, and she nodded back. Janette turned and beckoned to Socrates, who was also sitting on one of the outer seats. He quickly slid over into a seat next to hers. "We need a distraction. Now." "Roger that, boss, I mean ma'am," Socrates replied. He took the emergency rescue radio out of his pocket, turned it on, and thumbed the mike. "Raven Black!" Far overhead, the electronic warfare officers of Raven flight activated the jamming computers, which sent invisible waves of electronic noise towards Toronto. At the city's main power station several green lights switched to amber, then to red. "Uh, oh!" the on-duty technician said, and switched on his intercom. "We've got an entire grid overloading downtown, and if we don't shut them down, we'll lose several transformer stations!" "Shut them down then, but send crews to fix it immediately!" a voice replied. The technician flipped several switches, and went to round up the emergency crews. LaCroix tensed to spring, but before he could act the lights and the projector went out. Several members of the audience screamed in surprise, which started a small panic. As the emergency lights came on, the entire audience began to mill about in confusion. LaCroix lost sight of JP, and was about to storm to the projector when he found his way blocked by Nick. "So, Nicholas, is this your doing? If so it will amount to naught, like the rest of your schemes to help these *mortals*." "No, LaCroix," Nick replied, "they did this on their own. And *you* will let it be!" Janette appeared at Nick's side. "Ah, Lucien, some problems with the script, non?" she asked. "You should have left it in the hands of the show's writers." At that moment Schanke and several uniformed police entered the room and called out for order. "Come on, folks! It's just a power outage! Calm down." "What can you do now, LaCroix?" Nick asked. "It has already progressed beyond your control." LaCroix allowed himself to calm down and retracted his fangs. "Perhaps not now, but there is always later..." he replied, glaring at several Cousins who were watching him. The Cousins gulped, and averted their gaze. Janette again nodded to Socrates, who had gotten close by but had tried to remain out of sight. Activating the radio, he transmitted again: "Raven white!" At the power station the warning lights changed back to green as the 4 airborne EF- 111A Ravens ceased their jamming. After checking his master board, the technician switched the downtown grid back on. At the auditorium, the power came back on. "If everyone will sit down, we'll continue on with the show," it was announced, and the projector started up again. ************************************************************* A Message to the Guild by Jennifer Greenbury Lackey Jen had possession of the laptop, and was pouring over her mail. She opened a message from Sarah, and was shocked to find a request to join the Guild, which she had been trying to get Sarah to do since her decision to go freelance. Jen thought for a second, not only about Sarah, but about the general situation, and decided a Guild powwow and alert was in order. She fired off a message. ------------------------------------------------------------- My fellow Mercs, For those of you who may not be aware, Sarah Welsh, my illustrious editor, collaborator and good friend, has decided to join our ranks, after much haranguing by myself, and threat by the Cousins. While someone joining up because they were under threat by another faction and needed protection might be problematic as a general rule, because Sarah was working as a freelance Merc already, and was currently unaffiliated, I think this circumstance is acceptable. What has happened to Sarah is what we formed to protect ourselves against, after all. Let the games begin. And watch your backs out there, my friends. Although many of us (including myself) are working for Cousins right now, it appears that trouble might be brewing between the faction and ourselves. Between Maureen's noble and courageous exhortation to LaCroix to "bite her", metaphorically of course, and now Sarah's defiance of LaCroix, we may be facing an attack. Our business is making money, not squabbling with the Cousins, and so I hope that our collective strength and the threat of being barred from services may prevent overt hostilities. But, it will not do to have LaCroix believe that he can bully Guild members with impunity. If we are attacked, we must be ready to retaliate with all the considerable resources at our disposal. I retain hopes that direct conflict can be avoided. In the meantime, go about your usual business, have fun, make money, and be sure to notify me immediately of anything suspicious. And feel free to send any thoughts you might have on this topic. Your collective servant, Jen High Administrative Poohbah Mercenaries Guild ------------------------------------------------------------- That should suffice, Jen thought to herself. Now one can only wait and see. And keep a close eye on the Cousins in the little band with which I was working. ************************************************************* Investigations and Investigators by Selma McCrory The young woman was waiting for Nick and Schanke when they got in. She was fairly tall, with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a blue-striped shirt and gray cords. "Ms. McCroy?" Schanke asked. "McCro*r*y, actually," the young woman said, correcting Schanke. "Selma McCrory." "I'm Detective Schanke, this is my partner, Detective Knight." The young woman nodded. "Pleased to meet you both." "So, Ms. McCrory," Schanke said. "You said you have some evidence concerning Captain Stonetree's murder." "I saw something," Selma responded. "I thought the police might want to know." "Yes," Knight responded. "If you'll come this way?" Selma nodded and followed the detectives. * * * "So, you were also staying at the hotel where he was murdered." "Yes, I was. I was at the writer's conference because I'm an aspiring science-fiction writer, and because it was a good cover for meeting with Joe." "You were on a first-name basis with the deceased?" The young woman gave him an odd look. "Of course. We're cousins. Relatively close." "All right," Knight said. "You were meeting with Stonetree. Why?" "He'd hired me to do some investigating on some murders of police officials that had been happening lately. It wasn't official, just for his peace of mind." "So," Schanke said. "Did you cause peace of mind?" "Unfortunately, no. I wasn't able to find anything that was helpful. And I was worried, because one of our own police officials in Vancouver, where I live, was murdered too." "What did you find out?" Knight asked. "I can give you what I found out for Joe," the young woman said. She put the black case that she had been carrying up on the table and unzipped it, revealing a laptop computer. "Just a sec, and I'll copy the files for you. If I don't kill File Manager first." The two detectives watched as she withdrew a floppy from the case, turned on the machine, and copied the files onto the floppy. "There. That's everything that I gave Joe," she said, handing Schanke the floppy. "So, this was why you came," Knight said. "No, actually, it's what happened after that I wanted to report." "What did happen?" Schanke asked. "Well, after I finished briefing Joe, I escorted him down to the lobby to see him off. That was about 10:00 or so. He was about to go out, and then this person came up to him and they went towards the elevators together. "The person, man I should say, was about my height. Short for a man. Short, straight dark hair. I didn't see eye color. I heard his voice. High for a male, but I've heard higher. Kind of low for a female. He was wearing a navy suit and tie. That's the last I saw of Joe." "You didn't follow?" Schanke asked. "He flashed me a sign that everything was okay. I thought he was talking with one of his informants, so I went back to my own room." "And then?" Knight asked the woman. "And then I went back to my own room to do some things, and then I went out to eat. After that, I found out Joe was-- dead." "That's it?" "That's it." They questioned her a bit further, then let her go. Schanke said thoughtfully, "Ten O'clock. The time of death was Ten-thirty, right?" Knight nodded. "Which makes Ms. McCrory either the last person or the next to last known to see him alive. We'll have to see if anyone else in the lobby remembers the three." "I'm heading back to the hotel. Coming?" "Coming." ************************************************************* The Coming of Shadows by L. Bruce Gray It was a dark and stormy night. The wind whipped a damp, thick fog in from the lake and covered all the city's lights with an eerie glow. There was very little traffic on the roads and even the night desk was quiet for a change. Schanke looked at the log book and shook his head. "Nothing." said Schanke. "Not even a lost dog." He looked up at the clock. "Well, that's it for me tonight. Sign me out, will you?" The desk clerk nodded and Schanke headed out the door and back to his apartment. He got into his car and left the parking lot, headed for home. * * * * * A few minutes later, a shadow detached itself unseen from a nearby group of shadows and headed for the parked cars. A quick check of license plates showed which one was the target. The shadow took a small package from within folds of shadows and attached it carefully under the target vehicle. Then the shadow continued down the line of cars, looking for other targets. After attaching similar packages to certain of the other police vehicles, the shadow slipped back into the darkness-- to another job--another victim. * * * * * A few minutes later, a shadow detached itself from the wall near Nick Knight's apartment. Carefully hiding itself in the darkness it somehow slipped virtually undetected into the garage next to Nick's apartment. It looked at the car for a few moments, and then took a small package from out of folds of shadow and attached it carefully under his car. Then the shadow slipped back out of the garage and into the deeper shadows of night and fog. * * * * * A few minutes later a shadow detached itself from the shrubbery near the coroner's office. It went through the line of cars quickly, but left no packages. It would return-- later. * * * * * A few minutes later a shadow detached itself from a nearby convenience store and carefully went over to the car parked in the nearby driveway. It only stopped a moment to look at the license plate before attaching another small package underneath. The shadow moved quickly, and then disappeared into the night. * * * * * A few hours later, the shadow moved back into the Coroner's office parking lot. It went directly over to a car that had not been there before, checked the plate, and quickly attached another small package underneath. Then it was gone-- melting into the other shadows of night and fog. * * * * * The shadow moved into the room, but not unexpectedly. "I have been waiting for you. What is your report?" "We have finished with the first phase of the Shadow Plans." said the shadow. "We are ready to begin with phase two--by your command." "It is given." said the man in the chair simply. The shadow disappeared into the night. ************************************************************* Meanwhile, Back At The Station... by Andria M. Marcoux "Poker?" "No." "Hearts?" "No." "Go Fish?" "No." Lashoka had known she would be stuck doing the drudge work because of her ill advised time as a Knightie, but her partner insisting that doing nothing was actually fun only made it worse. Deborah riffled the deck of cards and smiled as she surrendered to a Cousinly impulse. "W-a-a-r-r?" She drew it out slowly, savoring the word. "NO!" Lashoka stomped into the broadcast booth. Deborah laughed and followed her. "It's not that bad," she said reassuringly, "The war's just starting. Once we prove ourselves, we'll be given more responsibility." "How, exactly, are we proving ourselves as Cousins by doing this?" Lashoka lowered her voice to a rasp. "The cartridges are numbered, put them in and press button and don't touch anything else." She jammed "Tape One" into the slot. "Anyone could do it." "Even a Knightie?" Deborah asked slyly. I'm never going to live that down, Lashoka thought. "Fine, you push the button," she said. "I don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility." She stomped out of the booth. Deborah stayed, and listened to an unfamiliar announcer explain that the station was airing a rebroadcast. Then _he_ began. His voice sent shivers up her spine, never mind that it was a repeat. It even drew Lashoka back into the booth. "What's with the phone?" she asked. "Hmm? Oh, the phone." Deborah's brow wrinkled at all the flashing lights. "Why are all these people calling in if it's a repeat?" "Maybe they're calling to complain." Lashoka moved her hand to the receiver. "If we talked to them, and calmed them down, that would help, wouldn't it?" "I don't know, he said not to touch anything." "It's a phone, Deborah. I think I know how to use it." Before Deborah could raise another objection Lashoka picked up the phone and said brightly, "Hello, CERK FM, for those who don't sleep but dare to dream." She jerked the handset away from her ear. "Ma'am, you're going to have speak slower. No, I don't know anything about clear cutting the Stonetree Forest, no, I... Uh-huh. Uh-huh." Deborah sat down in the chair and concentrated on Uncle's soothing voice. She had a feeling that the next time she heard it, the experience wouldn't be a pleasant one. ************************************************************* We Interrupt This Program by Andria M. Marcoux The I.A. guy was quiet, Nick was quiet, and Schanke had to admit he didn't feel much like talking himself after his first visit to 'Darkangel's Dangerous Liaison's Boutique'. Desperate to fill the silence, he turned on the radio. "Hey, Nick, your missing your favorite show." "It's a repeat." Nick said absently, and Schanke glanced at Lucas Cross in the back seat. "You'll have to excuse my partner, he-" A smooth and mellow voice interrupted him. "The Nightcrawler is off the air indefinitely. The following is a re-broadcast of a 'Nightwatch' that originally aired last September." Schanke looked back at Nick. "How could you possibly have know that?" he asked incredulously. The I.A. guy in the back snorted, and Nick opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I, ah-" He was interrupted by a hiss of static and the squeal of feedback. A new voice filled the Caddy. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you night creatures, but I *hate* repeats." Cross sat forward, glaring at the dial. "Not to mention the fact that I am genuinely hurt that the Nightcrawler would abandon us at a time like this. What ever happened to-" The Nightcrawler's voice briefly replaced the interloper's. "Hmm? Your absence is dearly felt, NC. Now, I know that I could never replace you, but until you return, I will stand the nightwatch in your place." Schanke shrugged. "Unbelievable, this chick's even weirder than the guy who's usually on," he said, leaning over to turn off the radio. Cross clamped down on his wrist with an iron grip. "Leave. It." he spat. "Okay, okay," Schanke said, rubbing his wrist. The opening chords of a Motown song came from the radio. "This one is for the Forest of Stonetrees out there, Stormy and the rest. For those of you who haven't heard, Joseph Stonetree was found murdered tonight. Joe, you were overweight, you told rambling stories about scorpions and dead cops, we have reason to believe you were a vegetarian, and we loved you. I know I speak for all of us when I say that I hope this grave unkindness is avenged." 'Papa was a rolling stone' replaced the voice. Schanke shook his head in disbelief, turning the volume down. "Did you hear that?" he demanded, "That's the first time I've heard cold-blooded murder called an 'unkindness'. That is so rich-" He was interrupted by a wry voice from the back seat. "A plurality of ravens is called an 'unkindness', Detective Schanke. I believe it is time we visited Miss DuCharme, don't you?" ************************************************************* Is It Live or Is It... by Cousin Deborah As the sound of Uncle's voice played through the station, Deborah spun idly in the chair at his desk only vaguely aware of Lashoka's voice explaining to irate callers that the Nightcrawler was away on personal business and that was why they were playing repeats While Deborah was glad to cover at CERK while LaCroix was out keeping an eye on the Stonetree investigation, it seemed like a such a straight forward thing to do. There was nothing sneaky or underhanded about. There was no good natured tormenting, no one was suffering... Well, except Lashoka but that was suffering from boredom... Hardly evil in the Uncle- sense of the word. *Oh well* she sighed *everyone has to start somewhere. Even on the ladder of Cousinly success*. Lashoka poked her head in the open doorway. "Deborah, could you come help me with the phones? It's getting crazy out there... I don't know where all these calls are coming from. No one ever seems to listen to the show but Nick." "Sure thing." Deborah jumped up and came around the desk. As she did, the hem of her jacket caught on the answering machine, knocking it to ground, the tape falling out to the carpet. "Oh, great! Don't touch anything, the man said. I wonder if that include breaking his answering machine." "Oh, just put it back on the desk," Lashoka said, exasperated "He'll never know. Then *puh-leeze* come help me with the phones." She walked out to fend off more callers. "Fine. I'll be right there." she called after the departing figure. Under her breath, she added, "Don't get your knickers in a twist." Deborah picked up the machine, reinserted the tape and placed the whole contraption back on the desk with a decided thump. As she did, the machine clicked on and began to play the last message on the tape. When she realized what and more significantly *who* it was, she was only surprise, maybe even shocked. But by the time the message came to an end, she was curiously pleased at the possibilities now presented to her... And she was sure Uncle would be as well. "Hello, this Captain Joseph Stonetree at Metro P.D. I am calling about an acquaintance of yours... A Detective Knight..." ************************************************************* You Were Saying? by Lorelei Feldman Lorelei giggled to herself as she crept up to the radio station. *You know, he really ought to think about getting some more staff. Then things like this couldn't happen.* Walking up to the doorway, and making sure that no-one was around, she got some tools out of her backpack and broke open the lock, then went inside. Not hearing any alarms go off, she went over to the control panel, punched in a few (wrong) numbers, then ripped the box off the wall for good measure. *If that doesn't bring someone, I don't know what will...* Then she made her way as close to the control booth as she could, and looked inside. She was in luck; the two Cousins were next door, answering phones, and the speakers monitoring the show were off. *I don't believe it. This is almost >too< perfect.* Quickly removing the tapes of the Nightcrawler, she replaced them with others she had brought with her. On her way out, just to make sure the cops got the right idea, she also broke the lock on the control room. And since she'd worn gloves, there would only be two sets of fingerprints all over everything... She grinned again, quickly ducked out of view of the office as one of the Cousins, she didn't know which, turned in her direction, and then hurried out. Behind her, the horrendous strains of Lawrence Welk began to ooze out of the transmitter. Some time later, the police arrived. Deborah and Lashoka, still in the control booth, were somewhat surprised to find themselves at gun point to a decent contingent of the Toronto Metro Police. Their confused cries of, "but, we're supposed to be here!" were patiently listened to, then followed by a request that they proceed from the radio station to the police station, where they could attempt to verify this. ************ Back in the Caddy again, Nick and Schanke were discussing their next move when the obnoxious big band music started. "Captain Cross", in the back seat, turned a lovely shade of green that almost exactly matched the Caddy's paint job. Nick quickly turned off the radio. "You know, Knight, there've been weird things going on at that radio station tonight, and the girl running it did say something about Stonetree and the Raven earlier. Maybe we should go and check it out?" "I don't know, Schanke, I mean it's probably nothing," Nick looked nervously in the rear-view mirror at LaCroix. "Yeah, so what else have we got to go on?" LaCroix, in the back seat, was smoldering. "Detective Schanke," he sneered, "is quite correct. I suggest you take us to that radio station. *Now.*" Swallowing his questions nervously, Nick obliged. When they arrived at the station, they found it already marked off by police. Confused, they hopped out of the car and corralled the nearest officer. "Knight, Schanke." He nodded at them, and again at LaCroix. "What are you two doing here?" Nick answered. "We came to talk to whomever was running the show on this station tonight; we thought it might have some bearing on our case. What's happened?" "Well, someone broke in, the alarms went off, we came out and found two young women on the scene, in an office upstairs. Nothing appears to be stolen, no damage except for the door down here and a lock on the control booth. No one else was here; we figure it was an automated show, and the engineer stepped out or something; we haven't been able to reach anyone. Apparently, when we found them, they were just frantically answering telephones." The officer shook his head, bewildered. "Have the women said anything about why they were here?" "Well, they tried to tell us they belonged here, but they couldn't call up any other employees to verify it, and we tried reaching the owner and manager, but there's no answer at his number, so we just took them in for breaking and entering. We'll keep trying to get in touch with the station management." "Alright, thanks." Nick started to leave, only to find LaCroix glaring at him. "What about that... *Music*, Nicholas?" he hissed. "What do you mean?" "I mean, that I am not having *my station* broadcasting the excrement we heard on the way over here! We must do something about it!" "Do something about what?" Schanke returned from the Caddy, where he'd called in, making sure the perps had made it to the station already. Unable to say anything further, LaCroix simply glared at him. Schanke glared back for a few seconds, then turned to Nick. "Well, if you want to go talk to those ladies, they're processed and waiting. Let's go." With a final glance at LaCroix, he headed back to the Caddy, muttering about the rude asses over at IA. Nick followed him, stifling a nervous grin, and after fuming a few more seconds, LaCroix followed, foiled by long rolls of bright yellow tape. ************************************************************* It is Live (2) by Cousin Deborah Deborah played the message again, still amazed her good fortune. This would certainly score points with Uncle. She thought he'd been pleased when she managed to get to Toronto to help with the station. Still, he seemed to take it as a given that she would do as he requested no questions asked... Which of course it had been. She'd arrived instantly. But this... This would be a major coup.... This would... "DEBORAH!" Lashoka came running back into the room "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry Lashoka I meant to come right out and help with the phone. But you have to hear this. It's..." "Oh forget it, what ever it is. We have a bigger problem. Those people calling in... They aren't complaining because of the show being in repeats." "They're not? Deborah looked very puzzled "Well then why *are* they calling?" "They want to know *who was talking on the show about Capt. Stonetree being killed and the Nightcrawler deserting his listeners." She started searching through the various cabinets as quickly as possible. "Come on, we gotta find a radio to see what's actually going out over the airwaves. He's going to *kill* us." Deborah didn't bother to ask who *he* was. By the time they actually found a radio, she was so nervous just thinking about it that she almost dropped it. As the two terrified Cousins huddled around the radio, Lashoka tuned in the station and Deborah prayed to whoever was available that Uncle would be doing something... Anything... Other than listening to the radio. "OK, I got it" Lashoka said."shhhh, listen" What they heard made their blood run cold... "Papa was a Rolling Stone." "We're dead" Lashoka whispered. "Maybe not," Deborah replied in the same hushed tones, "he might not be listening." she knew she was grasping at straws. Uncle had said he would be with Nick, posing as an IA officer. When had Nick ever listened to anything else in the gross colored Caddy of his. As if echoing Deborah's thoughts, Lashoka shook her head "He's with Nick and Schanke and if he's with Nick, he's listening. Did you ever hear of Nick listening to anything else while he drove around in that car of his? Wait a minute," Lashoka said, raising her voice... Why are we whispering? We're alone here... At least until Uncle gets back." Her voice dropped again "It's just not fair." Deborah wailed "I just met Uncle and now he's going to kill me. This is *not *going to help our relationship any." She pouted quietly for a bit, then true to form she found *someone* to blame "This is all Nick's fault." She declared, "If he listened to an oldies station or a rock or country station like the rest of us, we wouldn't be in this position. I mean, if he wants to be mortal so badly, let him listen to the radio like one. I'll get him for this..." "How?" Lashoka asked, mildly concerned at Deborah's twisty reasoning. Not that Lashoka was opposed to getting back at those at fault but it didn't seem to be Nick's fault (and besides, Nick wasn't all *that* bad.) Deborah tapped her fingers grinch-style on the desk "I'll think of *something*." She glanced around, a smile appearing on her face as her eyes fell on the answering machine. "Oh, yes. That's it." she breathed and she pressed the button. Suddenly the voice of the late Capt. Stonetree filled the room "Hello, this Captain Joseph Stonetree at Metro P.D. I am calling about an acquaintance of yours... A Detective Knight. I'd like to come in and ask you a few questions if I might. A source indicated that you may be able to shed some light on various... Inconsistencies in his background." Deborah pressed the button to stop the machine and smiled at Lashoka. Lashoka stared at Deborah, thinking that the drudge work she had been complaining about doing, suddenly seemed pretty good. "Come on," Deborah said while taking the tape out of the machine, "We should make some copies of this for Uncle. After all, he never got the message and we'll need this copy to send to the police station." She took Lashoka by the arm and led her, not completely willingly, out of the room. ************************************************************* The Investigation Continues by Sandra Gray Nick reached over and shut off the radio. A few minutes later he pulled his car up in front of the Raven. The music was loud and the beat resounded in Nick's blood. He walked directly to the bar and spoke to the bartender on duty, Miklos. "Where's Janette?" he asked. "In her office. You want me to get her?" He was looking in a puzzled way at LaCroix. "No, that's all right," said Nick. "Has she been here in the club all evening?" Miklos turned his puzzled gaze to Nick and frowned. "As far as I know," he said. "Why?" "Let's get on with it," said LaCroix. Nick looked at LaCroix, then Schanke. He looked back at the bartender and, smiling slightly, said, "We'll speak later, Miklos." Then he headed for Janette's office, a grim look on his face. "Entre!" said Janette at Nick's knock. She looked up and smiled. "Hello, Nico-lah." Her voice trailed off as her eyes took in Schanke and LaCroix. A frown creased her lovely face. She closed the ledger she had been looking at and leaned back in her chair. Nick stepped further into the room, wishing that he didn't have Schanke and LaCroix there or that he didn't have to do what he had to do. "Janette," he began. "Um, I'm here to ask you to come down to the station with me." Janette's eyebrows rose. "The station? Why?" "There's been a... Murder... And... We need to ask you some questions about it." "A murder? I know nothing about any murder," said Janette, her eyes shifting to LaCroix. "Janette, please. It won't take long." Janette eyed the other two men, then looked again at Nick. "Very well." She rose from her seat. Nick took Janette's elbow and led her back out into the club, Schanke and LaCroix following. She cast him a worried glance and his grip tightened slightly. He wished he could reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. As his eyes drifted over the club, he noticed a group of women sitting at one table. He released Janette and mumbled, "Excuse me. I'll be back in a minute." Then he quickly walked over to the table. "Ladies," he said and they all looked up at him. "I thought you were going to stay in the hotel in case we have any more questions for you." They were silent. Nick's eyes fastened on the woman he had comforted and he added, "I'd consider returning there. This place gets a strange crowd later." He looked at each of them and, smiling, added, "Good night." Then he walked back over to join Schanke, LaCroix and Janette. ************************************************************* Hanging On by Sharon S. Scott The music was deafening, which would have been okay if it had been Sting, but Metallica was just ear-splitting noise. Scottie took her fingers out of her ears long enough to try to shout at Margaret. "Are you ready to get out of here?" "What?" "ARE YOU READY TO GET OUT OF HERE?" "What?" Wishing she knew sign language, she pointed to the front door of the club, and gestured that the two of them should go towards it. Margaret nodded. The roommates were just getting ready to leave when Nick, Schanke, and Captain Cross appeared at their table. Sharon's mouth fell open, and Margaret sat back down quickly. "I think it's a good idea you're going. You don't want to be around here very long. It's dangerous." Nick's voice was clearly audible over the noise. Scottie hated being told what to do, but this was Nick, after all. "We had just decided the same thing." "Good. Go. Do it. Now." "Okay, okay, hold your horses, all right? We're going." They gathered their coats and started digging in their purses for their money. Nick began to look exasperated. "Your bill is paid. Go." Margaret looked at Scottie, then they both looked at Susan Garrett. Scottie bravely asked, "Come on, Susan, we're going." Susan hefted her Amaretto and took a sip, then carefully put the glass back on the table. "I need to talk to Janette. You two go on." "If it's dangerous in here, then it's probably even more dangerous out on the sidewalk. Maybe we'll wait for you here?" Margaret hadn't liked the looks of some of the hangers-on at the front door when they'd come in." "You'd best do as Nick says. Go on, take a taxi. Nick will pay for it. He can afford it. Can't you, Nick?" Susan took another sip of the Amaretto and glared at the detective. Nick glared back and spoke softly. "I thought we had an agreement after the last war. Forgive and forget?" Susan stood abruptly. "Forgive? Maybe. Forget? Never." And she threw the contents of her glass at him. Captain Cross had to hide a snicker. Schanke looked confused. And Scottie was very, very angry. "Susan! Apologize, immediately!" She pulled some of her ever-present wad of tissues out of her purse and began wiping the drips and drops off Nick. "I will not apologize. He deserves it. In spades." "Nick, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have done that." Scottie continued to wipe and blot. "It's okay. You can stop that now." She continued to dab at him. "I said, that's enough. Stop." She didn't. Margaret grabbed one of her arms and tried to pull her away. In vain. "Scottie, STOP IT." Nick was exasperated and embarrassed. Susan and Captain Cross exchanged smirks. Schanke was watching a particularly lissome young woman on the dance floor. Nick grabbed Scottie's hand. "Enough, already." Scottie was staring at his hand on hers, as if mesmerized. "Thank you. You've done an admirable job of cleaning me up." He dropped her hand. Scottie continued to stare at him. "Come on, Schank. We've got work to do." Schanke turned at the sound of his name, and the two men started toward the door of the club. Scottie looked as if she might cry. And then she lunged for Nick. She fell in the process, and grabbed his ankle. And wouldn't let go. He tried to move his leg, and ended up dragging her across the floor, still attached to his ankle. Susan and Cross howled in laughter, Margaret looked mortified, and the patrons of the club stopped dancing to watch. Janette heard the raucous noises and flung open her office door. "What is going on here? Why are you dragging this woman across my dance floor?" Susan tried to look serious, said "She won't let go... She ... She thinks he's the cat's pajamas... " And erupted into laughter again. "Nicolah, stop this insanity, immediately." "I tried. I don't want to hurt her." "You *know* how to make her stop. I can't have this kind of thing going on in my club." "I can't do that with everyone watching, Janette. There are too many mortals here." "Nicolas, your scruples are showing again. I'll get you out of this. As always." Cross sighed, then walked over to the woman and bent down. "You *will* let go... Do you understand?" She still didn't let go. Cross spoke again. "Look at me. Concentrate. *Let go of Nicholas.* Do you understand?" "I understand." She blinked once, twice, then let go. "Finally. Now will you get her out of here and out of my sight?" Janette turned on her heel, walked briskly to her office, and slammed the door shut. "Let's get outta here, buddy, while she's calm. You never know when she might start up again." Schanke took Nick by the arm and they headed out of the club. Margaret and Susan helped get the dazed woman off the floor and to her feet. She looked at Margaret and asked, "What's going on? Why was I on the floor?" Margaret dared a quick look at Susan, who just shook her head, and answered, "You don't want to know. Come on, we're going back to the hotel." "You'll take care of her?" Susan asked, and Margaret nodded. Captain Cross looked at Susan and winked. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Knight Fall by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger "OK, folks, the director asked me to go over the next shot with you. She's discussing it with the pros," Valery King said. "This is the drink-in-Nick's-face scene. You all know your lines?" Scottie, Susan and Margaret nodded. "Good. Now, we've decided to play this scene for a little comic relief. Scottie, after Susan throws the drink in his face, we want you to take a wad of napkins or something and wipe him off. Margaret, you try to stop her." Margaret and Scottie nodded. "Oh, and Scottie, when he walks away, you take one step after him, like you want to follow, but know you shouldn't. Got it?" "Got it," Scottie agreed. We'll try it ad-libbed once, and if that doesn't work, we'll set up some formal dialog. OK?" The three fans-turned-actors agreed. They began the scene, and it went smoothly enough. Until Scottie, as instructed, started to take a single step after the retreating actor--and felt her foot catch on something--and fell, grabbing wildly for anything handy to break her fall. Unfortunately, the only thing handy was a certain Welsh actor's ankle. And he didn't stop... Tuppence climbed, purring, into a hidey-hole she had discovered in the bar, and began grooming her fur. The human's shoe had ruffled it, and she *hated* ruffled fur... ************************************************************* A Matter of Taste by Andria M. Marcoux All Schanke wanted to do was get the hell out of the Raven, and his partner had wandered off, leaving him in the middle of the dance floor with Janette and the I.A. guy, Lucas Cross. "These stalling tactics don't look good, Detective Schanke." Cross warned. "We're not stalling," Schanke said defensively, "He said he'd be right back. See?" he pointed to where he spotted Nick winding his way across the dance floor. The heavy pulse of the music was abruptly replaced by the mellow sounds of Jethro Tull. The dancers began shoving back and forth, shouting complaints. Janette headed for the deejay booth, determined to find the cause of the disturbance, but Cross snatched her wrist, holding her in place. "A diversion, Detective? Perhaps to allow Miss Du Charme to escape?" "Escape?" Janette turned to Schanke. "Am I under arrest?" "No, not arrest, exactly..." A now-familiar voice emitted from the speakers as the music faded. "That was Jethro Tull's 'Thick as a Brick', going out to Nick from The Magister. If you want to make a request or dedication on Nightwatch just e-mail me at 'marcoux3108@mtroyal.ab.ca'. My apologies to the CRTC, but that address is just another dead-end. It won't help you catch me. Up next is 'Snake Charmer', from the White Nights album. This one is for 'Donny-boy' from 'his Alma'. Don't forget, boiling spoils the taste." As the driving, electric sounds of "Snake Charmer" replaced the radio pirate's voice, the patrons relaxed and began dancing to the more familiar beat. Schanke closed his eyes, the hazy memories of that night flooding back. The blonde... The backroom... The bondage. "I'm gone," he said, to no one in particular. LaCroix looked at Janette, his alternate persona momentarily discarded. "Alma? And Schanke?" Janette shrugged. "There's no accounting for... Taste." Nick rejoined the two vampires, ignoring the bemused looks they were exchanging. "Let's go," he said. They caught up to Schanke as he escaped into the street. "Schank," Nick began, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. "Not one word, Knight, or I'm telling Natalie about you." he said, not slowing down. "Telling Nat what about me?" "Oh, you know. I mean it! Not one word. Or else." Nick didn't say a word. ************************************************************* Malevolent Conjunction by Cousin Lisa "Eureka!" said Lisa McDavid, putting down her book and signaling one of The Raven waitresses for another Zombie Beachcomber. Her companion in the booth farthest from the sound system looked concerned. "No, I'm *Alma.* Maybe you shouldn't have another drink?" Lisa shook her head impatiently. "No, no, "Eureka's" Greek-- Oh, never mind. I just found out why poor Joe Stonetree was wearing that nightie." "You mean it's in that book? Gee, I didn't know you could get anything but eyestrain from a book." Alma picked up the volume in question as Lisa accepted her new drink from the waitress. "This is a copy of Thomas's "Recherches Chez les Peaux-Rouges de l'Amerique du Nord," published in Paris in 1792. It's very rare because the printer was arrested in the Terror and most of the copies were destroyed. Anyway, it says that among the Neemonee--" "The which?" "Stonetree's tribe. Among the Neemonee, if a man thinks that a sorcerer has put a curse on him, he can turn the curse back on the sorcerer if he dresses as a woman for three days. I heard that little twerp on the front desk tell Schanke that Stonetree had the room booked for three days." Lisa took a long pull from her Zombie Beachcomber. "It's not easy to find clothes Joe's size for a woman, but Zenaida's big, too, and-- Oh, my God! That's it." "Miklos been making the drinks too strong again?" asked Alma. "No, no. Zenaida Stonetree's an Apache. By God, I'd kill Joe Stonetree if he wasn't dead already. There must have been a Scorpion in that stuff he gave me to burn." Lisa was on her feet, chugging the rest of her drink. "'Just do me a favor, Lisa, please,' he said. "'I can't risk being caught with this. Take it away and burn it.' See if I do anybody any more favors, Clan Cousin or not.'" Alma stared at her friend. "Lisa, maybe you better go in back and lie down. What kind of cousin?" "Clan Cousin. My mother's mother was a Neemonee from the Wolf Clan, same as Joe's mother and the Neemonee are matrilineal-" "Mattress? You and Joe were sleeping together?" Lisa glared at the vampire ditz. "Of course not! That means family relationships are reckoned through the mother, and all the members of the clan are cousins even if they're not related. Look, Alma, I've got to go talk to Zenaida Stonetree." "Gee, you sound just like Alix Logan!" Alma's eyes were shining. "Hey, something just fell out of your book." "Oh, it's that stupid note that came with it. I was using it for a book mark. What's wrong?" Lisa took a step backward. There was gold in the back of Alma's eyes. "What the hell *does* she know?" Alma demanded trucculently. "Does that mean you know who wrote this?" Lisa put the note back into Alma's hands. "Yeah, that dingbat Alexandra that Janette hired because she waltzed in here with some sob story about being raped and abandoned by her master and she's looking for him cause she heard he was in Toronto someplace. She can't add and she can't keep nothing straight and I'm always the one who gets yelled at because the customers complain they had problems with some blonde whose name started with A." Alma's eyes were beginning to redden. "Never mind that now," said Lisa automatically. "Look, I've got to get out to Stonetree's house right away. Hey!" Lisa's own eyes lit up and the grin that had made strong men climb trees to get away from her formed on her lips. "Alma, you want to play like you're Alix Logan?" "Hot damn, yeah!" Alma answered. "What do I do?" "Come along with me. I may need you to do some hypnotizing. Call us a cab." Lisa noticed another Zombie Beachcomber standing on the bar, waved an absent thank-you at Miklos and downed half of it in one gulp. "So who needs a cab? I'll just fly you out there." Alma was dancing with enthusiasm. The tiny sober portion of Lisa's brain observed dispassionately that five Zombie Beachcombers were not quite sufficient to shut down her instinct for self-preservation. (This was a useful thing to know, since in the last war five Zombie Beachcombers had led to her new and highly dangerous job as Dorian's assistant. He hadn't told her that the position description included playing den mother to an assortment of temperamental Enforcers.) Flying with Alma struck her as only minimally safer than playing tonsil-hockey with an unmuzzled LaCroix (not that she wouldn't like to try, thought the major, drunken section of the mind which she was temporarily out of.) "No, because I might need to take Zenaida somewhere," Lisa hastily ad libbed, "and she doesn't know about vampires." Alma smiled beatifically and fumbled with the belt of the coat which she had retrieved from under the bar. "Okey-dokey, we'll drive." "But we don't have a car." Lisa finished her drink and absent-mindedly picked up yet another. She swallowed it down in three gulps, trying to anesthetize herself against the suspicion that Alma was about to steal a car for them. Knowing Alma, they'd end up with a Metro Police Patrol car. "No, but Janette does, and I know where she keeps the keys." Miklos suddenly looked alarmed and began advancing on the mortal and the blonde vampiress. He'd lost count while flirting with LJC; that had been six Zombie Beachcombers Lisa'd drunk. He'd never heard of a mortal's having more than five and living. He called, "Lisa, wait!" Lisa, who had speculated after five of the hellacious concoctions in the last war that maybe six would nerve her to commit suicide by molesting LaCroix, proved herself correct. LaCroix wasn't available at present. However, joyriding with Alma in Janette's beloved black Alfa Romeo was an equally valid way of getting oneself killed. Miklos shouted, "Lisa, just a minute," but Lisa ignored him. Alma returned, jingling a Faberge keyring. "Come on, let's go!" Lisa grabbed a bottle of rum from the bar for luck, and ran after Alma into the night. ************************************************************* Random Acts (4) by Diane Echelbarger Captain Cohen found the box on her desk when she got back from her meeting. It was a large, plain white gift box, labeled "AMANDA COHEN, 95TH PRECINCT." She frowned and stuck her head out of her office door. "Lapinksi, where did this box come from?" He shrugged "Delivery service left it at the front desk, Captain. About half an hour ago." "Hmph," she said, closed her office door, and returned to the box. It was a two-and-a-half-foot-square cube, unadorned except for the red-bordered label stuck on top. She slipped her fingers under the sides and lifted the top free. She had to stand on tiptoe to see inside. A black bear cub stared back at her. A Gund bear cub, with a big red bow on its neck. It rested on its back in the box, all four paws in the air. She checked that the blinds on her office were tightly closed, then tipped the box on its side and pulled the stuffed animal out. A grin spread slowly over her face. A bear and one she didn't already have. She sat the life- sized bear cub on her desk, and tossed the box onto the floor. The critter stared cheerfully at her from atop a pile of reports. She ruffled its fur happily, then paused, struck by a sudden thought. Who had sent it to her? And why had they had it delivered to the precinct? She was careful not to let her subordinates know about her toy bear collection; it was so-- unprofessional. And she'd had enough teasing on the subject when she was with the Feds. Since moving to Toronto, she'd been very careful to make sure anyone who found out about the beasties thought they were her daughter's. That was when she noticed the small white envelope stapled to one end of the bow. She pulled it free and removed the card. Four teddy bears smiled at her from the front. The inside was blank. ************************************************************* The Investigation Continues (2) by Sandra Gray LaCroix climbed into the back of Nick's car. Nick gestured to Janette that she should join him. Janette frowned at Nick and he shook his head no slightly in warning. Janette sighed and got into the back seat. Nick and Schanke got in the front and they started down the road. "Where are we going?" asked LaCroix. "I thought we were going to the station." "I need to make a stop first. By forensics." A few minutes later Nick pulled up outside the building that housed the coroner's offices and the forensics lab. He cut off the car and said, "You wait here. I'll just be a few minutes." LaCroix glared at him, Janette frowned slightly, and Schanke's expression was noncommittal. Once inside the building, he headed for the morgue examining rooms. Nat was examining a body on the table--he averted his gaze from Stonetree. She looked up. "Nick! I--I haven't finished the autopsy yet." "I'm not here about that. Has that choker been sent to forensics?" "Yes, but I doubt they've had time to examine it. Why?" "Can't talk now. I've got Schanke, Janette, and LaCroix waiting in the car." "LaCroix!" "I'll explain later." He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He glanced once at Stonetree lying so cold and white on the examining table. Then he left. He walked to forensics and signed for the choker found at the murder scene. As Nat had expected, they hadn't yet examined it. He promised to return it soon. In the car, he passed the evidence bag over to Schanke. Then he headed for the station. A few minutes later, the four of them were ensconced in an interrogation room. Janette was trying to act nonchalant, but Nick could see she was confused by the turn of events. Nick wasn't quite sure where to start. Finally he said, "Ms. Du Charme, thank you for coming down here tonight. You know Detective Schanke and I. This is..." Nick looked at LaCroix. "Captain Cross of Internal Affairs." Janette raised an eyebrow at LaCroix, who bowed his head. Then she looked at Nick and said, "What is this about?" "Earlier this evening, we found... Captain Joseph Stonetree murdered in the Regal Constellation hotel." "What has that to do with me?" "We found this at the crime scene," said Schanke, laying the choker in its clear evidence bag on the table in front of her. "Look familiar?" Janette picked up the bag gingerly and held it up in front of her face. "A choker?" She laid it back on the table and looked at Nick. "You know I have not worn such a thing for at least a year. *Everyone* wears them now." She sniffed disdainfully. "So you're saying this isn't yours?" asked Nick. "No," she said, her eyes on the choker. Nick frowned. "Can you give us an account of your movements this evening?" Janette looked at Nick. "I've been in the Raven. All night." "You have witnesses that can corroborate that?" asked Schanke. "You were alone in your office." "I was going over the books. I did *not* leave the club. I did not even *know* this Captain Stonetree." "Is there a back entrance to the club?" continued Schanke. "Of course. But I was there all evening. Ask Miklos or--Am I being charged with this crime?" Nick and Schanke exchanged looks. "No," said Nick. "Then, as I have told you everything I know, I have nothing further to say." Nick sighed. "Thank you, Ms. Du Charme, for coming in and talking with us. You're free to go, but please keep yourself available in case we have further questions for you." Janette rose, her gaze angry. Then she left the room. LaCroix looked at Nick and said, "You're letting her leave?" Nick frowned and said, "We don't have any concrete evidence against her." "What about the choker?" Nick picked up the evidence bag. "Circumstantial. Forensics hasn't done any tests on it yet." "Gentlemen, if you've bungled this investigation--" "You were the one who wanted us to talk to her," said Schanke. Then he added, "Sir." LaCroix glared at Schanke and left the room. Nick looked at Schanke and smiled. "I hate IA," said Schanke, smiling back. Then he sobered. "But he's right, Nick. If Janette is guilty, we've just given her a perfect opportunity to leave town." "She's not guilty," said Nick. "Someone's trying to make it seem that she did it." "A frame? Who?" "I don't know that, yet. Maybe this," said Nick, holding up the evidence bag, "will give us some answers." "Or make things hotter for your friend," added Schanke. He sighed. "At least we've got Cross off our necks for a while." "Yeah," said Nick thoughtfully. "Guess I should get this back to forensics." ************************************************************* On The Road Again by Stefani Osborne and Cousin Candice "Candice, where are you?" I put my head on the steering wheel for a moment, hoping that maybe reality would vanish if I didn't look at it. I opened one eye. No luck, the world was still there. I sighed and lit a cigarette. Sitting in front of a crowded hotel in a stolen car was not my idea of fun... "Hi, Steff!" Candi looked way too cheerful for this time of day. But, then again, she wasn't the one who had to get up at four a.m. to make the "travel arrangements." Two nights ago, Detectives Knight and Schanke had showed up at the store, Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons, she had stayed out of sight, but not out of hearing range. They'd wanted to have a word with her about a particular item they had in the store, but pink negligees were a popular seller among her less adventurous clientele, so she let her manager take care of them. When they figured out they wouldn't be talking to the owner of the store, Nick and Schanke left, and she followed Nick to the motel he'd be staying at for the duration of the "interrogation." she'd thought at the time. What she'd realized was that she'd have to get Schanke out of the way--Nick wasn't a problem, her manager had overheard a comment he'd made to Schanke about staying at a friend's place. Slipping Schanke that sleeping powder had made use of some of her more creative finagling prowess, but had left her little time for sleep herself. Waiting for the sunrise--technically 5:22 am, getting into the car with minimal amounts of sleep, breaking into the car without alarming anyone in the surrounding area, then trying to get used to the oversized monster of a car, trying to act as if she belonged in the car instead of in jail hadn't really been in her plans either. So at this point _anyone_ was in better sprits, including Candi--who wasn't really much of a morning person. She also had those mirrored specs to help make the morning a little less bright. At least she hadn't had to drive all the way to Alfred--everyone had arranged to meet in Williamsburg, Virginia to compensate their "hired help" in part for her services. I belatedly noticed that Cousins James and Caile were behind her, as well as her fellow Merc, Jen Lackey. Damn, what kind of Merc was I, being half-asleep like this in the middle of a job? Maybe if I asked her, Jen would drive. "Hi, guys." I smiled weakly. Luckily we would have to stop for gas soon--I needed coffee. Badly. "Nice car," James grinned as she climbed into the back seat. "I thought so. Though this colour is just too gross..." I wrinkled my nose. Teal was not my style. Of course neither was Nick. "I can't believe you actually took it!" Caile gave me an admiring grin as she climbed in after James. "Yes, well, rental cars just don't have enough leg room. "I smirked. "Or trunk space, for that matter." "And if I'm right, we'll be needing all the spare trunk space we can get." Candi said with a hint of a snicker in her voice, settled herself into the front passenger seat and handed me a package. "Your payment, madam." Candice grinned and motioned for me to open the black box tied with purple ribbon. I looked inside. Sure enough, it was just what I'd asked for... Plus a little something I'd put to *good* use--later. I tucked it under the seat and put the Caddy into 'drive.' Taking it from Nick's place had been a piece of cake, if a little complicated, and it would be several hours before he noticed its absence. By then we'd be long gone. I had a sudden, terrible thought. "Candi?" "Hm?" She was fiddling with a green backpack at her feet. "Please tell me you have the directions with you." "Steff, what kind of moron do you think I am?" She gave me her best look of superiority. "I know! I know what kind she is!" James was bouncing up and down behind me, grinning. I couldn't help but laugh. My guess that James would be fun on car trips was proving to be correct. Now, if only I could keep her wit focused on everyone but me... Candice looked thoroughly annoyed. "Yes, I have the directions," she said, exasperated, and pulled them out of the bag at her feet along with a car discman. "Boys on the Side soundtrack anyone?" she said smiling and plugging the adapter into the Caddy's cigarette lighter. "Good." I smiled and took a drag from my cigarette. Candi also pulled out a small black book with the words "Carpe Nocturn" written in gold cursive on the cover. She flipped through the first few pages and turned to her fellow travelers stating absently "Right then,... Um Steff, in roughly one hour we need to stop and make a phone call--I *think* we have a place to stay while we're in Toronto... Some place on Crawford Street. I just want to make sure. So you can take it easy--no speeding down here... Um, unless you'd like to drive Caile?" "Thanks but no thanks, I'd rather not be driving a stolen car--even if I *am* Uncle's pet." Caile chuckled and made herself comfortable. "I'll drive if you want me to." Jen finally piped up. I smiled gratefully at her and climbed into the backseat, settling in next to Caile--a nap would be a good thing. Then it was all settled, we'd stop somewhere for coffee in an hour. Once we were outside of Toronto--pick up some munchies, cigarettes, gas, and a quick change of license plates. And then, it was off to complete our mission. ************************************************************* A Little Night Music by Cousin Candice It seemed the pit stop had been turned into an e-mail check point. After Jen had poured over her e-mail, Candice had made use of her laptop (for the price of a mocha) to check her own mail. "Nope,, nope, , , ... Ah this is useless. *Why* haven't I heard from them yet, damn they must be busy with their own plans." Candice zapped through the rest of the junk in her Inbox and came to rest the highlighter on... What was this?... Cousin Deborah, hmm.. "Looks like my message is getting out and about, oh MY goodne--er badness... She's certainly up to no good. But I think she'll need my help as soon as I'm finished in Ontario..." She mumbled to herself as she poured over the ominous message. Candice sighed and turned to Caile "Any news from anyone else?" Caile shook her head and packed the rest of her things back into the spacious trunk of the Caddy. Everyone piled back into the Caddy and off they went into the heart of Hamilton, Ontario. It was only an hour west of Toronto, so they should have no trouble getting to the writers convention. So what if they were a few days late? It wasn't their main reason for going to Toronto. Aside from the fact that every person in the car was an avid reader and writer of various fanfiction, they weren't very concerned with a convention with others like themselves. At least they hadn't been since they'd heard about the murder case that had sprung from the very hotel they were all staying in. Candice's first thought was to go and do a little investigating of her own--but she needed a little help from her friends. "Alright, Candi" Jen said flatly "what is it exactly you want us all to do--we're getting closer to our destination, and you still haven't given us our jobs." "Ok, here goes, I'm guessing that there's little or no security at the apartment that we're going into. So, Steff," Candice shifted to face her, "Did you bring that lock pick set I asked you for?" Steff just glared at her, but in a playful manner answered, "Of course I did. What kind of idiot do you think I am? It's amazing what you can glean off the FTP sites these days..." And with that Steff pulled out a small black case that housed her home made files--perfectly shaped to pick any and every lock. James snickered and made a face. "Hey don't look at me! I'm just here for the ride." "Yes, we know James..." Caile groaned, annoyed since she had just been James' latest victim of sharpened wit. "Okay--knock it off. Jen, is the black duffel in the trunk? Are all the supplies I listed in it?" Jen nodded in the affirmative and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. "But what are we supposed to *DO*?" Jen asked rather annoyed. "Listen," Candice snarled, "you're getting paid aren't you ? So just be patient. It'll all come together when we get there. Just be prepared to do more than a little damage." Candice grinned and sat back. "March of the Pigs" blasted out of the speakers and she thought to herself ************************************************************* What's Love Got to Do With It by Sharon Scott "No, Margy, I didn't do that. Please, please, tell me you made it all up. I'm an Assistant Professor, for God's sake. With tenure and everything. I couldn't have. I *wouldn't* have." Scottie pleaded. "Learn to live with it, pardner. You *did* it. I have witnesses." Margaret looked quite satisfied with her roommate's humiliation. "Name 'em." "Me, Susan, a couple of dozen denizens of the club, Cross, Schanke, Janette, and, best of all... NICK!" "You're cruel, Margaret. Mean and cruel. Nasty even." Margaret just smiled. "Stop grinning like a possum! Why didn't you stop me? Damn, I'll never be able to show my face again." "Stop you? Now why would I do that? It was very... instructive." "Yeah, right. One of the Ladies of the Knight embarrasses the hell out of herself and Nick, and you find it *instructive*." She continued hitting her head against the wall. "Well, I *am* a Cousin. What do you expect?" Margaret pulled out her notebook and started writing. "You're taking notes?" "Oh, you never know when stuff like this will come in handy. This is a writers' conference, after all--we're supposed to be learning how to make our fiction better..." "Please promise me you'll change the names to protect the innocent when you publish it." "You wish." She continued writing, then stopped suddenly. "Oh! Almost forgot! While you were totally out of it earlier, I got a call from Schanke. We've got to go down to the station to give a statement." Scottie banged her head against the wall again, then turned to face her friend, and sighed. "Great. Just great. I've made a total fool of myself, and now we have to go face Nick and Schanke again. Great." "Don't forget Captain Cross." "Thanks. That's just what I needed. Maybe I should just go up to the roof and throw myself off and be done with it." "It won't be so bad. Just a couple of questions, sign the statement, and we're back to the conference, right? Since we don't *know* anything about Stonetree's murder, there's not a lot we can tell them." "When do we have to do this?" "ASAP, Schanke said. Go take a shower, change clothes. You *have* been rolling around on the floor at the Raven. Not the most sanitary of places, I would think." "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" "Never." Margaret smiled as Scottie headed for the bathroom. ******************************* At the precinct: It was very strange actually being in a police station--a new experience for both of them. And it was even stranger being led to an interrogation room and being told to sit and wait for the detectives. "I do not have a good feeling about this, Margy." "I don't know--I think it's pretty interesting being here, seeing how things are done. Good experience for the novel." Margy reached into her bag for her notebook and pen, but stopped when the door to the interrogation room opened. Nick and Schanke walked in. Margy looked at them and smiled. Scottie kept her eyes on the top of the table. "Hokay, ladies, just a few questions, then we'll cut you free to do whatever it is you do." Schanke looked at Nick, then at Scottie, a smirk on his face. "Let's start with you, Ms. Newman. Full name, address, date of birth, citizenship." When Margaret started her spiel, Nick walked around the table and stood next to Scottie. "I need to talk to you," he said softly. Scottie didn't look up. "Let's go. Now." She rose, blushing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Schank, we're going outside for a minute." Schanke nodded and continued his questioning. She followed Nick out into the hallway. He leaned against the wall and stared at her. "Now, will you explain what the hell was going on at the Raven?" "I... I can't." "Try." "Nick, I'm sorry. I can't explain it. I think I just went crazy there for a minute." She buried her face in her hands. "Look at me." She slowly lifted her head and did as he ordered. "Who put you up to it?" "No one put me up to it. And before you ask, no, I wasn't drunk. I don't drink. I'm normally a quiet, well-behaved person. I... oh God, I'm so sorry. I apologize. It'll never happen again. I swear it." "Apology accepted. But don't be surprised if I back off anytime you're close." A stricken look crossed her face, but she gulped and tried to look as if she weren't cut to the quick. "I accept that. Is there anything I can do to prove how sorry I am?" "Just stay away from the Raven." She nodded her agreement. "Let's go back in. Schanke's probably done with the preliminaries." She followed him back in to the room and took a seat again. Schanke took the same basic information from her, and then sat back in his chair and grinned. "You're the one who has a phobia about frogs?" "Who told you about that?" "Ve haf our vays." She looked at Margaret, who had the grace to look ashamed of herself. "I will repay, Margaret." "So, tell me about this "thing" you have about our friend the frog." "I'm getting quite a collection. From friends, you understand. Actually, I'm sort of getting used to them. They're kind of cute, if you ignore the cold blood, glassy eyes, and warts." ************************************************************* What's Love Got to Do With It? (2) by Sharon Scott Margaret gaped and Schanke snorted. "My informant said you ran screaming in terror from them." "Maybe your informant gave you some grossly exaggerated information. They're not so bad." Nick was getting exasperated. "Could we get back to business here? It's getting late, and we've got lots to do." "Hey, pard, hold your horses." Schanke looked over the scene- of-the-crime report again. "Okay, ladies, you're both here for a writing conference. What do you write?" The two women looked at one another. "Um... Just stuff. Fan- type stuff. About characters we like in tv shows." Schanke looked at Nick and shook his head in dismay. "Stuff. They write stuff. Heaving bosoms. Aliens. Right?" Margaret was offended. "Actually, we both write about vampires." Scottie poked her in the ribs with her elbow. Nick tried not to show his alarm. "Right. Vampires. Fangs instead of heaving bosoms. Or heaving bosoms *and* fangs. Why did I ask?" He raised his eyes heavenward. "How well did you know Joe Stonetree?" Nick asked. "We knew who he was, that's all," Margaret answered. "Never met him?" "Never." Scottie answered this time. Schanke asked, "So I suppose neither of you know why he was killed in your hotel room?" "No idea," Scottie said. Margaret shook her head. "Or why he was dressed like a... Why he had on women's lingerie?" "Maybe he was a cross-dresser?" Margaret asked hopefully. Nick snapped, "He wasn't." "At least as far as we know," Schanke corrected. "Either of you know why anyone would want to kill him?" Both shook their heads again. "Can you prove where you were when he was killed?" Nick asked. "We were downstairs in one of the meeting rooms, attending a session on... " Margaret stopped. "So... On what?" Schanke look of boredom changed to interest at the answer. "On... Murder. How to murder someone in a novel and make it seem realistic," Margaret explained nervously. "But we were both there for the whole two-hour session. Well, except when Scottie had a nicotine fit." "I wasn't gone longer than 10 minutes. Not long enough to kill someone and dress him in a nightie." She wished she had a cigarette this instant. "How do you know how long that would take?" Schanke asked. "I don't, exactly, but Stonetree was a big guy. Do you honestly think I could overpower him, cut his throat, and dress him up?" "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I thought maybe you'd found out the answer in one of your sessions." Schanke looked questioningly at Nick. "Anything else?" "Not that I can think of. You're free to go, but don't leave town without getting in touch with us." "That's it? That's all?" Margaret asked. "Shut up, Margy. Let's get out of here." ********************************* In the taxi on the way back to the hotel, Scottie said, "Margy, does any of this make any sense to you?" "Nope. Apparently it doesn't to the cops, either. First they think it's Janette, then Nat. I don't think they have a clue." "You know we could help, don't you? We could work behind the scenes, help out." "Yeah, right. We're not investigators. All we know about conducting an investigation is what we've seen on tv, and what we've learned at this conference, which isn't a whole lot, when you think about it." Scottie thought a moment, and then looked at Margaret. "But we know someone who knows how to find things out, don't we." "We do. Perri." ************************************ Back at the Regal Constellation: "Houston Post." "May I speak to Perri Smith, please? It's an emergency." "Hold, please." "Perri Smith." "It's Scottie. We need help." ************************************************************* What, Toronto, Again? by Perri Smith It never rained but it poured. The story about Dr. Lambert's arrest hit the wire about an hour after it happened. Perri's head hit the desk a second later. "I don't believe this," she muttered under her breath, reaching for the Diet Pepsi next to her. "Nick, Nick, Nick, what *are* you doing up there?" The phone rang only a minute later. She picked it up, recognizing the voice on the other line instantly. "Abby? What's up?" "Oh, not much, except everything's going crazy up here." "Up where?" "Toronto." "What the he-- (heck, I said heck) are you doing in Toronto?" "Remember that writer's conference?" Perri did vaguely remember someone mentioning it, but wasn't clear on the details. "You're at that? And right in the middle of this mess, I'll bet." "Sort of on the sidelines, actually. Dianne's up here, though." "That Merc friend you're paying off with my tapes?" "That's her. Speaking of which..." Perri knew that particular wheedling tone. "What?" "There's something she can do for us, and will, but only for the last two tapes." "What?" Perri repeated. She listened while Abby laid down the plan, then shrugged. "O.K. I'll send them up. Are you at the hotel with everyone else?" "Yeah." "Well, stay out of the line of fire." "Yes, Mommy." Abby hung up before Perri could take appropriate revenge for the Mommy crack. The phone rang again a second later. This time, it was Sharon Scott. It was a short conversation, and Perri's main contributions were sighs and curses, with liberal gulps of Pepsi. As soon as it was over, Perri sighed yet again, dialing another number. "Jennie? It's Perri. How's Natalie?" "In jail." "Yeah, I know." Perri almost laughed--trust Jennie to still be cheerful. "Look, it seems as if I'm goin' to be in the general vicinity. I'm goin' to talk to Nick (seems Scottie did something she *really* shouldn't have), smooth some waters and and then see what I can do to help." "Thanks, Perri. We know she was framed--all we have to do is find out who did it." "I pity the fool," Perri said in a passable Mr. T impersonation. She put the phone up, then went into her boss's office to invent a horrible disease that would take her out of the office for the next week. It seemed she was heading for Toronto. Again. But she'd have to stop at home. Clothes were optional, but she was going to need her computer, and those tapes. She decided to bring the Canadian versions--it might make the difference. ************************************************************* Pretty As A Picture Frame by Tara LJC O'Shea "Are you sure?" Heather looked at Darkangel with uncertainty. "I'm sure." Darkangel handed her the telephone. "We need to keep her there." "We?" "Don't worry yourself about it, just make the call." * * * "Captain!" Schanke held one hand over the receiver, and gestured with the other. "What is it, Schanke?" "The girl from the underwear shop is on the phone, you'd better hold onto Ms. DuCharme, she says her boss came back and handed over a special order receipt with Janette's name on it." "Have Miss Parks brought in, let's see if she can pick out the dragon lady in a line-up, maybe this will actually give us something to go on." "Yes ma'am," Schanke grinned for the first time that night. * * * Something was ringing. Tara buried her head under the pillow, but it was too late. She was awake. "This building better be on fire, or I'm going to kill you, whoever you are," she croaked into the receiver. "Get up," Susan commanded, and Tara swung her legs over the end of the bed, searching for her shoes. "I'm up, I'm up. What now?" "The Brick and company just took Janette downtown." "And company?" "Schanke, and LaCroix, who insists he's an IA Captain named Cross." "I hate my life," Tara dragged a brush through her short hair. "Did they arrest her?" "No, just brought her in for questioning but I think someone may be up to something. How fast can you get down here?" "Have a cab meet me downstairs in five minutes or less, I'll be there." "And Tara?" "What?" "Dress for surprises." "I love surprises. I'll go functional, basic black, I think I can manage that." Hanging up the phone, Tara sighed dramatically, and then got up to rifle through her suitcase. * * * Miklos had closed the place up, and only Susan remained, who looked up when Tara entered, in a black turtleneck sweater and streachpants that disappeared into suede boots. "Do you approve?" "Very nice." "I came up with a plan in the cab." "I thought you would." "Miki, can I borrow you?" Tara leaned over the bar, and whispered into his ear, gesturing with her hands absently, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Yes. Yes, that I can do." "Then we've no time to waste." * * * Heather was fishing in her pocket for her keys to lock up the store when a shadow fell across her. She looked up to see a young red- haired woman and Miklos. "Heather Parks?" "Yes. I'm sorry, we're closing. Can I help you?" "I believe you can." Tara stepped aside as Miklos caressed the shop-girl's cheek, tilting her head up so her eyes met his, which glowed an intense amber. "Listen to the sound of my voice..." * * * "We're sorry for the inconvenience Miss Parks," Schanke shifted from foot to foot, uncertain. "I've never participated in a, what are they called? Line up before. What do I do?" "We're just asking you to look at some people, and try to remember if you saw any of them in the store in the past few days." Nick sat on the edge of the table, hands deep in his pockets. LaCroix stood in the far corner, in shadow, watching the proceedings as one might a play. He had yet to decide if it qualified as a tragedy, or farce. "Okay. Okay, I think I can do that." "Good." Nick signalled the cop at the door, who stepped outside, and the light came up in the room on the other side of the one-way mirror, revealing several darkhaired women. Janette squinted in the glare of the flourescents, and turned to the side, then forward, then the side again as the disembodied voice directed. She hoped Nickola could see her glare from behind that looking glass, she was furious at being forced to partake in such a ridiculous undertaking. "Now Miss Parks, please concentrate. Have you seen any of these women before?" "I'm sorry Detective, no. No, none of them are familiar." Schanke made a face, and the women, including Janette, were led out of the room. * * * "The receipt is useless, anyone could have placed the order. Without a credit card number, it's just a peice of paper." Nick paced next to his desk. It wasn't like he wanted Janette to be blamed, but it wasn't getting him any closer to finding out who was framing her either. "We knew the evidence was circumstancial, I don't think we can her," Cohen glanced towards Janette, who was pacing in her office, furious. "Well, I didn't want to bring her in in the first place..." "It's IA, they're pushing us really hard on this one. I'm working on a warrant to search Ms. DuCharme's club and apartment." "Is that wise?" "She has no motive. Right now the only thing we have tying her to this is the special order receipt, which as you say is worthless, since it was paid for in cash, and without any ID or witnesses, we have to go back to that necklace, which you have identified as hers. but if she has her necklace..." "If she has her necklace we can move on to finding the *real* killer." Nick glared at LaCroix, who was leaning against the wall, and had the audacity to smile over his cup of coffee (which he obviously wasn't drinking). Nat appeared, looking none the worse for wear, though she hadn't had time to grieve yet. When they caught the Captain's killer, then she would give herself time to let his death sink in. Until then, it was just another case. She kept repeating that to herself, to keep her sanity. "Hey, Nat." Nick squeezed her shoulder. "Any news?" "Not really, we brought the girl who works in the shop in, but she didn't recognise Janette--" "Oh big surprise there," Nat sighed. "Again, we're sorry for the inconvenience, Miss." Schanke led Heather through the crowded squadroom, and she waved his concern away. "I wish I could help." Heather shook her head, and then grinned when she saw Nat. "Hey! Long time no see, how did the big night go?" Um... pardon me?" Nat looked from Heather to Nick, bewildered. "You know, the candle light dinner, the wine, the teddy." Heather joked, and then slapped her hand over her mouth as Nat's eyes connected with Nick's. "Ooops, I think I blew it. Well, surprise isn't everything." "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." Nat's tone was icy. "The other day? You came into the shop, looking for something special. I work at Darkangel's," Heather tried to prompt her. "We talked for, like, ten minutes. I guess you were, um... busy. I just figured, you were so enthusiastic... my mistake then." Heather's cheeks grew pink, and she let Schanke walk her out to her cab. "What was that all about?' Nat snapped, crossing her arms, and Captain Cohen regarded her curiously when Norma, the dispatcher, tapped her on the shoulder. "We just received an odd phone call, Captain." "Odd?" "Anonymous tip, ma'am. But I don't think you're going to like it." Norma glanced nervously at Nat, who threw her arms up in frustration. "What is with you guys tonight?" But the Captain ignored her, intent on the message Norma had taken. "Are you sure?" "It's worth following up, ma'am. And if it's wrong, then what's the harm done?" "Doctor Lambert, I need to talk to you in my office." * * * "WHAT?" Nat's eyes were wide. "Stonetree was my friend, you can't be thinking--" "*Doctor*." Cohen waited for the ME to regain some semblance of calm. "Regardless of what I think, IA is breathing down our necks on this one." "But a warrant to search my apartment?" "If you have nothing to hide, then there will be nothing to find." "Okay," Nat sighed in defeat. "Okay, fine. Get it, toss my place, but if a single thing is mishandled--" "You have my word." * * * Tara looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Miklos handed her a snifter of blackberry brandy. "How did the call go?" "Perfectly. By this time tomorrow, Janette will be off the hook, the dear Doctor will be seeing life through a pretty picture frame, and we can concentrate on more important things." "Cheers," he held up a glass of suspicious dark liquid, and she raised her own glass high. "Slainte." ************************************************************* Want Some Lenses to go with those Frames by Jennie Hayes, Sharon Himmanen, Diane Sudduth & Amy Hull, with lots of thanks to Becky Kludy for being such a great intelligent sounding board. (Becky's not on the list yet, but we're working on her! ) ;-) (Note: Lieutenant Deborah Charmer is played by Amy Hull.) "Captain Cross" smiled wryly as the team of police officers let themselves in the front door of Natalie's apartment. Nick and Schanke hovered protectively nearby, ready to make sure nothing on the premises got damaged. It was a good thing it had taken a few hours to obtain a warrant, since this had given him time to gather the things he needed and deposit most of it in place. There was only one thing left to be done, to make the frame complete. He'd been interrupted earlier when Nick had arrived to remove all those little lab notebooks from behind the high school yearbooks in the bookcase. Funny how the slight delay had worked for them both. The smile became more arrogant. Nicholas was finally going to learn how truly fickle these mortals could be. The entire group was aware that there would be more than the usual trouble if anything had been damaged, so the search proceeded slowly. Nick and Schanke presided with the air of people who think they are wasting their time, so it was comical to watch the disbelief spread across both their faces when one of the detectives, who'd been rooting about the front closet, announced the first find. LaCroix frowned. This wasn't one of his. He sauntered over to the officer... Lieutenant Deborah Charmer, yes, that was her name. She handed him a plastic bag, containing a receipt from Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique. "And where did you find this?" he inquired. "In the pocket of that coat in the back of the closet." She answered, trying to edge slightly away from him. He marveled at how easily mortals were affected by the threat of someone powerful. This IA captain persona could be a lot of fun. LaCroix showed the bag to Nick and Schanke. "Hmm, it's beginning to look like the lady *does* have something to hide." He remarked. Predictably, Schanke bristled but wisely held himself in check and turned to place a restraining hand on Nick's arm as well, since the latter was looking at LaCroix in a way that had meant the later death for many mortals in the past. "Don't worry, Nick, it's all circumstantial," he soothed. "It's not like she's got a motive or anything." Nick didn't respond, he simply continued glaring at LaCroix, until his attention was diverted by the excitement surrounding still another find. This one LaCroix was expecting, so he simply smirked at Nick as the two detectives went to examine this one: Several papers appeared to have recently been burned in the fireplace, but some partially intact pieces had been found at the back. Schanke's took the evidence bags this time. "Hey, this is Stonetree's handwriting!" His eyes bugged out as he read the fragments, the first of which was nearly intact: Dear Natalie: Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me this evening. We have a lot of details to work out, but I know if we can sit and talk everything will work out just fine. Thanks for being so understanding. -Joe Another scrap had a few words which could be made out but was mostly illegible: I can't begin to tell you how lovely... ... Me so happy. If I can... Until then, Joe. The last scrap of paper was almost predictable by the time they got to it. All that was left were two sentences, "I'm sorry, but this just isn't going to work out. We're going to have to stop..." Nick actually managed to look paler than usual, and his rage was almost palpable to those in the room. "She's being set up!" He hissed. "Hey, Nick, maybe we'd best get this down to the precinct, and we can ask Natalie if she knows how they got there," Schanke said brightly, after a considered glance at "Captain Cross." "I'm sure these officers can finish up here OK." Nick looked like he wanted to protest, but sullenly agreed and allowed Schanke to usher him out to the Caddy. -----***----- Deb Charmer looked about the living room of Natalie's apartment. They were almost done in here, it was time to move into the bedroom. In fact, it appeared that Captain Cross had already headed in there. With a weary sigh, she started to follow. She was only a few strides into the room, however, when she froze in place, uncertain what to do. She'd just seen the Captain pull something out of his coat and shove it under the bed. She turned to leave as quickly as possible, but between one blink and the next he'd seen her and somehow gotten between her and the door, which he quietly closed. "Where were you going to go?" His soft voice sounded very dangerous from this close. "I was just going to get some more evidence bags..." He didn't believe her. She could tell. "Hmm... Well, then, by all means, you'd best get going." He opened the door for her, and stood watching as she exited the apartment. It never occurred to her to mention what she'd seen to the other officers in the room. "If I can just get out to the car, I'll be OK. I can find someone who will know what to do..." she mumbled under her breath. It was quite dark outside when she emerged from the entryway, but she didn't pause to allow her eyes to adjust, she just plowed ahead. Suddenly there was movement ahead of her, a breeze whipped her hair in her face, and a hand gripped her wrist with unshakable force. "I don't think you really needed evidence bags, do you?" A frighteningly familiar voice purred in her ear. Deb's temper boiled over. She whirled around as far as his grip on her wrist would allow, feeling a flash of pain shoot up her arm, but not caring. "No, I was going to check on procedure for filing complaints against superiors. You must be hiding something big, Buster. Why on earth would you want to hurt Dr. Lambert? She's one of the nicest people I know! You may be Mr. Powerful Big Shot, but little people like me count too and if we all stand up to you, you're going to find you're up against quite a formidable force!" She had to stop for air at this point, and the look on his face made her gulp nervously. "Do you really know Natalie Lambert that well? What makes you so certain she's worth all this fuss?" His casual dismissal of the Doctor didn't sit well with Deb. "Are you trying to stop me? Because you're wasting your breath. I can't be bought. You might as well let me go." "Oh, I'm not planning to try to talk you out of it. I had something in mind that was far more... Appropriate... To the situation." Suddenly a stray thought intruded on her consciousness. "Hey, how did you get down here so quickly? I ran down, and I didn't hear anyone behind me." "Yes." was the only word she heard before a shooting pain in her neck announced that it was all over... -----***----- "Say, look at this!" Officer Beth Kramer had been poking underneath the bed, and now she held up her prize. It was a man's hat. A very familiar man's hat, to those who'd known Joe Stonetree. She shook her head. "From what I hear, he *wasn't* wearing it when he was found..." The dirty glares she got were too much. "Sorry, just stress, I suppose..." she mumbled. "Where's Deb with those evidence bags?" "I don't know," Bill returned, shrugging. "She's been gone an awfully long time! Maybe I should go hurry her up." He disappeared out the door, only to come back with a puzzled expression on his face. "She's not out there. I checked with dispatch, they didn't hear anything from her about going anywhere. She's just disappeared!" ************************************************************* Picture This! Catherine L Bond OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION Catherine pulled the teal Saturn into the Toronto PD parking lot. With her were the other DieHards--Deb, Nichole, and Vicki. They all knew Heather and the trouble she could get herself into. "Come on. Any idea how to find someone in a police station?" "Go in and ask nicely?" suggested Nichole. INSIDE THE POLICE STATION The four women entered the station and asked the woman at the desk about Heather. "I think she was looking at a lineup. You can wait over there." she said, pointing to a wooden bench down the hall. A few minutes later Heather appeared across the room. She was escorted by a dark haired man. Catherine guessed he was a detective. Heather stopped and spoke to a well-dressed woman. The woman looked confused. Suddenly Heather blushed, mumbled something and let herself be led away by the detective. Catherine glanced at her companions and rolled her eyes. They grinned back. Catherine turned in time to see the woman Heather had spoken to follow another woman into a private office. Both seemed upset. "Hiya guys! Glad you could come pick me up. It's a long walk back to the Boutique." "No problem. What was that tete-a-tete about?" Catherine gestured toward the close office door. Heather looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "I thought I recognized that woman. She came into the Boutique last week and bought that stuff the detectives were asking about." "What stuff?" asked Vicki. "The pink negligee and the black choker." "Wait a minute," said Catherine, "you said it was a *guy* who bought that stuff." "I did? How do you know?" "We were there that night," said Deb. "We were in the back room playing cards." "Yea," interjected Vicki, "We were waiting for you so we could all go see *Tank Girl*." "Oh, right." Heather said slowly. "Are you ok?" asked Nichole. "Yea, I think so. I have this terrific headache. So it was a guy? Why were they asking me about women. I seem to remember that doctor coming in to buy that stuff. Did you see this guy?" "No you just came into the back room and said something about 'another desperate male buying tacky lingerie' and nothing about a black choker." said Deb. Catherine interrupted. "Did you say that woman was a doctor?" Heather nodded. "Do you know her name?" "I think someone called her 'Dr. Lambert'." "'DR. LAMBERT'?" Catherine exclaimed. "You mean *that's* Natalie?" "What are you talking about?" asked Vicki. "Quick we've got to find a phone." Catherine said as she started down the hall. "Her friends were confused but followed her to a pay phone. ON THE PHONE "Don? This is Catherine Bond. Yea. Let me speak to Dianne... Di? A little trouble but not for us. You've got to tell Sharon, Val and the rest of the NatPack that Natalie's in trouble... Yeah, I think someone's trying to frame her. Here's what happened... ************************************************************* Poison Pen by Karin Welss **A scene in the Premiere Episode with a cameo appearance by the FoD Empress, Ms. Pamela K. Rush** "Hey, Nick, maybe we'd best get this down to the precinct, and we can ask Natalie if she knows how they got there," Schanke said brightly, after a considered glance at 'Captain Cross'. "I'm sure these officers can finish up here OK." Nick looked like he wanted to protest, but sullenly agreed and allowed Schanke to usher him out to the Caddy. They drove out of the apartment parking lot, and began to navigate the route through downtown back to the precinct. As they turned a corner into a familiar neighborhood, Nick recognized the cheery neon sign of The Happy Souvlaki Deli, which had been Capt. Stonetree's favorite dinner spot. Nick looked into his review mirror, and began to drift off into a flashback to the recent past. Schanke, justifiably alarmed by the telltale sign of that faraway gaze, punched his partner in the arm. "Nick--hey! I hate it when you do that while you're driving!" In response, Nick swerved the large aqua-colored bulk of the Caddy into a U-turn across three lanes of downtown traffic to snag a prime parking spot directly in front of the deli. "HEY!! WATCH OUT!!!!!!! Sorry about the comment, okay?" Schanke gasped, paused when he realized they had come to a halt unscathed, and then realized where they were. "Wasn't that Stonetree's favorite hangout?" Nick nodded grimly. "Okay, so you're forgiven for the lousy driving. Thank God for seatbelts, though," Schanke shot a glance at his partner. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" "That the person working the dinner shift last night may have been of the last people to see the Captain alive?" Nick looked suspiciously smug. "Yeah, right. Exactly," Schanke replied, opening the Caddy's door and climbing out. "So, you coming with me, or what?" * * * Ms. Pamela Rush, the owner of the deli happened to be on duty behind the counter as the two homicide detectives entered. She was a tall woman of indeterminate middle age, with very fair skin, short, curly dark hair, and hazel-to-green eyes, which were suspiciously red-rimmed at the moment. "D-Detective Schanke--Don!" she sobbed, pulling a fresh Kleenex out of her apron pocket. "Isn't it terrible! I just heard about it on the evening news--my poor dear Joe!" "?" Nick asked with raised eyebrows, as his partner rushed to comfort the pretty deli owner. "? Ms. Rush, just how well did you know the deceased?" Pamela bravely stopped the flow of tears, and raised her head from Schanke's comforting shoulder. "He--he was a friend of mine. A good friend. " "Just friends?" Nick inquired with polite skepticism, which earned him a dirty look from Schanke. "Of course! Joe was a happily married man! I would never, --sure, I've been flirting shamelessly (although harmlessly) with him for years, but nothing ever happened!" "I see," Nick said neutrally. Schanke patted Pamela's shoulder with comforting solicitude. "When did you last see him alive?" "It was yesterday evening--it must have been just before-- just before he was killed! He came by for his usual--Chinese chicken salad, hold the chicken. He always loved my chicken salad!" This elicited a fresh round of tears from the pert deli owner. Schanke found himself holding her again--it was remarkably easy to do--her fragrance was a comforting mixture of walnut, honey, and cinnamon from the batch of homemade baklava that she had put in the oven just before Nick and Schanke entered the deli. "There, there." Nick heaved a patient sigh, a little aggravated that she wasn't turning to for comfort. Of course, he had never been a particularly good patron of hers... "Did you notice anything... Unusual... About the Captain? Did he say or do anything that may have struck you as, well, ?" "Oh, no, Detective Knight. He was the man." A fresh wave of tears threatened to engulf Pamela, but she suppressed them and continued, albeit in a slightly muffle voice. "He was so excited about doing a reading at that writer's convention over at the Regal Constellation hotel..." "Reading? What reading?" Schanke asked, handing Pamela another Kleenex from the box under the counter. Pamela dabbed delicately at her eyes. "You didn't know that he was writing his memoirs? He was so proud of being able to present them as a 'work-in-progress.' And he kept saying that no one was going to believe some of the weird things that used to go on at his precinct. Werewolves--or was it vampires? Maybe witches--something like that. Anyhow, he said his book was going to blow people away, and he was hoping that an nice juicy advance from a publisher would bolster up his police pension." "No kidding? The Captain's memoirs? That should be interesting... Knight? Hey, Knight, you feeling okay?" Schanke said anxiously. His partner's normally pale face had turned an interesting shade of green. "Fine--just fine," gritted Knight, lying though his fangs-- er, teeth. He was going to have to have a very long, very serious talk with Ron about the Enforcer's mission in Toronto. But there was the evidence found at Natalie's apartment to deal with, first. Schanke followed Nick outside, and swung himself into the Caddy, a large, damp patch on the shoulder of his blazer. "She's taking the Capt.'s death pretty hard," he commented. Nick sighed, and turned the key in the ignition. "Aren't we all?" The engine coughed, turned over once or twice, and finally caught. He pulled away from the curb, and after another death-defying U-turn, the partners were on their way to the precinct. ************************************************************* In The Right Place At The Right Time by Selma McCrory "Hey, Knight!" Schanke said to his partner. "I got a hold of the clerk at the Regal Constellation." "What did they say?" "He confirms Ms. McCrory's story that Stonetree went down with her and up with someone else. A man." "Good." "I'd say," Schanke said, smiling, "that we get Ms. McCrory to give us a description of that person." Knight nodded. "I'll call her." * * * Grace was wandering around the station, hoping to find something that would prove her friend's innocence. After all, the replacement coroner didn't need her for a few hours and maybe she'd be able to come up with someone. Nick was with a young woman and one of the police sketch artists. The woman was evidently finishing a description of someone for one of Nick's cases. Grace wandered over casually, hoping to talk to Nick about the case. "Good evening, Grace," Nick said absentmindedly at the young woman looked at the sketch and nodded. "Yes, that's the person," the young woman said. Grace casually looked over at the sketch and gasped. "What is it, Grace?" Nick asked. "I've seen this person before. At the office. In the lab." "What was he doing?" Nick asked. "She, Detective. She was handing Natalie something to sign, a small piece of paper. I thought she was one of the new lab techs, that she was working with the evidence. " "Have you seen her since?" "No." "We'll check it out, Grace. If this person is responsible for framing Nat or killing Stonetree, we'll find him. Or her." "Thank you, Detective. I'll keep my eyes out, just in case." "Thank you, Grace." "You're welcome," she said, and headed off. ************************************************************* Fateful Sighting by Sandra Gray Sandra Gray exited the elevator at the Regal Constellation and paused. Nick stood near the registration desk with a red- haired woman. Sandra moved forward slowly, curious. Suddenly three men entered the hotel. One was a patrolman and one she recognized as the dark-haired companion of Nick's she had seen before. She walked over to a brochure rack and pretended interest in it when she caught sight of the third man. Picking up a brochure, Sandra opened it and peered over it to where the new arrivals had joined Nick and the woman. Nick spoke with the dark-haired man and then the tall, thin man pushed in front of him and took hold of the woman's arm with a rather slimy smile. He then proceeded to lead her out of the hotel, the patrolman hurrying ahead of them. The woman looked back at Nick, fear on her face. Nick looked at the back of the tall man, fists clenched at his sides. His companion said something and Nick looked at his shoes. Then he strode for the door, the other man following. Sandra put back the brochure and frowned thoughtfully. That man... He looked *exactly* like the man that she had noticed following Nick when they were... Could it be... Nick's sire? Surely there couldn't be another man who looked so like the man who haunted Nick. Sandra remembered Nick's words about him in his apartment, remembered the strained expression on his face. His maker was part of the reason he had left her. Was his sire causing Nick problems again? In her vampire research she had read that killing one's sire could cure one of vampirism. If that *was* Nick's sire... Maybe there was something she could do... * * * * * * * It took some phone calls, and some money, but the next day Sandra had acquired what she had sought. She returned to the hotel with a box in a shopping bag. Once she had locked her room door, she took out the box and opened it. She lifted out the small crossbow and looked at it. ************************************************************* An Unkindness by Tara LJC O'Shea "Is this the woman you saw?" Captain Cohen asked Grace, who nodded. They were separated from the little drama unfolding by a two way mirror. "Her hair was different, pulled back. And she wasn't wearing glasses, but I'm sure it's her. Her eyes were blue, though, but she could have been wearing contacts. Do you think she killed Joe?" "I don't know what to think, any more." * * * Tara sipped the lukewarm coffee without even tasting it. She needed the caffeine. What she really wanted however, was a cigarette. "Do you recognize this man?" Schanke held up a photograph of Stonetree. Nick remained silent, a LaCroix. Well, LaCroix just stood behind her, she couldn't see what his reaction to the entire situation was. But she could imagine that bloody half-smile well enough. "Joe Stonetree," she said wearily. She had no trouble keeping any kind of emotion out of her voice, once the initial anger had worn off, she was just tired. Very, very tired. "Do you know him?" "No." "How do you recognize him?" "I've seen him on the television." It wasn't precisely a lie. She was determined to tell as much of the truth as possible, it was the only way she could figure how to get out of this situation. Where were you two nights ago, between the hours of 6 pm and midnight?" "My flight from Albuquerque came into O'Hare at 3:20 pm, I got to the Hyatt Regency and crashed until my connecting flight here, at 2 am. It was the only flight I could get out on, I flew stand-by on passes." "Did you talk to anyone?" "No, but you can talk to the hotel." "Have you ever been to Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique?" *Damn*. "Yes. Yesterday afternoon." "Did you buy anything?" "A choker." Schanke's eyebrows shot up, and he looked to Nick, but the vampire remained impassive. "Why?" "I wanted one." "Do you have it now?" "No, I lost it." "In the Royal Constellation?" "No. I told you, I bought it yesterday afternoon. I didn't return to my hotel room, I stayed at the Raven." "The staff says you came back yesterday for about 3 hours." "I did, but then I left again. I lost the necklace before I came back." "How do you know Janette DuCharme?" "We're old friends." At that, she could hear a chuckle from LaCroix behind her, and she scowled, and took another sip of the coffee. "How close?" "She's like a sister to me." "Would she protect you?" "Perhaps, if it suited her. As would I." "If it suited you?" "Yes." "Where are you from?" "I was born in Chicago, and am currently living in Albuquerque." "Why did you come to Toronto?" "I was offered an invitation to a Writer's Conference." "By whom?" "I don't know, it sounded interesting, many of my friends were going, I took time off from school." "And this trip just happened to take place at the same time as the murder of a police officer, at the same hotel?" "I didn't check into the hotel until after the body was found." "You could have flown in earlier." "I didn't check in until that night." "So you say." "You can check with the airlines, I was flying stand-by, they checked me in at each leg, Albuquerque-Phoenix, Phoenix- Chicago, Chicago-Toronto. They would have a record in the computer if I didn't make the flight, that's how stand-by works, Detective." "Oh, we'll be checking, you'll be sure of that." "I told you, my passport, tickets and receipts were stolen from my hotel room." "So you say." LaCroix said, from behind her, and she turned in her chair, meeting his eyes. "Vous me faison une malveillance, Lucien, et vous cou^tera cher," she said softly. Nick's head snapped up. "Menaces en l'air, cherie." "Pas en l'air, je crois. *Cher*." "Comme tu veut." "What the hell?" Schanke looked from Tara to LaCroix, and back, but Nick placed a hand on his arm, shaking his head. "I believe Miss O'Shea would benefit from a night in our care, while we check out her story, don't you think?" LaCroix had not broken her gaze, but Schanke nodded. "It might loosen her tongue." "Funny, most people would complain my tongue wags too *much*," she said as Schanke took her arm, guiding her out of the chair. * * * *Pick up, pick up*, Tara chanted to herself as the phone rang endlessly. She looked over at where Nick, Schanke and LaCroix stood, whispering amongst themselves. Captain Cohen glowered at her from across the squad room, and she switched the pay- phone receiver to the other ear, turning away. "The Raven." "Alma, it's Tara." "Hey, like, where are you?" "Alma, listen very carefully. I am in jail. Get me out." "Jail?" "Yes, jail." "Should I, like, tell the Boss?" "Publish it in the bloody paper if you like, just get someone down here to get me out." "Wow. It's really close to, like, you know, dawn? I don't know--" "No, my dear, you don't." "--I'm gonna tell the Boss, okay? Can you, like, call back?" "No, Alma, they have this thing about one phone call, maybe you've heard of it? On television? In the movies?" "Okay, okay, here's Miki. You talk to him, and I'll go find the Boss." "You do that," Tara rested her forehead on the cool metal of the phone, wondering what on earth should could have done to deserve this. Did she drown kittens in a past life? "Tara?" "Hallo, Miki." "Where are you?" "Jail. Someone thought it might be a good idea to let me spend the night, pardon me, *day* here." "Have they charged you?" "Not yet. I think they might, though. Someone stole my travel itinerary from my hotel room, I can't prove to them I didn't arrive until after the murder, and somehow I don't think you and Janette are going to be considered good character witnesses." she chuckled wryly, feeling more like crying. The huddle had broken up, and Schanke was approaching her, and if looks could kill, she'd be laid out on the station floor like roadkill. "I'm sorry," Miklos's voice on the other end of the line was sympathetic. "I know. Just get me out of here, that's all I want." "Janette's here, would you like to talk to her?" "No, Donut Don is glowering at me, I think it's time to go." She hung up the phone, and let the detective lead her towards the stairs. "I didn't kill your captain," she said to him as they headed down stairs. "Lady, tellin' me ain't gonna make it true." "The truth is the truth, and I suppose it will out." "Where the hell did you learn English? Do you always talk this way?" "Only when I'm this tired," she stepped through the door he held open for her, into the cell, and smiled sadly. "And something tells me it's only going to get worse." "Tell me about it," came the voice from the next cell, and Tara looked up to see Nat sitting on the edge of her bed, one leg tucked beneath her. ************************************************************* The End of a Long Night by Sandra Gray Nick drove down the road for home, a worried frown on his face. Stonetree murdered, the events of the investigation so far, it all swirled through his mind on a nonstop loop. LaCroix had to be behind Stonetree's murder. Else why his impersonation of "Captain Cross"? It was another attempt by him to interfere in Nick's life--not just his life, but Janette's life as well. Nick reached his place and pulled the Caddy into the garage. The garage door lowered and locked into place, blocking out the light of a growing dawn and plunging the interior into darkness. He picked up the remote on entering the living room and lowered the blinds. Then he walked over to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of blood. He picked up a glass and walked over to the table. And sat down to think. ************************************************************* Mission: IMPOSSIBLE by Cousin Candice Jen steered the huge automobile into the darkened alleyway, trying her best to avoid any undue attention to herself and her part of the job. "God I could *kill* Candice... Sure,... Fine,... Leave it up to the poor, tired, over-worked, under-paid Merc to Park The Car In An Unobvious spot. Suuure... No problem. I'd like to see any of *THEM* park a teal Caddy and try to make it inconspicuous." When she was satisfied that the car wouldn't be seen by the occasional passer-by, Jen cut the engine, grabbed the black duffel out from the trunk and ran down the block to join her partners in crime. Maybe someone would find the Caddy here. I mean they *were* only an hour west of Toronto. And _surely_ Nick has noticed that his car is missing by now. Jen snickered to herself. She caught up to them just as Steff had completed her task of picking the lock on the patio doors, which all faced outwards. Candice was holding a small black MagLight(tm) steady for Steff to see by over her shoulder. "Whew..." Steff finally started breathing again--it was so difficult Breaking and Entering into an unfamiliar building. Cars were one thing, people's apartments were another thing all together. You never knew if there would be a pet playing the part of the Errant Knight, trying to protect it's master's home. Steff thought and backed away from the door, leaving someone else to open the door. There was no way in hell she was going to get bitten or scratched (not that she'd mind, she grinned slightly) by a pet. "Uch--fine. *I'll* open the door. Leave it to me to hire the only Merc who values her skin..." Candice mumbled under her breath and reached for the handle. She creaked the door open and shined the flashlight inside. Peaking her head through the crack, Candi checked for any unsavory, hairy animals and when she deemed it safe passage declared: "Ladies, I give you Miss Dawn Steele's apartment." ************************************************************* Cousins and Mercs and Sarah, oh my by Jennifer Greenbury Lackey "Okay, guys, it's time for a pit stop," Jen said, glancing in the rearview mirror at the back seat. Steff was furiously tapping away at her laptop, writing Goddess only knew what, and Caile and Candice were playing scissors, paper, stone, the loser getting a resounding slap on the wrists. Cousin James was asleep in the front seat next to me, and she wondered if Nick would notice a few drool stains on the upholstery. James was pretty out of it. Jen pulled into a gas station, and stopped the car, everyone climbed out of the Caddy, and filed inside to use the facilities and buy snacks to raise their blood sugar levels. It was a long trip, and while all looked forward to the excitement of Toronto, the getting there had its more boring moments. Jen came back to the car before anyone else, to avoid the temptation of the now-forbidden chocolate. The great scourge of her life was that she had been denied chocolate by the chiropractor who was treating her tendonitis. She decided to use the time productively, and check her e-mail, via the remote cellular setup that she had bought with the same settlement money that had made this trip possible. She pulled the laptop out of the trunk, glancing at all the stuff they had packed in there and deciding that Nick was right about the trunk space. She sat on the curb of the gas station, and logged in. She skimmed through the half dozen new war posts since she had last checked her mail, and then something odd caught her eye. A message from someone in North Carolina? "Now who do I know in North Carolina?" she asked herself. She opened it and found a note from Sarah. Reading it once quickly, and then more slowly, Jen shook her head. She composed a reply, sending it to Sarah's own account. ------------------------------------------------------------- Dear Sarah: Oh, girl, you have gotten yourself into trouble. I wish you'd taken me up on my offer to join the Merc's Guild. Then I could use Guild resources to help you out of this jam. As it is, I can only act in my private capacity as your friend, not in my official capacity as High Administrative Poohbah of the Guild. Things like this are exactly why the Guild members banded together. Independence is great and all, and none of us could do without it, but power comes from organization. Oh well. We'll just have to think of something. Surely two such twisty minds as ourselves can find a way out of this. In the meantime, I suggest coming to Toronto. It will only draw Uncle's wrath and attention if you disobey at this point. Once you're in Toronto, he'll be so busy with other matters, perhaps we can come up with something. And, of course, I'd selfishly love to see you. Blow school off, man. It's overrated anyway. Don't let the stress throw you off your writing stride, though. We still have the fourth sequel to "Tomorrow's Tangle" to finish, and I'd like to wrap this series of stories up before we're both *really* old and gray. I loved your last scene, btw. Brilliant as always. Your devoted servant, eternally, Jen ps. You'd better continue to send your messages under cover of the account in North Carolina. I trust James, Caile and Candi about as much as I would any Cousins, but you never know. Better safe than sorry, right? ------------------------------------------------------------- Jennifer hit the send button, and folded the laptop away, putting it back in the trunk, on top of the guitar. Hm, she thought, what would make LaCroix leave Sarah alone? She continued to ponder the question, as the various members of the troupe piled back into the car, and Steff began to hum the "Conan the Barbarian" theme. The Caddy sped it's way toward Toronto. ************************************************************* Random Acts (5) by Diane Echelbarger Schanke was digging through his desk for enough change to get a candy bar from the vending machine when the phone rang. "Detective Schanke," he answered. "I've got a what?" He glanced toward Cohen's office. It was empty. "I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and walked to the front desk. A Chinese teenager was standing at the counter, holding a cardboard box heaped with take-out containers. Cohen was standing behind the counter, watching to door to the squadroom. Watching him. "Captain," Schanke began, "I swear, I didn't order this. It must be some sort of mistake." He turned on the delivery boy. "I didn't order this, kid, and I am not gonna pay for it." "No problem," the kid said. "It's paid for." Schanke barged right on, not wanting to give Cohen a chance to pounce. "Well, I don't care, I--" He did a double-take. "Paid for?" "Yeah," the kid said. "Even the tip." "Really," Captain Cohen said, dryly. "Who placed the order?" "I dunno," the boy replied. "I just deliver it. My boss said the order was for Don Schanke, 96th precinct, and to tell him it's all covered, even the tip." He turned to Schanke. "That's you, right?" Schanke nodded. "So, you going to take this, or do I throw it in the dumpster on my way out?" "Uh," Schanke glanced at Cohen. It smelled delicious. She shook her head, an odd smile on her face. "Go ahead, detective. Somebody obviously wanted to surprise you, and it'd be a shame to waste it." Schanke picked up the box. "Yeah, thanks, Captain," he said. He carried the box back to the squadroom and placed it on his desk. There were at least a dozen large cardboard take out containers, two plastic tubs of sweet and sour sauce, and a big plastic bucket of soup, with assorted smaller containers crammed in the corners. He pulled the order form off the box and looked at it. Mu shu pork, sweet and sour chicken, pot stickers, egg rolls, hot and sour soup, beef pepper steak, shrimp fried rice, garlic pork, shrimp in lobster sauce, beef lo mein, pork sub gum, fried wonton, barbecue pork, Hunan beef, chicken almond ding, moo goo gai pan, and dragon scallops. "There's enough food for half the precinct here," he muttered. "Maybe you should share, then," Cohen suggested. "Huh?" Schanke blinked and looked up. All the other detectives on duty--except Nick, who seemed to have disappeared--were crowded around his desk. "Oh, yeah, sure. Somebody want to help me set this out?" Five minutes later, Schanke led the line through his own personal Chinese midnight buffet. A dozen heavy paper plates had been stacked in the bottom of the box, and a paper bag had contained sauce packets, silverware, soup cups, and chopsticks. With his plate heaped as full as he could get it, and a cup of soup in his free hand, he sat down at his desk and prepared to enjoy himself. He was on his third ambrosial mouthful when Carter dropped a small white square on his desk. "What's this?" he mumbled, his mouth full of sweet and sour. "Looks like a card," the detective replied. "It was in the sauce bag." Schanke swallowed the sweet and sour, bit into an egg roll, and opened the tiny envelope. The card was pale blue, with a basket of flowers on the front. It was blank. He grinned, and glanced at the clock. Myra'd probably still be awake. "Hello?" "Myra? Look, honey, I just wanted to say thanks. The dinner was a great idea. All the guys really appreciated it." "Dinner?" Myra said. "What dinner, Don? You said you'd pick something up." "I mean the humongous Chinese feast you had delivered to the precinct, honey," he said. "I mean, I know you didn't sign the card, but who else could it be?" "Don, are you OK?" Myra sounded worried. "I didn't order anything delivered." "You didn't? Then who...?" It suddenly occurred to him that, if Myra *hadn't* sent it, she might try to stop him eating it. "Uh, never mind, Myra, I'll explain when I get home. 'Bye." He hung up the phone and bit into a pot sticker. He had no idea who'd sent the stuff, but it would be a shame not to enjoy it. ************************************************************* Missing Mercenary Mystery by Jennifer Greenbury Lackey "Steff," Jen said, raising her voice over Mozart's Requiem playing on the cassette deck, "Have you heard from Maureen the Mad lately? I've sent her three or four messages about Guild business that I haven't gotten replies to. No bounces, either. Just silence. Kind of spooky." "No, I haven't heard from her," Steff replied. "Do you think she's in some kind of trouble?" "I don't know, I'm kind of worried." Jen frowned. "It's not like her to let messages go days without answering, especially about Guild stuff. But nothing's happened yet, that I know of, that would indicate retaliation of any kind against her. And if someone was going to strike at the Guild itself, they'd most likely hit you or me first. I don't even know where to start looking for her." "Well," Steff said, "Let's give it a couple of more days, and send her another message or two, and if we still don't hear anything, we'll put the Guild on red alert and start a search. She could just be on some assignment and can't be bothered with her mail right now." Jen nodded, though her forehead still creased with worry. "It's too early in the war for this. This could be a bad sign." Steff touched her hand which rested on the wheel, and said, "Don't worry, if she's in trouble, we'll find her and we'll get her out of it. That's what the Guild is for, right?" Jennifer smiled at her, but didn't feel terribly reassured. If something was wrong, they couldn't be sure of getting to Maureen in time. "Hey," Steff said, "Let's put Bauhaus in again. That always cheers you up." "That's a good idea. Any objections, from the Cousinly contingent in the back seat?" Jen shouted over the high decibel Mozart. "What?" the trio of Cousins shouted back. The road trip continued. ************************************************************* Missing Mercenary Mystery (2) by Maureen Wynn BRNNGG... BRNNGG... BRNNGG... BRNNGG... BRNNGG ... BGNNGG ... BRNNGG ... BGNNGG *click* "Hello?" "Taking a nap?" "Why are you calling me?" "Why do you think? *Nothing* is happening here! This assignment is a waste of time. How long do you expect me to hang out in this armpit?" "As long as it takes." "Even if it takes forever?!" "Yes." "Well, you can forget that, buddy! I can't spend the *entire* war here... The more time I spend here, the more commissions I'm losing! Dianne has picked up two jobs from one little ad, and I'm still stuck out here in..." He interrupted her tirade, "You will stay there until I tell you to leave." The coldness in the voice reached through the phone wires, and caused the mercenary's throat to tighten up with fear. "The secrecy of this assignment may have been compromised, anyway. I've been out of touch so long that the Guild is starting to worry about me. If they send someone out to look for me, they may find me." "I thought you took care to cover your tracks. Did you not promise me that no one would be able to follow you?" He asked, his anger snapping through his cold control. "If you have *lied* to me..." "Oh, I'm good, but so are my fellow Mercenaries. I couldn't be found by any *other* faction, but the Mercenaries have certain... Advantages." There was a pause from the other end of the line. Then he said "Send a message to your Guild telling them to stop worrying. Then you will not have to worry about anyone looking for you." "No." she said. "I've decided to end this assignment." "You have *not* completed your mission. If this is an attempt to garner more money for this assignment, it will *not* work- -we *do* have a contract." "You don't *own* me, you know. You've paid me for one assignment, and if I decide that assignment is impossible to carry out, I'll just give you back the money. Considering the money I could be making in Toronto, I'd probably be better off doing that!" "You should consider your options a little more... Carefully. You don't really want to risk retaliation from my followers, do you?" His iron control was restored, and his voice was definitely amused, but with promise of anger underneath the amusement. "Don't threaten me, you cold-hearted bloodsucker!" She heard the snarl carry over the phone lines, but she was on a roll, and could care less. She snarled back, and added, "I'm leaving as soon as the sun is up. Expect a FedEx package tomorrow with a certified check. Take that check, fold it until it's all corners, and shove it where the su... moon don't shine! Maybe you can hire another Mercenary to finish this assignment, but I doubt that anyone else would want to take it! Get one of your brainwashed minions to do it, if it's so important!" He snarled again, and she visualized red glowing eyes. He whispered "You don't really want to risk retaliation from *me*, do you?!" "Climb down off it, will you? You kill a Mercenary for legally ending a contract, and *you'll* get retaliation from the Guild. And, trust me, buddy--you don't want the trouble the Guild can give you!" The whisper was low, but clear, "That is as *nothing* to the trouble *I* can give *you*." "Oh, bite me!" she said, and slammed the phone down into its cradle. She sat for a minute, and took a couple of deep breaths. As the adrenaline started to dissipate, a little niggling unease started to grow in her. She looked down at Ophelia, and realized that the cat had heard the snarls, because her ears were laid back against her head, and all her fur was standing on end. She carefully reached toward the cat, making soothing sounds (after all, you *don't* just pick up an angry cat who still has all of her claws). Calming her enough to pick her up, Maureen started to stroke the cat's fur down. "I guess that probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, was it, Ophelia?" she asked rhetorically. A sudden thought struck her, deepening her uneasiness. Maureen frowned, thinking through the problem. She sighed deeply, and looked at the now purring cat. "I guess they don't call me Maureen the Mad for nothing, do they? Every time I lose my temper, I get in trouble. I should learn to control myself better!" Thinking over her angry exchange with the master vampire, Maureen started to chuckle. "It was worth it, though! How many times in this life do you get the chance to tell a vampire to 'Bite me!' and get away with it? At least for a while, anyway!" The cat purred louder, responding to the infectious delight in her mistress's voice, and for a while nothing was heard but the happy sounds from cat and human. ************************************************************* Missing Mercenary Mystery (3) By Maureen Wynn Maureen was muttering. She had been muttering for a while. Although she didn't realize it yet, she was going to have a whopper of a sore throat tomorrow, between the muttering and the snarling (you wouldn't *believe* what snarling on a regular basis does to the average human throat). "%$#@*&^% car rental company! No cruise control, no tape deck, and now the *radio* is on the fritz! Friggin' AM radio- -what a waste! That's the *last* time I get a car from Rent- A-Wreck--not that I had much choice, since Hertz won't rent to me anymore. Gee--crash *one* car, and they get all bent out of shape! It's not like it wasn't covered by the insurance." Absently, she rubbed at her chest, where the worst bruising had been from her New Year's Day crash, and unconsciously started her mantra, "Thank Ford for seat belts, Thank Ford for air-bags, Thank Ford for seat belts, Thank Ford for air-bags..." She spotted a parking spot on Crawford, and pulled in. She turned off the car, and just sat for a minute, resting. It had been a long, hard, drive. She'd had the spooky feeling every now and then that she was being followed, but she had finally just put that down to her ever-present paranoia (not that paranoia is necessarily a *bad* thing for a Mercenary). She actually started to nod off, when she was awoken by a yowl from the back seat. "OK, cat-face, keep your fur on. You'll be out of the carrier in just a little while." Maureen got out of the car, and took the cat-carrier (containing one very annoyed cat) from the back seat. She collected a few more things from the back seat and the trunk, and juggling it all in her arms, headed up the front stairs of the house that was serving as Merc Central. She knocked on the door, then leaned against the wall, and, closing her eyes, waited to see if anyone was home tonight. The door suddenly flew open, slamming against the inside wall with a *BANG*, and Maureen jumped back from the wall, dropping everything she was holding. Against all hope (considering that her brain really wasn't awake), she landed in a reasonably balanced cat-stance, facing... ... her fellow mercenary, Dianne. They stared at each other for a moment, in shock. Then Dianne's lips twitched, and she started to giggle, which turned into helpless laughter at the look on Maureen's face, and then the two of them were leaning on each other, laughing like mad-women, unable to stop. The angry cat-howls emanating from the up-ended cat-carrier only made them laugh harder. "Oh, lord, Maureen, the next time you knock on a door in War- time, stand in front of the peep-hole, will you?" Dianne said, still laughing. "We aren't *nervous*, are we?" Maureen responded between giggles. "Not at all, not at all! That's how I *always* open the door, didn't you know?" "Oh, sure, it's a great way to scare away the Jehovah's Witnesses." Fighting back giggles, the two started to pick up the assorted things Maureen had dropped in her zeal to defend herself. Bringing them inside, Maureen opened the carrier and tried to sooth the tiger-striped tabby inside. Ophelia was not to be soothed so easily, however, and stalked away, tail high, to find a secluded spot in which to lick down her rumpled fur. Dianne looked after the departing cat and said "What is it with Mercenaries and cats, anyway?" Maureen replied, with more emotion than sense, "Well, they all have claws, don't they? Lots in common." She started to walk toward the living room, when she was stopped short by the sound of more cat-howls--*multiple* cat howls. She closed her eyes and sighed, "Speaking of claws..." Dianne said, "You knew there were cats here already, didn't you?" "Yeah, I did. That's why I brought Ophelia along--I figured they'd be able to keep each other company while I was out on assignments." Dianne looked uncertainly toward where the yowls had diminished to low, muttered rumblings, with the occasional meow. "I don't know if they all *want* company!" "Don't worry, cat-face has never permanently disabled another cat before--she just needs to go through the standard dominance/submissive setting up exercises with them. Once the head-cat has asserted herself, they'll settle down." The two mercenaries collapsed on chairs in the living room, and grinned at each other. "So, where the he... Heck have you been, Maureen? Jen was just about to sound a Red Alert!" "It's a long story," Maureen replied, frowning slightly. "And it may not be over yet. I'll fill everyone in tomorrow, as soon as I can get back on-line," she said, opening up her lap-top. "I also need to get some advertising out on the net. Now that my big job is kaput, I need to start drumming up some more business." She looked around vaguely, and asked "Where's a phone line that I can plug this thing into?" "We have computer central set up in the library. A temporary ethernet line that connects us directly to the internet through the University. There are also several phone lines, if you need to use your lap-top for special secure communications." Maureen's eyes widened at this news, and she asked "How did we get all *that*?" "Oh, one of our Guild members called in a few favors", Dianne replied smugly. "We have better computer communications than anyone... Except maybe the cousins." she added wryly. "After all, they have LaCroix to fund any expenditures they feel necessary." At the mention of the cousins, Maureen winced slightly. Dianne noticed, and raised one eyebrow in question. "Um, just so you know... I *may* be having a few problems with the cousins, so you might want to maintain that um, special door- opening technique that you've perfected." Dianne said "Are there open hostilities, or is this more the 'dagger in the dark' kind of problem?" "Well, there actually aren't *any* hostilities yet," Maureen weaseled, "But I wouldn't be surprised if some didn't start real soon, so watch your back." She got up off the oh-so-soft couch with a groan, and said "I've been in that danged car for the last three days - I'm going to take a hot bath... With bubbles... And then collapse for a day or two. Are there any open beds? Or do I need to get my sleeping bag out of the car?" "Up the stairs, turn right, second door on the left." Dianne looked around the living room for the orange and brown striped cat, but didn't see her. "Don't you want to find your cat before you go to bed?" "Oh, Ophelia's not *my* cat--we're equals, traveling together. If she wants me, she'll find me," Maureen murmured, heading up the stairs, toward the heaven of warm bubbles that awaited her, and the peaceful slumber... Safely behind a locked door. ************************************************************* Missing Mercenary Mystery (3) by Maureen Wynn Maureen was muttering. She had been muttering for a while. Although she didn't realize it yet, she was going to have a whopper of a sore throat tomorrow, between the muttering and the snarling (you wouldn't *believe* what snarling on a regular basis does to the average human throat). "%$#@*&^% car rental company! No cruise control, no tape deck, and now the *radio* is on the fritz! Friggin' AM radio- -what a waste! That's the *last* time I get a car from Rent- A-Wreck--not that I had much choice, since Hertz won't rent to me anymore. Gee--crash *one* car, and they get all bent out of shape! It's not like it wasn't covered by the insurance." Absently, she rubbed at her chest, where the worst bruising had been from her New Year's Day crash, and unconsciously started her mantra, "Thank Ford for seat belts, Thank Ford for air-bags, Thank Ford for seat belts, Thank Ford for air-bags..." She spotted a parking spot on Crawford, and pulled in. She turned off the car, and just sat for a minute, resting. It had been a long, hard, drive. She'd had the spooky feeling every now and then that she was being followed, but she had finally just put that down to her ever-present paranoia (not that paranoia is necessarily a *bad* thing for a Mercenary). She actually started to nod off, when she was awoken by a yowl from the back seat. "OK, cat-face, keep your fur on. You'll be out of the carrier in just a little while." Maureen got out of the car, and took the cat-carrier (containing one very annoyed cat) from the back seat. She collected a few more things from the back seat and the trunk, and juggling it all in her arms, headed up the front stairs of the house that was serving as Merc Central. She knocked on the door, then leaned against the wall, and, closing her eyes, waited to see if anyone was home tonight. The door suddenly flew open, slamming against the inside wall with a *BANG*, and Maureen jumped back from the wall, dropping everything she was holding. Against all hope (considering that her brain really wasn't awake), she landed in a reasonably balanced cat-stance, facing... ... her fellow mercenary, Dianne. They stared at each other for a moment, in shock. Then Dianne's lips twitched, and she started to giggle, which turned into helpless laughter at the look on Maureen's face, and then the two of them were leaning on each other, laughing like mad-women, unable to stop. The angry cat-howls emanating from the up-ended cat-carrier only made them laugh harder. "Oh, lord, Maureen, the next time you knock on a door in War- time, stand in front of the peep-hole, will you?" Dianne said, still laughing. "We aren't *nervous*, are we?" Maureen responded between giggles. "Not at all, not at all! That's how I *always* open the door, didn't you know?" "Oh, sure, it's a great way to scare away the Jehovah's Witnesses." Fighting back giggles, the two started to pick up the assorted things Maureen had dropped in her zeal to defend herself. Bringing them inside, Maureen opened the carrier and tried to sooth the tiger-striped tabby inside. Ophelia was not to be soothed so easily, however, and stalked away, tail high, to find a secluded spot in which to lick down her rumpled fur. Dianne looked after the departing cat and said "What is it with Mercenaries and cats, anyway?" Maureen replied, with more emotion than sense, "Well, they all have claws, don't they? Lots in common." She started to walk toward the living room, when she was stopped short by the sound of more cat-howls--*multiple* cat howls. She closed her eyes and sighed, "Speaking of claws..." Dianne said, "You knew there were cats here already, didn't you?" "Yeah, I did. That's why I brought Ophelia along--I figured they'd be able to keep each other company while I was out on assignments." Dianne looked uncertainly toward where the yowls had diminished to low, muttered rumblings, with the occasional meow. "I don't know if they all *want* company!" "Don't worry, cat-face has never permanently disabled another cat before--she just needs to go through the standard dominance/submissive setting up exercises with them. Once the head-cat has asserted herself, they'll settle down." The two mercenaries collapsed on chairs in the living room, and grinned at each other. "So, where the he... Heck have you been, Maureen? Jen was just about to sound a Red Alert!" "It's a long story," Maureen replied, frowning slightly. "And it may not be over yet. I'll fill everyone in tomorrow, as soon as I can get back on-line," she said, opening up her lap-top. "I also need to get some advertising out on the net. Now that my big job is kaput, I need to start drumming up some more business." She looked around vaguely, and asked "Where's a phone line that I can plug this thing into?" "We have computer central set up in the library. A temporary ethernet line that connects us directly to the internet through the University. There are also several phone lines, if you need to use your lap-top for special secure communications." Maureen's eyes widened at this news, and she asked "How did we get all *that*?" "Oh, one of our Guild members called in a few favors", Dianne replied smugly. "We have better computer communications than anyone... Except maybe the cousins." she added wryly. "After all, they have LaCroix to fund any expenditures they feel necessary." At the mention of the cousins, Maureen winced slightly. Dianne noticed, and raised one eyebrow in question. "Um, just so you know... I *may* be having a few problems with the cousins, so you might want to maintain that um, special door- opening technique that you've perfected." Dianne said "Are there open hostilities, or is this more the 'dagger in the dark' kind of problem?" "Well, there actually aren't *any* hostilities yet," Maureen weaseled, "But I wouldn't be surprised if some didn't start real soon, so watch your back." She got up off the oh-so-soft couch with a groan, and said "I've been in that danged car for the last three days - I'm going to take a hot bath... With bubbles... And then collapse for a day or two. Are there any open beds? Or do I need to get my sleeping bag out of the car?" "Up the stairs, turn right, second door on the left." Dianne looked around the living room for the orange and brown striped cat, but didn't see her. "Don't you want to find your cat before you go to bed?" "Oh, Ophelia's not *my* cat--we're equals, traveling together. If she wants me, she'll find me," Maureen murmured, heading up the stairs, toward the heaven of warm bubbles that awaited her, and the peaceful slumber... Safely behind a locked door. ************************************************************* A Larger Rock and a Harder Place by Sarah Welsh Sarah had never thought it would come to this. The idea of a War had sounded like such fun. Sure, she had no idea what she was doing, but when did she ever? LaCroix' visit had been a little spooky but exciting as well. And when she had received Jen's reply to her e-mail message, the prospect of a trip to Toronto had only made her more gung-ho about the whole adventure. She had arrived earlier that day and intended to get in touch with Jen as soon as possible, expecting that she could hang out with her Mercenary friend until she had some idea what to do with herself for the rest of the war. She hadn't expected that Jen would be "getting in touch" with her. Even when she noticed that Jen and her stolen-carload were headed for Hamilton, she hadn't suspected that they were on their way to attack Dawn Steele's apartment. She could kick herself for not realizing it. But she had never expected that she and her friend would end up on opposite sides in this War. Because it was Dawn Steele who had provided her FK tapes and to whom she had sworn her service. Sarah crouched farther back in her hiding place. She had gotten to the apartment a few hours before the Cousins and their Mercenaries had. She hadn't had to break in, of course; Dawn had mailed her the key. And she knew she should be doing something to stop the others from breaking in. But now that it came down to actual warfare, Sarah found out something about herself: she was a coward. She was badly outnumbered and didn't know what to do. If it came to the point, she wondered whether Jennifer would actually work against her. *A Mercenary in wartime?* she asked herself. *In a choice between personal friendship and the payment of the Cousins? Please. You'd be toast, Sarah.* Well, she didn't know for sure what they were up to yet. Maybe she could just stay hidden while they were there and clean up the mess later. Her instructions from Dawn were fairly clear. The Die-Hard had suspected that her apartment might be a target. Some things were allowed, and some... Well... She hoped it wouldn't come to that. As the intruders stepped inside, she asked herself, *What have you gotten yourself into, Sarah?* ************************************************************* Simple Tasks by Cousin Candice and Stefani Osborne Candice walked into the apartment and was shocked. *No One's* apartment should be this clean. They each scanned the seemingly spotless apartment with their flashlights, looking for the light switches. "Found em!" said James almost too cheerfully and she flipped on the lights. Everyone winced when the bright bulbs were turned on, after all, their eyes had just adjusted to the minimal light. Colleen growled in James' direction, who promptly blew her a kiss, saying "Just doin' my job, oh Cousin of mine." Before any more sparks could fly Candice started rolling off orders. "Alrighty then ladies. James--go see what you can find in the kitchen. Rummage through the garbage if you have to. I've got this nasty little feeling that something's gonna turn up where we least expect it. Colleen--go help James." Colleen glared at her as if to say 'I can't believe you're making me filter someone's garbage.' Before she could protest any further, Candice walked away, taking Steff by the elbow and sitting her down in front of Dawn's computer. "You know what to do. I want IN on her files. She knows something about this case. Dawn wouldn't leave the Die-Hards to flounder about without her unless she *did* know something. Hack it." Steff nodded and went to work. Candice walked over to the table where Jen was currently moping. There was a stack of neatly piled papers and envelopes on the far end. "Hmm... Let's go through these, shall we?" "What, go through Dawn's mail? How boring." "Well, you never know..." said Candice as she flipped through the pile haphazardly tossing the junk mail aside. "Take a look--I'm gonna go see how James and Caile are doing." Candice returned to Steff's side and peered over her shoulder watching intently. "Do you really think you can get into Dawn's files, Steff?" she said anxiously. Steff smiled "Of course ye of little faith," knowing the poor thing ahd no idea how easy breaking intoa system would be. Steff turned on the computer. The system asked for a prompt-- a typical program. Steff then pulled Jen's laptop from it's case. She would have used her own, but it was an archaic Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 100--while 15 years old, Steff was still attached to it. Dawn had a full keyboard, 32K of static memory (which meant she couldn't turn it off in mid-sentence without saving), and she didn't have one of those annoying flip-up screens. Unfortunately, there were several programs she couldn't run. she thought to herself. Steff plugged in a serial cable into Jen's computer (taken from the black duffle), and the other end into Dawn's. Then, she inserted a disk into the laptop and typed the start command. Fifty seconds later, she had the password. They were in. "Hey Candi, I did it." Steff grinned at her employer. "What? Already?" Candice was dumbfounded. Of course, most people didn't realize how incredible simple it was to decipher a password. If they knew, they'd be appalled. All the more reason to keep it a well-kept secret. "Yep. What do you want to look at?" Steff rose and offered Candi the chair." Have at it. If you run into problems, let me know." Steff sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette, taking a book from her backpack, deciding this could take a while. Jen sighed reluctantly and started on her task, cursing herself for ever taking this damned job. As she sorted through the junk and bills, she came across two _very different_ things. One was a hand written letter, and the other was a tax return. At the same time, Caile and James emerged from the kitchen bearing the wrappers from a popular souvlaki deli located in the heart of Toronto and a small blue book. Candice, oblivious to the goings-on about her called up the LaCeart Tax program in Dawn's account, beginning her search for information. And then someone sneezed in another room. *** Could that be... Sarah? ************************************************************* This Is Too Easy by darkangel "Do you really think you can get into Dawn's files, Steff?" Candice looked anxious. I smiled. "Of course, ye of little faith." Poor thing had no idea how easy this would be. I turned on the computer. The system asked for a password before you could get to a prompt- -a typical program. I pulled Jen's laptop from its case. I would use mine, but it was an archaic Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 100 - while fifteen years old, I loved the thing. Dave had a full keyboard, 32K of static memory (which meant I could turn it off in mid- sentence without saving), and he didn't have one of those annoying flip-up screens. Unfortunately, there were several programs he couldn't run. Poor baby. I plugged a serial cable into Jen's computer, and the other end into Dawn's. Then I inserted a disk into the laptop and typed the start command. Fifty seconds later, I had her password. I was in. "Hey, Candi, I did it." I grinned. "What? Already?" She was dumbfounded. Of course, most people didn't realize how incredibly simple it was to decipher a password. If they knew, they'd be appalled. All the more reason to keep it a well-kept secret. "Yep. What do you want to look at?" I stood and offered her the chair. "Have at it. If you run into problems, let me know." I sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette, and took a book from my backpack. This could be a while. ************************************************************* The Better Part of Valor by Sarah Welsh Sarah once again thanked God that she had brought her ever- useful tape-recording of a sneeze with her. She had set it up in Dawn's closet when she first arrived, part of her contingency plan if she ever needed a distraction. She just hadn't expected to need it so soon. It worked like a charm, though. While the Cousins and Mercs ran back to find whomever was hiding in the bedroom, Sarah had her chance. According to Dawn's instructions, there was only one thing in her apartment that desperately needed to be protected against any intruders at all costs. She scooped up that one item and slipped out the front door. Anything else could be set right later. And it would be. But she had learned a valuable lesson: she couldn't do it by herself. Down the road in her motel room, Sarah flipped on her laptop and quickly telnetted to her college roommate's account. Time for another message to Jen. She knew that the Cousins would be able to identify the tape recorder as hers; her fingerprints were all over it, for one thing. LaCroix would not be pleased. Passive disaffiliation was one thing; actively working against the Cousins was something else entirely. If she was on her own, the word she was looking for would be "suicide." If, however, she took Jen up on her offer... ------------------------------------------------------------- From : jennifer lynn fields To : lackeyj@indiana.edu CC : Attachment: Subject : sign me up Jen- It's me, Sarah. You were saying something about a Merc charter? Forward me a copy of it, girl. I'm signing up. Sarah ------------------------------------------------------------- She hit ^X to send and sat back to wait for Jen to check her e-mail again. There were certain times and situations when independence was overrated. ************************************************************* One Long Night, er, Day by Tara LJC O'Shea Miklos hung up the phone, and met Janette's eyes from across the bar. "What has our little corbie gotten herself into now?" "Someone framed her." "What a novel idea. How?" "Her airline tickets and hotel receipts were stolen." "Well, then you'd best go talk to Aristotle, Larry Merlin is... Busy. And we can't let one of our own go to jail, now can we?" * * * Tara sank onto her bed, noticing absently that her hands were shaking. "Ms. Kaye, I presume?" Nat got up and walked towards the row of bars that separated them. She remembered her now, not as the lab coated intern, but a hazy memory of a girl in a black dress, quietly smoking in a bar in New York, watching everything. Her hair had been brown then, but the eyes, the face, was the same. "My name's Tara." "I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but I'm not entirely sure what the proper greeting is to the person who framed you and had you thrown in jail." "I never meant it to go that far. It wouldn't have gotten that far, but someone else decided framing you was a good idea, and did a much better job of it than I had." Tara was earnest, she really did want Nat to believe her, not just because it was the truth, but because she really did like the Doctor. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" "Doctor, I swear it was nothing personal. I needed a diversion, something to draw suspicion away from Janette, give us time to try and find out who wanted her framed for Stonetree's murder." "And you decided I made a good diversion?" "Well, you did! No one would ever believe you killed him, you had no motive." "Someone made sure I did." "It wasn't me. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it's the truth." "So, what are you in for?" "Det. Cross thought a night, pardon me, day, in jail might loosen my tongue." "And he excepts you to say... What?" "That I killed Joe." "Did you?" "No!" Tara snapped. "I didn't get here until the body had been found, Susan told me about it, I never even saw him, I'd never even met him..." "Then they can't hold you." "Sure they can, all my proof conveniently disappeared." "You have no motive, either." "I think someone is going to make sure I do, that's what scares me. I like being two steps ahead of everyone, and suddenly, I'm the one out of the loop." * * * "Oh, this is not good," Aristotle murmured, tapping away furiously. Miklos leaned against the table, arms crossed. "What?" "Someone has done a very nice job of making it look like the bossy little--" Careful." "--girl arrived the day before the murder. Here, look at this," he pointed to the screen, "she few stand-by, someone broke into the airline computers and changed her dates." "Can you change them back?" "Of course," Aristotle scoffed, and began tapping away again. "It's difficult, security is tight, but no one can keep me out if I want to get in." "You amaze me." "I'm quite amazing," he sent the job to the printer, and handed the printout to the bartender. "There you are, nice and official looking. I'll print her out a new ticket, and have it delivered to the club. We wouldn't want her to be stranded here, now would we?" * * * Tara balled up her sweater to use as a pillow, and curled up in a ball on the less than welcoming bed. She had slept for about eight hours, she wasn't sure, they had taken her watch. In any case, the last four hours had been pretty uneventful, except that she knew with each passing moment that she must be getting closer to sunset. "I'd sell my soul for a cigarette right about now." "Really?" A voice drawled from the hallway, and LaCroix stepped into sight. ************************************************************* Ravenette With A Mission by Susan M. Garrett It had been a late night. A late night. Or an early morning. Now that Janette was more or less in the clear, Susan had returned to her hotel, determined not to get involved any further in this murder mystery. She'd warned Janette, kept an eye on Scottie and Margaret as long as possible... And she'd even gotten to throw a drink in Nick's face. It was time to go back to the conference and forget that she'd ever heard of vampires. She wasn't, unfortunately, able to forget what a ringing phone could do to a person in a sound sleep. After she'd peeled herself off the ceiling and had fallen back to the floor, Susan managed to knock the phone out of the cradle and muttered a "Mmmrrff," into what might have been the correct end of the receiver. "Tara's being held by the police." Still half-tangled in blankets, her eyes closed, Susan recognized the voice as Janette. "What time is it?" There'd been a brief hesitation as Janette had checked her bearings. "Before--oh--um--noon." "Call me after four," said Susan, then blindly tried to put the phone back into the cradle. "Don't you --" . Susan crawled back into the bed, her eyes half-open by this point, then placed her hand over the phone receiver. As she expected, the phone rang almost immediately. She picked it up, but Janette had already begun talking. "--Going to pretend that didn't happen. Someone has gone to quite an effort to prove that Tara murdered this police captain--" "Couldn't have," yawned Susan, still wrapped in blankets. "Tara didn't arrive until after Stonetree was dead. I saw her." She half-opened her eyes again and noticed that someone had left a crack in the drapes. irresponsible. If there had been a vampire asleep, they would have been toast-- "--You'll have to speak with Nicola and his friends. Between your statement and the papers Aristotle has created, there should be--are you to me?" "Mmmmrrrfff," Susan managed again, closing her eyes and pulling the covers over her head. She started to drift off, but the words 'public transportation' made her shoot straight up in bed. "What?" "God only knows where Alma's parked my car, Miklos' Volvo is in the shop--" "Serves him right for buying a Volvo," grumbled Susan. "And his DeLorean--" "He has a DeLorean?" she asked, in horrified surprise. "Well, yes." Janette's voice lowered conspiratorially. "But you mustn't say anything--he's very sensitive it." "I can imagine." Yawning again, Susan leaned over and picked up her eyeglasses from the night table, bits and pieces of Janette's explanation fitting into place. "So all I have to do is a little fetch and carry--get the papers from Aristotle and Miklos, drop them off at the station, have a chat with the people in charge, and take Tara out of there, right?" "You been listening," noted Janette, somewhat surprised. "Can this wait until I've had some sleep?" "No." "I was afraid you were going to say that." Susan stared across the room, which was still somewhat fuzzy, even though she was wearing her eyeglasses. "You know what Tara's going to say when she finds out we're taking the bus back?" By then the line was dead. With a sigh, Susan hung up the phone and crashed back down on the bed. **************** With a flick of her fingers, Susan spread the documents out on the table of the interrogation room and stared up at a weary Detective Schanke and an annoyed Captain Cohen. "So you see--" she finished, "Tara have killed Captain Stonetree." Cohen picked up the plane tickets and looked at then suspiciously. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to 'frame' your friend. Fake tickets, tampering with reservations--" Schanke picked up the rest of the papers and met the Captain's eyes. "Nothing says these are the real McCoy, either." "But I am," promised Susan. She crossed her heart and held up three fingers on her right hand. "Scout's honor." Palms flat on the table, Schanke loomed over her. "You could be lying. What's your part in all this?" "An innocent tourist--" "Who happens to be staying in the room adjacent to the scene of a murder? Who happens to be friendly with the two witnesses who discover the body? And--hey--you were at the club when we picked up Janette for questioning." He turned toward Cohen. "She threw a drink in Nick's face." "Did she?" asked Cohen, an eyebrow raised slightly. "He deserved it." Susan blinked. "You aren't going to arrest me for that, are you?" "As far as I know, it's not even a misdemeanor, unless it comes under the category of 'interfering with an on-going police investigation.'" Before Cohen could pursue matter any further, Susan rose from her seat at the table. "Well, you have my hotel room number and my information. If you could get Tara out of the clink and up here, I'll stop bothering you and leave you guys to your investigation. Unless--" She paused, eyeing each of them in turn. "Unless you plan to Tara...?" Again, Schanke and Cohen exchanged glances, then Cohen gave an exasperated sigh. "Tell them to bring her up, Schanke. And warn her--" she looked back at Susan, "warn them not to leave town until we tell them they're free to do so. We may have more questions." Susan let out a breath as she watched Cohen leave. So much for making her flight home... Then Schanke turned toward her. "We'll have your friend up here in a few minutes. The nice officer at the door will keep you company in here until your friend arrives. Wouldn't want you roaming around the station. Lots of dangerous and savory characters." A glance at the female officer at the door and another at Schanke, and Susan decided to return to her seat. She didn't protested as Schanke gathered up all of Aristotle's lovely forgeries--and they nice--and exited. With a sigh, she leaned her chair back against the wall and stared at the mirrored glass opposite, knowing that there was a room beyond, where someone could watch the interrogation unseen. Not that it mattered. She'd told the truth... Or as much as she could. It had been easy, really. And now came the worse part. How on Earth was she going to tell Tara that she'd left most of her spare change at home and that they'd have to take the subway--or a bus--back to the Raven. After another sigh, she decided that it just wasn't worth thinking about. ************************************************************* Ev'rything I've Got... by Tara LJC O'Shea Tara balled up her sweater to use as a pillow, and curled up in a ball on the less than welcoming bed. She had slept for about eight hours, she wasn't sure, they had taken her watch. In any case, the last four hours had been pretty uneventful, except that she knew with each passing moment that she must be getting closer to sunset. "I'd sell my soul for a cigarette right about now." "Really?" A voice drawled from the hallway, and LaCroix stepped into sight. * * * LJC stood in the corner of the interrogation room, softly singing. "I have eyes for you, to give you dirty looks. I have words that do not come from children's books. There's a trick with a knife that I'm learning to do... And ev'rything I've got belongs to you..." "Do continue. I am so fond of music," LaCroix stepped inside the room view, and the song died in her throat. A uniform followed, a glazed look on his face, and stood, motionless and unseeing, against the wall. "You're in early. Are we still playing at being a Detective? I suppose you've come to see if my time in jail has made me more talkative." "You waste your time, your potential, following Janette." "I do not think of it so much as following as like- mindedness." She lifted her chin a fraction. "Do you always hold yourself in such high regard?" LaCroix's eyebrow climbed as she attempted to stare him down, and a fierce light came into her eye. "Yes. I have a tremendous ego. You know that I'll support your Nicholas, if it pleases me. I'll support you, if it pleases me. And I will play both of you against each other, if it suits me." "Ah, yes. You are the one who preaches the benefits of fence sitting, I remember you well now." "Should I be flattered that you remember me?" "Are you?" "A bit." She conceded that much, almost flippant, and despite himself, LaCroix chuckled, reaching out and tracing her jaw. Her throat went dry. "What a delightful mortal you are." "I think that if you took the time, you'd find that we are all delightful in our own little mortal ways. As a matter of fact, I think you do. Why else have your Cousins? Why else allow us to play our little war-games?" "You're quite right. I allow it, for now, because it amuses me." "I am not your jester, LaCroix, put here for your amusement." Her dark eyes burned, and he released her jaw. "Aren't you?" "I harbour no grand illusions that you actually think about me when I'm not here in front of you. We have met, what, three times? Should I be grateful then, *dear Oncle*, that you choose to let my existence continue out of your inexhaustible benevolence?" "My benevolence has limits. Do not test them." His blue eyes flashed amber. "Is that a warning?" "Merely a suggestion, take it as you will. You are playing with fire, little girl." "I've always liked to watch things burn." She repeated the words she had uttered to Janette oh so long ago, without thinking, then grew silent. "You do pay close attention, don't you." "I must do something with eternity. I am curious, if I was here to kill you now, here, what makes you think the world would miss your pretty words?" Something in his tone, not just the mocking, not just the arrogance, but something else, something that said more about his opinion of the world and her place in it, made her temper bristle, and without thinking, and most likely not particularly wisely, she lashed out. "Shall I put words in your mouth, shall I? After all, that is what I do, isn't it. Let's see... Oh, here's a good one. 'What care I for human hearts? For mortal tears? Mortal death, and decay?' Yes, I like that, just the right kind of elevated, literate over the top line, I can see it. Ah! But you see, dear *Oncle* that won't work any more. You see, we know about Fleur, and it made us feel ever so... Sympathetic and sorry for you! Knowing that you could feel love for a *mere mortal* such as us has softened our attitudes considerably. Despite what I am sure you are thinking, I'm not mocking your love, no need to get all sharp toothed and angry with me. I believe that you believe it was love, as did Fleur, and so it was as real for you as it would have been for me. What I take umbrage at is your lying to yourself for 700 years, and trying to destroy Nicholas and Natalie rather than face the truth. I never thought of you as a coward until now." One second he was staring at their reflections in the 2-way glass, seemingly only half listening to her tirade, the next one of his cold hands had closed around her throat, and she gasped, licking her lips as she tried to draw breath. The uniformed thrall continued to stare blankly ahead, and she could expect no help from that quarter, obviously. But he did not crush her throat. "Are you afraid?" he whispered in her ear, his breath caressing her cheek. "Of course I am, I'd be a fool not to." He could feel her words vibrating against his hand, her pulse beating wildly beneath his palm. "You can kill me, without very much effort on your part, may I add. But what would that bring you? A moment of pleasure, and then... Then nothing. I will be dead, you will still be alive, and nothing will have changed." Despite her precarious position, she had not moved, her eyes locked with his and unwavering. It was more bravado than anything, but it was all she had to use against him. It was all he ever allowed her. "Perhaps that moment of pleasure would be worth it." "Perhaps." She continued not to resist, not to give him an inch, and this pleased him, despite the fact that he usually abhorred defiance from her kind, since it could never be backed up by actions. LaCroix laughed. It was a chilling sound. He removed his hand, and Tara's shoulders slumped as she touched her throat, shivering. She recovered, her eyes continuing to shine with fury, but she would do nothing foolish, not tonight. "You're so full of venom, I'd wager you saved all this up, just waiting for this night." "Perhaps. I may not have eternity, I must take my small pleasures when I can. Wars bring out the very worst in me." "Are you quite finished with my character assassination?" "Almost, I just have one last thing saved up, do let me say it, I've waited so long." "Be my guest." "I was under the impression there was no such thing as conditional love, LaCroix. No 'only if you do as I say, I will love, and if you do not do what I saw, I shall no longer love you' You love as you love, regardless of what your love does." "Have you ever been in love?" "No," she admitted freely. "Then hold your tongue." "Your wish is my command." She bowed, and he chuckled. "Sometimes I think I am a fool," she reflected, watching him, but he did not seem to hear her. Or at least did not mark her, his mind was on other things than whether or not she was a fool. "Join me." He clasped his hands behind his back and faced her, but it was not a command, though it was more than a request. LaCroix did not ask, he demanded. "What? Defect? I can't see myself as one of your pets." Tara made a face at the thought. Mortal or no, she was no one's pet. "You do them an injustice," LaCroix countered. "Do I? Karin and Jennise don't know me from Eve, we interacted almost not at all in the past, so perhaps I do. Yet you know John and I have had our differences. Tuna is so... Inelegant." "Nevertheless, he has served me well." "There's that word again. Serve." She began to pace. "What would you ask of me?" "Only to lend the cousins the use of your devious mind for the duration of this pitched battle." "'Neither a borrower nor a lender be.' If I lent it, would I get it back again?" "You have my word." "That and a quarter will buy me a gum ball," she snapped, and one hand curled into a fist. "Don't make me question the value of your word. It might make you angry, and make me dead." "Think on it." "Oh I will, believe me. In wartime we all seem to suffer from illusions of grandeur, but I hardly see myself as your favorite. What if my answer doesn't please you?" "Then... Then we shall see." LaCroix held out his open hands, and then dropped them as she continued to eye him warily. Then she took a deep breath, and all tension vanished from her form, a catlike trace of a smile crossing her face as she regarding him from beneath her lashes, shaking her auburn hair out of her eyes. "You could kill me. You could destroy me, and no matter what I could imagine, I know it would be a thousand times worse." She stated it as the fact it was, nothing more, nothing less, and then the smile returned. "It's not much fun when they don't fight back, is it?" "No," LaCroix admitted, but then a sparkle came into his blue eyes. "But I think you've still quite a bit of fight left in you." He signaled to the guard, who stepped forward and unlocked the door. Tara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if drowning out the sight could change where she was, what had happened to her. On the table in front of her was a crumpled packet of cigarettes, and matches. A gift, she supposed. She lit up and watched the smoke curl towards the ceiling. Her hand was shaking. She looked up as the door opened, and Det. Schanke entered. "Come to arrest me, Detective?" "Nope, to give you your walking papers, your friend is outside." "Huh?" "Your story checked out, you're free to go." "Tell me, does that IA guy know this?" "Not yet, why are you askin'?" "No reason." Tara dropped the cig to the floor and ground it out with her heel, leaving a black smudge on the linoleum. Schanke frowned, but didn't say anything, she knew however long since he'd quit, he was still wishing he could have one too. * * * Susan looked up as Schanke lead Tara out of an adjoining interrogation room. Despite getting some well-deserved sleep, her face was still a bit pasty, the skin around her eyes tight, and she had dark smudges beneath her eyes. "Sweetie, you look like shit," Susan hugged her, and didn't even say anything about the lingering smell of cigarette smoke in her clothes and hair. They started down the hallway to the main entrance, past pimps, pushers, ladies of the evening and tired cops. "You look like you could have used a bit more sleep yourself. Cab waiting downstairs?" "Not exactly." "What exactly do you mean, 'not exactly?'" Tara looked at her warily, and Susan put an arm around her. "Think of it as an adventure..." *************************************************************