You Should Have Seen His Face! by Cousin Candice The four, yes four, women walked into the Royal Constellation's lobby and promptly dumped their traveling bags on the nearest bellhop's cart. They walked over to the front desk to pick up the keys to the suite they'd arranged for two days ago when they'd first heard about the murder. "I know I should have left the Caddy after I left it in Nick's usual parking space, but I just couldn't help myself!" and Jen started laughing all over again. She had "volunteered" to return the Caddy. Jen had stayed behind when, after being tipped off by a pencil pusher (i.e. James in a pilfered uniform) that his car was back at the precinct and Nick had come running out into the parking lot to see if it was, in fact, there. Candice had left one last black box with a purple bow in the trunk of the car. When Nick had inspected the outside of the car, making sure there was no damage to the body of the car, he made a search of the inside. "He looked so... Brick-like--you know absolutely without a *clue* when he popped the trunk and pulled out the box! Oh, but when he pulled the Armor All(tm) out of the box... You should have seen his face!! It was _priceless_." "You know, I think the look on Steff's face must have matched the one on Nick's when James greeted us at the side door of the forensics' lab," Candice pitched in. "James, you never did tell us how you managed to get the uniform, *or* how you got access into forensics equipment. So do tell." Steff turned to James, expecting an answer as they waited for the elevator, trying not to feel guilty for putting the goldfish in the thermos she now carried. "Well, it was all part of what Uncle wanted Caile to do. The precinct was so swamped with people, that no one would notice if two of the lab technicians were 'replaced.' So while Caile ransacked the metro-police files for more information on the ex-captain of the hour, I waited for you guys to show up. Simple as that." The elevator arrived and they piled in, pushing the button for the appropriate floor. "So did she find anything?" Jen asked. "Well, no. As she searched the database, the information on him changed, and from what you told me you guys found, it's nothing useful or in keeping with what Dawn knew, or supposedly knew." Candice snickered and said "So someone else is one up on the cops," "At least we know it's not Sarah Welsh. She was with us." The bellhop held the door open for them as they exited the elevator and headed down the hall to their suite. Steff whistled appreciatively when they opened the double doors to the cream and rose colored decor of the main room of the suite. There were two rather comfortable looking couches and some cushy chairs. Off to the left was the bedroom with the adjoining bathroom. The bellhop set their bags next to the couches and told them if they needed it, there was a folding cot in the closet. "Is there anything going on later this evening in the hotel?" "There's Kareoke night in the Tiki bar a little later on in the evening, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary." Candice thanked him and handed the guy a $10. Hey, it was Uncle who was paying--why not be generous? "Rest up girls," Candice said with a grin, "for tonight, we celebrate." ************************************************************* Wha? Who me? Why? (Why not?) by Croaker *Why am I in Toronto?* was the first thought that fizzled through the youth's mind as fingers tapped away at the laptop's keyboard. *And why am I sitting here in the Raven?* "Oh, I don't know..." came a rather surprising voice. "Perhaps it's the ambiance?" "That's what they all say, isn't it? Especially the Ravenettes." "Of course. But what is it you do all night with that toy, hm?" "Oh, lurk on a dozen or so mailing lists, especially the FK stuff - why else would I be here, hm? And MUSH a lot." A few minutes' discussion established that the second speaker had no idea what MUSHing was, and an explanation ensued. "Virtual improvisational acting" was the final summary of it all, along with description of the (many) worlds the typist was currently playing in. "It's fun... And it keeps me out of these wars of yours." "Oui, so it would. And yet here you are..." "That's what Lurkers do. Lurk. Sometimes we just have to speak up, make ourselves heard. Besides, they're very similar in principle." "But much more... Interactive, non?" "Oh yes. And much, much more detailed. But I must sound like some sort of silly propagandist, no?" "Only a little. Would you like a drink?" "Just Pepsi, thanks. I almost never drink alcohol, and the House Special... Isn't really to my taste. Yet. We'll see." "So we will, young one. So we will." "So, have you figured out why I'm here yet?" "You answered it yourself, non? 'Why not?'" The no-longer-lurking Lurker thought for a moment, and nodded. "Good point. Hey, isn't that..." but the other was gone. ************************************************************* Paper Chase (1) by Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli and Tami La Frank "Well would you look at that," Jasmine said as she surveyed the parking lot at the precinct. Tami followed her gaze and watched as a mint-green Cadillac pulled in to the parking lot. "Wait a minute? Who's that driving Nick's caddy?" "It looks like a woman. Not someone I know." "Well, she's obviously had a good time. Looks how she's smiling." Tami made a face. "Probably relieved to be out of the car. I love the classic look, but the color is atrocious. And besides, that kind of caddy drives like a warthog on wheels." Jasmine chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose that VW of yours is any better?" "Don't mock my VW. The color and pinstriping are cool. Besides, I'd how many cars can do a wheelie, hmmm?" "And you complain about my driving?" As they continued watching the woman, they noticed that she wasn't leaving the vicinity. Instead she had taken up residence on a nearby bench, trying for casualness, but obviously waiting for someone or something. It wasn't fifteen minutes later that a rather relieved looking detective appeared at the entrance to the precinct and hurried across the lot to his car. "You'd think it was his lover," Tami remarked as they watched him carefully inspect the outside of the car, obviously looking for any damage. "Look at how he caresses the paint." "If he spent as much time on a woman as he does caressing that car, maybe he'd have a real love life. Wait," Jasmine paused, "what's he opening the trunk for?" "Looking for stowaways?" supplied Tami questioningly. "Odd, though. I'd be climbing into the car and checking to see if anyone had moved the seat around. It's a pain in the butt to adjust those bench seats." "Our mystery woman seems to paying attention to him now." Jasmine gestured with a nod of her head. "Look how she's trying to see what he's doing." Indeed, the woman was trying very hard not to fall off the bench she was occupying as she craned her neck to see past the lid of the trunk. "He's got something. Look." Tami pointed toward the caddy again. Nick had closed the lid and was opening a small black box. The two of them nearly laughed out loud when they saw the look on Nick's face as he lifted out a bottle of Armor All. "Oh, that's rich. Whoever did that has a true sense of humor." Tami tried valiantly, but failed to control her chuckles. "I really wish I had thought that one up." Jasmine muttered an oath. "Looks like our mystery woman has flown. We should have been paying better attention." She looked at her watch and then back up at the caddy. "What do you say we wait about five minutes after Nick gets back inside and then do a little recon, like good little investigators? Besides, I know your dying to check the car out more closely." She snorted. "You and your old cars!" "Yep. Me and my old cars." repeated Tami, gleefully rubbing her hands together at the thought of poking around not only a well-maintained classic caddy, but Nick's car to boot. she thought. ************************************************************* Paper Chase (2) by Tami LaFrank Mercenary for Janette Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli, Ravenette Tami kept glancing impatiently at her watch, waiting for Jasmine to signal an all-clear. She really wanted to take a look inside Nick's car. , she mused. If he was anything like her husband, she'd probably find a dirty t-shirt under the seat. she corrected with a mental smirk. A lull in activity after the change of watch at the precinct allowed the two women to carefully make there way to the caddy. With the top still down, it was easy to get inside. "Try not to look obvious," whispered Jasmine. She snickered. "And try not to drool. It'd be a shame to ruin that *fine* upholstery." Tami snorted. she thought and ran a hand over over the seat on the driver's side of the car. Jasmine's voice cut into her revery. "Leave a door a bit open, just in case," came Jasmine's careful whisper from the back seat. "He's never used these seatbelts. Can you believe it?" Then a short chuckle. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about finding half chewed gummi bears or stale french fries." "You got that right. Now, what are we looking for?" "Well, I'd be satisfied with just about anything that would help the Ravenette's right now." "Could you be more specific?" "Nope." "Great," she replied in frustration. There was an audible click from the front seat. "Well, there's absolutely nothing in this glove box," whispered Tami, dismayed. "You'd think he'd at least have a pen or some tissues or something. Or maybe parking tickets like the rest of us." Tami paused. "'Cept for you maybe. You'd horde speeding tickets." "For you're information I have *never* received a speeding ticket. I always seem to know when there's a cop getting ready to gun me with the radar detector." Tami's quiet sarcasm floated over the seat. "Well that makes me feel *so* much safer now." She smiled to herself. The friendly bickering about Jasmine's driving habits had become regular practice between the two. "Are you implying--" Jasmine started to protest and then stopped suddenly. "What?" "There's something under this seat." The rustle of plastic followed, but a sound not that far from the car attracted Tami's attention. "I think we're going to have company in a few seconds. Grab whatever it is and let's get out of here." Two off-duty officers, obviously leaving late from work, were walking in the general direction of the caddy. "Okay we're out of here," said Jasmine clutching a slightly lumpy bag bearing the name of an unfamiliar grocery store. "Go a few cars down until you reach that minivan. Then carefully pop up, act casual, and head for the truck." The two slipped out of the car and headed in the general direction of the alley from which they'd witnessed the return of the caddy. When they reached the truck, and were certain they weren't being followed, Tami remembered the bag. "You stole some one's lunch and I don't think it's Nick's," she said pointing to the logo on the bag. "Let's see what's inside." Jasmine had opened the back slightly. It was the hearty laughter that clued Tami into a really good find. "You're not going to believe this," said Jasmine. "Believe what?" "Oh, this is really good. Really good." Jasmine was wiping the tears from her eyes as she handed Tami a small, brown, furry lump. "It's a stuffed animal," said Tami curiously. "And it's wearing a t-shirt." "It's gets better. Read the bracelet." Her laughter had quieted into controllable chuckles, but resumed when Tami read the tag out loud. "Hi. My name is Geraint. If found, please return to Cousin Caile." Tami doubled over laughing. "Oh this is just rich. I can't wait to tell someone about this." Tears were rolling down her face. "Well, you may just get your chance," replied Jasmine between hiccups. "Look who's walking out of the precinct." She nodded toward the building. Tara and Susan were just walking towards the sidewalk. Starting the truck and pulling out into the street, Jasmine said "Ask them if they need a ride." ************************************************************* Aftermath by Tara LJC O'Shea The sky was a rich blue, the kind you get just after the sun sets, before the black of night. Tara stared up at it as she and Susan headed down the steps of the station to the sidewalk. "I hate getting the bus in the dark," Tara muttered. "Remind me to get a driver's license one of these days." "Hey, Tara?" "Yeah?" "Get a driver's license one of these days." "Gee thanks." Shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, Tara chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Um, Susan? I did something really stupid today." "All by yourself?" "No. With, you know, Himself." "Big bad Uncle? What did you do?" Susan craned her neck, looking for the bus. Standing out here, what with all that had gone on, made her nervous. "I chewed him out." Tara calmly lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. "You did WHAT?" Susan's head snapped around and she snatched the cig from Tara's hand, grinding it out with her shoe. "He took me up to an interrogation room to make me a proposition." "He propositioned you?" "No. He wants me to defect." Tara purposefully removed another cig from the crumpled pack, and flicked the lighter a few times until a flame appeared. "And?" "And I said I'd think about it." Susan chewed on this for a long moment, and finally Tara blurted out "Well, what the hell was I gonna say?" "Was this before or after you chewed him out?" "After. Sort of." Tara blew a plume of smoke over their heads. Susan waited. "He asked me to lend him my devious mind for the duration, and I asked if I would get it back again. He gave me his word, and I said 'that and a quarter will buy me a gum ball.'" "You really have no instinct for self-preservation, do you?" "I was tired, and I was angry." "It's a great wonder to me that you've survived this long." There was no sign of the bus, but a truck pulled up, the passenger side window rolled down. "Want a ride?" Tami smiled at them, and Susan could see Jasmine at the wheel. They got in, and the forest green Bronco pulled away from the curb, into traffic. "Where to?" "The hotel, I think we could all use some rest--" Susan began, but Tara cut her off. "No. The Raven. I want to find out who did this to me, who is trying to frame me." ************************************************************* Getting Our Bear-ings (1) by Tami LaFrank for Janette Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli Tami and Jasmine were sitting quietly in their booth at the Raven taking in the conversation between Tara and Susan. "What do you think Jasmine?" Tami queried. "Do you think LaCroix set this all up? I don't think Nick would have tried to implicate Janette much less kill Captain Stonetree. It's just not his style." A commotion at the entrance quickly derailed their conversation. An unidentified woman had burst into the bar and with little warning was now threatening to stake Miklos. While defending himself would have been a simple thing, Miklos obviously didn't have it in his heart to hurt this woman. "This is *not* the kind of situation we need right now," Tami said carefully as she exited the booth with Jasmine. "You want right or left?" "Right," responded Jasmine and the two friends began to make their way around behind the troublemaker. Alma's sudden appearance was quick enough that neither of the two approaching women had seen her move. As they prepared to grab the poor woman, Alma lunged at her and prepared to sink her fangs into her. Only Tara's piercing shout defused the situation. Crisis averted, they returned to their booth. Tami remembered Cousin Caile's bear sitting on the bench and with a frustrated sigh she picked it up and began to smooth it's rumpled fur. "You realize we totally forgot to tell Susan and Tara about this damn bear when we picked them up?" "Damn. You're right. I was thinking so hard about everything they had been talking about that the bear didn't even cross my mind." She reached across the table and tweaked the t- shirt back into place. "Now the question is, what do we do with it?" Miklos appeared at their table bearing two Tequila Sunrises. "I thought you two ladies might be thirsty. Thanks for trying to come to my rescue," he said placing the glasses on the table. "Just doing our job, Miklos." Jasmine smiled. She thought with an inward sigh. Spotting the bear, Miklos raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little old to be playing with stuffed animals?" Tami replied. "Oh that, we found him hiding in Nick's car. Check out his id bracelet," she giggled, handing him the bear. Miklos started chuckling as he read. "You really should turn this over to Nick." "Turn what over to Nick?" queried Janette as she came up behind Miklos. "Jasmine. Tami," she acknowledged both women with a little nod of the head. Taking the bear from Miklos, she began to read the id bracelet. Chuckling as she handed it back to Tami, she said, "Why would Nicolah be interested in a Cousin's teddy bear?" Tami quickly explained finding it in Nick's car. "Well, well", purred Janette, "I *do* think Nicolah will be pleased to have a lead on his car thieves. He does so love that car. Perhaps he'll come by later and you can give it to him." Looking back at Miklos, she said "I'm going out with Tara to take care of a little business. Until I return, you're in charge." Tami and Jasmine were nursing their third Tequila Sunrises when Janette returned from their outing. The two friends listened intently as Janette called Nick and related what they had learned from Selma. "I'm really confused now," began Jasmine. "Why would LaCroix hypnotize Heather to finger Tara when he already had Natalie in jail. With Natalie out of the way, he could manipulate Nick back into the fold." "I know, it just doesn't make sense." "Well, let's try logic." ************************************************************* Getting Our Bear-ings (2) by Tami LaFrank for Janette Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli Just as Tami and Jasmine were trying to decide if they should have a fourth drink or switch to something less toxic, Nick burst through the door of the Raven seeking out Janette. After a brief exchange, Nick started to leave. Her courage bolstered by the Tequila, Tami rose to intercept him, taking Geraint with her. "Nick, wait, there's something I need to show you," Tami called out. Nick stopped and turned to her, his eyes flashing angrily. Tami gulped and continued, "My friend, Jasmine, and I happened to be outside the precinct when we saw a woman drive up in your Cadillac. We watched her park it and sit on a bench nearby waiting. After you found your gift in the trunk," Tami grinned, remembering the look on his face, "she left. I'm kind of an old car buff, so, after you and she had left, I couldn't resist a peek inside myself." "You poked around inside my car too." Nick sighed wearily. "Well, you really shouldn't leave the top down if security is all that important to you," Tami huffed. "Geez. All we did was look inside. If you don't want help finding your car thieves, I've got better things to do. Frustrated, Tami turned and began to walk away. "Wait," Nick called, detaining her with a hand on her shoulder. A hand on his forehead made her realize how exhausting it must be to work for the police. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little touchy about my car. It's my baby, you know." Tami relaxed. "Yeah, I know. I love classic cars myself. Mind you, I'd prefer black to that turquoise-green-whatever color, but hey, it's yours not mine," she replied. "As I was saying before, my friend and I were looking inside and we spotted a bag sticking out at an odd angle from under the seat." Curiosity got the better of us and we decided to take a peek in the bag." She fiddled with the bear's jewelry and continued. "That's when everything got a little rushed. Someone was coming and so, without thinking, we took the bag and ran." Nick sighed. "When we stopped, we realized what we'd done but we couldn't take it back, soooo, we opened it. Here." Tami held out the bear in her hands, "This is what was in the bag. Read the ID bracelet." Nick took the bear and read the tag. He started to chuckle. Grabbing Tami in a quick hug, he kissed her quickly on the lips and said, "Thank you. I'll have to keep this as evidence. I *can't* wait to talk to Caile." But then he paused thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you could hold on to this for bit? I mean you aren't leaving anytime soon, right?" "No, we could keep it for you." "Good. It's not like I'll be pressing charges. This is a more personal matter." He grimaced. "With all the confusion going on, I'd probably just lose it myself." He pulled the bear's t-shirt down again and handed the creature back to Tami. "Thanks again. I'll be by to pick him up." Fortunately for Tami, Jasmine had come up behind her. As Nick turned to leave, Tami's alcohol-fortified courage left her and her knees began to give way. Jasmine caught her before hurt herself and they made their way back to their booth. "Too much excitement for you in one night. Maybe you should join the Knighties," she teased, a sly grin on her face. "No way!" Tami shot back. "But I've been thinking." She paused. "I do believe that I'll leave the Mercenaries for the Ravenettes though. Janette does have good taste in men. Nick, Miklos, and even LaCroix, not to mention the lady herself. Yep, I definitely think you have the right idea, Jas. It's the Ravenettes for me." Taking a sip of her drink, she said "Now, weren't we talking about logic?" ************************************************************* Getting Our Bear-ings (3) by Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli and Tami LaFrank "Logic it is then." Jasmine played absently with the swizzle stick in her almost empty drink. "What's the most pressing question on our minds right now?" "Is this a trick question?" asked Tami. "I think everyone wants to know who killed Cap'n Stonetree?" Swirling the ice cubes around in her glass, she debated the idea of another drink. She had been so busy in the aftermath of the attempt on Miklos's life and the subsequent arrival of Nick that she had forgotten to get them a fresh round of drinks. "Want another one?" she asked, gesturing with her empty glass. But Jasmine seemed to be off in her own world. She waved an empty hand in front of her compatriot's face. "Hello? Yoo hoo?" Jasmine's eyes came into focus on Tami's face. "Tami, I don't think the most pressing question *we* have is who killed Joe Stonetree. We're just minor players in this game. There's no way we can find that out. I think we need to find out who framed Janette and why." "So then what's the most pressing question?" asked Tami. "Who stole Janette's choker." "And the answer is?" asked Tami folding her arms across her chest. She watched Jasmine's eyes again as they started to glaze over but this time they quickly refocussed. "Susan Garrett," stated Jasmine with authority. Tami laughed uproariously. "Oh that's really logical, Jas. How could Susan have done it?" Jasmine waved her hands. "No no no. Susan Garrett didn't do it. We need to *think* like Susan would to *find* who did it. She does this little logical progression thing that always baffles the hell out of me until I get to the end and wonder 'Why the heck didn't I think of that first?'." "So we're back to logic." Tami supplied, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward on the table. Steepling her fingers under her chin, she asked "What kind of yahoo would want to steal Janette's choker?" "Exactly. What *kind* of person would?" asked Jasmine pointing her swizzle stick at Tami. "A bad person?" asked Tami sarcastically, raising her eyebrows. "Nope. A *non-human* person." Jasmine tapped the rim of her glass for emphasis. "You mean a vampire stole Janette's choker?" "Yep. Who else could have gotten in the back without Janette's permission? No human I know of." She shrugged her shoulders "Think about it, Tami. Security is just too tight. It would have taken a vampire to do it." "Okay, then what's the next question, which vampire?" "Let's go through them," she paused, ordering names in her head. "Assuming Janette wouldn't steal her own necklace for the privilege of being humiliated in a police station, the first is Nick." Tami snorted. "No motive. And too squeamish. Besides, if Stonetree had found anything out about him being a vampire Nick woulda whammied the Cap'n first thing." She popped a few pieces of ice in her mouth and sucked on it. "What about Jennise and whats-her-name?" she asked through her mouthful. "Karin. Nope, neither of them, I think. Too young. Too new to their powers. They'd never get past Miklos or Alma. And I would guess that fact would allow us to include just about any of the fledglings that hang out around here too." "Well, what about Miklos or Alma then?" "Didn't leave the floor all night. I asked about that one earlier. Busy night that night. They could barely keep the glasses clean." She paused going through her mental list. "The Baroness? Naw, toss that one. She liked Nick too much even when she left. It's too risky for her to be back. She'd be recognized by too many humans and that would too much of a risk to the rest of the community. How about Daniel?" "Possible," admitted Tami, "but I'd seriously wonder about a boy that small appearing in a bar that late at night. Wouldn't you wonder why he wasn't home in bed?" "You're right. Scratch him too." Jasmine paused, "Who else?" Tami began searching for names of the other vampires she knew of. "Feliks? Aristotle? Constantine?" Jasmine shook her head. "None of them want to mess with one of LaCroix's older children. Plus, it's bad for the businesses they all run. Anyone else?" "LaCroix." "Again a possibility. But ya know," asked Jasmine, gesturing with her swizzle stick again, "I think it would be hard for him to come in here without Janette feeling those little twangs that make her shiver. There may be other vampires who do that to her, but not as strongly as LaCroix does, I think. She would have known it was him." Tami exhaled heavily. "That doesn't leave us with anyone." "Nick. Miklos. Alma..." the litany continued as Jasmine counted vampires names on her fingers. "OHMIGOSH," she exploded slapping both palms on the table and standing up, "we forgot one very important person." "Who?" asked Tami excitedly. "Alexandra." ************************************************************* Getting Our Bear-ings (4) by Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli and Tami LaFrank "Alexandra," repeated Tami, a little deflated. She had expected something a little more spectacular than the Bimbo Barmaid. "Yes Alexandra." Jasmine was practically vibrating. "Oh *please* stay excited with me," she begged. "We may have just figured out an important piece of the puzzle. Don't you see?" Tami slowly shook her head. "I'm sorry, Jas. I just don't get the connection. Start me on the walk-through and we'll see if I can catch up." Jasmine practically dove back into her seat in the booth and scooted right up to Tami. "Okay, first is motive." Jasmine held up her index finger. "Alexandra has one. Probably a bigger one than anyone else. Who does she want dead more than anyone else in the world?" "Nick," stated Tami with certainty. "Good girl. Got it first try. Now, second." She held up a second finger. "She's already tried to kill Nick once and failed miserably. What's the next best thing to do?" "Uhm, really piss him off?" Tami squinted. "Two for two," she beamed proudly. "And how would you do that if you were her?" "Hurt someone he really cared for," Tami replied. Reality began to dawn in her eyes and her jaw dropped open. "She had to have know about Stonetree's murder too." Tami was bouncing in her seat now, forcing Jasmine to bounce with her. "She stole it! She stole it!" She's just old enough to have the skill. Young enough looking to not attract attention. What's one more vampire at the Raven, righ'? Oh, Jas, do you know what this means?" she asked grabbing her friend by the shoulders, "This means we have a piece of the puzzle!" The bouncing came to an abrupt halt. "How did she know about the choker? I mean..." Tami paused, running a hand over her short hair, "How would she have known where to look. Someone had to have told her." This time Jasmine started the bouncing. "But we do know! We know! Don't you see? Think, Tami! Think really hard." Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. And then a very wide smile. "LaCroix." With that, the two friends toasted with their empty glasses and bounced off to find Janette and tell her of their conclusions. ************************************************************* Something Smells Fishy... Or Is That Roasted Lamb? by Cousin Candice "That was definitely a sneeze" Candice said as she pushed her seat away from the computer terminal. She rose from her seat and motioned for everyone to stay quiet as they rushed to check the other rooms of the apartment. There were only two-- the bedroom and the bathroom. Jen and Steff went off on her own to check the closets while Caile stayed behind to guard the front door. Candice banged open the bathroom door, leaving a crack where her foot had connected with flimsy wood. She approached the shower curtain cautiously, just in case the person who sneezed was in there. Candice yanked back the curtain to find... Nothing but a shower. Candice leaned back against the wall thinking to herself At the same time Candice was rifling through the bathroom, Jen and Steff had made a discovery of their own. "Sarah? What the hell are you doing here?" Steff hissed. "Just doin' my job, I'm officially a Merc now, god help me, and I was tipped off--Dawn thought someone'd be here, so she hired me to do someth-" Sarah was cut off by Jen, covering her mouth when Candice shouted, "Nothing in here... I'm getting back to my work." As soon as they heard her footsteps echoing down the short hallway, the three Mercs heaved a sigh of relief. "Ok, I'd better get back to Candice, just so she doesn't think something's up. Steff, Get Her Out Of Here." Jen hugged Sarah, then said "Welcome to the Guild." as she headed out the door, Sarah's mini tape recorder in hand. Jen walked into the living room to see Candice sitting behind the terminal at the old fashioned black desk. Jen peered over her shoulder and pressed play on the tape recorder--a sneeze issued forth. Candice jumped out of her seat and turned to see Jen grinning at her. "Here's your sneeze." Jen snickered and tossed the contraption to Candice who caught it snarling. "Someone else was IN here You've got to be KIDDING ME!!!" Jen shook her head and flopped into the futon staring absently at the ink paintings and prints on the walls. "No, I kid you not. Someone else was in here at the same time as us, or possible before us. So either they *knew* we were coming, or had an agenda of their own." Candice was furious. *How* could ANYONE have known they'd be here. It wasn't like they'd broadcasted their plans to anyone, unless... "Did you tell any other Mercs that you were coming _here_, to Ontario? Did you?" Candice glared at Jen from across the room, her anger towards the Merc was almost palpable. "No. It's part of our charter that unless we're working together that our missions remain secretive and our employers have anonymity." Jen spat out her words at Candice, feeling her own temper quickly getting out of hand. Candice noticed the Merc's changing attitude and reigned herself in--no sense in creating more tension in an already tense atmosphere. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just that I think I've got something here and another person to deal with is NOT what we need right now. Come take a look." Just then Steff joined them in the living room. "Take a look at what? And where's Caile? I just looked out the front door and she's not there." Steff looked utterly perplexed then thought to herself Steff joined her fellow Merc and current employer behind the screen of the 486 It was an antique really, well compared to Uncle's Silicon Graphics system, Candice had mentioned earlier that LaCroix, contrary to popular belief, was up to date on his computer knowledge. (Candice had only glanced around his "office" briefly when she'd gone to visit Caile a while back.) Candice called up Dawn's Word Perfect 6.0, and clicked the mouse onto the JOURNAL.WPD. The window blinked and up came a listing of Dawn's journal entries from late January up until April first. "I have no idea where Caile is, she's probably just taking a cigarette break... Okay, look at this. It seems Dawn was keeping a journal in her hard drive." Jen walked over to the kitchen table where she'd left the letter and tax return, thinking that maybe they'd tie in to what Candice was looking up. "And the last entry was made March 31st, but that's not really important. It's all the other entries she made." Candice clicked up to a week prior to the murder of Stonetree in Dawn's files. What they all read made their jaws come unhinged. Journal entry: #73 I went to the souvlaiki place again today for lunch. I know it's stupid, just sitting there with my bag lunch watching that man write, but what can I say. He's so pensive, he's totally preoccupied with his blue book. All consumed. He keeps turning over his shoulder, as if he expects to see someone watching him. Journal entry: #74 Aside from avoiding filing my tax return today, I went and wasted more time at The Happy Souvlaiki Deli. Though something was different today. The owner(?) of the deli called him by his first name--Joe, she'd said, but he didn't respond. Either he was out in orbit, or she was mistaken. Maybe Joe *wasn't* his first name. Other than that it was business as usual. I sat there with my untouched souvlaiki (being a vegetarian and a snoop has it's deterrents), watching Joe(?) write in his diary, eating his Chinese chicken salad--hold the chicken(why anyone would that in a place known all over Toronto for it's souvlaiki is beyond me...) Yes, I've come to the conclusion he's writing in a diary--possibly his memoirs... Before Candice could go any further into the files, Jen cleared her throat and decided to put her two or more cents in on the hypothesizing. She grabbed one of the folding chairs, straddled it and tossed the two items on top of the keyboard. "The letter has some kind of instructions for Dawn to go to Tibet, for some reason or another. It doesn't seem likely that this trip was expected, that would explain the fact that there was no entry in the journal for April 1st." Steff picked up the tax return and started thumbing through the pages. looking for any reason as to why Dawn would up and leave like she did. A small piece of paper fell to the floor at Candi's feet. She picked it up and cursed loudly in Greek for at least five minutes. "What's wrong?" Steff asked, almost timidly. "THIS is what's wrong, Caile's gone. She and James took off for Uncle's place--Caile called him while we were searching and he said he needed her back at his place pronto for some 'research'..." Candice held her head in her hands, leaning on the desk. "Well," Jen said in her most firm voice "we can either go after them, or get on with our work here, but I doubt we'd be able to convince them to come back... Knowing how devoted Caile is to LaCroix." "Ahh... You're right Jen... Let's get on with this," and with that, Candice went back to work. While Jen and Steff talked out the various reasons Dawn may have left, Candice closed the Journal window and clicked to the e-mail address book. She didn't find anything suspicious- -no undefined email addresses, but she *did* find a useful address. One for a Tracy Clarke--the nickname defined was Cousin. thought Candice as she transcribed the address into her little black book. And then she burst out laughing. Steff and Jen both turned to her, equally as confused as to why Candice was laughing. "Well, what is it?" they asked in unison. "Guys, think about it. When was the last entry dated?" "March 31st. But I don't see... Ohmygoddess" and Jen started to laugh with Candice, finding the coincidence just as funny. Steff just stared at the two women puzzled, and then it hit her... Like a ton of bricks. "Some one's played an April fools joke on Dawn! *That's* why she's in Tibet! She's on a wild goose chase!!" Steff's exclamation just sent them off into another round of laughter--nothing like stating the obvious. "Well we can't let her come home to such a neat apartment, now can we? C'mon guys, let's begin..." After she closed all the programs and shut down Dawn's system, Candice grabbed the big black duffel and started unloading it's contents onto the kitchen table. Jen grabbed the three sizable bags of sparkle dust and set them aside for the finishing touches. Candice took the red candles and lit the wicks, letting them melt along the wooden separation between the kitchen and living room... Steff got the green gummy-tack and went to work on the VCRs in Dawn's entertainment system. By the time she was done, no tape would ever be played in *either* of them again. Candice wandered over to Steff's side and nearly fainted--there was a veritable plethora of video cassettes, all with either FK or HL labeled on the sides. "Heh heh,... Jackpot" Candice whispered and shoved the tapes into the almost empty duffle bag. Jen grabbed the Terpeniod (non-flammable) from the duffle and grinned. She dumped a small pool of it on the futon cushion and watched as the colors bled together in a hideous fashion. She spattered some of it on the posters in the apartment, deciding that ruining the prints would be too much, and worked her way around the rooms. "Ugh, this stuff smells *awful*!" Jen grimaced as she returned to the kitchen table. "That's the point," Candice smiled maliciously "It's even worse than grape juice and garlic, speaking of which, I think I'll leave this in the refrigerator..." Candice pulled out the huge, black, plastic cooler from the duffle which was filled, not by chance, with just that concoction. Candice also pulled out a large purple bow, and taped it artfully on the cooler. "Anything else here you think Dawn would miss?" "Oh can we kidnap the goldfish?" Steff pleaded. "And what about _this_ shelf of books?" Jen pointed to the middle shelf, which upon inspection, were all vampire related. "Go for it..." Candice replied, very happy with her particular find. "Hey, what's in this box?" Steff asked, pulling out a foot long, six inch high black box with the trademark purple bow. Steff snickered to herself. "What else? A Dust Buster(tm)!" Candice laughed, bordering on cackling. And with that, they broke open the three bags of sparkles, scattering their contents all over everything. With the amount of junk all over the apartment, excessive wiping would have to be done, even *if* someone called the police, trying to find their finger prints on any surfaces would prove to be futile. The candles had gone out in the over flow of red wax and the three women stepped back to admire their handy work, each donning their black leather gloves once again. "Well ladies, I think our work here is done. Shall we?" "Where to?" Jen, walked towards the patio door with Candice and Steff in tow. "Toronto Police Department, Forensics to be exact--I want to know who else was with us in the apartment, and I have a feeling we have a friend in that department... Besides, we need to return the Caddy." ************************************************************* Harried and Hopeless by Sarah Welsh Sarah sat back in her motel room in Hamilton with a sigh and virtually "leafed" through the messages that had accumulated over the past several days. An offer of help from a fellow Merc, a possible commission from another faction, an invitation to the Die-Hard's safe house, not to mention innumerable war posts recording this group's deceptions here and that group's disasters there. Episode story lines, screening story lines, filming story lines. So much to keep track of. "Of which to keep track," her overly grammatical English-major mind corrected her. Oh, shut up, she told herself as she reached for the open can of Diet Coke by the laptop. It had been a difficult week. There was, of course, the fact that she had assignments due in Fort Worth nearly every day while she was in Canada. It had been difficult to persuade her professors to allow her to fax her work in. "A death in the family," she explained. After all, there might well be if she got on the wrong side of LaCroix. Or whoever killed Stonetree. If they weren't one and the same person. On top of that had come the realization that all the time she thought she was a real person she was really only a character in an FK episode. Although on this list people who couldn't tell the difference between TV and reality should feel right at home, she grinned and virtually ducked the virtual flames that could virtually be thrown her way if she virtually made her virtual comment virtually public. In a hypothetical sort of way. And then, of course, there had been the ordeal of cleaning up Dawn's apartment. Realizing that being a character in a Forever Knight episode had its advantages, she allowed herself to drift into a flashback. ************************************************************* Looking around the mess the Cousins and Mercs (Jen is your friend, remember, your friend!) had made of Dawn's apartment, she picked halfheartedly at the glittery stuff that covered just about everything before she gave up. Susie Homemaker she wasn't. Reaching for the phone book, she looked up housecleaning services and dialed the first number under the category. An hour later, a very unhappy looking woman surveyed the damage and turned a disapproving eye on Sarah. "Hey, I had nothing to do with it. This isn't my apartment." The woman looked even more suspicious. "I mean, it's my friend's apartment." "Uh-huh," the woman replied. "And what was your friend doing to get this place in such a mess?" Sarah eyed the glittery mess and thought quickly. "Um, she had a party. There was a lot of confetti. That's it, a going- away party. She's in Tibet, you know." A spark of interest lit the woman's eyes. "Oh, really. That's in Kentucky, right? I have an aunt there." Sarah just smiled as the cleaner walked over to examine the wax melted into the wood. "And what's with the candles?" "Birthday cake." The cleaner narrowed her eyes at the hapless Merc. "I thought you said it was a going away party." "It was. It was sort of a combination going away/birthday party. Wellgottagobye." Sarah was out the door before the woman could ask any more questions. She didn't want to try to explain what had happened to the posters. She had decided to just write them off as a total loss and hope that none of them were irreplaceable. A new cover was being made for the futon, and she had the VCRs in her rental car to take in to be repaired. She doubted very much whether they could be fixed, but she had forged warranty papers for them entitling her to brand new replacements in case of fire, flood, or act of Cousins. It was the kind of insurance policy she might be wise to take out on everything. Especially if she could get the fine print to include havoc wreaked by angry vampires. That ought to about cover everything. ************************************************************* Sarah hazed back to reality (such as it was) and shook her head. The one bright spot in the week had been her successful retrieval of Dawn's goldfish from her apartment before Candice and her Mercenaries could get their collective hands on it. She smiled at its little fishy face looking at her through the glass of its bowl and briefly considered giving it some more food until she remembered reading "A Fish Out of Water" when she was a child. "Sorry, little guy," she told it. "No more food until dinner time tomorrow. You ought to be grateful to me. Who knows what your poor third cousin twice removed is going through in the Cousins' clutches? Dawn was afraid they'd put you in with LaCroix' goldfish. His pet is probably part barracuda. Of course, considering I got that replacement fish at Walmart, he probably went belly-up days ago." She returned her attention to the computer screen and decided to refuse all other commissions and/or invitations to join this or that particular battle. It had already been proven that she could hardly handle the one responsibility she had right now. The glowing column of dates on the war posts attracted her attention. Today was April 12. She frowned to herself. Something was supposed to happen around April 12. Of course! Easter weekend was coming up! She thought for a moment and then grabbed up the goldfish bowl before she could change her mind. "Hang on tight, fella," she murmured as she hit C to compose a message. In the To: line, she typed "home." The body of the letter she left blank, but under attachments, she listed "Sarah, goldfish." "We're going home for Easter, fishface. The war can rage on without us for a few days." And with that she hit ^X to send. ************************************************************* Family Troubles (2) by Diane Echelbarger As Nick walked through the processing area, on the way to see this mysterious suspect in the cells, a young girl in stretch pants and an oversized green sweatshirt grabbed his arm. "Please," she gasped, "you've got to help me!" Nick looked into her tear-streaked face, framed by long, straight hair, and remembered... <> "Please, please, you *must* help me!" Isabelle begs, clutching Nick's arm. Janette takes a step closer to the pair. "What is your name, _ma petite_?" she asks. "Isabelle," she stammers. "Isabelle du Brabant." Nick's head snaps up in shock. He stares an Janette, who gives him a "what-now?" look. "Please, milord, milady, don't make me go back," the girl sobs. Nick forces himself to speak casually. "And where will you go, child, if not to your guardian?" "My--my mother's aunt," Isabelle replies. "She is abbess at the Convent de la Sacre-Couer, in the Isle-de-la-Citie. She would take me in, I know she would." "My dear child," Janette says, amused, "I understand why you might not want to marry this Comte your guardian has chosen for you, but is a *convent* a better option? Either way, you are a prisoner, -n'est-ce pas-?" "Oh, I would not be a *nun*, lady," Isabelle says, shocked. "But the abbess will take me in, and she will not make me marry a man I despise, as Lord Henri would." She smiles shyly. "It is not that I do not wish to marry at all; only that I do not wish to marry the Count. He only wants me because my lands border on his, you see." Nick is relieved. Seeing the girl to the convent gates is something he can do easily. "Then by all means, let us see you safely to your kinswoman," he says, tucking her arm under his. Isabelle smiles back at him. "Oh, thank you!" She hesitates. "If I may know milord's name?" "Nicolas," he says. "And the lady is Janette." "-Mon cher-," Janette says through clenched teeth. "A word, in private, if you please?" Nick smiles reassuringly at Isabelle, releases her arm, and steps aside with Janette. "Are you *quite* mad?" she hisses, too soft for the mortal to hear. "She is going to a *convent*, -ma vie-! Hardly somewhere you or I would be welcomed. Let her find her own way; her mortal problems are no concern of ours." "She is family, Janette," he insists. "*I* am your family, and LaCroix," she snaps. "That *mortal* child is not. You left all that behind you two centuries ago. Do not interfere now, Nicolas. LaCroix would not like it." Nick scowls. "He will never know unless *you* tell him," he says. Then, seeing her still scowling at him, he wheedles, "Please, Janette, it will only take an hour, at most, to see the child safely to the gates. Is it so much to ask?" She frowns, thinking about it. "And when she is there, we will hunt where *I* chose?" she asks. He smiles, and caresses her cheek. "Wherever and *whoever* you wish, -ma belle-," he promises. She smiles, and licks her lips slowly. "Very well," she agrees. "An hour, no more." Nick returns the smile, and kisses her hand... <> Nick blinked back to reality as a policewoman pried the girl from his arm. "Sorry, Detective," she said. "She got away from me." "What's she here for?" he asked. "Shoplifting. Her folks have been called." He nodded, and continued on. ************************************************************* Calling All Canadian Cousins & Mercs, eh by Michelle D. Noel and Cousin Craig Hello all. _Frank_ magazine has, from what inside sources tell me, uncovered startling connections between CERK and the CRTC, Nick and the Bloc Quebecois, and you wouldn't believe what dirt they've found about Preston Manning and his Reform party. If you want to know more, or want in on the action resulting from these discoveries, or if you always say "zed" despite the fact that you were born south of the border, please e- mail me or Craig Gilmore (who has finally admitted that he's a Cousin). A special note to Mercs: we are prepared to pay in Molson's, maple sugar chocolate, beaver tails, back-bacon, Stanley Cup finals tickets, GST rebates, or Spanish fishing trawlers. ************************************************************* Random Acts (6) by Diane Echelbarger Schanke yawned and stretched on his way to the kitchen. He scratched his stubbly chin and briefly considering shaving before breakfast. His stomach growled at the idea, and he discarded it. Maybe, if Myra was busy in the yard, he could even manage to have some *real* food... He pushed open the door to the kitchen, and Myra looked up at him, her expression a mixture of ecstasy and guilt. "Oh, Don, honey," she said, "you shouldn't have, but *thank you*! They're *wonderful"! Better than Godiva's!" "Huh?" Schanke began, then sniffed. "Is that chocolate?" He stared suspiciously at the burgundy box on the table. If Myra'd made him eat tofu for dinner when he got home, and then bought chocolate to gorge on while he was asleep... "The ones you had delivered," Myra agreed, and licked her fingers. She smiled ruefully "I only had two, though. I *couldn't* eat any more; they're too rich." She walked around the table and hugged him. "Oh, Don, you shouldn't have! And did Tino Armiros tell you about Chocolate Caper? The flyer in the box says it's somewhere in *Wisconsin*!" He hugged her back, automatically, but then pushed her away. "Myra," he asked, "what do you mean? I didn't have anything delivered." "What?" She frowned. "But, the UPS man said it was paid for, and I was sure it was you, even if you didn't sign the card..." "Didn't..." Schanke stopped, remembering his 'midnight buffet.' "Where's the card? Did you save it?" "It's on the table..." Myra said, puzzled. Schanke pushed her gently out of the way, and picked up the small card carefully by the edges. It was gold foil, embossed with roses. He tipped it sideways, and it fell open. There was nothing written inside. Just like the other one. He picked up the flyer that sat next to the box. "The Chocolate Caper" it proclaimed. "Chocolate so good, it shouldn't be legal!" The cover had a picture of a shop window, with a dog, a cat, and a goose looking in at a display of chocolates. Inside, there were description of Swiss pralines, hand made truffles, and assorted other calorie-laden treats. The box on the table was full of solid blocks of multi-layer chocolate, two inches long, one wide, and one thick. That made them pralines, then. Two were missing from the top layer, but the rest were intact. "Don, what's wrong?" Myra asked, worriedly. He tried to smile reassuringly. "Probably nothing, honey." After all, they'd all eaten the Chinese, and nothing had happened. "I just wondered who sent it. Did you save the box?" "It's in the recycling bin," Myra told him. He pushed open the door to the mud room, and picked the cardboard mailing box out of the bin. The UPS label said it had been shipped from Oregon, WI. That was the address on the catalog, too. It was somewhere near Madison, he thought. So, unless he was dealing with someone so obsessed they'd drive 13 hours to ship a package to Toronto, the chocolates were probably safe. And Tino might have sent them, but Schanke doubted it. He used the scissors they kept by the recycling bin to cut the shipping label free, and tucked it in his shirt pocket. He could probably get the local office to tell him who had really shipped it. If it *was* that place in Oregon, he'd be able to relax. Lots of people knew about Myra's fatal weakness for chocolate; anyone visiting the States *might* have sent it. But he was still going to check it out. It was probably unnecessary, but two anonymous gifts to his family in 24 hours made the cop in him nervous. His stomach growled again, and he went back to the kitchen. He figured he had a pretty good chance of talking Myra into a real breakfast. After all, chocolates weren't on *her* diet, either. (The Chocolate Caper, their literature, logo, and slogan, used with permission of the owners. Details on request. :) ) ************************************************************* Storm Warnings Shadow's War (5) by L. Bruce Gray It was another dark and stormy night. The shadow crept out of the parking lot and headed for a nearby telephone pole. He reached into the folds of his shadow and placed some grippers on the bottoms of his shoes. Then up the telephone pole he went. He used an instrument to search through the wiring on the nearby generator and finally selected a specific outgoing power trunk line. He reached into his cloak and got out another item. Placing it on the wire he had selected, he tied it directly into the generator and threw a small switch. He then got down from the pole and pressed a button on another control. ZZZZZAAAAAPPPPP!!!!! KKKKRRRRZZZZRRRRTTT! Inside the nearby police station the lights all went: Sputterrrrr-PPPPPPoooff! He knew he had only a small amount of time. He went back up the pole and removed the controls he had placed there. Inside the police station there was total chaos. "Find out what happened! And get those lights back on!" yelled Cohen. The shadow slipped quickly back down the pole and raced for the nearby alley. Inside the police station, people were running around trying to get the lights back on. "Must have been hit by lightning!" said Schanke when he looked out the window at the still smoking generator on the telephone pole. "Check everywhere!" yelled Cohen above the din. The custodian came in from the back and brought with him some light bulbs, flashlights, and candles. He began to replace light bulbs and pass out the flashlights and candles. A few minutes later, the power came back after the secondary generators had cut in. But the damage had already been done. "My computer!" was the cry from several voices in the precinct house, as the people began to discover that the electrical surge had blown every circuit in the place, including the ones on sensitive computer data drives. "It'll take days to do the backups and get us back to where we were--and some of today's reports will have to be done over," Schanke said as he began to retrieve some of the paperwork he thought he had already entered once. The shadow went through several back roads and alleys before stopping at an out-of-the-way phone booth. He waited only for the connection to be made before he said, "Home Plate is covered." Then he hung up and disappeared into a nearby manhole. ************************************************************* Knight Dreams by Heather Parks kindly edited by Tara O'Shea Heather woke up in a dark room. Tucked into an old-fashioned canopy bed with white sheets, a white down comforter, and several white pillows. The bed sat in the middle of the room, and in one corner there was a dresser, and a full length mirror. Atop the dresser sat a silver hair bush, two wine glasses and a picture of something. In the opposite corner was red crushed velvet chair with a high back. Nick stood up from the chair and sat the ham sandwich he was eating down, and came to her. "We were worried about you." "Thanks but I--" "Where are the two detectives?" Nick interrupted her, motioning for her to look around. "Are they here?" Her night-gown was lace, also white, matching the bed. Nick grabbed her arm and slowly pulled her to her feet. As she walked down to the dresser Nick followed her, as if worrying that she might fall. She lift the glass and Nick pulled her beside him. She watched her reflection in the mirror as Nick took the pin that held her hair up. Her brown hair fell down to her shoulders as the pin dropped to the floor. As she reached to the dresser Nick tried to tickle her. Looking at Nick again the world seemed spin, until she was on the other side of the mirror watching Nick pulling her toward him and unpinning her hair in slow motion. All she could do was stand there and watch. Coming up beside now her was officer Lucas Cross. All in black with a simple sword pin a on his collar. "Well, wasn't that a wonderful little fantasy," he hissed. The Heather and Nick on the other side stood and looked at her. "But it was that, a fantasy." With that, he broke the mirror. He picked up a piece of glass and started to cut her wrist, til a tall man, who she recognized from the Raven, also in black stopped him. For a brief second she thought he saved her til he she saw his fangs. "LaCroix, you really must share," with that he plunged is fangs into her neck. Beside him was a girl with auburn hair and black suede boots and a gray trench coat, who simply watched. LaCroix looked at the glass, threw it down and said, "Miklos, hasn't Janette taught you any thing about being dramatic?" with that he grabbed her wrist and bit in with a glance at Heather's horror stricken face... And then she woke up. ************************************************************* Cardiac Arrest by Jennie Hayes, Di Sudduth, and Amy Hull Nat sat in the interrogation room, tracing a finger back and forth along the edge of the table while wondering what was going to get broken and how long it would take her to clean up after the search. She sighed and imagined Sydney's reaction to the intrusion. He'd probably hidden when everyone barged in, and she'd be lucky if she didn't come home to find he'd clawed his distress out on the furniture. Leaning her head against her fingertips, she pulled one of the notepads she'd been allowed to keep toward her and began jotting notes on it about things she should double check when she got back to the lab, and trying to come up with something new to check out about Stonetree. This was so ridiculous. How could anyone suspect her? That salesgirl from Darkangels's recognized her? Not possible! "Well, it'll all be over soon," Nat sighed. Her head snapped up when Nick pushed his way into the room, and her hand slowly lowered to the table. Anger and worry were so evident on his features they seemed to radiate from him in waves. He stood next to the door, arms crossed just staring at her, while Schanke followed him into the room at a slightly slower pace, apologizing to someone outside the door. Schanke's face mirrored the worry on Nick's, and there was a great deal of the anger as well. He carried a sheet of paper in one hand. "What is it? What's happened?" Nat's voice took on a rough edge of worry and agitation. "Look at this," Schanke showed her the paper. "I jotted that down--it's the content of some notes we found partially burned in your fireplace. Do you know what that's about?" Nat scanned the paper rapidly. Her eyes widened slightly, and she flickered a look at Nick, whose eyes caught hers for a moment and read the near-panic there, then looked back at Schanke. "My fireplace? I haven't lit a fire in there for weeks, and it was clean last time I saw it," she said, shaking her head. "OK, but what about the notes? Do you recognize any of them?" Schanke persisted. Natalie looked down at Schanke's notes. The first was virtually 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." The second was just a fragment, "I can't begin to tell you how lovely... ... me so happy. If I can... " The third read, "I'm sorry, but his just isn't going to work out. We're going to have to stop..." "Um, let me see," Nat held up the paper and pointed to the bottom. "Well, this last one is from a case Stonetree was asking about a week ago. We were trying out a new system of reporting, but we kept running into glitches. And this first one..." She turned a look of appeal on Nick, who nodded slightly. "Schanke, I think Nat could use some coffee, and tell Cohen before she gets wind of it on her own, please," Nick commented, tearing his eyes away from Nat's face to look at Schanke. "We'll wait for you to get back." Schanke blinked, then looked from Nat to Nick, nodded without a comment, and left the room. As the door closed, Nick sat on the edge of the table. "Who's framing you Nat? And how did they fake these notes?" "The notes are real," replied Nat. "They must have been stolen from my office. The third one really *is* about a new reporting system. But this first one... Stonetree wanted to talk to me about *you*, Nick. Something or someone led him to start asking questions about you, your background... He's on your side, Nick, but something made him suspicious enough to ask. "And this one?" Nick asked, indicating the second message. "This one I'm not really sure of... Let me think," Nat paused in thought then a look of sadness crossed her face. Her voice trembled as she explained, "I... I'm not sure, but maybe. Remember Cynthia? You know how hard her death was for me. Joe was so nice and supportive. We exchanged several notes and a few phone calls. At one point I'd sent him a small gift and a letter to thank him for being so supportive. I think this was his reply. We corresponded a long time with little notes. He was such a *caring* man. I don't know what I'd have done without the two of you..." Nat's voice broke and she brushed away the tears that had formed at remembering her god daughter. "Nat, hey, Natalie," Nick comforted her, "we all know this is a set-up. Don't worry; everything will be just fine." Schanke returned with Captain Cohen and Nat's coffee. "Dr. Lambert," Cohen began, "we're going to need to take a statement from you. We've found additional evidence at your apartment." Nick sprang up from the table suddenly and turned to Cohen with a stern "*What* additional evidence?" "Let's get this on tape, Detective," she replied and gestured to the officer coming in the door. "Wha... What's this about, Captain?" Nat asked, looking rather stunned. "Gentlemen," began Cohen, "please remain, but let me ask the questions." She turned to Nat, "What was your relationship with Joseph Stonetree?" "Captain Stonetree and I were friends. We worked together closely on cases. You know, Captain, much the same as my relationship with you." "And where where you on the night of the Captain's murder?" "Working at the lab." "You weren't there when his body was discovered; we had to page you." "I... I was on dinner break. I know I normally eat in but I went out that night. Errands to run." "What errands?" "I picked up a few groceries and my dry cleaning and was grabbing food to bring back to the lab." "You arrived on the scene almost immediately, Doctor." "I told you I was running errands on dinner break. I was in the neighborhood." Nat shot a scared look at Nick, who was trying to be unobtrusive as he leaned up against the mirror. "And these fragments of letters found in your fireplace?" continued Cohen. "Can you explain these, Doctor?" Nat looked at the photocopies placed in front of her. With a sigh and another glance at Nick she began, "Captain Stonetree and I were working on a new reporting system recently, trying to smooth the paperwork flow. The first note is a request to meet to continue discussing the problem. The third is after we decided the new technique wasn't going to work." "And the second note?" Nat stared at the photocopy in her hands and quickly laid it on the table, hoping no one had noticed the tremor of her fingers. She could not keep her voice totally steady as she explained, "This one I'm not sure of. It might have been the thank you note he sent me for a gift some time ago." The Captain's eyes looked sympathetic, but her voice had a sharp edge. "And what can you tell us about this?" Cohen showed her another photocopy, this one of a receipt. "Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons" was imprinted across the bottom, right next to what was undeniably Nat's own signature. "It looks like my signature, Captain, but I was never ever there. I've never *been* there. It's not mine." Natalie looked Cohen steadily in the eyes while she said this. "We'll investigate this further, and can you explain how this got under your bed, Doctor?" Cohen asked in the same sharp- edged voice as she produced an evidence bag containing Stonetree's trademark too-small hat. As one, Nat, Nick, and Schanke started. "What?" exclaimed Nat. "Under my *bed*? Captain Stonetree has never been to my apartment! I have no idea..." She was shocked and indignant. Whoever was trying to frame her was doing a pretty good job. She again glanced at Nick, who had resumed his stance leaning up against the mirror. His eyes looked haunted. Nat looked into the depths of the mirror, idly wondering who was behind it, watching her. A chill ran down her spine and she was suddenly filled with dread. * * * Behind the glass, Captain Cross had a huge smile on his face as the voice over the speaker said, "Dr. Lambert, I'm very sorry but you are under arrest. We'll call the Crown to arrange for an attorney and we will begin to check out your story." * * * Later, in Cohen's office, Nick paced. "Captain, you can't," Nick insisted. "I mean it, Knight. You're too involved. I'm assigning this investigation to another team." "But, Captain!" Nick protested "Drop it, Knight." The Captain was firm. "Fred Fielder is a good cop." Nick and Schanke exchanged dubious looks, but she continued, "He'll clear Dr. Lambert... If she can be cleared." Nick still looked skeptical. "One slip, and his ficus is out the window," Schanke threatened. ************************************************************* And For The Defense by Elaine Polemenakos Natalie was still fuming about her confrontation with Sheppard when she heard the guard announce that she had a visitor. Natalie stood, hopeful that Nick had found something that would help. "Nick?" "Sorry Dr. Lambert, It's just me, your friendly neighborhood public defender. How do you do?" "I've been better. So, what do you think of my case, Miss...?" "Polemenakos. But its a mouthful, so just call me Elaine, all right?" "Fine. You can call me Natalie, or Nat." "Good. Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, let's get down to business. Tell me what you know." Natalie related everything she knew about the evidence against her. Elaine listened quietly, letting her finish the whole story. When Nat was finished, she looked at the notes she had taken. "OK. Let me just clarify some things here. You've never been to Darkangel's boutique?" "No. I do have a teddy from there, but it was a birthday present, and I got it over a year ago." "Do you have an alibi for the time of death." "Just my cat, Sidney. I was home, asleep." "Well, I don't think Sidney can testify, so we'll need to look for people who may have seen you going home. Also we'll look into the purchase at Darkangel's." "Who is we?" "Even though I work for the Public Defenders office, I like having a private investigator look into things. Sometimes the police are to busy trying to make a case, they forget to look for exculpatory evidence, as well as incriminating evidence." "I don't think that will be the case this time." "Yes, I've heard about your friendship with Detective Knight. Personally, I'm surprised they haven't reassigned the case. Even he can use help, and Sharon is the best there is. She'll probably be in to see you soon, to ask you some questions. Be as honest and as detailed as you can with her. She has this uncanny ability to turn seemingly meaningless details into solid clues." "I'll remember that. Elaine, if you don't mind my asking, how many of these cases have you won?" "I don't mind, but you might not like the answer. This is my first murder case. I was surprised they assigned me to such a high-profile one, but Sheppard insisted that I would be the defense that you deserved." "I'm afraid given Sheppard's opinion of me, she didn't mean it as a compliment. We've had some unpleasant encounters." "I know. Don't worry. Everyone in the office was kicking themselves that they didn't smack her first. I wish I could have seen it." "Can you win this?" Natalie asked earnestly. "I have a lot of faith in this system. I don't think the innocent are ever found guilty, regardless of who their attorneys are. And you are definitely innocent. But yes, I believe I can." "Good. Now I do too." "Glad to hear it. Oh, by the way. I got a message for the de Brabant foundation saying that they would cover any expenses for your defense. Do you know what that's all about? Bless you Nick, Natalie thought. "No, I don't think so. Must just be a organization set up to provide for good defense." "I guess so. Don't worry Natalie. I think I know what I'm doing." With a conspiratorial wink, she was gone. Where have I heard that before, thought Natalie. ************************************************************* Random Acts (8) by Diane Echelbarger LaCroix picked up the small, brown paper parcel. Someone had left it at the door to his apartment. It had no postage, delivery label, or other identification on it. Just "LaCroix" block-printed across it in black felt pen. He ripped it open. Six CD cases had been taped into a solid block. He tilted them on end and read the titles. "Greatest Hits of 1720" by the Philharmonica Virtuosi of New York; "Hayden Cello Concertos in C major and D major" by Yo-Yo Ma; "Music for Harp--Middle Ages to 20th Century"; "Ancient Echoes" by Chorovaya Akademia; "On The Banks of Helicon--Early Music of Scotland" by The Baltimore Consort; "Dance Music of the High Renaissance". Intriguing. The corner of a small white envelope could be seen between two of the cases. LaCroix pulled it free. It was unsealed, and he slipped the card out. A fragment of musical notation adorned the front. He looked inside. It was blank. He frowned suspiciously at the silvery discs. After all, there *was* a war on. LaCroix entered his apartment and turned on his stereo. Inserting the first disc, he used the 'random sampling' feature on his remote to check its contents. When he was convinced it was labeled accurately, he inserted the next, and the next, until he had checked them all. They were exactly what they appeared. No polkas, no--he shuddered-- *Barney*. He returned the last disc to its case, frowning thoughtfully. ************************************************************* The Committee by Dirk Giles The room was dark. Nothing could be seen to human eyes, for no human eyes were present. To the individuals that were there only ghostly outlines could be seen, partly due to the dark and partly due to the thick smoke the filled the room like fog. One of the forms moved slightly and a small glow appeared as a lighter applied flame to the end of a cigarette in a thin holder. "I am worried; attention has now shifted away from *her*", a female voice said, the last word being spat out like a bad piece of souvlaki. "And *he* won't be held for long, as none of the evidence will implicate him". Another voice, this one male, joined in. "Their minions have been too quick to shift attention away. And Brabant has not been implicated at all." "Perhaps it is time to intensify our efforts," a third voice spoke, this one also female. "See to it!" The shadowy forms melted away. ************************************************************* Flatfoots (1) by Sharon Himmanen and Jennie Hayes "All right," Sharon said, coming into the office. "We've got a job." Jennie looked up from the romance novel she was reading. "A job?" "A job. You remember those. They pay the bills, that sort of thing." "Cool!" Jennie said. "What kind of job." "Working for my friend, the DA." "Elaine?" "Elaine." "Cool, a city contract!" "Yep. It seems as though the county coroner got herself arrested for killing a police captain." "You know," Jennie said, staring off into space for a second, "during my brief stint in medical school I knew someone who's a coroner up here. Natalie Lambert." Sharon raised her eyebrows and grinned at her partner. "Well, I won't judge you buy the company you keep," she said. "No way!" Jennie said emphatically. "Way!" Sharon replied with a small shake of her head. * * * * * "Now remember," Sharon said, stepping out of the car, "it's *your* week to be the associate. You're job is to make me look good." Jennie stopped dead in her tracks behind Sharon. "Wait a minute!" she protested. "*I* was the associate last week! It's your turn to play the associate." "And it's your turn to play bad cop,' too," Sharon added, continuing on as if she hadn't heard Jennie. "Again? I *always* have to play bad cop," Jennie continued. Sharon paused just in front of the shop and turned toward her partner. "*I* played bad cop last time, remember?" "No," Jennie corrected. "I did. You insisted on playing good cop then because the guy was really cute. It's *your* turn to play bad cop." "Too late," Sharon said. "I'm in that mindset right now. Just follow my lead." And with that she pushed open the door to Darkangel's Boutique, the jangle of the bell drowning out the sounds of Jennie's protestations. Inside, she paused only slightly, trying not to stare at the amazing collection of paraphernalia. She heard Jennie gasp slightly as she entered the store behind her. At just that moment, the young woman from behind the counter looked up from the book she was reading. "May I help you," Heather asked. Sharon turned and glanced at Jennie briefly. Jennie made a quick face at Sharon, then pushed past her, a congenial smile on her face. "Hello," she began, approaching the counter. Sharon glared at her from behind, but Jennie continued, holding out her hand and shaking Heather's hand warmly and handing her one of their cards.. "I'm Jennie Hayes and this is my associate, Sharon Himmanen," she said, ignoring the squawk of protest from behind her. "You're detectives?" Heather asked reading the card. "For who?" "Have you ever seen this woman?" Sharon asked instead, slipping forward and holding up a picture of Natalie. Her voice took on an edge of irritation. She figured that if she was going to get stuck playing bad cop she might as well enjoy it. Heather frowned at the picture. "Yeah..." she said hesitantly "Yeah?" Sharon asked. She held the picture up closer to Heather "Take a closer look. Be absolutely sure." "Take your time," Jennie said soothingly. "But not all day," Sharon added with a sharp smile. "When was she here?" "Ah, two days ago. I think?" Heather said, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. "You think," Sharon said sarcastically. "Come on! You can do better than that. You identified this woman at the police station just the other day! How hard can it be to tell us what you told them just a little while ago?" "This isn't going to get us anywhere," Jennie broke in, placing her hand on Heather's shoulder "Lets try this from the beginning. You're sure you recognize this woman?" This time Heather nodded emphatically, then winced sharply. "Do you have a headache? You want to take a minute to take something for it?" Jennie asked. "Where did you see this woman?" Sharon asked. Heather thought for a moment "It was... I think I saw her here." "You *think* again," Sharon snapped. "Either you saw her or-- ow!" She broke off suddenly when Jennie smacked her hard on the arm. "What'd you do that for?" Jennie didn't answer, but gestured toward Heather who had wandered slowly into the center of the room. She rubbed her temple hard. Sharon looked over at Jennie and raised her eyebrows in question. Jennie shrugged. "It's... So hard to remember exactly," Heather said. "I *know* I saw her at the police station, and I *think* I saw her before that, here, but..." "But what?" Jennie asked. "But... There was a man, dark-haired. He--" And before Heather could continue, the color drained from her face, and she slumped forward limply into Jennie's arms. The two woman stood mute for a few minutes staring down at the unconscious sales clerk before looking up wide-eyed at each other. "Now look what you did!" each accused the other simultaneously. * * * * * They'd turned the "closed" sign around in the window and dragged Heather's unconscious form by her ankles into the office in the back of the store. "Now, what do you suppose this is?" Sharon asked distractedly, holding up a large red leather harness. Several sets of chains clinked loudly. When Jennie cleared her throat pointedly, she added, "Think we should call an ambulance?" "Might not be a bad idea," Jennie said, lifting Heather's wrist and watching as it dropped like dead weight back onto the floor. "She's out cold." Sharon picked up the phone just as Heather stirred and opened her eyes. She moaned softly, then winced, sitting up slowly. Jennie helped her. "Are you all right?" "I'm not sure," Heather said, and Sharon rolled her eyes. "Not sure," she said under her breath. "Shush!" Jennie said, supporting Heather's shoulders. "I remember *everything*," Heather said suddenly, struggling to stand. "Everything." "Good," Sharon said, reaching down to help her up. "What do you remember?" "I *only* saw the woman in the picture at the police station," she said. "There was another woman... And a man, tall, dark, with sad eyes, kinda cute." "The woman, what did she look like?" "Medium height, short hair, green trench coat." "Why did you say that Doctor Lambert bought the teddy and choker?" Jennie asked. "Because..." Heather's voice trailed off and she shook her head. "Because the dark haired man told me to." "He told you to," Sharon said disbelievingly. "If he'd told you to jump off a bridge you'd have done that too?" Heather nodded slowly. "I know it sounds crazy, and it's more than a little frightening," she said, rubbing her arms as if she felt a sudden chill, "but yeah, if he'd told me to jump off a bridge, I think I would have. I wanted to... No, *had* to obey him. Then he told me not to remember." Sharon and Jennie exchanged looks. "And there was another man, too!" Heather exclaimed. "He was tall, short hair, very pale. He... Ordered me to remember." "So you told him everything?" "Yeah. I *had* to. Then he made me forget everything except that that woman bought the lingerie and the choker, the one in the picture." "Doctor Lambert?" "Yeah, her." Heather shook her head slowly. "What's going on?" "That's what we intend to find out," Sharon said, slipping the picture of Natalie back into the pocket of her trench coat. "But I think you'd better go down to the police station and tell them all this. You can give them a better description of both of the men, and the woman," Sharon said. * * * * * Outside, Sharon turned to Jennie in confusion. "What in the hell is going on?" "You're asking me? I'm still trying to figure out what in the hell kind of case you've got us working on." "You think she's telling the truth?" "Well, I'm not an expert, but that faint was definitely real," Jennie said. "Maybe they used drugs or hypnosis or something on her." Sighing deeply, Sharon headed for the car. "Since I'm the associate I suppose I should ask where we're going now, boss." Sharon said sarcastically. Jennie grinned over at her. "Well, since you asked," she said, "we're going to go garbage collecting." She pulled open the door of the car. "Oh no!" Sharon said, stopping dead in her tracks. "No way! I am not crawling around in filthy dumpsters again! These are brand new shoes." "They are not!" Jennie said, glancing down at Sharon's scuffed army boots. "Besides, didn't you say to our last client that one of the best means of gathering information is by going through what other people throw out?" "That was for the benefit of the client!" Sharon said. "I didn't intend for you to take it to heart! What, do you think we're real detectives or something? My idea was to collect retainers with a minimum of work." She pulled out into traffic. "Head toward Natalie's," Jennie said. Sharon groaned, making a face, but dutifully turned the car in the direction Jennie requested. "I'm only doing this because she's your friend," she cautioned. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing," Jennie said. "You *think* you know what you're doing," Sharon corrected. ************************************************************* Flatfoots (2) by Sharon Himmanen and Jennie Hayes Note: Some of the content in this might be a little gross... *********************************** "Geez, what's that smell?" Sharon asked, making a face. "Now, what exactly are you expecting to find here?" Jennie shrugged. "How should I know? Where'd you get the tidbit about going through garbage anyway?" Sharon looked over at Jennie. "Ever see Sneakers'?" Jennie glared at her. "You know, Natalie's life is at stake here! You could take this a little more seriously." "I'm attending as diligently to this case as I do all our others," Sharon said defensively. "That's my point." "OK, you're so smart, *you* tell *me* what we're going to do, Miss Nancy Drew!" "All right," Jennie said belligerently, turning and walking into the alley. "I will." She stood for several moments looking around. "Well?" Sharon asked sarcastically, standing behind her with her arms folded across her chest. "Well..." Jennie began again, then spotted the dumpster about halfway into the alley. "I want you to go through that dumpster there." "Uh-uh! No way! If you want that dumpster searched, you go right ahead and search it. I'll wait here." The two women glared at each other for a few moments, before Jennie decided to try another tact. "Tell you what," she said, stepping over to a small packing barrel. "I'll arm- wrestle you for it." "You'll what?" Sharon said, nearly laughing. "I'll arm-wrestle you!" Jennie insisted. "It's your favorite method of arbitration. You've used it to settle our last four arguments." "It's how I *won* the last four arguments," Sharon said, her eyes narrowing as she regarded Jennie suspiciously. She hesitated, but only for a moment, before shrugging and stepping up to the barrel. * * * * * "All I want to know," Sharon said as she prepared to climb into the dumpster, "is just what you've been eating." "Not eating," Jennie said. "Remember that last client? The weight trainer?" Sharon stopped and turned to stare down at Jennie in disbelief. "You didn't! He wouldn't even give me the time of day!" Jennie just grinned maliciously back up at her. "I knew I'd only get to use this trick once so I decided to make it count. Get in that dumpster!" With a shake of her head and a small sigh Sharon swung her leg over the edge of the dumpster and began gingerly shifting through some of the debris. "Have we decided what I should be looking for?" Sharon asked. "I dunno, anything that looks suspicious." "Jennie, this is *garbage.* It all looks suspicious." "Well, then, anything that looks more suspicious than usual." "More suspicious than usual," Sharon muttered under her breath. "So what are you going to do while I'm in here?" "Watch and enjoy," Jennie said matter-of-factly. Protesting all the while, Sharon managed to make a more-or- less thorough search of the dumpster, only to find nothing. Jennie watched as Sharon struggled to climb out of the dumpster, but she kept slipping. "You know," Sharon said, finally, "You *could* use all those new muscles to give me a hand out of here!" Still laughing hysterically, Jennie rose and walked over. She climbed up onto the box Sharon had used as a step stool and thrust her hand forward. Sharon grasped it tightly, and before Jennie could move, used her other hand to grab Jennie's shoulder, yanking her roughly into the dumpster so that she landed face down into the garbage. By the time she had regained her feet, Sharon was standing out on the street, laughing. "Oh, I'm *so* sorry," she said insincerely. "I'll get you for that!" Jennie said, red-faced with anger. "I just figured if I was going to stink to high heaven it'd be easier on you if you joined me." By this time, Jennie had managed to haul herself out of the dumpster and was busy picking bits of debris off her coat. "So the dumpster was a bust," Sharon said, looking past her at a rather large stack of boxes. "Since you seem to be the diligent one, did it ever occur to you to check these boxes?" Jennie ignored her, continuing to brush off her coat. Sharon sighed, glancing at her watch. "Well, we've worked for four hours straight and I'm exhausted. I'm heading for the nearest bar." As she moved past Jennie, Jennie casually stuck her foot out and caught Sharon's ankle. Stumbling forward, Sharon held out her hands to stop her fall and leaned heavily against the stack of boxes. She felt them shift sharply beneath her hands and took a step back, nearly backpedaling into Jennie as she did so. Too late, they both scrambled out of the way as the boxes began to rain down on top of them, but something large and dark and very smelly caught Sharon on the shoulder and she fell, taking Jennie down with her. Still a little stunned and out of breath from Sharon's weight on top of her, Jennie was aware first that Sharon was emitting a hoarse, horrified yell. The second thing she was aware of was Sharon frantically struggling to get out from beneath whatever was weighing it down. Jennie shifted slightly, then twisted her body around to see what was causing Sharon so much distress. When she saw what it was, the alleyway was filled with the sounds of two women and their horrified screaming, until Sharon managed to shove the mass off her legs and scrambled to her feet, gagging as she ran from the alley as fast as she could. Jennie wasn't far behind her. Out on the street, Jennie stood gasping for breath, watching as Sharon frantically ripped her overcoat off, balled it up and threw it down onto the sidewalk. She shuddered elaborately. "What was it?" Jennie asked loudly. "Was that what I think it was? What was it?" Sharon leaned forward, her hands resting on her legs, breathing heavily. "Go back in there and find out who it is," she said. Emphatically shaking her head, Jennie said, "That was a dead body, wasn't it?" "We gotta call the police," Sharon said. "Go call the police. But first, go back in there and find out who it is." "You go back in there! That's a dead body! You never said we'd have to deal with a dead body! That's a dead body in there!" Looking up through her tangled hair, Sharon glared at Jennie. "Now I know why you got kicked out of medical school," she said sarcastically. She straightened, taking a deep breath. "We'll go in together, all right?" Jennie was shaking her head slowly. "I don't do dead bodies! That's in my contract. I put that in my contract, didn't I? That's a dead body in there, isn't it?" Shaking her head, Sharon grabbed Jennie roughly by the arm and dragged her into the alley. Forced to deal with this, Jennie drew a deep breath and attempted to pull herself together. Tentatively, they crept toward the dark mass lying on the pavement surrounded by boxes. "It's a woman," Jennie observed, turning her head away and wrinkling her nose. "She's got something in her hand," Sharon added. "Looks like a... Pin or broach of some kind." She straightened. "OK, I've had enough," she said moving rapidly out of the alley. "Time to call the police." * * * * * "We stink," Jennie said dejectedly as they returned to their car. They'd spent the last two hours with the police making statements and answering questions and had only now just been allowed to leave. "Do you mean that literally or figuratively?" Sharon asked. "Both, I think." "Come on," Sharon said. "We did a good days work for a change." "We only put in six hours. How much money is that?" She sighed heavily and stared out the window. "Well," Sharon said, turning the car into traffic again, "the way I figure it, given everything we've been through today, traumatic to say the least, we really worked the equivalent of 18 hours, don't you think? I mean, how often does a dead body fall on top of you?" "How can you be so cheerful?" Sharon grinned. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." "You *think* you know what you're doing!" "Yeah, well this little episode is gonna look *great* on our resume. We just solved a missing person case for the police by finding their missing officer. *And*, though I might be wrong about this, Detective Schanke seemed awfully interested in that sword pin that she had clutched in her hand. I heard him say that he thought this would clear Nat once and for all. We did good work today, and I think we should celebrate. Look, there's a club there. Let's go in. I'll let you buy me a drink." "The Raven," Jennie read the sign aloud. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "It looks like a bit of a dive from out here." "Oh, it'll be fun," Sharon said. "We'll duck home real quick, shower, change, then head back here. I'll pick you up in an hour and we'll come back here." ************************************************************* Passing Glimpse by Jennie Hayes Jennie sank deeper into her seat in the theatre. She could almost feel LaCroix's icy stare, which she expected to descend at any time. He was *certain* to find out about who took over directing this mayhem. Valerie was already in hot water with him, but *Jennie* had managed to escape his notice... Until now. She had a feeling she wouldn't be able to feel safe after tonight. She just hoped her infamous NatPacker 'lack of self-preservation skills' tendency didn't kick in full force when he noticed, or she'd tell him off before she knew what she was saying. It had certainly happened before, with other maniacs. She turned her attention back to the screen. The episode was just showing the bit with herself and Sharon fighting in the dumpster. Sharon, who sat in front of her and Amy, turned around, "Amy you were so *good* there," she praised, "you were such a believable dead weight, I still don't know how you managed to keep from moving!" "Oh, I think that was the take where she fell asleep. You remember, we couldn't wake her up at first so we just filmed it with her asleep? Best move we made there. She really does sleep like the dead." Jennie grinned. "Oh, yeah, you're right!" Sharon laughed. "You guys are always picking on me!" Amy tried to pout believably, but wound up laughing instead. "Oh my goodness, look!" Jennie pointed at the screen suddenly and almost stood up. "There's Betsy's car!" She turned to Perri, who was on the other side of her from Amy, "Betsy was lost in Toronto for *days*, looking for either the filming or the way back to Don's place, where we stayed!" she explained through giggles, "by the time we actually found her again she'd passed by quite a few of the scenes we were filming without finding us. She was just plain confused when we pried her out of that car!" "Yes, I think she was in it for most of the time she was missing," Valerie put in from Amy's other side, "she was sore for days. I'm just glad she was OK when we found her!" They all fell silent again as the scene shifted. Jennie scooted back down in her seat, mentally cursing herself for practically making a spectacle of herself *again.* There really was little point in trying to hide, she wasn't any good at it. ************************************************************* Surprise Answer! by Sharon Himmanen, Jennie Hayes, and Amy Hull (Uniformed guard played by Amparo Bertram. Redheaded woman played by Valerie Meachum.) Natalie paced back and forth in the holding cell, compulsively wiping her fingers with the wad of paper towels she had clutched in her hands. What ink she'd managed to get off her fingers was now spread across the towels and she had succeeded in doing little more than smearing it around on her hands and clothes. Why did they have to use so much, she thought absently to herself, willing herself not think about the humiliation of the booking process. Eleven paces and she faced the cinder block wall. A sharp turn on her heel, eleven more steps and her nose touched the bars. Each time that happened, she'd glance up, taking in the woman in the uniform who stood guard and the steps (Amparo, wasn't that her name?), hoping to hear footsteps, to see Nick and Schanke coming down to let her out and tell her this was all some terrible mistake. But it wasn't a mistake, was it? Someone was doing this deliberately, setting her up for Stonetree's murder so neatly. Natalie's steps slowed as she mentally reviewed the evidence they had on her so far. The cat hair on the choker. It had matched Sydney's all right. Whoever it was probably picked that up when they planted the receipt, the semi- destroyed love letters and Stonetree's hat in her apartment. And there was that woman from the boutique who had identified her as the one who had bought the lingerie. Natalie stopped her pacing abruptly and stood quietly in the center of the cell for a moment. She thought she'd heard someone coming down the steps, but after a few seconds, when she saw no one, she turned slowly and sat down on the bunk. With a sigh she leaned back and closed her eyes. She'd gone over the evidence in her head at least a dozen times. And each time, she came up empty. Now she was forced to wait here doing nothing while Nick and Schanke tried to clear her. If he could clear her, she thought. She needed to work right now. Not being able to do anything was driving her crazy. Sometimes work was the only thing that helped, even when it was painful or difficult, like the autopsy she'd had to do on Stonetree earlier. She allowed herself to relax a little, grateful for the slight lessening that brought to the knot in her stomach and let her mind wander back over the details of the autopsy she'd performed earlier . . . * * * * * [Segue into Bruce Gray's post, "Surprise, Surprise, Surprise."] * * * * * ....The man swiveled around, and Nat got the shock of her life. "CAPTAIN STONETREE?!?!?" exclaimed Nat. * * * * * With a start, Natalie jerked awake and looked wildly around the cell, breathing rapidly. The uniformed guard had shifted slightly as she'd let out a small strangled sound and sat up quickly. "It was a dream," Natalie mumbled. "Just a dream." As she stood and resumed her pacing, Natalie thought about how wonderful it would have been if it had been true, or that she could have stayed a bit longer in the dream. Anything was better than this nightmare, she thought, turning on her heel and taking eleven steps back toward the wall. She was halfway back toward the bars when she heard several people coming down the stairs so she quickened her pace, praying that it was Nick. Her hopes were dashed, however, when she saw several uniformed officers escorting a tall, thin red-headed woman toward the cell. ************************************************************* Surprise, Surprise, Surprise by L. Bruce Gray "Just one more to do tonight," Nat thought as she moved over to the last sheet-draped figure in the County Coroner's examination room. But, it would be one of the hardest ones that she had done in a long time. Under the covers were the mortal remains of Captain Stonetree. She took a deep breath before carrying the tray with the necessary instruments she would need over to the lab table nearest the body. She took another deep breath when she got there, uncovered the body, and began to work. * * * * * About an hour later, she pulled the sheet back up over the head of the cadaver. The examination had not revealed any new facts that she didn't already suspect, but it had still had to be done, regardless. She took the evidence and the identifying information over to the office computer to enter the data that she had compiled. She began by bringing up the screen with Stonetree's records on it and then began to file the report. Several minutes later, she was done. She pressed the button that would send the autopsy information into the main computer's memory and then got up from the computer desk. She walked over to the small coffee pot near the sink, washed up, and poured herself a large cup. Suddenly, the computer began to beep. Nat took her coffee back over to the desk and sat it down on some nearby paperwork. The screen was flashing: <> Nat pressed the button to retrieve the faulty file. She wondered which one of the few she had done tonight was wrong. She was surprised at the result. "Captain Stonetree?" Nat said, half aloud. "What could possibly be wrong with that?" She took a long sip of her coffee and began to reenter the data on Captain Stonetree into the data base. She checked the information she entered against the clipboard she carried to make sure there were no errors between each entry. "Computers!" said Nat. "Probably just missed a period or comma or something." A few minutes later and she was done. She pressed the transmit button again, and waited while drinking the rest of her coffee. A few minutes later, the computer began beeping again. <> "What could be wrong now?" she thought. She looked at the file again and checked the information she had entered against the clipboard's info again. She even checked the evidence file and identifying marks files for inaccuracies. As soon as she knew that she had not made a mistake, she grabbed a copy of the printout and headed for the door. * * * * * A few minutes later, she walked into the precinct and went over to Captain Cohen's office. She stopped at the receptionist's desk. "Is anyone in there?" Nat said. "Not that I know of, but I stepped out for a short break a few minutes ago." the receptionist replied. Nat walked over to the Captain's door and knocked. "Come in." said Cohen. Nat opened the door and went inside. "Close the door." said Cohen. Nat closed the door and then noticed someone sitting in the chair next to the desk. "I didn't know you were busy. I'll come back." said Nat, and she began to turn around and head back for the door. "No, wait." said Cohen. "You, at least, are going to have to see this." She pointed towards the man in the chair. The man swiveled around, and Nat got the shock of her life. "CAPTAIN STONETREE?!?!?" exclaimed Nat. ************************************************************* Credit Where Credit Is Due by Tara LJC O'Shea Nat looked up at the sound of feet, and smiled as Nick appeared on the other side of the bars. "Hey stranger," she got up off the bed, running a hand through her hair, pointlessly really, it did what it wanted. But it was habit. "I talked to Grace, and I think we have a lead on that credit card receipt. They checked your balance, and the charge is there--" "I've never been in that place in my life." "I know, I know, so I had a handwriting analysis done." "Yeah?" "It's yours." "Great. This is just great. So now what?" "Did you sign anything unusual yesterday? See anyone who didn't belong there?" "I was so preoccupied... I mean, with Captain Stonetree... Maybe." "Think, Nat. This is important." "I think that reminder is a little unnecessary, don't you think?" She ran her hand across the bars, and Nick flinched. "I'm sorry, this wouldn't be happening..." "Oh, don't start with the guilt thing, okay? Let me concentrate." She closed her eyes, trying to remember the hectic afternoon Stonetree's body was brought in. "There was an intern with some forms, I don't know..." She shook her head. "It was just forms." "This intern, did she look familiar?" "I don't think so. Blue eyes, auburn hair, kinda plain. Lab coat, you know, I don't think I knew her. I didn't blink, I guess." "Did she have a name." "Danielle something, I think. Like two first names. Kaye. Danielle Kaye." Nick chewed on this bit of information for a moment, and then stopped in his tracks as he realized exactly what he'd just heard. "Dani Kaye. Of course." "What...? The actor?" "No, the girl. My blender!" "Nick, should I be understanding this?" "She's one of Janette's. *Janette* planted the receipt." He squeezed her hand through the bars, and gave her a peck on the forehead, and then headed for the door. "Nick!" Nat called after him, but he was gone. * * * Janette held her head high as she entered her club, still furious at the games she had been forced to play at the station. The line-up had been the final straw, she hadn't really cared before who was framing her, or why. She just knew they wouldn't succeed, and even if they did, she certainly wasn't going to bother with mortal's abstract concepts of law, she would simply leave. She would leave. Leave Nichola. Leave her club. Of course she would, wouldn't she? She slammed the door of her office, and was not at all surprised to find Tara asleep on her couch. She stared at her until she awakened. "This is not a flop house." Janette frowned. "Not unless you have fangs, eh? Well, as I'm sure you noticed, I had booked an hotel room. However, seeing as how I've spent perhaps all of three hours there, on account of I am constantly being summoned here, I figured I'd just cut out a step. How'd it go?" "Go?" "I thought you'd be happy to know that the police received an anonymous tip that who they were looking for was right under their nose. I imagine by now the dear Doctor is watching her flat be searched." Tara briefly explained her actions that night, and with each incident, Janette let more of the anger drain out of her, to be replaced by a sly smile and glimmer of delight in her blue eyes. Purposefully, she removed the returned choker from her jewelry box, and put it on. "Just to be sure no one tries to take it again." "Now, we must find out who took it in the first place, and tried to frame you. It was a flimsy frame, to be sure. Makes me wonder just how serious the culprit might have been." "Or how intelligent." "Precisely." At that moment, a furious Nick Knight yanked open the door, eyes flashing angry red. "What have you done?" He grasped Janette's shoulders. "What, to your mortal pet? Nothing that hadn't already been done to me," she hissed, breaking free of his hold. Tara cleared her throat, and Nick noticed her for the first time. "Credit where credit is due, dear." "Nichola, have you met my... Associate?" The blue eyes must have been contact lenses, he noted, as her eyes were brown behind her glasses. He remembered her with black hair, as well. Quite the chameleon, no wonder Nat hadn't recognized her. "Miss Dani Kaye, I presume?" At that, Janette raised a brow, a bemused smile crossing her face. Tara's eyes danced. "Yes. I needed a diversion, Nat was there, I took advantage," Tara replied, completely unconcerned at how ruthless it could sound. But it was the truth, an unkind truth perhaps, but the truth. "They arrested her," Nick growled. "She has no motive, they'll let her go, and it bought us time." Tara shrugged off his anxiousness, and was shocked as he took a step towards her, eyes flashing. "No motive? Then kindly explain to me the letters you burned in her grate? The letters that to all appearances connect her to Joe Stonetree in some kind of illicit love affair? The hat?" Nick grasped Tara's forearms, and the threat was there, even muted. The threat of violence if any harm came to his precious doctor. "What the hell are you talking about? I planted a cat hair, and a credit card receipt, and made a phone call. That was it. *Let me go*." The last three words were filled with such rancor that Nick automatically opened his hands. Tara stepped out of his shadow, thought better of what her anger would like her to say, and instead left, her hands balled into fists. Nick watched her go, and sighed. "If she didn't plant them, that means someone else did," Nick's anger began to drain away as his thoughts moved with vampiric speed, putting the pieces together. "Most likely the same person who tried to frame you, except he, or she, has done a far better job of it with Nat." "LaCroix," Janette said softly. "LaCroix. And he's far too clever to make this easy for us. I can't begin to guess at his game, but I will not allow me and mine to be pawns, and that is exactly what we all are in this game." Nick began to pace. "If I will play this game, I will not play it as a pawn," Janette laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "What I do to keep this club, my club, is necessary. I will not let it be used, let myself be used, as a weapon in you and our sire's fights, so do not be surprised at anything I do, cherie." "If it is LaCroix--" Nick began, and Janette laughed derisively. "If." "Then I will deal with him." "I've seen you 'deal' with him before, cherie, and we both know how well that turned out. I have no great love for our sire at present, and neither do many of my Ravens, don't be a fool and throw away potential allies." "I'll keep that in mind." Nick reached out to caress Janette's cheek. "I'm sorry you had to be involved in this, cherie." "Hmmm. You are sorry. This is something new?" He caressed her jaw, his lips brushing her neck, and he drew back, noticing the choker for the first time. "Fashion or not, it suits you." He smiled, and kissed her lightly. "Go, go talk to your Captain Cross," she waved him away. "And Nichola?" "Yes?" "I'd apologize to her if I were you. She has a long memory, for a mortal. And she has proved herself quite invaluable to me, I would hate to lose her. After all, she was only trying to protect me." * * * "Miki, am I deluded?" Tara stirred her gin and tonic, and then licked the plastic swizzle stick before laying it on the cocktail napkin and raising the glass to her lips. "How so, deluded?" Like a good bartender, Miklos continued to set the clean glasses away, waiting for her to spill out her story at her own speed. "In my more self-obsessed moments, I feel under-appreciated. It's just that sometimes, I wonder why I bother at all. He makes me so angry." "He?" "The *detective*" if the noun could be made a curse, it just had. "Honestly, I can understand what she sees in him, but sometimes, that doesn't make it any easier." "Do you really want things to be easy?" "I suppose not. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if things were easy. I suppose I thrive on challenges." She set the empty glass down, watching the ice cubes shift, enjoying the sound they made. She fumbled for a cigarette, and Miklos produced a silver lighter. She drew the smoke into her lungs, and then let it go slowly, sighing. "I think that I just need some sleep. Or at the very least, a hot shower and a good meal." "That I think we can provide," Janette came up behind her, setting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Go upstairs, relax, gather your thoughts. You are no good to anyone so tense." "Yes ma'am," Tara was surprised, but grateful. Such... Care for a mortal was almost atypical, though it could be said Janette was simply protecting her assets. Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, she slipped off the stool and headed towards the stairs. "Wait!" Nick called out as she started up the stairs, and Tara turned, unable to keep her hands from tightening on the railing. "Please," he said, and her shoulders loosened just a little. "Can I help you, Detective?" "What I said in the office... What I did, it was wrong. I was acting without knowing all the facts, and I took out my frustration on you." "I never do anything, Detective, unless it can be fixed." Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and gripped the railing tighter. "I never meant Nat harm, she truly was just a diversion." "I know, and I wanted to... Frankly, to thank you for doing what you did for Janette, it was really very clever." "Careful, you're getting patronizing, that doesn't bode well in an apology." Tara smiled slyly as she shook her finger, a good bit of her anger draining away. "Um... I don't even know your real name," Nick looked a little sheepish, and Tara couldn't help but laugh. "It's not Dani Kaye." "No, it's not. Goodness, I've had so many names over the years. You can call me LJC if you like, most people around here do. You can call me Tara, or you can even call me Johanna Shea, it's one of them as well." Nick raised an eyebrow. "Any relation...?" "That's for me to know, Detective. Good-night." Smiling, she continued up the stairs, leaving the bemused vampire shaking his head as he disappeared back out into the night, with his job cut out for him. ************************************************************* Time Out by Tara LJC O'Shea "Oh my." LJC knew Janette had exquisite taste, but she had never seen her apartments before, and she was almost afraid to breathe, lest she break something. For one, the soundproofing was excellent, the second the door clicked shut it was like being the only person left in the world. She could see the street below from the wall of picture windows, but it was silent, no cars backfiring, no horns, no screeching of tires. Just the lights. The kitchen to the left of the door was small, very modern, and virtually empty, for obvious reasons. Long white tapers in simply crystal candle holders were the only thing adorning the dining room table, two high-backed velvet chairs waiting for diners. She got a glass of water, resisted the urge to peek in the fridge, and moved into the living room. The hardwood floors were covered with Oriental rugs, she could feel her feet sinking just a little with each step. The walls were cream, and the ceilings high, giving the rooms an airy feel, but not cold. The carpets, the wall hangings, everything was coordinated in rich reds, greens, and golds. The couch was forest green leather, oversized, with black throw pillows at the corners. Tara sank down onto it, giggling. Somehow, what with the chains in the club below, she had never been able to picture such normal decor, and yet it made perfect sense. Tall art deco lamps lit the corners, chasing away the shadows, and there wasn't a speck of dusk anywhere. A giant television dominated one wall, an entire entertainment system really, and she noticed small speakers set into the corners of the room, and shook her head. Apparently Nick wasn't the only one with a fondness for gadgets and technological wonders, though there wasn't a remote control to be seen. Close investigation of the end table revealed a panel controlling the blinds, music, lights, and television. Similar panels must be set in inconspicuous places all about the flat, she realized, and whistled softly. Clever. Blinds were on a timer, no less. Running a hand through her short hair, she decided a bath was in order. Reluctantly leaving the couch, she peeked down a hall, and saw it led up a few steps to a bedroom. Again, burgundy, black, green, gold and cream were mixed to create a rich, warm environment, but this time she noted there were no windows. The floor was covered in thick cream wall to wall carpet, muffling her footsteps. The walls were dark green, matching the satin sheets beneath the burgundy counterpane. What really got her though was the ceiling, which was cranberry, just a shade lighter than the counterpane. Tall, graceful art deco lamps like those in the living room lit the room, casting dark shadows. One entire wall was taken up by sliding doors, leading to a closet twice as large as Tara's college dorm room. She was impressed. The bathroom was two small connected rooms, the first containing a vanity with a wide assortment of perfumes and cosmetics, the second a dark blue tiled bathroom with gold fixtures (she'd bet her writing hand it was real gold too) and a tub that looked deep enough to swim in. The connecting door to the closet was ajar, giving Tara a glimpse of silks, crepe, and velvet. She was sorely tempted, but poking through Janette's closets was just a little too much, even for her. Leaving her clothes in a small black pile on the counter, she started running the bath, yawning. She could get used to this. All the more reason to hurry and take a nap, before she was tempted to spend the rest of her stay here. * * * Wrapped in a fluffy dark blue robe, her auburn hair hanging in damp tendrils against her cheeks and neck, Tara hung up her clothes, and thought about curling up on the couch for a few hours. She surely wasn't going to sleep in the bed, it was just a little too spooky. As she stepped into the living room, she heard dishes clinking, and steeling herself for the worst, she peeked around to see Miklos setting a plate of broiled white fish and new potatoes in butter and dill on the dining room table, steam rising from the hot food, the glass of ice water no doubt his way of saying she'd consumed more than enough spirits so far that night. "Don't tell me you cook, too. If you weren't undead, my mother would be telling me not to let you escape." Tara leaned against the door frame, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Alas, no. You'd be amazed who delivers for the right price, though." "At," Tara glanced at her watch, "1 am no less." She sat down, and started in on the fish. She looked up at the Hungarian vampire, who stood watching her. "Join me?" She gestured to the empty chair. "For a drink, perhaps." He fetched a glass from the kitchen, and she could hear him rooting around in the fridge. She sipped the water, wondering what had gotten into her. She wasn't the flirting type. Yeah, right... She was a little lonely, though. Even with all her friends around her, she had isolated herself, it was her own fault, and she would have to fix that come morning... Er, evening. Miklos returned with the house specialty, and she regarded him curiously. "What do you think about all this?" "Me? I honestly don't know." "But you'd protect her with your life, wouldn't you." "Yes. And you?" "Something like that. I don't think you lot are worth my life, sometimes. But I guess I'll never know, at least, I sure as hell hope not." She washed a bite of potato down with the icy water, and a shiver shot through her. "It's just so weird, being here. I mean, I always knew she had a place up here, but I had no idea... I guess I figured it would be decorated by Alma, and have chains hanging in front of the doors or something." "This was decorated by Alma, actually." "You're messing with me!" "Alma is quite good at what she does, she just lets people underestimate her, it gives her an advantage." "She must be the most advantageous immortal in the city then," Tara shook her head, and Miklos almost choked on his dinner. "Why do you call me Miki?" "I dunno. I must have heard it once. From Jo, I think, I don't know where she picked it up." "My brothers used to call me Miki, when we were small." "Was this when dinosaurs roamed the earth, or just before the steam engine?" "Let me keep some of my mystery," he chided her, smiling. She looked away. "Does she know you're up here?" "She sent me." "Ah." There was an uncomfortable pause, as Tara finished the fish and vedge, and got up to place the dishes in the sink. Absently, she took the empty glass and rinsed it out, trying not to think about what surely wasn't wine dregs in the glass, and set the dishes carefully in the washer. She found the soap just where it should be (under the sink) and noted with envy how quiet the washer ran. Hers at home sounded like a marching band on spin cycle. Slipping into the familiar routine, she didn't even notice how the vampire watched her, amused, until she turned back around. "What?" she stood there with her hands on her hips. "So... Domestic." "Yeah, well, I learned to cook from my father, and clean from my mother, and I'm better at both of them than they were. I'm lying, my father is a great cook. But I'm hopelessly domestic, you're right. How many brothers?" "Three. What will you do in the morning, now that she's 'in the clear' as you put it?" "I have no idea, I know *Oncle* is involved somehow, I just don't know how. Best to be prepared for surprises, I guess." "How does one prepare for surprises?" "By kicking nice vampires out so one can catch at least four hours sleep." "Ah." "Wake me at dawn? I'd like to be out of here before, you know... The sun. And I'm sure I'll have work to do soon enough anyway." "You're wrong, you know." "About what?" "I'm not nice." "Sure you are. I only hit on nice men. I, on the other hand, am a terrible person, I drink too much, I smoke too much, I tell lies for a living, and for relaxation. You should be ashamed to be seen with me." She chuckled, and wrapped the robe closer around her, smiling wistfully. "Good-night, Miki." He kissed her hand, and then disappeared down the stairs. Falling onto the couch, Tara curled up into a ball, her thoughts spinning with questions and answers, none of which matched, and within minutes she was sound asleep. And because she was asleep, she never saw the figure that slipped in and stood over her, frowning, in the darkness before the dawn. As it was, she had nightmares. ************************************************************* Right Place at the Wrong Time by Selma McCrory and Tara LJC O'Shea Nick watched Selma work with the sketch artist, his mind only on half the job, he was still trying to fathom all the frames that were popping up around them. He looked up as Grace approached. "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." Alarmed, Nick looked down at the sketch for the first time, and hid his surprise. It was the girl he had just spoken to at The Raven, Tara. *But that's impossible...* He quickly covered his shock, and casually asked "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." He tried to sound convincing, but he wanted to dash out of there, and question the girl again. She couldn't have been lying to him... She certainly didn't seem capable of murder. But weren't killers liars too? "Thank you, Detective. I'll keep my eyes out, just in case." Grace smiled, and he tried to match it, squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Grace." He knew Grace was just concerned about Nat, as was he. "You're welcome," she said, and headed off. He watched her go, and then looked down at Selma. "You're sure this is the woman?" "I only saw her for a second, but yes, I think so." "You saw her?" he looked deep into her eyes, and could hear her heart beating beneath the normal noise of the station around then. She blinked slowly, suddenly caught up in the sound of his voice, the world around them forgotten. "Yes." "Do you know who she is?" "No." He released her, and she shook her head, blinking rapidly. "Thank you Ms. McCrory, if we need you for anything further, may we call you?" "Yes, certainly. Of course, I want to find out who killed Joe just as much as you do." * * * Nick came *this* close to breaking the speed limit as he headed back to the Raven, but dawn was approaching, he couldn't risk being stopped, not before he did what he had come to do. "Nichola, what a surprise, I thought your business with us was done," Janette looked up from her desk as he entered her office. "When did Tara arrive in Toronto?" "Why do you ask?" "Someone just ID'd her from a sketch down at the station, said she saw her getting into an elevator with Joe Stonetree the night he was killed." "That's preposterous, Tara wasn't even here yet. And besides, she didn't even know the man. Obviously this witness of yours was lying." "You know she couldn't lie to me, Janette. Where's the girl?" "Upstairs, in my flat." "I need to talk to her." "Cher, she hasn't slept in days, why not at least let her rest a little while?" "There's no time. If she was with him, that makes her the last person to see him alive, and possibly a killer." "And if she wasn't?" "Then someone is trying to frame your girl." "She is not *my girl*." "In any case, I have to talk to her before this sketch goes out over the wire." "Fine, go see her, wake her up, see if I care. I warn you, however, Miklos will be very angry if anything happens to her." "What?" "They have an understanding." "Half the female population of Toronto has an 'understanding' with your bartender," Nick muttered beneath his breath, and started up the stairs to the apartment above the club. * * * Tara shifted on the couch, uneasily, and the figure watching her looked up at the sound of feet. As Nick entered the flat, the figure slipped out the window, and disappeared. Nick bent down and touched Tara's shoulder gently, trying to wake her. She sighed, a frown creasing her features, and then her eyes flickered open. "I thought you never did anything that couldn't be fixed," he said as she sat up, self-consciously pulling the bathrobe tighter around her, and blinking the sleep from her eyes. "What now, Detective?" she said, wearily, and looked up at him with guileless eyes. "Someone saw you get into the elevator at the Royal Constellation with Stonetree the night he was killed." "That's impossible, I wasn't here, I was in Chicago, I can prove it." She headed towards the bedroom, and he followed her. She held up her clothes. "Do you mind?" He allowed her to step into the changing room, leaving the door open a crack so she could still hear him. "Do you have any proof?" "My airline ticket, hotel receipts from the Hyatt Regency out by O'Hare, I guess. I didn't check into the Constellation until after the body was found." "That won't prove you weren't in Toronto, you could have come in early, stayed in another hotel under an assumed name, you have more than enough of them." "Ha ha, very funny," she exited, once again in her black turtleneck, pants and boots. "Are you brining me in, then?" "No, not yet. But we need to get to the hotel and get those records, they're desperate for a suspect, someone must be setting you up." "Great, one frame for another." He opened the door for her, and she stepped through, and they headed down the stairs. Miklos looked up from the bar as they went past. "I'll be back," Tara said, as much to convince herself as the vampire, who simply glared at Nick as he counted out the drawer. * * * "They were here!" Tara updumped her suitcase on the bed, tossing clothes left right and centre as she looked for the travel agency envelope with all her receipts and tickets. "I'm not *this* scatterbrained, I wouldn't have lost my ticket. For crissakes, my passport was in there, I wouldn't lose that." "Calm down," Nick placed his hands on her shoulders, but she knocked them away. "*You* calm down, I'm the one being framed here." "Now you know how Nat feels." "Low blow." "Come on, they could have fallen out of your bag when you checked in, maybe someone turned them in at the desk." "At least let me change," she held up a pair of jeans and a sweater. Nick rolled his eyes heavenwards, what the hell was wrong with what she had on? Eight hundred years, and he still didn't understand women. * * * "I'm sorry miss, no one has turned anything in," the desk clerk looked appropriately apologetic, and Tara's shoulders slumped. "This can't be happening," she said softly, and Nick laid a hand on her shoulder. "Knight! Good work, you found her," Schanke headed across the lobby, a patrolman and LaCroix in tow, and Nick could feel Tara's shoulders tighten beneath his hand. She looked at him with fear in her eyes. "Miss, I'm afraid you'll have to come with us." Schanke's tone was anything but polite. "Are you arresting me, Detective?" Tara addressed Nick, ignoring the mortal detective for a moment. "No," he replied hastily. "We just want to ask you a few questions," LaCroix said, stepping in front of Schanke and taking her by the arm. Tara's eyes lit up with hatred, and he smiled as he led her out to the car. She glanced back at Nick over her shoulder, frightened, but he was staring at the back of LaCroix's head, his fists clenched at his sides. "C'mon, partner, one last thing to do before shift ends. Capt'n'll be pleased, it's about time we finally got a suspect in this case." "Yeah," Nick looked down at his shoes, feeling helpless. He quelched it quickly, and set off across the lobby towards the glass doors to the street with a renewed look of determination as he saw the back of Tara's head through the rear window of the squad car. It was bowed, and he could only wonder what was going through her mind as the squad car pulled away from the curb and headed downtown. Nick got into the Caddy, revving up the engine, and almost pulled away before he noticed Schanke standing at the passenger door, waiting for him to unlock his door. He reached across and pulled up the lock, and Schanke jumped in, slamming the door. "Not bad for a night's work, eh?' "This one doesn't feel right, Schank." Nick pulled away from the hotel, hands clutching the steering wheel til his knuckles were white. ************************************************************* Interceptions by Cousin Lisa Alma obediently stamped on the brakes, whereupon the Alfa Romeo came as close as a sports car can to doing a wheelie in the middle of a fortunately deserted Yonge St. "What's the matter? You forget something?" "No, it's what I just saw. Turn that way." "I didn't see nothing." But Alma swung the wheel left. They were just in time to see Nick, Schanke and Captain Cross disappearing into the building which, according to the sign on the facade, housed CERK. Lisa took a hasty drink from the rum. "Why's LaCroix riding around with Nick and Schanke?" Lisa was thinking out loud, but Alma took the query literally. "Lisa, maybe you shouldn't ought to drink no more. That wasn't LaCroix, it was some guy from Internal Affairs at the police, name of Capt. Cross." "Yeah, and I'm Cleopatra. That's LaCroix." Lisa smiled grimly. "Alma, I think we'll see Zenaida some other time. Take me to Feliks Twist's house, instead." Feliks was far too gentlemanly to refuse a lady. "By all means borrow my computer, my dear. Do I want to know why?" "No, as far as you know, I started feeling sick and I was lying down in one of your guest rooms. Thanks, Feliks--I knew I could count on you." Lisa installed herself in Feliks' studio. First she retrieved the disk with her copy of her late Cousin Joe's files from her purse and read it with great interest. Now she saw why, after she'd had a chance to examine them herself, Selma McCrory had hastily passed them along to the person most concerned. Obviously, this was not the version Joe had brought with him to the hotel. Lisa nodded to herself. "Very well, several can play at this game, and I think I know who's going to be the Dummy." She invoked Feliks's communications package and began to type commands. ************************************************************* In her office, Amanda Cohen stared at the files that had appeared on her screen when she typed in Stonetree's account number and password. Normally she would have ignored the anonymous phone call but with the Stonetree case chasing them all around in circles and two mutually exclusive suspects in jail, she couldn't afford to ignore anything. Behind her Schanke, commandeered as a witness, muttered, "man, oh, man." They finished reading at noon. Schanke had run out of the room after the first page of Stonetree's draft memoirs and returned with the copy of the files supplied by Selma McCrory. The alterations were just where the caller had predicted. Capt. Cohen frowned, "*do* you know this Lisa McDavid?" "Yes," Schanke admitted. "She was one of the witnesses in that weird thing with the scorpions at the hotel. Besides, she's a friend of my mother's from Feline-L." "Feline what?" Schanke looked sheepish. "It's an internet list for cat- lovers. Zenaida Stonetree's on it, too." "H'mm, so she's Stonetree's cousin, she was at the hotel and the files have been altered just like our little bird on the phone said." The terminal began beeping frantically. Capt. Cohen switched out of Stonetree's account and into her own. "That does it." Cohen's voice was grim. "First we have Stonetree's memoirs on the police mainframe where they can't have been tampered with and now the lab raises fingerprints on Stonetree's body where somebody moved him after he was dead, and the fingerprints come back to the name that's in place of Ms. McDavid's in the files on the mainframe. Detective, I think we want to have a little chat with the Crown Prosecutor. "Yeah, Nick Knight," said the answering machine. "I'm either in bed or incommunicado..." Schanke's voice issued from the speaker. "Hey, pard, in case you're still there, Cohen wants you down at the precinct, stat. Things hotted up while you got your shut-eye. Lee and Horton just brought in the somebody else in the Stonetree case. Looks like Janet and Nat'll walk, after all." ************************************************************* Nick looked puzzled. "The perp in the Stonetree case insists on seeing me?" "Yes, sir," said the young woman who had escorted him downstairs. "Something about not talking to anyone else. He's in here." So saying, she shouldered the heavy fire door open and gestured for Nick to precede her. This was a mistake, because when Nick stopped, thunderstruck, in the middle of the floor, she ran into him. "Good evening, Nicholas," said LaCroix from the holding cell. ************************************************************* The Nightmare Before Conviction by Amparo Bertram Natalie sat on her bunk, hardly able to believe she had been arrested. As she contemplated this turn of events, a quiet voice reached her ears. "I sense there's something in the wind. "That feels like tragedy at hand..." she thought. She looked around for the source of the song. Outside her cell, a young woman in uniform was writing in a notebook at her desk and singing under her breath, probably unconsciously. The officer wore glasses and had what appeared to be a large quantity of brown hair bound up in a braid. She seemed vaguely familiar. "And though I'd like to stand by him, "Can't shake this feeling that I have-- "The worst is just around the bend." The words served to make Natalie even more depressed and anxious. She *knew* Nick would do his best to clear her name, but was it possible? The evidence against her was hard to refute, even though it had all been planted. Just the thought of being convicted of the murder gave her the shivers. The song wasn't helping any. "And does he notice my feelings for him? "And will he see how much he means to me? "I think it's not to be." "Do you mind?" Natalie called out. The guard looked up in surprise. Natalie recognized her, but the name was somewhere in the back of her mind. She would remember eventually. "Sorry," the woman apologized, blushing. She pulled a book out of a desk drawer and buried her nose in it. Nevertheless, the damage had been done. Natalie's already frayed nerves were completely on edge. She shoved herself off the bunk and began to pace. ************************************************************* Safe as Houses by Tara LJC O'Shea The Raven was quiet, it wouldn't open for a few hours yet. Miklos was behind the bar, as usual, making sure they had enough cocktail napkins and limes. Alma had gone downstairs to fetch a case of scotch, they were getting low. Janette was upstairs no doubt getting ready for whatever this night would bring, choosing the proper attire for surprises. Jasmine and Tami were seated at a booth, having explored the premises, making sure there were no devices, listening or otherwise. They watched and listened, having been caught up on what had gone before in the truck on the way over. "You know, I haven't really slept yet." Susan sat at the bar, watching Tara pace the length of the dance floor. "Okay, let's look at this logically. Someone stole my tickets and my passport from my hotel room." "I mean, I know it's possible for a person to go days on only a few hours." "And Selma really believes she saw me, which is impossible." "But I'd rather not test this theory." "And someone hacked into the airline computers to change my records." "Are you even listening to me?" "Hmmm?" "Sleep." "I don't have time." Tara dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Not you, me." "What? Oh, Jesus, Susan, I'm sorry," Tara's hand flew to her mouth. "It's okay, you've got a lot on your mind." Susan yawned. "Why me? I didn't get here until after the murder, I wasn't a logical suspect unless..." "Unless what?" "Unless someone wanted me out of the way for another reason entirely." "I don't follow." "Let's work this out. Who knew I was working behind the scenes? You, obviously, and Nat, but she didn't know until late in the game. Janette, Nick, Miki and Alma. And none of them would have framed me for murder, I'm helping them." "Obviously, someone doesn't appreciate your kind of help." "Who would want to stop me from clearing Janette?" "Whomever framed her, I suppose." "That puts us back and square one, why frame Janette? For that matter, why frame the good doctor? I did it to draw suspicion away, buy time, but this was much more thorough, much better planned. Premeditated." There was a knock at the door, and Miklos slipped out from behind the bar to open it. "Okay kid, what ties Janette and Natalie together?" Susan decided to try the Garrett theory of Logical Progression, which had served her pretty well in the past. "Nick." Tara resumed pacing, and heard muted voice at the door. "And by hurting them..." Susan prompted, and Tara snapped her fingers, standing in place. "You hurt him." She chewed on her fingernail. "Who would want to hurt him?" "Uh-oh," Susan looked past Tara to the little scene that was presenting itself. Tara glanced up, and all the colour drained from her face. A girl--no, Heather, the shop-girl from Darkangel's, held a sharpened wooden stake to the bartender's heart, her gray eyes wild, dark hair framing her face, which was so pale it made the light dusting of freckles across her cheeks stand out. Miklos backpedaled, and came up against the bar. Susan hopped down from her stool, and stood beside Tara. "Heather, what are you doing?" Tara asked softly. "He messed with my head. Mind rape, do you know how that feels? What it's like to have someone digging around in your thoughts?" "No, I don't know how it feels." "I know what he is, what they all are. They have no right!" She pressed the stake closer to Miklos's heart, but he didn't wince. "No, they don't," Tara said matter-of-factly. Heather looked at her, a little of the fire going out of her. "I had no right to ask him to place the false memories in your mind. He did it because I asked. I did it because I thought I had to, it seemed like a really good idea at the time. So if you're going to destroy anyone here, it might as well be me, I'm the guilty one." "But... But, you're human, aren't you?" "Yes. Miki is my friend, and I would be very upset if you were to hurt him." Out of the corner of her eye, Tara could see Alma standing in the doorway from the cellar, eyes flashing amber. Susan shook her head minutely, but Alma ignored her. In a flash, Alma was across the room, wrenching the stake from Heather's hand, and locking one hand around her throat, fangs bared. "No!" Tara shouted, and Alma froze. "No, let her alone." Reluctantly, Alma let the girl go, hissing for good measure. Heather massaged her throat, staring daggers at Tara. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" Heather could feel a massive headache coming on, and rubbed her temples. "First you have Drakula here do a number on me, then the police are asking me all these questions, and then some big goon picks my brain--" "What goon?" Tara placed her hands on Heather's forearms, frowning. "I was coming out of the shop, yesterday evening, and there was this guy. One of them," she nodded her head towards Miklos and Alma, who continued to glare at her. "What did he look like?" "Tall. Short hair, brown I think, but it could have been blond, it was dark. I could have sworn he was that cop... He never said anything then, just watched me, but last night..." "He made you remember *me* specifically?" "He said... He said he had a few questions for me, made me... He made me tell him everything, and then he made me forget. Except I didn't forget, I did for a while, but now I remember, I remember it all." "LaCroix," Tara spat the name, releasing Heather's arms and starting to pace once more, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Of course, he had to get rid of me, and then..." She laughed sardonically, her brown eyes hard, "then he has the gall to ask me to join him! That bastard!" Heather sat down, a bit confused. She swore she had come here with a very specific purpose, resolute no less, and now she had gotten all turned around, and the person she thought she should hate was angrier than she herself had been. Tara stopped pacing, and sat next to her, impatiently pushing her auburn bangs out of her eyes. "Heather, I'm sorry. I know what I did was wrong, and I shouldn't have involved you in all of this, he used you as a pawn, and that never would have happened if it weren't for me. I'm going to fix it, all of it, and then..." "And then we all have a bone to pick with Internal Affairs Investigator Cross," Janette appeared in a gold and red ensemble, hair swept up and held in place with combs. "Who, it seems is in jail. Isn't that lovely?" ************************************************************* The Persistence of Vision Shadows War (2) by L Bruce Gray The shadow stepped out of the alley directly across from a large apartment building. The shadow stepped in through the front door just as some one else was coming out. "Was that the wind?" said the man to himself as he continued down the street. Meanwhile, the shadow went over to the stairs and went up. After a few floors, the shadow went out into the hall to a specific door. He only stopped for a moment to check the number on the door before carefully picking the lock. He went inside and closed and locked the door. The shadow moved around the apartment until he saw the computer on the table. Taking a small package out of the folds of shadow around him, he put it on the desk and began to remove some cables from a satchel and hooked the package up to the computer in the back. After hooking up the cables, the shadow turned the computer on with a gloved hand. Then he flipped a switch on the package. Lines of data began appearing rapidly on the screen. The password was soon in the shadow's possession. After using the password to unlock all of the files, he sat down at the computer desk and input the following: The shadow knew that this would make a copy of everything that was currently on the hard drive inside the computer to the small package on the desk. While this was being done, he went around the small apartment looking for papers to make photos of and checked for a safe or other hiding places. He had to put the cat in a closet for a few minutes while doing this. The cat must have known he was a stranger. After checking to see if there was no other data to download, the shadow carefully removed all evidence of his presence. The last thing he did before leaving was to let the cat out of the closet. The shadow left the building the same way he came. A few blocks away, he made a telephone call from a nearby booth. He waited only long enough for the connection to be completed and then said, "Target L has been acquired,", and then hung up. ************************************************************* Random Acts (9) by Diane Echelbarger Natalie picked up her mail on the way to her apartment. There was a small package as well as the usual collection of bills and junk mail. She tossed the mail on the table and took off her coat. When she turned around, Sidney was nosing the small package across the table, making eager mrrowing noises at her. She took the package away from him and frowned. It was addressed to *Sidney* Lambert. Sidney put both front paws on her forearm and nosed the package. His miaows became more demanding. Nat opened the padded envelope and upended it. A flat tin, about four inches by six, slid out onto her palm. It had a Lesley Anne Ivory cat on the lid. She stepped away from Sidney's insistent prodding and pried it open. It resisted, then snapped up suddenly, releasing a shower of small, fragrant green leaves. Sidney, rrowling ecstatically, jumped to the floor and began rubbing his face in the scattered catnip. There was a small white envelope half buried in the catnip- filled tin. Nat pulled it out, and opened it. A white cat adorned the front of the card. And it was blank. Again. ************************************************************* Clue by Tara LJC O'Shea The Raven had been open for less than an hour, the regulars pouring in once the doors were opened. Janette went straight back to her office, and Tara sat at the bar. "Anything new?" she asked Miklos as he handed her a glass of tonic. She frowned, but she supposed drinking wasn't the answer now. She needed a clear head. "They found another body." "Oh, not again. I'm not connected to this one, am I?" "Don't ask me, those two ladies found the body," he pointed out two women sitting at a booth across the bar, "perhaps they can shed more light on the matter?" "Thanks, Miki." Tara picked up her drink and headed across the bar. * * * "Do you mind?" Sharon and Jennie looked up to see a red-haired stranger. They traded glances, and Jennie nodded to Sharon, who scooted over to make room for the woman to sit. "I'm Jennie, and this is Sharon, we were hired by--" "Jennie," Sharon protested, it didn't seem right to tell a perfect stranger about the case. "My name is Tara O'Shea, I'm a... Friend of the owner, she was implicated in the murder, but has been cleared. This case is getting to us all, I'm afraid. I have a... Personal interest. I heard another body was found?" "A police officer, we... Um, we found her body. Her throat was..." Jennie was having trouble, and Tara laid a hand on her arm, smiling encouragement. "I understand." "She... The officer I mean, was clutching a pin, the police have it now." "What kind of pin?" "It was about this long," Sharon held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart, "and shaped like a sword." "Silver?" "Yes, how did you know?" "I know that pin. So does the Detective, I bet. Oh, this just gets better and better." Tara shook her head, not believing her luck. Sharon and Jennie thought it was an odd statement, and stared at her in horror. "Oh, I mean, it's terrible what happened to that poor cop. But I know who killed... Him?" "Her. Shouldn't you go to the police?" "I'm afraid it's not a matter for the police, not this time." "Listen, we just got into town, and we're not all that familiar with the case, do you think...?" "I'd be more than willing to help get the good doctor cleared. The man who did this deserves to pay. Where shall we start?" * * * Nick looked up from his desk to see three women enter and walk purposefully towards him. He noted with dismay that Tara was among them, the other two he recognized as the ones who had discovered Officer Charmer's body, and the sword pin. "Can I help you ladies?" He leaned back in his chair, but did not rise. "I'm Jennifer Hayes, and this is my partner, Sharon Himmanen, we're investigating the matter of Joseph Stonetree's death." "You're police? RCMP?" "Private investigators, actually." Nick blinked, and then realized Nat's lawyer must have hired them. "I'm sorry, but I'm not authorized--" "Bugger authorization, Detective. You've got two murders here, falsified evidence left, right and centre, don't tell me you're turning down our help." Tara leaned forward onto the desk, her voice pitched low so only they could hear. "You and I both know Nat, Janette and I were framed. I know it was LaCroix who conspired to have me thrown in jail, and I know he killed Deb Charmer, and you and I both know this investigation involves more than mere mortals." "Ms O'Shea, or Kaye, or Constantine, or whatever your name is, do you have nothing better to do than to harass me?" "No, as a matter of fact. Not if harassing you helps me undo what was done by, shall I say, our common enemy?" "There's nothing common about LaCroix." "I need to do as much as I can while he'd in jail, and powerless to stop me." "Us," Jennie amended, a little confused as to exactly what Tara was referring (more than mere mortals?). She and Sharon traded nervous glances. "Yeah, us," Sharon added. "As long as he's here, we have a chance of discovering just how much he has muddied the waters, and carefully disassembling the frames he's constructed. You do want to see Nat go free, yes?" "Of course I do," Nick snapped, and then removed a file folder from his desk drawer. "If I can't stop you..." "You can't," Jennie assured him. He spread the contents of the folder across his desk. Among them were photographs of the hat and letter remnants, and a Xerox of the receipt. "That's taken care of," Tara pushed the photocopy aside. "This was," Nick held up the photo of the first letter, "was legit. He was asking her about a case." "And this one?" "Stonetree did sent to Nat," Nick lowered his voice, "but it wasn't... He was asking to meet with her about me." "I gather you couldn't tell this to the Captain?" Jennie asked. "No." "Then we'll move on to the second letter." Tara studied the photograph. "Handwritten..." "So they are originals, no hope of tracking down copies," Jennie peered over Tara's shoulder at the photo. "Anything turn up on the paper analysis?" "Stationary, half-sheets of heavy cotton-linen blend, no watermark. Still fairly common though, sold in packs at card shops, copy shops, etc." "And Nat never saw it before?" "No. She has one like it, but not this one. The ink is too fresh, it had to have been written in the last week, and Nat hadn't heard from him in days." "Then whomever planted it must have gotten it from someone else. Stonetree..." Sharon thought aloud, staring at the photograph. ************************************************************* Please Take Good Notes, You Will Be Tested by Tara LJC O'Shea "Are you sure about this?" Jennie squeaked as they approached the door to Stonetree's flat, and Tara ignored the "Police Line--Do Not Cross" yellow tape across the door, and opened her hand. "Do you have lockpicks?" She looked down at the lock, not at Sharon, who began digging through her purse. "Sure, I mean, I've never actually used them." She handed Tara a thin leather wallet with a set of steel picks inside. After a few seconds of fiddling, the door gave way, and Tara stepped inside ducking under the tape. "I mean, I know they're technically illegal, but all PI's have them," Jennie added, looking about nervously. "Remington Steele, Magnum, all of them." The Police had gone over the place but obviously not very well. The wastepaper basket next to the desk was still full, though Tara was sure the police would have gone through it. However, since they didn't know what they were looking for, it would have been easy to overlook... Whatever it was *she* was looking for. "Um, do we know what we're looking for?" Sharon asked. "The paper." "What, like the note?" "Yeah." "But, we know it came from here." "Yes, we do. But we also know it didn't go to Nat," Tara started combing through the trash, and her eyes lit up as she found a crumpled half-sheet. "I don't believe it," she smiled, and passed the note to Jennie. "It's dated the day he died. See? He crossed one of the words out, he must have started another one, and that's the one LaCroix stole. I've got him." "We," Jennie reminded her, and scanned the crumpled note. ------------------------------------------------------------- Dear Selma, I can't begin to tell you how lovely I found the flowers you sent. I have them in my living room, their arrival made me so happy, I hate that I've lost touch with your branch of the family. If I can help you at all during your stay here, don't hesitate to give me a call. Joe. ------------------------------------------------------------- Sharon lifted the blotter on the desk, and produced a four and a quarter inch stationary envelope, with Selma McCrory written in bold script, more importantly, Stonetree's script, across the front in blue ink. * * * "No, I never received this." Selma handed back the Xerox of the note to Jennie. "But you do know what he's talking about?" Sharon asked. "Oh yeah, our grandmother raised us to always write thank you notes, it wouldn't be polite if we didn't, I wrote him one just three weeks ago for helping me arrange my visit." "Would you mind tell the police what you've just told us? They have the original by now, courtesy of an anonymous source, and this would really help the investigation." Tara stood in the doorway, poised to leave, and Selma nodded. The two investigators shook her hand, and the three of them headed back down the corridor of the hotel. Tara had stopped at her room to pick up a change of clothes, and washbag. "Can I ask you something?" Sharon regarded Tara curiously as they waited for the lift to take them downstairs, where they would part company, Sharon and Jennie to make their report to Elaine, and Tara a had telephoned a cab to take her back to the Raven. "Sure." "Why are you doing all this?" "I'm doing this to make sure the person responsible pays for what he's done." "But do you actually know Nat...?" Jennie frowned at her, and Tara walked them to their car. "This isn't about Nat, not really. Darkangel will discover shortly that her store copy of the receipt found at Nat's can't be from her store, because the register receipts from that day don't match, which undoes what I did. That note being stolen will go a long way to getting her out of jail, and it gives me more pleasure than you can imagine to undo what was done by... Lucas Cross." "You called him LaCroix when we were at the station." "Did I? My mistake, obviously. You ladies have a good night." Tara smiled and stepped back, and the investigators pulled away from the curb, still a little puzzled. ************************************************************* Less than Haute Cuisine by Judith Freudenthal Natalie paced her cell trying to ignore her stomach. She hadn't had much for breakfast and then due to all the commotion missed lunch. She was starving. She was a little surprised at how hungry she was. The door to the cell block opened and a policewoman entered carrying a cardboard box. The policewoman headed straight for Natalie. "Step away from the door." Natalie did as told. The policewoman unlocked the door. It opened and she set the cardboard box down inside the door. She quickly locked the door and left. Natalie hungrily picked up the box. She looked inside and found dinner. She walked over to the bed where she unpacked the box. She grabbed the foil container holding the main course and eagerly dove in. It was cold macaroni and cheese. "Yuck." Natalie was starving so she ate as much as she could stomach. The coffee was weak, cold and black. The bread was soggy. The chocolate chip cookies were stale and hard. She passed on the coffee, bread and cookies. Natalie heard the corridor door open and looked up. Nick entered holding a bag. He walked up to her. "Nick. Any news?" Natalie said hopefully. "Nothing concrete. We're working on a few leads." Nick said. "I've heard how bad the food can be so I brought you some of your favorites." Nick motioned for the policewoman to unlock the door. She did and Nick handed the bag to Natalie. Natalie took it. The door was relocked. "You're a lifesaver, Nick." Natalie said pleased. "I ate better tasting paste in first grade. Most of it was just about inedible. Please get me out of here." "Schank and I are doing our best. Oh, I almost forgot I bought you a couple of books. I hope you like them." Nick took Natalie's hand as it was reached out to him. This "human" contact made Natalie feel much better. "Thanks." "I've gotta get back to work." Nick said before he turned and left. Natalie sat down on the bed and unpacked the bag. It was still warm. A chocolate shake, a large carton of Beef Lo Mein and a slice of chocolate moose cake. Three books were in there--two romance novels and "Interview with a Vampire." "Interview" drew a grin from her. She dove into the food starting with the cake. Then she ate the Lo Mein and washed it all down with the shake. She was stuffed. She started on "Interview" as she ate. ************************************************************* An Old Friend by Judy Freudenthal Police station. Judy Freudenthal sat at Det. Knights desk reading his files. Knight entered. She put down the file and turned to face him. "Nick. Good to see you again. Any luck with the case?" Judy asked. "No. I'm getting dizzy from all the loops we seem to be stuck in. In all my years I've never seen anything this bizarre. Everyone is framing everyone else. You've read the files. What's your take?" "I think you need to start over at the beginning. Look at the facts and listen to your guts. I find it very interesting how everyone around you is getting framed one by one. I wonder when Schanke will get his turn. Unless someone doesn't deem him worthy enough." Judy saw the clock. "I have to run. I'll stop by later with some more impressions on the case." "Okay." Nick said half there and half lost in thought. *--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- Coroner's Office. Natalie is finishing an autopsy when Judy entered. "Hi Natalie. Glad to see you on this side of the bars again." "No one could be happier about that than me. What brings you here?" "I am indirectly helping some friends. I came to write about the case. I promised Nick I wouldn't do anything about it until the arrest is made. And-" "He promised you an exclusive. Nice deal. Let me guess, you want to know what I can tell you that isn't in the records." Judy nodded. "Prison food is the pits. Nick brought me "Interview with a Vampire" to read. LaCroix is in prison. A.k.a. I. A. Inspector Cross. There isn't much more. Someone went to a lot of trouble to frame me. I found it curious that Janette and I were both framed. And we're both friends of Nicks." "I noticed that oddity. Has Nick or Schanke been framed yet?" "Schanke hasn't yet. One was attempted for Nick but no one bought it." "If you think of anything..." Judy said. "I'll be sure to contact you. Be careful." "You sound like Nick." Natalie grinned. "Will you still remember us when you become rich and famous?" Natalie teased. *--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**-- Judy is back in her hotel room. She's seated on the bed with her Apple laptop powered on. She knows Knight's password as well as Lambert's. They make the accessing the police and coroner's mainframe a lot easier. She's forced to hack her way deeper into the systems. She finds a few curious files. She downloads the files for later reading. The less time she spends on-line the less of a chance she stands of being detected. Once she's out of the mainframe she looks over the files. She sees some oddities in Stonetree's autopsy, where various results don't match his service record. Also she reads the beginning of the manuscript. She saves the information and unplugs the phone connection. She turns off the computer and goes in search of some serious chocolate supplies. She knows she will need the serotonin boost to read the rest of the manuscript. She returns with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cups, rocky road candy, and chunks of dark chocolate. Also Beef Lo Mein and a lemonade for dinner. She turns on her computer and starts in on the manuscript. A while later she gets to the part about a certain blonde detective with a "sun allergy". "I see he finally caught on. Joe, maybe you shouldn't have put those facts into the book. I wonder where you are?" Judy says out loud to herself. ************************************************************* Living In Another World by Jennie Hayes and Amy Hull The red haired woman was led down the hall by her elbow. As she approached, she was wriggling against the guards' grip and dragging her feet. Her unkempt hair stood out from her head in all directions and her eyes were wide with terror. Nat looked at the woman she was now incarcerated with. //Oh, lovely. They bring someone here, and she's not even here. I wonder where she thinks she is?// After darting wild glances around their cell the woman scooted into the corner, warily keeping her back to the wall the entire way. She scrambled onto the bunk, drew her knees up beneath her chin, clasped her arms about them and began rocking slowly. She watched Nat closely the entire time and was now glaring at her with alarming intensity. Nat thought it might be a good idea to try to help the woman calm down. "Hi, there." Nat sat down on the cot, being careful to leave the woman plenty of space. The woman pressed herself back into the corner and continued to stare at her with wide eyes. Nat glanced up, and noted that the policewoman on guard was watching them over her notebook. She looked like she expected trouble. Nat shrugged and turned her attention back to the woman, smiling in as friendly a manner as she could. "What's your name? I'm Nat," she tried in the gentle, soothing tones one would d use with a child. The woman still didn't utter a sound, but her eyes narrowed a bit and she turned her head slightly to the side. Well, that was a hopeful sign. She reacted. "So, whatchya in fer?" Nat drawled. No change. Since this wasn't really a topic *she* wanted to elaborate on, either, Nat tried switching gears. "Don't let me bother you. I guess I'm just trying to keep from wondering what my replacement is doing to my lab while I'm here. They've probably gotten one in by now... This is why I don't take much of my vacation time, either. You always have to spend so much time fixing things when you get back." The woman was frowning slightly, but Nat thought she was a bit more relaxed. She let her voice trail off, but leaned against the wall and continued thinking. They would probably have someone re-autopsying Stonetree now, in case she'd suppressed some evidence. More wasted time. If only she were out of here, she could get something useful done. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she didn't have the heart to resist sleep. ************************************************************* Double, Double, We're In Trouble by Bruce Gray "CAPTAIN STONETREE?!?!?" exclaimed Nat. "But you're supposed to be dead!" "Not hardly." said Stonetree. "Then who is it that I just finished..." Nat started. "My twin brother, George." Stonetree interrupted. "He was the 'black sheep' of the family. We kind of lost track of him after the... Incident with the swimming pool. But, I guess we know where he is now." "I never knew you had a twin brother--or any brother for that matter." said Nat. "I never talked about him because he was such a bad egg. He embarrassed my family a long time ago. He left our family or my father would have thrown him out. Last I had heard of him he was living in Iowa." "What was he doing here, then?" asked Nat. I don't know. It must have been pretty important for him to want to come all the way out here, especially when you consider how my family feels about him. We'll never know what it was, now, though." Stonetree sighed. "I just had Captain Stonetree looking over these other reports." Cohen said. "He's told me a few things about his brother, but nothing that would seem to indicate why his body was found... Well, in the condition it was in. It could still be that the murderer thinks that he really killed Stonetree. I've recommended to the department that he be taken off of his current assignments and kept someplace safe, at least until we find the killer. Meanwhile, don't mention this to _anyone_. It could be that someone in the department has something against Stonetree--or the other police that have turned up dead. I mean tell _no one_--not even Nick or Schanke. I knew you'd find out. I suppose that's the coroner's report there, isn't it?" Nat nodded, and said, "The data didn't match in the central computer because that _isn't_ Stonetree down in the morgue." "That's right." Cohen replied. "And we want it to stay that way, at least for now. Don't want to give the killer any new ideas, do we?" "No..." Natalie started to say more, but stopped. "I knew you'd see things my way." said Cohen. "Now get back to the lab and put that body away before someone else finds out our little secret. I'll take Stonetree to one of our 'safe houses' until this is over. I'll get him out of here the same way he came in--through the back door. If you find out any more, call right away." Nat went out of Cohen's office and back down to her office. She was thinking about the strange twists and turns this case had already taken... And now this. There was still no better explanation for the nightie or anything else either. Suddenly, Nat had an idea--and there was no one else around to tell it to. She picked up her medical bag and went quickly out the door to her car. ************************************************************* Living In Another World part 2 by Jennie Hayes and Amy Hull As Nat got in her car, she heard a strange humming. "Wait, where's that coming from?" she thought. She opened her eyes slowly, and the strange red haired woman came into view, back to rocking again, but this time her eyes were focused on a lock of hair which she held in front of her face, twisting it with her fingers while she hummed a tune Nat couldn't quite identify. Nat sat up and stretched, wondering if they were putting something in the food here and disappointed to find herself still in the cell. The red-haired woman didn't seem to notice her now. Nat was suddenly angry that the woman was in here. She obviously needed help, not locking up. Someone wasn't thinking when they put her here. Nat stood up. "Excuse me," she called as softly as she could to the guard, who looked up. "Shouldn't she be somewhere else, where she could get help?" The guard barely glanced at the woman. "She's being detained until the proper people come to get her." "Oh." There didn't seem to be that much more to say. "How long will that take?" "Awhile yet. They had to figure out who to notify first. She's only been here for a couple of hours. Why, is there a problem?" "Just that I don't think this place is doing her much good." "Well, Doctor, it's the only place she has for now. And she seems more patient about it than you." Nat went back to her pacing. The woman didn't glance away from the hair now, and she got worried at the lack of reaction. Nat started babbling aimlessly to the woman again, just for the comfort of having a voice in the room. She edged closer to the woman, hoping that physical contact could bring her back from where she'd hidden. The first couple of steps met with no reaction, which Nat hoped was because the woman had begun to accept her rather than because the woman was totally rejecting the world around her. Several cautious minutes later, Nat was close enough to reach out and touch the woman's shoulder. As she made contact, there was an explosive response and the woman let out an inarticulate, ear-shattering screech. Before Nat could blink, she'd slipped off the bunk and pressed herself into the corner beneath it, emitting panicked squeaks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." Nat tried to make her voice as gentle as possible again, "It's OK, nobody's gonna hurt you. You're all r-" "Good work, Dr. Lambert. Torturing the insane now, are we?" Nat jumped and whirled to face the source of the voice. Behind her, she heard a thud which must have been the woman hitting her head on the bunk as she tried to get even further away. Sheppard stood behind her, smirking triumphantly. "What unfortunate circumstances, finding you here, needing my help." "What are you doing here?" Nat advanced on the bars with a murderous look in her eye and her jaw clenched with pure rage. "I'm your attorney, of course, unless you can hire someone else on your salary." "Oh, no. You *can't* be my attorney." Nat restrained herself from adding "I hate you too much." "Oh, and what are you going to do to change my office's assignment of this case to me?" Nat imitated the woman's earlier gloating expression, "Conflict of interest. You aren't finished trying Dr. Reston, and I'm a witness in that case. If you won't tell your office that, I'll tell them for you. I'm sure they wouldn't be pleased that you failed to mention that information to them." Ms. Sheppard's face turned nearly purple and her lip trembled angrily. "Fine. Then you'll just have to make do with whoever I suggest they replace me with." She turned and stormed out, her heels clicking furiously on the hard stone floor. Nat watched Sheppard until she disappeared around the corner, them her shoulders sagged and she took a slow, deep, calming breath. She turned back toward the bunk, only to find the red-haired woman had edged out from underneath it and was now leaning her head against it, looking at Nat like she was crazy. ************************************************************* Data, Data, Who's Getting the Data? Shadows War (3) by L. Bruce Gray The shadow stepped out of the alley directly across from a small residential home. He only stopped long enough to check the address against a small piece of paper. Then he checked the building carefully for any signs of life. Once he had made sure that no one was home, he began to carefully pick the lock. Then he went inside and closed and locked the door. The shadow moved around the house until he saw the computer on the desk. Taking a small package out of the folds of shadow around him, he put it down and began to remove some cables from a satchel and hooked the package up to the computer in the back. After hooking up the cables, the shadow turned the computer on with a gloved hand. Then he flipped a switch on the package. Lines of data began appearing rapidly on the screen. The password was soon in the shadow's possession. After using the password to unlock all of the files, he sat down at the computer desk and input the following: The shadow knew that this would make a copy of everything that was currently on the hard drive inside the computer to the small package on the desk. While this was being done, he went around the home looking for papers to make photos of and checked for a safe or other hiding places. After checking to see if there was no other data to download, the shadow carefully removed all evidence of his presence. The shadow left the same way he came. A few blocks away, he made a telephone call from a nearby phone booth. He waited only long enough for the connection to be completed and then said, "Target S has been acquired." and then hung up. ************************************************************* Interlude by Andria M. Marcoux Schanke was grabbing a coffee, still trying to understand the implications. Which was more unbelievable? That Janet had something to do with Stonetree's murder, or that Natalie did? Jenkins stood next to him, humming under her breath, ba-do ba-do-daa-daa dadadadadadada. Carlos was drumming on his desk with his fingers, ta-thm, ta-thm. And was that someone singing? "...Long blond hair, short black dress, Standing there, unimpressed. She's a snake--- charmer. Yeah--- She's a snake-- charmer." Schanke knew that if he let them think it bothered him, they'd never let it go; so he casually strolled back to his desk. "One look, I'm a basket case. I get shook. Wiggle up to investigate And I'm hooked. Close enough to hear her sighs; Close enough to get a rise." He flipped through his rolodex and dialed the phone. "Heads come up; Blood starts to rush now. Music gettin' tough." "Hello, George? It's Don Schanke, yeah, Sorry to bother you, but do you still have contacts at the CRTC?" "She blinks; I'm- I'm- I'm on my knees; I can't think. She says, "What's wrong with you?" And I shrink." "That's great, thanks... Really? We're gonna have to look out for you guys at the next... Uh-huh... Okay, so let me know when they find her... I've got a few questions..." "Now I'm just a little worm." Schanke hung up the phone. Nothing cut through red tape like an old hockey buddy who worked for the government. "Beautiful, guys, just beautiful. You are wasted in public service, you know that?" Nick sat on the corner of Schanke's desk as the more musically inclined members of the department returned to their duties. "What was that all about?" he asked, pointing at the phone. He knew better than to ask about the serenade Schanke had just received. "Oh, just making a little request of my own. We ready to roll yet?" ************************************************************* Strategic Retreat by Andria M. Marcoux "And this one is going out to Lt. Darkstar, who requested anything from the Nightcrawler, just so she can hear that sexy voice of his. I guess my sexy voice just isn't her cup of tea, so here's one of my favorites, a holiday classic..." The man turned down the radio, not interested so much what he was hearing as how he was hearing it. Working on a tip from his old hockey buddy George, he'd discovered that a brazen and not-too-bright radio pirate was putting out enough signal to drown out a commercial station. Brazen, because pirates usually broadcast their own signal instead of overlapping someone else's, and not-too-bright because that kind of power was way too easy to trace. It turned out she was even more brazen and a great deal smarter than he'd given her credit for. They'd traced the signal easily enough, but there was no pirate to be found. He turned his attention back to his phone conversation. "If she's using this tower to boost her own signal, why don't we just shut it down?" The man who worked for the company that owned the tower that was broadcasting the signal was more than a little cranky at being dragged out of bed and being held accountable for something that turned out to have nothing to do with him or his company. "If we shut down the tower, she'll know we're on to her. We let her think she's still getting away with it, we have a chance of finding the source of the original signal. Thanks for your cooperation, and if we need anything else, we'll let you know." He turned the radio back up. "Well, as promised, that was the Nightcrawler for Lt. Darkstar, a clip from last June about fatherhood. We're scheduled for a little down time here on Nightwatch, but don't worry, we'll be back on the air in about twenty minutes, so keep those requests coming in. Remember, I don't just think I'm getting away with this. I know I am." He didn't bother checking his equipment. He knew the signal was gone. ************************************************************* Busted! by Deborah Menikoff After dragging Lashoka and Deborah down to the police station, ignoring their claim that they had *not* been breaking and entering, the arresting officers began the time- consuming process of pressing those very charges. The two Cousinly jailbirds were told that each would be permitted one phone call and then they would be taken to separate interrogation rooms to await questioning. As she was shown down the hall to the phone she would be using, Deborah saw (and heard) Lashoka arguing with one of the officers about whether or not the call could be long- distance. *Give 'em hell girl* Deborah thought. Seconds later, Deborah found herself faced with the phone... And a dilemma. *Who* would she call? Uncle was *not* a possibility. Even if she knew where to reach him, she suspected that her explanation wouldn't sit too well. The other Cousins were obviously knee-deep in various nefarious (though admirable plots--yeah Candice!). Lisa McDavid? Yeah, what about... Wait. Chances were that Lisa had already taken a wee nip or two, this being wartime and all. Not Lisa then. *What I really need,* Deborah thought, *is a lawyer. Problem is, I don't know any Canadian lawyers.* She stood there thinking about her situation. And about lawyers in general when suddenly... *That's it! A Mercenary! I need a Merc. Who could act more like a lawyer than a Mercenary? They both believed in the bottom lines. Loyalty to whoever was fitting the bill. YES!* She dialed happily, glad she had made sure of where other factions were gathering in the area and spoke rapidly to her Merc of choice. Dianne, she knew, was worth her weight in gold and jewels (which ironically is what she asked for in return for her services). Promising payment for services rendered once she was sprung, she hung up and was led in to another room where she was to wait for the investigating officers. Just knowing help was on it's way, Deborah found that her mood had improved dramatically. She'd be outta here before Uncle even found out she'd been in and then she get back at who ever had set off the alarms at the station and called the police. The very thought made her feel 200 percent better That is... Until the door opened and she saw just *who* the investigating officers were. ******************** "Are you Deborah?" Det. Schanke asked coming into the room. She nodded. "Great. I'm Det. Don Schanke and" he pointed to the scowling man with him "this is my partner Nick Knight." She nodded again. "Deborah, do you mind if I call you Deborah?", asked Det Schanke. She shook her head, but said nothing. As he seated himself on the chair to her right, "Now. Are you comfortable?" he asked with great courtesy. She nodded again, determined to say nothing until her "lawyer" arrived. Det. Schanke smiled at her "Good. Now... Could you tell us what you know about the murder of Captain Joseph Stonetree?" "What!?" *That* jolted her into talking. "Nothing. What could I..." "Oh come on," Nick barked as he leaned in on her left "you were talking about it earlier on the radio before the cops shut down your little broadcast. Now give!" "Look, I have no idea what your talking about" she insisted, looking left "But, you mentioned it earlier on the airwaves, you must know something." Schanke urged carefully "No, someone else sent a broadcast over the..." she began, looking right. "Spill it", demanded Nick "But I..." she looked left. "Deborah please try and understand..." Schanke interrupted, though kindly. "We just want to help." "WAIT! I'm telling you, I..." she looked right. "Lady, look," at Nick's words Deborah looked to the left again, starting to feel like a tennis spectator "Tell us what we want to know." She didn't answer. She couldn't imagine *what* she was going to do. "Listen Deborah, why don't we take a break." Schanke said looking at his partner significantly. "I'll get us some coffee. Want some?" Deborah saw that look. Suddenly, it all fell into place. Nick's tone, Schanke's offer of coffee. "Oh no. Oh please tell me you're not. It's so... Cliche! Oh!" She felt the giggles coming. It happened when she got really nervous. She'd tried to stop before but anyone who had ever seen Deborah with a case of the giggles knew, there was just no stopping them. Both detectives looked at her "Not what?" Schanke asked hesitatingly. "You are" she shrieked with laughter. "You're doing Good cop/Bad cop. Oh my sides, oh my head. I gotta stop laughing... I gotta... Bwhahahahaha." Looking at the concern on the faces of the two detectives, she went off on another peal of laughter. After a few minutes she calmed down and asked if the offer for coffee was still good. Schanke looked relieved that the laughing had stopped and hurried off to get the beverage. Deborah didn't really want coffee but she did want to talk to Nick. Alone. Surely if Nick knew she had compromising information on that tape from the answering machine, he'd see the sense in letting her out of here. Before the questions got to close to the truth or before Uncle arrived. Nick apparently had the same idea. As soon as the door shut behind his partner, he spoke "You're one of LaCroix's followers aren't you? Both you and the other... Lashoka" Deborah shrugged, "He asked us to cover the station while he was out. It was harmless." "Murdering Captain Stonetree wasn't harmless!" he growled "LaCroix didn't do that." she scoffed "What *possible* motive could he have ?You on the other hand..." her voice trailed off suggestively Nick looked confused "What are you talking about. I didn't have any reason to kill Stonetree... He was... A friend." "A friend who was sneaking around checking into your past. Yeah, great friend. Looks like your *friend* didn't trust you. He called CERK the day before his death. I have it on tape. He was checking you out. After all this time, *someone* was checking you out. Nick. come on. Think a minute. You know what they'll think. No one will believe that you didn't know he was asking questions. That won't look too good to Internal Affairs will it." Nick was stunned. It gave Deborah a supreme feeling of accomplishment. She smiled. "Where? Where is this tape?" he demanded. "I don't believe you." "With the rest of my stuff. They took it all when we got busted. Said they'd hold it for us. I imagine my lawyer will pick it up when she gets in." She got up and walked around the table coming face to face with him. "What should I tell her Nick? I could tell her that this was all a mistake. I can get rid of the tape. Or should I tell her to turn it over to IA? Which is it going to be? Hmmmmm?" "Blackmail. Why does that not surprise me? After all, you're one of *his*." He stepped to the doorway and made sure that LaCroix wasn't around "Well let me tell you something, he won't help you. He'll hang you out to dry." "No." Deborah shook her head. "You think he will protect you. Wrong. He'll throw you to the wolves. He'll let you go to jail. He'll *even* press those charges " "No! He asked us to go there... He won't..." She was getting very upset "Yes!" Nick insisted "He's here now. Has he come to see you? Did you even know he was here?" He could see by her face that she hadn't known. He continued, pressing his advantage. "He isn't going to help you. He's using you and the others to do his dirty work" She shook her head but wasn't able to look him in the eye. Nick went on "I know him better than you. Listen to me, you made a hasty decision, you don't have to stay a Cousin. Pick another affiliation. He can't stop you. You can change. Anyone can change." She looked up suddenly as if she had heard something. She seemed to be listening to something. Then, after a moment, she turned slowly to face Nick again. "Anyone Nick? You can't. You haven't. You're still the same as you were the night you met Natalie, aren't you? Much as you want to, as much as you think you have, you *haven't* changed." Something flared in his eyes, it might have been anger. It might have been something else and that's when Deborah realized that Uncle's little telepathic pep talk just then might have put her in serious hot water. Luckily the door opened and in came Schanke. As he handed her the cup, he said "Deborah, look. I was talking to Captain Cohen while I was getting the coffee. I want to offer you a deal. We just want a little information. No big deal. Give us that and we might be able to get the station owner to drop the charges." "But the station owner... I mean. He wouldn't do that. I'm sure of it" (After all, he'd just told her so even though no one else had heard it.) Suddenly, Nick's emotions, which he had just reigned in when Schanke arrived, welled up again at the thought of a man he both liked and respected having been killed and left the way Stonetree had been. "This is a waste of time Schanke. Lock her up. Let her think about what it will be like spending a lot of time behind bars." He was right in her face, and though from a distance it was a nice enough face, up close and this angry Deborah found it menacing "You are gonna be sorry you ever got involved in this." "I didn't do anything. You can't do that" Deborah shouted. "Watch me!" Nick shouted back. "Nick, yelling at her isn't going to help" Don interrupted. "Well neither is coddling her. Stonetree is *dead* Schanke, and I want whoever did it." He whirled around and pointed at Deborah, "and she knows who it is, isn't that right?!!" he said slapping the table. "How dare you" shouted Deborah, slapping the detective. And the door opened yet again. ************************************************************* Making a Scene by Cousin Deborah I couldn't see anything. Not because the room was dark but because my head was in my hands. How had it come to this?... When the third season had been announced and everyone invited to participate in the filming, I didn't think I would go. I was wrong. Right after that note, came an urgent message from Uncle and several calls from cousins. I was to go to come to Toronto, meet with the other Cousins, accept the invitation from Mr. P. and keep my eyes and ears open. Well, I'd *done* that but nothing is ever as simple as it sounds and neither was this. A great deal had happened during filming, but at this very moment, I couldn't think about that. All I could think about was what was up on that screen. I peeked over the top of my hands just in time to see the start of my first scene. I probably didn't want to see it. My hair would be horrible, the outfit worse... Why was I sitting here subjecting myself to this... I covered my eyes back up. "What is this?" murmured a voice in my ear, "surely you're not shy." It was LaCroix. "No of course not, and don't call me sur... Oh never mind." I shook my head, still not looking up. "Shhhh," came from behind us I lowered my voice to a gravely whisper and leaned towards him "You don't understand. I *hate* myself on film. I only did this for you. I don't know why I couldn't keep an eye on things from the other side of the camera." I glanced up just in time for my big moment... interior: in the interrogation room NICK ...isn't that true? (slapping the table) DEBORAH "How dare you!?" (slapping the detective) The audience gasped. Back in my seat, I just groaned. "Brava." LaCroix applauded softly. "Not my original vision but you threw yourself into that with great... Abandon." I peeked from between my fingers and saw him... Smiling at me. "You really think so?" He nodded and I sat up a little straighter. "Well, I did sorta like that part. His endless dithering does grate on my nerves. It would have been *even* better if I'd hit him *with* something." "Oh, I *agree* The chair for instance would have made more of... An impact." "But... Then, Why'd you take it out? I meant to ask at the time but you weren't around..." "What?!!" "Shhhhh!" from behind again He turned a vicious face on the people behind us and they pulled back as if slapped. He dragged me out into the hall (luckily I was sitting on an end seat. It's fiction, I can sit where I want) where he could vent without distraction. "What do you mean take it out? Where did this *alteration* come from?" He had picked my up by the collar of my shirt and had pressed my against the wall. "Well it was in the script I was given along with some of the other changes," I went up a little higher on the wall. "Other changes?" His eyes got so red it hurt to look them. "I assumed that you knew about the changes." It was getting really hard to breathe. "I mean... Who would dare do that without your approval? " Suddenly he let me go. I slumped against the doorjamb. "Yes, *who* indeed?" he hissed, looking back towards the screening. Someone was in trouble, I could only dream it wasn't me. As if reading my mind, he looked down and smiled. It wasn't as comforting a smile as it had been before, but it was something. He reached out and touched my neck. "My apologies, cherie. It wasn't your fault. A great many things are making more sense now. Go back watch the rest of the show--alterations and all. It may the only showing this particular episode ever has." With a light caress on my cheek he was gone. For a moment, I just stood, looking at the spot where he had been standing then I slowly I made my way back into the auditorium to watch the rest of the show. "And my mom says *I'm* moody." Jeesh. ************************************************************* Random Acts (10) by Diane Echelbarger Natalie pushed the door to the lab open with her hip. Her left arm was wrapped around a brown paper bag full of Armenian food, and a six-pack of Coke Classic hung from her right hand. It had been her turn to fetch lunch. She shoved the bag onto her desk, sat the soda next to it, and went to find Grace. The Coroner's Assistant was in her "office;" a corner of the hallway near the storage area. It was partially shielded by 5-foot high partitions upholstered in oatmeal-colored burlap. She was examining a brown cardboard box. "Hey, Grace, dinner's here," Nat said. "What's that?" "I don't know," she replied. "Henry said someone dropped it off about an hour ago. He brought it back when he took his break." Henry was the security guard on duty at the front desk after closing. "So, open it!" Nat said, and handed her a paper knife. Grace smiled, took the paper knife, and slit the brown packing tape that sealed the top. She lifted the flaps, and pushed aside the Styrofoam peanuts to reveal a business envelope and a row of matching book spines. She picked up the envelope and removed the two sheets of paper inside. The first was on heavy, waterbond, parchment-colored paper: ----------------------------------------------------- _Collector's Edition Book Club_ Thank you for your order. As requested, we have enclosed the complete Vampire Chronicles Collector's Edition Set. These books, hand-bound with marbled end papers, have been personally inscribed, autographed and dated by the author, Emily Weiss. We know your purchase will bring you many years of reading pleasure and be a valuable addition to your library. Please allow us to serve you again in future. Joseph Margint, President ----------------------------------------------------- The second was a small yellow bill of lading, stamped PAID IN FULL in bright red ink. "Look at this!" Grace said, handing Nat the letter. As Nat read, she pulled out one of the books. It was full hardback sized, bound in dark blue. *THE DENIED* was stamped on the cover in gold. She opened it and read the inscription on the flyleaf. ----------------------------------------------------- To Grace: I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Emily Weiss March 22, 1995 ----------------------------------------------------- Natalie read the inscription over her shoulder. "Wow. Who sent it?" she asked. "I don't know," Grace said. "There wasn't even a delivery label. Henry said the kid just dropped it on the desk, told him it was for me, and left." She began to unpack the rest of the books. Natalie helped her. Each book was signed by Emily and dated March 22. As Grace lifted the last book from the box, she noticed a small, pale blue envelope on the bottom. She picked up the gift enclosure and freed the card from the envelope. Kermit smiled up at her from the front of the card. She opened it, eager to find out who had sent it. It was blank. ************************************************************* Off the Hook by Cousin Deborah Lashoka was pacing. There wasn't a lot of room for it since the interrogation room wasn't that big but she made due with what she had. She'd refused her phone call and was beginning to wonder if she had made the right decision. After all, there were a number of very good reasons to get help One--she was alone. She hadn't seen Deborah since they'd been separated upon arrival. Two--She was in a foreign country. Sure it was Canada not Singapore and it's not as if she been spray painting cars but still... And three--it was a foreign country with broadcast laws of it's own. They were not likely to take kindly to US citizens coming in a mucking things up. Nor were they likely to believe that she hadn't mucked them up and that some mysterious outside force had been sending a signal from an undisclosed location. Yes, there were plenty of reasons to call for help. Why then, a rational person, might ask, did she refuse the call. She'd seen LaCroix. She had the phone in her hand when she saw him and had hesitated. Then she'd seen him shake his head, very, very slightly, she might even have imagined it. She sure hoped not because it was that head shake that had made her decide to put the phone down and trust him to get her out of this. That had been half and hour ago. As she made yet another circuit around the table, the door opened and LaCroix came in. Her heart jumped slightly. She had after all, messed up. He would not be very happy. It wasn't her fault but he was unlikely to debate the finer points of her arrest. She was prepared to defend herself. She took a breath and started to speak... Then she saw him smile. At her. "Lashoka." he said placing his hand on her shoulder. "You have made me proud." "I... I have?" she was stunned and still unsure. "Yes, yes of course. Here you are, far from home, alone, in jail, looking for a way out and you trust in me to protect you. This is something I had not expected. Not from one that I was... As of yet, still unsure." "I... Well, ummm... You're welcome... I mean... Thank you." she paused. "I guess I knew you wouldn't let anything too bad happen to us." As he continued to smile she felt much more confident and continued "At least, not at the hands of someone else." she chuckled a little nervously hoping he would find it amusing. He did. He laughed softly at first and then it grew... It might almost have been called a guffaw except that Uncle wasn't a guffaw kind of creature. When his laughter had subsided, he put his arm around Lashoka's shoulders and led her from the room. "You need to get some rest," he said. "There is a great deal more to be done and as you have proved your loyalty to me, I will depend upon you more than ever." "But what about the breaking and entering charges... And the station?" Lashoka asked "What about Deborah? Isn't she coming as well?" "The charges will be dropped. I will see to it." He frowned. "I will deal with Deborah... Soon. She has called for outside assistance and I feel she will benefit from some time to think about that." He had led her outside the station to a waiting car. As she stepped in to the back seat, she looked up at him. "Thank you, Uncle. I... I mean it. I knew that you would be there for me." "Of course my dear." he said, his voice caressing her as softly as his hand caressed her hair. "I will *always* be there for you." And with that he shut the door and the car pulled out of the station driveway. ************************************************************* WKRP (oooops CERK -- can you tell the difference?) by Sara Orel Sara had been organizing things at Merc central for a week, and doing research at the University of Toronto library in her spare time (not that there was that much spare time--she was impressed with the speed the other Mercs went through the beer and orange juice in the fridge, plus the cat food the house was going through daily was absolutely unbelievable...!). But the research she had been doing dovetailed nicely with the contacts and market analysis she had done before arriving in Toronto, and she had managed to obtain a commission to complete her mission, so she was getting paid in addition to the money she already had arranged to be paid as a market consultant. It was the way Mercs did things. And although she was sure things would not work out the way her initial clients expected, it would be terribly entertaining in the meantime. She caught the phone on the second ring "Midnight consulting- -may I help you?" The voice at the end was very businesslike (after all he had a business to run). "Dr. Orel? This is Larry XXXXX, from Arkansas. You and I are to meet this afternoon for you to present your concept to the marketing committee. I was calling to confirm the time." "Two o'clock. I'll be at your hotel then." Arrangements made for the interview and presentation, Sara set out to organize her papers one more time. She had the _Toronto Star_ advertisements, the _Now_ magazine with all the fun parts clipped out (it would not do to really upset the board at the beginning--besides, she did not want to end up the one getting sued), but with the radio ratings set out on the inside front page, and the tapes of the commercials with some of her fellow Mercs doing the voices (they all LOVED to sing...) and a particular Merc doing a deep throaty rather sexy voice advertising the place for the coolest shoes... Sara had always been good at convincing others that her ideas were the absolute best way to go (almost a Cousinly manner, in fact), and she had data to back her up, and had rehearsed the spiel in front of a friend who taught marketing at the University of Kansas, and she was ready. The gray suit with the skirt just the right length, the red and white silk scarf tying the long blonde hair back, the red power silk shirt and high-heeled black pumps, and she was ready to look like and act like the owner of the highly- successful Midnight Consulting advertising agency that she was. ************************* She spent some time presenting the material in the folders she had handed out to the committee (all but one male, she noted with disappointment, and all but two American--so much for NAFTA affecting hiring practices...). She was pleased with the nifty laser printers and color copiers set up in Wendy's house back on Crawford. "...So as you can see, the purchases in your 24-hour Walmart stores in Etobicoke and Mississauga drop off dramatically after 9 p.m. and you need some way to increase attendance at the store in order to justify keeping the stores open all night. As you can see, the majority of your purchases after that time are by customers aged 20 to 30. This is the same audience that makes CERK the number two station between midnight and 5 am in the core of the city. The fact that your store is within relatively easy walking distance and a 24 bus trip away from the U. of T. campus in the western portion of the city, and York University is convenient as well, means that it may benefit you to target that audience. As well, CERK's revenues have not reflected its status as #2 as they have never had a very aggressive sales team. I have contacted them about the potential for market saturation with a series of ads targeted to the college community..." ************************************ The Walmart people listened to the Mercs singing to the tune of the Beverly Hillbillies theme, extolling the virtues of Walmart shopping and that certain low-voiced Merc talking about an upcoming shoe sale (one would even think it was the commentary of a shoe fetishist, Sara thought rather sheepishly, but the marketing committee just wanted to make sure it did not run other than in the wee hours of the morning). They bought both commercial sets on the spot. How soon could they be running? Well Sara did a quick calculation, and considering the mess that currently was CERK, she figured this evening would be soon enough. Two spots an hour from 5 a.m. until 10 p.m., when it would go three... And there would be a grand opening extolling the virtues of the Nightcrawler (did she think he might be available to do a remote broadcast? She could certainly look into it...) with free popcorn and Cokes, and prize drawings for tapes... ************************************************************* Sara stopped off at CERK with the tapes, dubbing them onto the tape cartridges (did they still call them carts?) where they could be programmed into the station commercial log. The money from Walmart, incorporated, was deposited into the bank account, thus committing CERK to attempt to fulfill the contract in good faith. This could be fun, Sara thought. Whether or not the Nightcrawler was actually on the air tonight or it was someone playing his tapes, she spent the afternoon imagining his face when he heard the Merc chorus singing in perfect harmony about finding a wonderful world at Walmart... Should she mention the fact that they sold stuffed Barneys in the next ads? ************************************************************* Double or Nothing by Dianne T. DeSha A tall, impeccably-dressed redhead carrying a briefcase strode into the room, radiating authority. Nick, however, was not in the best of moods. Holding one hand to his face he demanded "Who the hell are you?" "I, Detective," she responded professionally, "Am Ms. Menikoff's attorney, Dianne L'Avocat, and I wish to speak to my client _now_. "_Alone_," she added. "Your _client_," Schanke countered, "Just slapped a police officer!" "We'll see," Dianne smiled unpleasantly. Before either detective could respond, Cohen motioned them out into the hall. They obeyed, although reluctantly. As soon as they had left, Dianne turned to Cousin Deborah. "This is _not_ good," she frowned. "But they have nothing on me!" Deborah insisted. "No, not them," Dianne dismissed the detectives with a wave of her hand. "Getting past them is no problem. Heck, Nick hasn't even noticed his Caddy's missing yet. What has me worried is collecting my commission." "I'll pay!" Deborah promised. "Uncle will provide the jewels. He's _very_ generous!" she added, remembering that he was almost certainly still listening in on the conversation. "Is he now?" Dianne's eyebrow raised slightly. "Even to one who has denied him? To one who is considering becoming..." she dropped her voice to a bare whisper, as if the very word were profane, "...a *Knightie*?" "*No*!" Deborah protested in terror. "I didn't, I wouldn't, I _never_..." "Are you sure your dear Uncle will see it that way?" Dianne asked casually, brushing a stray piece of cat hair from her shoulder. "Or should I just leave now?" "No," Deborah protested in a whisper. "I _can_ pay. I have the jewels already. Other Cousins will help me! Just get me out of here _safely_ and you'll be paid." "Hmmm," Dianne considered. "All or nothing? Personally I prefer a 'double or nothing' arrangement." When Deborah started to protest, Dianne cut her off. "After all, that will be technically _two_ escapes. We Mercs do have our standards, you know. There are some unpleasant penalties for handing out 'freebies'. Undercuts the market, you know," she mused philosophically. Uninterested at that particular point in a discussion on the finer points of free-lancing in a market economy, Deborah agreed to the new terms and proceeded to fill Dianne in on the situation. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Just as Deborah finished, Nick and Schanke returned. "So, have you convinced her to come clean?" Schanke asked. "No gentlemen," Dianne answered pleasantly. "As a decent, law-abiding citizen she has nothing to hide and has already done her best to cooperate with you, under--shall we say-- extremely trying circumstances? "I expect the immediate release of my client." Dianne paused, as the detectives stared at her incredulously. "You have no grounds to hold her for anything except trespassing, a charge that will be proved false as soon as _you_ are able to locate the station's owner," she continued, aiming a pointed look at Nick. "She slapped a _cop_!" Schanke insisted. Dianne dismissed the incident with a wave of her hand, "She's the victim of psychological trauma induced by police harassment. Oh, and that reminds me," she added, opening her briefcase again and retrieving her notepad. "I'll need your full names and badge numbers in order to file a formal complaint." Nick responded with a snarl aimed so only the two women could see the tips of his fangs and the color rising in his eyes. Schanke, on the other hand, looked worried. "We didn't..." he began to protest, but was cut off by Dianne's long-suffering sigh. "Never mind, I'll collect that information later. As for now, I have advised my client to accept your deal. At the time of her arrest she was in possession of a tape retrieved from the CERK answering machine." Reaching into her briefcase, she removed a small audio tape and displayed it for the detectives. "A tape that contains a recording made by Captain Stonetree shortly before his unfortunate demise." Ignoring both Nick's glare and Schanke's excited interest, she continued, "I'm sure you will find this recording quite helpful; from what I have been told it may even provide a motive for the killing. This is why my client, as an honest and civic-minded citizen..." (Vampires were not particularly attractive when they snorted, she noted absently.) "She was preparing to bring it to your attention just when she was so unconscionably and unjustifiably imprisoned." "Now, if I could see Captain Cohen? I would prefer to deliver the evidence to her personally," she said with an appropriately shark-like grin at Nick. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. While Dianne worked out the arrangements for her release with Cohen, Deborah sat alone in the interrogation room, with only a uniformed officer to guard her. When the door opened yet again, she looked up with a smile of anticipation and half- rose from her seat. *Yes!* she thought, *I'm outta here!* Her smile froze in place as she saw the tall, imposing figure who strode through the door. It wasn't Dianne. She sank back into her seat, her fear so great she was unable to protest as "Captain Cross" dismissed the guard and sat on the edge of the table in front of her. "My dearest Deborah," he began softly, one hand reaching up to stroke a finger along the side of her face. "I am quite disappointed with your performance tonight! I give you a simple task and you end up causing me no end of bother." Trying hard to collect her thoughts--an *extremely* difficult task, given the circumstances--Deborah finally found her voice again. "I did exactly what you told me!" (Well, _almost_... She dismissed the thought as quickly as possible.) "But then someone must have switched the tapes and the phones were all ringing and then the police came and they wouldn't believe us..." In some small part of her mind, Deborah realized that she was babbling uncontrollably--it was difficult not to do so when faced with Uncle in person. LaCroix smiled almost tenderly at her, "Of course, it was not your fault, cherie." Deborah allowed herself a small sigh of relief. "Although I _did_ expect more resourcefulness from one of my own," he added with a slight frown. "But I am more concerned about your conversation with Nicholas." Deborah felt the hand resting along the side of her face tighten its grip painfully. "You _listened_ to his slander of me. You _considered_ his arguments." "*No!*" Deborah tried to shout, the word escaping only as the barest whisper. "I _defended_ you!" "But not strongly, not _persuasively_. If I can not be _certain_ of your loyalty," he said, smiling slightly to reveal glistening fangs, "Perhaps more extreme measures are in order?" Just then Dianne strode in, pausing only slightly at the sight of Deborah's visitor. "The charges have been dropped and you are free to go," she announced to the very relieved Cousin. "Perhaps I need to reinstate them?" LaCroix suggested in what could have been mistaken for a pleasant tone. "Nonsense," Dianne dismissed him, ignoring the surprise that melted quickly into displeasure on his face. "Doing so now would be very awkward and look quite suspicious, especially now that they have the tape. It _could_ be interpreted as implicating you as well as Nick, you know." She smiled at his slight frown, "I think you probably want to keep a low profile right about now, don't you think?" He stared at the Mercenary for a moment before turning to Deborah. Leaning so close she was afraid of being burned by those fiery eyes, he hissed, "Don't think that this is over." "Oh, but I think it _is_," Dianne interrupted with an almost- Cousinly smile . "You see, I have been employed to see Deborah safely out of this situation. She is a loyal Cousin and should be treated as such. You will cease to harass her on this matter." LaCroix spun around and snarled, "How dare you presume to dictate terms to *me*!" But Dianne didn't flinch. "You seem to forget, *Lucius*, that I know far more about your past than you perhaps wish to be made public?" Had he had any blood to do it with, Deborah could have sworn LaCroix would have _blushed_. With a final snarl he vanished through the door faster than mortal eyes could follow. Deborah didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she let it all out in a rush. "What do you... *How* do you know..." she stammered. "It's amazing what you can find in your average university library," Dianne smiled taking her client by the arm and steering her towards the front door. "Now that that's settled," she continued with a predatory smile and a tighter grip on Deborah's arm. "There is a certain matter of payment for services rendered?" Deborah gulped audibly. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Abby's Cousin by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger "cousin (kuz'n) 1.(snip) 2.(snip) 3.(snip) 4.(snip) 5.(snip) 6. [slang] a rival or competitor who unwittingly or unintentionally advances one's interests." Webster's The Costumer's Assistant made a final adjustment to the chiton on the form. "How's it look?" she asked. The black silk flowed in graceful folds from the left shoulder, where it was gathered in by a belt of silver mussel shells. The full skirt of the tunic reached to mid-thigh, and the whole outfit shimmered richly in the bright workroom lights. "Good," her boss said. "Shows enough to give the viewers a thrill, but not enough that the brass hats will get upset about it. What's he wearing under it?" "Matching breechcloth. I had to make it pretty skimpy, so the bulk wouldn't spoil the line, but it should cover the territory. It's in the drawer." The assistant removed the costume from the fitting form, and hung it on a hanger. "What's next?" she asked. "Another fitting on that blasted medieval tunic," her boss grumbled. "That Etchelburger woman may know everything there is to know about medieval clothing construction, but I bet *she* never has to get out costumes on deadline." "I thought it was 'Eshelberger?" "Who cares *how* you pronounce it? Those designs are a pain. It's not as if anyone's going to know the difference, anyway," her boss growled. "We've got fifteen minutes before the fitting's scheduled," the assistant said, placatingly. "Why don't we go grab a cup of coffee? My treat." "Best idea I've heard all day," the Costumer agreed, and they left together, locking the door to the shop behind them. As soon as the door closed, a sleek gray shape squeezed through the high, narrow window near the ceiling and jumped down onto one of the worktables. Tuppence ran quickly over to where the costumers had left their work notes spread. When she got to the "Piece de Resistance" scene, she hissed angrily. The Fanged One would *not* like that. She would have to stop it. She scanned the room, and spotted the costume hanging on the wall. With a happy little rumble in her throat, she ran the length of the table and made a flying leap to the shining black silk. Five minutes later, the cat jumped out the window, and went looking for more ways she could help the Fanged One. When the Costumer and her assistant returned to the shop they found the graceful silk tunic in a shredded heap on the floor. Before they could recover from the shock, a gofer rushed through the door and demanded, "Quick, I need the rest of the costumes for the Roman banquet scene! There's been a screw-up in set scheduling, and we have to finish all the Roman flashback scenes this afternoon." The Costumer's Assistant stared from the tattered black silk in her hands to her boss, panic in her eyes. The Costumer swallowed hard, then opened a side drawer and took out a box labeled 'Accessories, NB, Roman Banquet Scene'. "Here," she told the gofer. "This is the last one." The gofer took the package and ran back out the door. "But--but that was *supposed* to be the *underwear*!" her assistant wailed. "It's what we've got left," her boss said fatalistically, "and you heard him, we *have* to film that sequence today. They'll just have to live with it." ************************************************************* Piece de Resistance by Dianne T. DeSha *Starring*: Abby Albrecht in her continuing role as the mortal whose memory tears at LaCroix's heart, even after nearly 2,000 years [Thereby far surpassing in true and abiding passion any later, brief infatuation with, say, a daughter of the 13th century French nobility... ;] *Original Story Idea By*: Anonymous employer [Don't look at _me_ on this one, guys! I just write what I'm told... ] Sitting in the darkened screening room, Dianne saw LaCroix talking to someone in an agitated tone, earning "shh"es from the audience. Now _that_ takes guts, she thought--a feeling that was only reinforced when LaCroix grabbed his conversation partner by the shoulders and dragged her bodily out the door. Dianne winced slightly, having recognized Cousin Deborah as his prey. The scene really didn't reflect _that_ badly on him, she thought, wondering if her one-time employer would ever have the chance to become a regular. Looking back to the screen she hissed quietly in frustration--LaCroix was going to miss the next flashback! Sure, it was probably a lucky thing for the health and well-being of those foolish enough to sit in his general vicinity, but she'd have given half of her last commission to see his face... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Frustrated by his last encounter with Cousin Deborah and her Merc "attorney" at the police station, LaCroix landed by the boardwalk in Kew Park and looked out at the lake. His black trench coat blended with the darkened waters, leaving only his troubled face visible. He refused to give in to the memories that that _accursed_ Mercenary's threat had brought rushing into his mind and heart. No, even now it was far too painful to think of _her_, his first and only true love... Spotting a mussel shell lying half buried in the sand, the ancient vampire stooped and picked it up reflexively. Gazing upon its pearly shell, he was overwhelmed by the flood of memories... (*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.) The sunlight shone so brightly off the ocean that the enormous seaside villa seemed specially lit by the gods for this evening's event. Lucius stood, partially concealed behind a rubbish heap, and watched the elaborate preparations for tonight's banquet. He watched as the procession went on and on: crates of live frogs, lobsters, and turtledoves; exotically painted dancers in the flimsiest of coverings; trained monkeys and dogs... But none of that mattered to him. *She* would be there, presiding over the festivities, bedecked in jewels and glowing silks, the object of every man's desire--and one poor soldier's obsession. He _must_ attract her notice. How could she not see him when all he could see was her, her chestnut hair, her pale, fair skin... The very thought of her was enough to overwhelm his senses utterly. And yet she did not even know him. His despair at the thought was a great as the fathomless ocean behind him and likewise threatened to drown him if he gave in to its power. He *must* bring himself to this fine lady's attention, but how? Spying a simple shell on the beach, he took it as a sign from Venus herself. Radiating a pure and simple joy he hurried off to put his plan into action. ----------*----------- The light from hundreds of blazing torches glittered and shone off of the highly polished armor and sparkling jewels of her many influential and high-ranking guests. Course after course of the finest and most exotic delicacies from every corner of the empire had alternated with the finest dancers, singers, musicians, and acrobats Rome had to offer. Yet Abby was bored. Her exalted position had meant a lifetime of such events--she found little to truly interest her these days. As she finished her sauteed larks' tongues in saffron sauce-- Really! Had the cooks _no_ imagination anymore?--she yawned behind her hand. With a small, discrete gesture her steward indicated only one course remaining, then this interminable night could end. At the sound of trumpets the room fell silent and all heads turned to see the final course appear. Stepping slowly and majestically, five strapping slaves carried a huge mussel shell on their shoulders. When they reached a spot directly in front of Abby, the two supporting the front edge sank to their knees, angling the shell towards the hostess and ensuring her an unimpeded view. With a dramatic flourish, the fifth slave opened the shell... *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* There was a collective gasp from the screening room audience that threatened to suck all air from the room. This was immediately followed by quick looks of fear directed towards the back of the auditorium and by the sounds of violently and painfully suppressed laughter. Deborah had quietly returned to her seat, apparently undamaged, but there was no sign of LaCroix. Damn, Dianne thought. He's missing the whole thing! *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Lucius heard the banquet guests gasp of surprise as he was exposed, but what made his heart leap in his chest was the way in which Abby's eyebrows raised when she saw him. A look of mild surprise registered on Abby's face as she took in the figure revealed within the shell--a tall, fair man clad only in a _very_ brief, black breechcloth, reclining provocatively with one arm resting coyly above his head. She heard a snigger of laughter from the faithful Celtic bodyguard behind her. But could hardly bring herself to reprimand her. It _was_, at least, fairly entertaining. Lucius stretched for a moment, basking in the exquisite pleasure of her gaze, before stepping forward and falling to his knees at her feet. "Divine One!" he began in abjectly pleading tones, "You are my world, my moon, my stars! Only let me be near you, and I will be your grateful slave!" Abby looked at him for a moment, then sighed, her interest waning. "Very well," she commanded, gesturing over her shoulder to Dianne. "Chain him." Her bodyguard stepped forward with collar in hand. [The flashback ends with the image of Lucius, crouched at Abby's feet, gazing up at her in mute and perfect adoration.] *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. Dianne chuckled a bit herself as the audience lost itself in hysterical laughter. Should have called it "Vampire on the Half-Shell" she thought. She was still miffed that LaCroix himself had not been witness to her latest creative endeavor, but as she saw him reenter the auditorium--to the amused looks and continued snickers of those particularly lacking in common sense or self-possession--the smile returned to her face. Let him _wonder_ for a while, she thought, adjusting her position slightly for a better view of his face. ************************************************************* The Tape Tangles by Sandra Gray "Knight, Schanke, in my office, now," said Captain Cohen as Ms. L'Avocat left her office. Nick and Schanke exchanged glances and stepped into the room. "Close the door." Nick obeyed. "Ms. Menikoff is being released, the charges against her dropped." "What? Why? Have you found the owner of the station?" asked Schanke. "No, but under the circumstances, it seemed a better option than a police harassment lawsuit." She looked at Nick. "Detective Knight, if this murder case is causing you too much personal distress--" "She slapped Nick, Captain," said Schanke. "Not without provocation, according to Ms. L'Avocat." Both detectives were silent. "If your behavior is in any way unprofessional in the future, I'll remove both of you from this investigation and assign the case to other officers. Is that clear, Knight?" "Yes, Captain," said Nick stiffly. "Good," said Cohen. She picked up the audio tape that was lying on her desk. "Ms. Menikoff was about to turn over this tape from the CERK answering machine which she says is pertinent to your investigation." "Captain, you're going to give credence to someone who most probably broke into CERK?" asked Nick. "She claims to have had permission to be there." "But until we locate CERK's owner--" began Nick. "We need to examine every possible lead," said the Captain. She put the tape into a tape recorder and pressed play. Nick frowned. When the tape message finished playing, both Captain Cohen and Schanke looked at Nick. "Oh, c'mon, you're not giving that message any serious consideration?" asked Nick. "It's just more attempts to confuse the issue and distract us from finding the real murderer. For all we know, it's not even Stonetree speaking." He paused, but when no one spoke, went on, "Nat's sitting in jail right now when we know *she* had no reason to kill the Cap'n." "That's so, Captain," said Schanke. "I agree that Nat did not kill Captain Stonetree, which means she's been framed by someone else. Your... Friend Janette Du Charm?" "No. Janette was framed too," said Nick. "This tape is just more evidence of that. Meanwhile, we've let go one of the people who might know something *concrete* about this case." "I instructed Ms. L'Avocat to leave her and her client's addresses with us before she left." Nick snorted slightly, and the Captain looked at him. "Captain, this whole matter of guilt in this case can be solved simply. Just have another autopsy done on Captain Stonetree. The time of death will prove my innocence in this as well as Nat's." Captain Cohen looked hesitant for some reason. Nick frowned at her. Then she seemed to come to a decision and picked up the phone. A few minutes later she said, "Grace? This is Captain Cohen. Who's filling in for Nat over there?" "Dr. Duemling, Captain," Nick heard Grace say. "Connect me with Dr. Duemling please." As she waited for the connection, she looked up at her officers and said, "Time of death enough?" * * * * * * * Dr. Nancy Duemling was in the middle of a break and was taking a bite of a big sandwich when her phone rang. She reached across her desk to pick it up, knocking over her large cup of water. She dropped her sandwich (fortunately on the wrapper) and reached for the phone with one hand and grabbed a wad of the paper towels she always kept nearby in case of such accidents with the other. "Dr. Duemling," she said as she started sopping up the liquid. she thought. "This is Captain Cohen in the 96th precinct. I want you to do an examination of Captain Joseph Stonetree." "An autopsy?" asked Dr. Duemling, rising the rest of the way from her seat and pushing her thick glasses back up on her nose. "No, I just want you to check on the estimated time of death for now." "Okay, Captain. I'll get right on it." "Call me as soon as you've made a determination." "Yes, Captain," said Dr. Duemling and they said good-bye. The doctor threw away the soaked paper towels and pushed back her dark auburn hair from her face. Then she picked up her cup and walked over to the sink for more water. She drained the cup and filled it up again. Then she walked back over to the desk. She separated the wet file papers on the desk and then looked at her sandwich. The Captain had sounded in a hurry, but then she usually did. But she couldn't surely expect her to work on an empty stomach. She sat down to finish her sandwich. It wouldn't be the first time she ate a meal in ten minutes. she thought. * * * * * * * "Okay, gentlemen. When Dr. Duemling gets back to me, I'll let you both know. Meanwhile, I'll put this tape in the evidence file." "Is that necessary, Captain?" asked Nick. "For now it is. You're both dismissed." Nick and Schanke left Cohen's office. "Hey, partner, don't sweat it. I know you wouldn't have killed the Cap'n," said Schanke in a low voice. "Thanks, Schank," Nick replied. "And I don't think she thinks you did, either, or we wouldn't still be the officers of record on this case." "Yeah," said Nick. But he was still worried. "Funny, though. With Nat in jail, you'd think the first thing she'd have done would be to have someone redo the autopsy." "Yeah," said Nick, frowning. "Schanke, run a check on Ms. Menikoff and Ms. L'Avocat. I want to talk to the other girl before she disappears too." After Schanke walked off, Nick went back to the Captain's office and knocked on the door. "Come in," said Cohen. Nick slid into the room and shut the door. "Yes, what is it?" asked the Captain. Using his powers was a risk if they didn't work, but he had to try. Nick matched his heartbeat to the Captain's heartbeat, then started to slow it. He was gratified when her gaze took on a blank expression. "The CERK tape is no reason to check into my background, do you understand?" "Yes, I understand," said the Captain. "No reason to check your background." Nick released his hold on his superior. "Well, Knight, what is it?" asked the Captain. "I... Just wanted to apologize for what happened with Ms. Menikoff earlier. I... Guess I was out of line." "Just see that it doesn't happen again," said Cohen. "Yes, Captain," said Knight, with a small smile. Then he backed out the door. * * * * * * * Some time later, Nick and Schanke were called back into Captain Cohen's office. As they shut the door behind them, Captain Cohen said, "I've heard back from Dr. Duemling on the estimated time of death." She passed a note sheet across the desk. Schanke picked it up, then passed it to Nick. "Well, this proves I didn't kill him," said Nick. "I was here in the station." "That's right, Captain," added Schanke. "At least Dr. Duemling's estimate of the time of death matches what Dr. Lambert told us," said Captain Cohen. "Nat didn't do it," said Nick. "I hope you're correct." "Captain, Nat's a smart woman. If she was going to kill the Captain, she wouldn't leave evidence to implicate herself," said Nick. "Then you gentlemen better get busy and find out who *did* leave evidence to implicate her." Nick and Schanke left the office. ************************************************************* A Long Deserved Nap! by Cousin Deborah It took awhile to get all the paperwork done and what with one thing and another (including Dianne's conference with Capt. Cohen) the sun was almost up by the time the triumphant Merc and the exhausted Cousin left the police station. Having extracted her client from not only clutches of the police but from Uncle's wrath as well, Dianne led Deborah to a waiting taxi and instructed the driver to go to the Regal Constellation hotel where Deborah was staying. Neither spoke, each wrapped up in her own thoughts. Dianne, not surprisingly, was thinking of payment. It seemed only prudent to get it now, while the sun was still up. One never knew when Uncle might show up to... Reassure himself of Deborah's loyalty and then where would that leave Dianne. All lawyered up and nothing to show for it. She'd earned those jewels. Deborah's thoughts were a bit more basic. *Sleep* was at the forefront. This running around with vampires was pretty tough on the old "inner clock." *I'm alive* was another popular theme in her mind every time she thought of the more "extreme measures" Uncle alluded to in order to assure himself of her continued allegiance. The taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel and after paying the fare, Deborah led the way to the elevators and up to her room. As the two women passed through the lobby a sign by the entrance to the hotel bar caught Deborah's eye. It read "Karaoke Night at the Regal Constellation." She sighed. Usually she had a great time at those things, but at the moment, she was *so* tired. If anyone else was around later, after she took a long, long nap, maybe she'd get a group together to go. "What floor?" Dianne asked as they stepped into the elevator. "Oh, uh... 6. Sorry, I was thinking of something else." "Karaoke Night? I saw you sigh at the sign." "Well... Yeah. I do like stuff like that. Will you be around later? Maybe we can get some other people to go?" "Maybe, sure, if I'm around. You look beat. We'll talk about it later... After you get some shut eye... And I collect." she added pointedly "You know, if I wasn't so thankful, and truly in awe of your little performance back at the precinct, I'd resent that little reminder." Deborah opened the door to her room. "Just sit tight a minute. I gotta get the goods." Dianne sat down on the freshly made bed while Deborah got black bag out of her closet and began to unwrap what appeared to be a good-sized leather pouch. "You know, this is a pretty big room just for one person. No roommate?" Dianne commented glancing around "Well, I am not all that easy to live with and I am fairly certain that Uncle can afford it so, why not. And now madam attorney... Your fee." As Deborah spoke those last words, a jumble of color and light appeared to fall onto the bedspread. "Well worth the wait, I assume." "Entirely," Dianne agreed picking up a sapphire necklace from the pile and taking it over to the mirror. "And I know *just* what to wear it with. I gotta tell you, I really enjoyed the look on Nick's face when I threatened to charge them with harassment. Was that priceless or what?" She admired her reflection for several moments as she held the necklace up against her throat. "Didn't you think so?... Deborah?" Concerned, she turned around... To see Deborah curled up on the bed, fast asleep. "Oh." Dianne said softly to herself. She quietly gathered up the rest of the jewelry and her briefcase and as she slipped out of the room, she shut off the lights. "Sleep well." she said as she closed the door. ************************************************************* LaCroix's Turn by Judith Freudenthal Detectives Lee and Horton knocked on LaCroix's apartment door. LaCroix answered it shortly. "What do you want?" "I'm Det. Lee and this is Det. Horton. We have a few questions to ask you." LaCroix was annoyed. He vowed to find out who was responsible. Then he would decide upon suitable punishment for the offender. Reluctantly he waved them in. He shut the door and took his seat on the couch. He picked up the glass of Janette's finest he had just poured and drank while they talked. Being careful to keep the vampire down. "Where were you on the night Joe Stonetree was murdered?" Det. Lee asked. "I was here relaxing. No, I don't have any witnesses." "We have to ask you to come downtown." "Why?" "We have enough evidence to hold you over as a suspect in a murder." Det. Lee asked. "You're under arrest Lucien LaCroix." Det. Horton proceeded to read LaCroix his rights. LaCroix was deciding if he should just kill them and be done with it. He decided against it. Too many question would be raised. It would be easier just to go along and make who ever was responsible pay BIG time. Killing them would also mean he would have to move on and he enjoyed being here with his children and being the Nightcrawler. It would also pose a potential threat to the Community, especially with Nat in jail. He wasn't particularly fond of her but she did help when one of the Community strayed. LaCroix allowed himself to be handcuffed and lead out of the apartment like a common criminal. Two more detectives arrived with a warrant to search LaCroix's. This further pissed him off. He didn't want insignificant pathetic mortals touching his stuff. Luckily he had finished the last of the blood/wine mixture. LaCroix, Lee and Horton entered the police station. LaCroix was booked and photographed. Having all that ink on his fingers only greatly added to his anger. ************************************************************* Interlude II by Andria M. Marcoux "Detective Schanke?" Schanke looked up from his paperwork. "What can I do for you?" "I'm George's friend from the CRTC-" "Oh, right, right," Schanke brightened, "Here, have a seat. Can I get you anything?" "No, thank-you. I understand you have some personal interest in the... Disturbance at CERK last night?" "Personal? No, no, not personal at all. We have reason to believe that the person broadcasting last night might have some information pertaining to a murder investigation. Do you have any leads?" "We're working on several. That's why I'm here, actually. I would like to speak to someone you have in custody-" "The girls we caught at the station, right? I'm afraid we cut them loose last night, but-" "No, actually, I want to speak to Lucas Cross." "Why him? He was with us at the time-" "I'd rather not say. If you don't mind, Detective..." "Oh, sure." Schanke dialed the extension for holding. His brow wrinkled as he counted rings... Nine... Ten... Eleven? "I'll have to go get him myself. Officer Jenkins here will show you to Interrogation 2." As Schanke approached holding, he began to pick up the unmistakable sound of singing. Loud, off-key, and exuberant *singing*. "Chokers from Janette and bumbling from Nicholas," "What's going on here?!" he demanded of the guard. "Bright constant stars and warm blood served by Miklos," "It's the guys in the drunk tank. They just started up, I don't know what set them off-" "The Archivist's Assistant All tied up with strings" "What the--an arc *what* tent?" "These are a few of our favorite things!" Schanke spotted Cross, leaning back, feet up, hands laced behind his head and an insufferably smug expression on his face. "SHUT UP!" Schanke shouted at the frolicking incarcerees. They froze in place. "You-" he pointed at Cross, "have a visitor. You-" he pointed at the guy nearest the bars, who was shaking his head as if he'd just woken from a dream, "What the hell were you all singing about?" "I don't sing." He scowled at Schanke, and stalked to the bench. Schanke turned to the next con, who just shook his head, muttering. "Crazy cop. Nobody singing in here." "Is it Detective Knight?" Cross asked Schanke. "What?" Schanke turned to the imitation I.A. officer. "My visitor, is it Detective Knight?" "No, it's not. Why, are you expecting him or something?" The way this investigation was going, anything was possible. "I will only speak to Detective Knight. Good day, Detective Schanke." Schanke returned to Interrogation 2, and found George's friend listening intently to the radio. "I'm sorry, but-" He was impatiently "shshed" as the CRTC official held up a hand for silence. "What is it?" Schanke whispered. "Wagner." "Oh." Schanke said, and sat down heavily, holding his head in his hands. The music thundered to it's conclusion and was replaced by a female voice. "That's going out to all you Mercs out there from Dianne: 'Go get 'em, guys'. Next up is the Nightwatch News, but first, a reminder that later this evening we will be coming to you live from Karaoke Night at the Tiki Room in the Regal Constellation Hotel. It's our first remote here on Nightwatch and something that we're really excited about. Top story on the news tonight, Preston Manning of the Reform Party announced a plan to eliminate both the deficit and the debt by taxing the accumulated wealth of the blood sucking undead who've immigrated to Canada..." "Unbelievable." Schanke remarked to his companion. "Have you ever--hey!" he lifted his head. The door to the interrogation room was open, and the CRTC official had vanished. ************************************************************* Lurker (5) by Maddog "Steve Austin, Astronaut," Maddog intoned. "A man barely, alive," Rastro responded in a time honored ritual. "We can rebuild him, make him better." "Stronger, faster," "Able to wear blue leisure suits and not throw up!" "Nah, nah, nah, nahhhhhh," the two Lurkers chorused, running in slow motion as they exited the handy Fourth Dimensional Tesseract. They'd noticed that Nick was busy arresting Janette and taking her in for questioning. Deciding that it was time to pay the hero of our story a visit they folded space over to his place. They looked around at the surroundings in awe for a moment. "It's a lot dustier than I thought it would be," Maddog finally declared. "Yeah, you'd think with all his Vampiric strength he'd be able to get those dust bunnies out from underneath his table," Rastro agreed, "Of course with all the Knighties in town one of them's bound to clean the place up." "So, where are we going to put it?" "Right over here," Rastro took the electric wok from Maddog's hands, flipped it over and put it on top of a lamp. It made it look as if the lamp was wearing a hat. She pulled a "Yan Can Cook" book out of her bag and laid it carefully on a coffee table. "Good, uh Rastro, I've got an idea." "Not another one, the multiverse can't take much more." "I think you're going to like this one. This is where Nick lives, right?" "Duh." "So this would be where, like, he keeps his underwear, right?" The Australian woman grinned in understanding, striking her best Bodie pose, she hopped about and started running up the stairs. Maddog quickly followed. It took a few minutes for them to find the correct drawer. "Oi, he folds his socks," Rastro commented, holding up a pair of neatly folded black dress socks. "Found 'em." She held up a pair of men's underpants for Maddog to view. "Very nice, very nice," pawing through the drawers for a moment, she added, "Gee, he sure does have a lot of 'em doesn't he?" "Well he obviously never throws any out," Rastro held up a pair with a bullet hole running through them. "Just like a guy." She stared at a pair of Batman underwear for a moment before shaking her head and hiding them in the back of the drawer. Maddog, easily bored, even if it was Nick Knight's underwear drawer went over to the bed. Climbing on to it, she began jumping up and down on it. "Toss me some of the black ones!" Rastro did so and Maddog began tossing them around singing, "I'm singing in a rain of Nick's underwear. I'm singing in a rain of Nick's underwear. What a glorious feeling," Rastro, deciding that this looked like fun, brought some more underwear up and began jumping too. "I'm happy again," she chorused. The two Lurkers began giggling uncontrollably and jumping higher. Then, since the bolts attached to the beams supporting the bed did not have adequate structural strength they sheared off, causing total collapse of the bed onto the floor. "You bloody fat cow," Rastro yelled, "Now look what you've gone and done." The bed was totally demolished and Nick's underwear was scattered everywhere. "Me? The bed was supporting me just fine until you got on!" "Well, there's only one thing do to," the other woman sighed, "Let's go find something to eat, there's got to be a Denny's open somewhere." "Shouldn't we clean it up?" "Nah, he probably won't notice," Rastro activated the tesseract and the two Lurkers went off to find a bit of pie and ice cream. ************************************************************* Return of the Committee by Dirk Giles The same dark room, again filled with smoke. Possibly the same dark forms, but how can you tell? As before, one voice breaks the silence. "The investigation has about run its course", the female voice said. "Perhaps more drastic action is required." "No!", the male voice said, "you have done enough." The first form leaned forward, and flicked her lighter. A huge flame shot out, igniting the entire cigarette she was holding. "Oops", she yelled, and dropped the cigarette onto the floor, where it happened to land on a cloak, setting it on fire as well. "Cut!", a voice from out of view yelled. "Put that out!" The lights suddenly came on, revealing that the room was only a set in a giant studio. A stage hand ran into the set and extinguished the fire. He then grabbed the half-burned cloak, and carried it off the set. *SPLICE* *TAKE 47 - RETURN OF THE COMMITTEE* "Action..." "So, you have your instructions. We'll meet again in 2 night's time.", the male voice said. "Ok", the first voice said. The forms started to fade from sight. Suddenly there is a loud clunk, the sound of a person walking into a wall. "Ouch!", the first female voice shouted, "I forgot to open the door!" "Cut!" yells the voice from offstage again. "Someone open the door now and leave it open, so she won't keep on running into it!" *SPLICE* *TAKE 48 - RETURN OF THE COMMITTEE* "Action..." The auditorium was filled with laughter at the performance on the screen. JP turned to his assistant. "I tried to give them more screen time; I really tried. Most of the supporting cast were great, but *she* is such a dingbat!" The assistant looked at her notes. "Even after 87 takes she never did get it right." "Oh, well, we'll just cut those scenes for the general release", JP said. "Alex..." the assistant started to say, but JP cut her off. "No, don't say her name, you'll jinx the rest of the show." ************************************************************* Pretty As A Picture Frame (2) by Richard Hudson Richard Hudson as a true early bird woke up at 7:00 on April 3, 1995 and promptly took a shower, brushed his teeth and in grand FoD tradition fixed himself a large breakfast consisting of bacon, sausages, toast, coffee, and three apple danishes for dessert. All in all, a typical morning. Well the breakfast was a bit lavish, but since he didn't know if he'd have time to eat anything for most of the day and the fact that he'd just received payment for his part time work with the Watchers he decided to splurge a bit. After watching "The Transformers" Richard took what was left of his breakfast, including all three of the danishes, two small sausage links. three strips of bacon, three pieces of toast, and of course the apple danishes over to his desk, turned on his computer, a humble 286 with a CGA monitor and 640K of RAM, watched it boot up and then typed "pc" which was the batch file which started Procomm Plus, his terminal program. Bypassing the hundred other 718/212/914/516 bbs's that Richard frequently logged on to, he dialed the number for his internet provider, silly@com, which was possibly the cheapest internet access that anyone could afford. <718-229-0489> Richard logged on and then checked his mail, bypassing the mail he received from the other listservers that he had subscribed to such as Rec.arts.scifi.tv.babylon5, doctor who- l and alt.tv.game-shows and going directly to the Forever Knight lists and reading all of the war posts that were mailed to him during the night. He had received an invitation to stay over at a FoDs house with a few Natpackers during the war as well as transportation from the Toronto airport. He had just sent the letter thanking them for the transportation and the accommodations when his call was suddenly disconnected. After the words NO CARRIER appeared on the screen, the word RING flashed several times. Disgruntled, Richard was preparing to chew out whoever it was that dared to cut him off during this important internet session when he heard the voice of his U.N.I.T contact, Col. Jack Taylor who commanded the U.N.I.T headquarters in Manhattan and who employed Richard's help from time to time to help them deal with the supernatural, especially vampires, which was Richard's specialty of course. "Richard, you there?" asked the Colonel impatiently waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I'm here" answered Richard even more impatiently, hoping that the leave that he asked for had been granted. "So do I get the month off?" he asked with sudden desperation. "Well yes and no," the colonel replied sadly. " I need you on a case. You see, A police captain in Toronto was killed a few days ago and I need you to investigate" "Ok" Richard answered "I heard a bit about it but why do you need my help? "Well, a lot of high ranking police officials in cities near or around Toronto have been dying lately, and here's the kicker and the reason why we need your help. Some people have been saying that vampires are involved. So can you fly down there for me and check to see if the vampire thing is true or not. And as an bonus, as soon as you're finished checking things out, you can take the whole month off. So, will you do it for me?" Richard could barely contain his excitement. His first foreign case and it was all tied up with the WAR. This was the greatest thing that ever happened to him, since joining the Forever Knight mailing lists! "With a deal like that, how could I refuse?" Richard said smiling and trying to keep his cool. "Good, you should be receiving a package containing your orders, the details of the mission and U.S. $1,000 for expenses, and of course a one way ticket to Toronto by noon today so you had better get packing." "Ok sir, I'm getting right on it" not willing to admit that he had already packed a month's worth of clothes in his giant suitcase just in case he got the time off, but he never expected that he would need his surveillance gear as well, so he just said, "Yes sir, and thanks," before hanging up the phone and whooping for joy. Richard spent the next two hours packing his surveillance gear thanking his lucky stars that he had met in order of first to last, The Doctor, who in high school had recommended him to Col. Taylor as a Junior part time U.N.I.T agent due to his knowledge of the supernatural and his intense curiosity, and secondly, Joe Dawson, who Richard met during his short semester at college before he and the college made a mutual decision that college wasn't the place for him, just yet. It wasn't his academic abilities, they had said, it was just that they felt that he wasn't emotionally ready for college life. Well he had met Joe Dawson who was the guest professor in his history class, which was his favorite class, which was strange considering the fact that he was an English major. Joe had taken him under his wing and noticing first his ability with computers and secondly, his interest in the supernatural told him about the watchers and asked if he wanted a job with the watchers. He started out as a data entry operator, entering and researching facts about Immortals until one day he saw an Immortal that he recognized as Xavier St. Cloud shooting another Immortal and then taking his head. Richard knew that this was a gross infraction of the rules of the Game, and that no Immortal, no matter how evil, ever broke the rules of the Game, for whatever reason. So with that knowledge in hand, Richard tailed Xavier back to his hideout, where he met up with James Horton. Richard recorded the conversation between Horton and Xavier and brought the information back to Joe who soon decided to make him a part time Watcher. He generally worked with the Watchers on a case to case basis and had just cleared up his last case, which was his first case of this year and had received his fee of $2,500, which was cheap by Watcher standards but was a lot of money to a 20 year old college drop out who was soon to be starting a training program to learn computer programming. He had just finished packing his surveillance gear, which he got from the Watchers on sort of a permanent loan basis and was beginning to pack the personal items that he always brought with him when he planned to visit someone for an extended period of time when the doorbell rang. "Package for Richard Hudson" mumbled the UPS driver. Richard signed for the package, closed the door and opened the envelope, read his orders, counted the money and put the ticket, first class of course into the pocket in his smaller duffel bag in which he then put his Atari 7800, about 25 of his best cartridges and the used laptop that he had purchased via the classified section of his daily newspaper along with his portable dual cassette recorder/radio, his walkman and his favorite tapes, They Might be Giant's Flood, some Genesis concerts and a selection of Phil Collins songs that he recorded from the radio and a tape of the album Invisible Touch of which his favorite song was "The Brazilian," a instrumental number which was the last song on side two. He especially liked the constant beat and the tempo which relaxed him despite the overall volume and loudness of the song. He also packed several worn looking tapes consisting mostly of a crazy quilt of songs that he heard over the radio from various artists whose albums he didn't yet own and the themes from various shows such as "Doctor Who" and "The Prisoner" and the themes from "All My Children" and "General Hospital." He had also packed the (unofficial) "Highlander" soundtrack, "A Kind of Magic" and two albums from Billy Joel, "Storm Front" and "River of Dreams." He wondered to himself if he was the only person who hated the song "River of Dreams" and knew that It would have won more Grammies if Billy had just released the song "Two Thousand Years" first. He then packed the Police's greatest hits album, "Every Breath You Take: The Singles" and then finally, a tape which he got from a friend on alt.tv game shows which had the themes to several game shows, including the theme from "The Price is Right," "Match Game" and "The Joker's Wild." He then managed to find room for several Star Trek books and still have a lot of free space in the bag to pack some souvenirs and other gifts that he might buy in Toronto. While he was packing, he loaded some of his software from the hard drive on his desktop computer to his laptop which was already in the bag. After he finished packing and put on his clothes, he removed the coaxial cable that connected the two computers, zipped up the bag and called a taxi to take him to the airport. When the cab arrived, Richard put his suit case and the larger duffel bag containing his surveillance gear, which consisted of several bugging devices, a pair of high powered binoculars, a video camera and a Polaroid with lots of film in the suitcase and kept the smaller bag which contained his personal effects and the laptop with him in the car. He took this time to contemplate the arrangement that he had made with the NatPackers about the party and the ride from the airport. Switching gears, which is easy to do when you have both mild autism and ADD with hyperactivity which also made it easy to blockout the driver's constant swearing and to keep his mind on several topics as well as writing this post four times after three previous accidents erased the prior stories without a trace left behind, forcing me to write this story again from scratch, Richard wondered who would want to see Stonetree dead. The obvious guesses, LaCroix and Janette were probably wrong, simply because he wouldn't be worth their time and if they really wanted to hurt Nick, they would have simply gone after Natalie. Richard guessed that the "unknown sponsors" had to be some how linked to Lucien LaCroix or to Janette in some form or another. He'd ask Nick and Schanke about it when he got into Toronto. After Richard got to the airport he gave the cabbie a fifty < Hey I have $3,500 with me. Why shouldn't I splurge a little>, told him to keep the change and asked the driver to carry his suitcase for him, telling him that he'd get an extra hundred dollars for his trouble. The driver carried Richard's luggage to the baggage clerk who checked his suitcase and the larger of the two bags while directing him to the ticket center. He went to the ticket clerk who told him that he had an hour to wait before his plane left. "Good" he thought, "Just enough time to do some shopping." He went to the nearest book store, bought the latest issues of Starlog and all three issues of the Babylon comic and left. He then stopped at the candy store where he bought a 1/4 pound of white chocolate and some chocolate covered peanuts for the ride. After playing the new Doctor Who Pinball game for about a half an hour, he went to the gate just in time to catch the plane that would take him to Toronto. After several hours the plane landed in Toronto. Richard got his luggage and waited for his ride to show up. He had told them in advance when he would be landing and where he would wait for them so it was just a matter of time... ************************************************************* Imprisoned by Sandra Gray Nick felt the young woman behind him slipping. He turned and steadied her. "Sorry," he said with a smile. She smiled back. He opened the cell block door for her and waited while she went out through it. Then Nick turned back to the holding cell. He walked close to the bars and said, "Well, at least we've got the real murderer this time." LaCroix scowled. "You will see that I am released from here," he said in a low voice. Nick crossed his arms. "Why?" he asked. "The Enforcers will not take lightly the imprisonment of a vampire." His voice was still low, but vibrated with his anger. Nick responded in a dangerous, low tone of his own, "The Enforcers wouldn't take lightly your attempts to frame a vampire for Stonetree's murder, either." "I did no such thing." "Don't bother to lie. You planted Janette's choker at the crime scene. There's no other reason for you to 'pose' as Captain Cross." "Your coroner friend, Ms. Lambert, has *much* more evidence against her than Janette. Why would I try to frame her?" "As an attempt to hurt me. Or perhaps to give me a motive for murder... Jealousy?" LaCroix smiled slightly. "Would you be jealous?" he asked. Nick hesitated, then said, "No. But I have connections to both Nat and Janette. And you've been trying to hint to the Captain that I'm somehow involved in Captain Stonetree's murder." "You are." "I'm not. And you know it. What I don't understand is how you landed in here." "I was framed. And if it was you--" Nick pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not me! I'd like to know who did do it though." He turned away. "Get me out of here!" said LaCroix, his voice rising. Nick turned and glanced around. Then he leaned closer to the bars and said, "I wouldn't dream of it. Get yourself out. And if I were you, I'd do it before you get transferred to a higher security prison... In the daytime." "If that happens, I'll expose you and Janette and--" "And risk the Enforcers' wrath?" LaCroix glared at Nick. "Why bother? You can get out on your own. Of course afterwards you might need to... Disappear." Nick paced in front of the cell, then stopped in front of LaCroix again. "But that was your plan, wasn't it--to make me leave. And Janette. Were we supposed to run to you?" LaCroix glared and reached through the bars to Nick. Nick stepped back and started pacing again. "Don't enjoy yourself too much," said LaCroix. "You don't know all the facts." He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "I'm not the only one in danger from the Enforcers." ************************************************************* Consultations by Sandra Gray Nick walked through the squad room and, spying Schanke, walked over to him. "I just spoke to... Captain Cross... in the holding cells." Schanke dropped some papers on his desk. "Yeah? What did he say? I heard he only wanted to talk to you." "Ah... Nothing much. Just wanted me to get him out." Nick thought about LaCroix's comment hinting that the Enforcers might be after him. Schanke leaned closer and said in a low voice, "Well, if you ask me, I think they should leave him there. He's been a real pain in the but." "Why was he arrested?" "The Captain came across a copy of Cap'n Stonetree's 'memoirs' on the police computer. You remember--the ones that woman in the Happy Souvlaki Deli mentioned to us. Cross was mentioned--well, under another name--in it. You wouldn't believe what Stonetree wrote he is--a *vampire*." Nick felt a sudden chill. "Go on!" he said after a moment. "The Captain's not taking this seriously, is she? I mean, we've had so many frames in this case already." "Yeah, but there's more. Forensics lifted a print matching one of Cross' off Stonetree's body." Nick ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Checking into 'Captain Cross'' records," replied Schanke with a sigh. Nick started to walk off. "Hey, where're you goin'?" "To speak with the Captain," Nick said over his shoulder. He strode quickly over to the door of Cohen's office and knocked on it. "Come in," she said. Nick entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Captain, you've had Captain Cross arrested?" "That's right." "Captain, why? What makes you think he's any more guilty than anyone else who's been arrested in this case?" "Stonetree's memoirs mention him, except he isn't called Cross." "Schanke told me about that! How do you know the memoirs haven't been tampered with?" Cohen hesitated, then said, "They were on the police computer." "Isn't that strange? If the Cap'n was writing memoirs that talked at least in part about his experiences on the force, would he want to keep the files on the police computers?" "They're very secure," said Cohen. But she fidgeted nervously with a pencil. "Besides, there's other evidence, or didn't your partner mention it." "The fingerprint, you mean." "I don't understand why you're concerned about this, Knight. Natalie and the other woman have been released." "There's just been too many attempted frames in this case, Captain. Someone's been going to a lot of effort to muddy the waters. What about the reports from Perri Smith about similar murders of police personnel in other cities?" Captain Cohen leaned back in her chair and studied him. "You think there's some conspiracy going on?" "I think it's worth checking out. After all, the Captain's memoirs..." Nick's voice trailed off as he noticed the Captain drop her eyes and start tapping her pencil on the blotter. "What about the Captain's memoirs?" Captain Cohen looked up at him. "There's a second version of them. One in which... You are mentioned instead of... Cross." Nick felt that sudden chill again. "Well, you see? It's another attempt at a frame. And you know *I* didn't kill Captain Stonetree!" Captain Cohen looked at her pencil again and Nick got the distinct impression that she knew something else that she wasn't telling him. Nick decided that it was time to find out what it is. "Captain," he said. She looked up at him and he caught her gaze and her heartbeat. "What else do you know about Stonetree's memoirs?" he asked when he had her in his control and her gaze was blank. "I know how to find out which is the real copy." "How will you find that out?" "I'll ask Captain Stonetree." Nick almost lost his hold on her in his surprise at her statement. But he recovered himself and said, "Stonetree's alive?" "Yes." "Where is he?" "Safe house," replied Cohen. "Then who was killed if it wasn't Stonetree?" "His twin brother, George Stonetree." "Where is Captain Stonetree now?" Captain Cohen gave him the address. Nick ran his hand through his hair. Then he said in a low voice, "Now listen to me carefully. You will not remember any of my questions after I asked you what else you knew about Stonetree's memoirs or any of your answers to those questions. Do you understand?" "Yes, I understand," said Captain Cohen. Nick released his hold on her and she said, "Nothing. I don't know anything else about Stonetree's memoirs other than what I've already told you." She sighed and said, "All right, Knight. We'll check into these other murders Ms. Smith told us about. Maybe there's a connection. But in the meantime, Captain Cross or whoever he is stays in jail." Nick sighed and smiled. "Thanks, Captain." He left the room. So Stonetree was alive! And worse, had written about him being a vampire! Now he understood LaCroix's comment about the Enforcers. He decided he'd better go see Stonetree... Right away! ************************************************************* Speaking With the Dead by Sandra Gray Nick used flight to get to the safe house Captain Cohen had told him Stonetree was staying in. He saw an unmarked police car parked across the street from the dwelling. He flew quickly to the back of the house and crouched down in the shadows on the roof. There were no cars parked in the back. But there could be officers inside. Nick floated down to one of the lighted back upstairs windows and peered inside. A uniformed officer was dozing in a chair in front of the small TV that sat on the dresser in the bedroom. Nick drifted over to another window and saw Stonetree in the upstairs hall heading for the stairs. Nick looked around and dropped down to the ground floor. The back door was locked. He peeked in the window beside it and saw a kitchen and Stonetree raiding the refrigerator. Damn, he'd just have to risk it, he decided. Nick grabbed the knob of the back door and twisted it. The lock gave and he pushed it open. Stonetree looked up in surprise, then reached for his gun. Nick shut the door and said, "You gonna shoot me, Captain?" Stonetree put the gun away. "Wouldn't do much good anyway, would it? What are you doing here, Nick?" Nick grabbed Stonetree and shoved him into a corner away from the doors and windows. "Do you realize how much danger you put yourself and me in with your memoirs?" "You gonna kill me, Nick?" "Do you really think I would?" "No," Stonetree said. "But you realize I have to do something," said Nick. He caught Stonetree's gaze with his own and matched their heartbeats. "Do you have a copy of your memoirs here?" "Yes," Stonetree replied. "You will remove every reference to me being a vampire in them. And then you will forget that you ever suspected me of being a vampire. Is that clear?" "Yes. Remove the vampire references and forget suspecting you of being one." "Captain Cohen is going to either call or come and ask you about your memoirs. You wrote *no* references to vampires in *any* part of your memoirs, do you understand?" "I understand." "You will not remember that I was ever here. You will work on removing the references to me being a vampire in your memoirs after I leave." Nick released Stonetree and disappeared out the back door. He watched through the window as Stonetree shook his head and wandered off. Then he flew up into the night sky. At the station, Schanke spied Nick coming in and said, "Hey, where've you been? I've been looking all over for you." "Around," said Nick. "Yeah, well Cohen's decided to check out that reporter Perri Smith's info. You remember--the other murders like Stonetree's in other cities?" "Yeah?" "So *we* got the job of checking it out," grumbled Schanke. Nick sighed. "Wonderful." Nick ran a hand through his hair and wondered what to do next. ************************************************************* Here, Kitty-Kitty by Tara LJC O'Shea Susan walked into the lobby of the Royal Constellation, her thoughts still spinning from her discussion with Janette at the Raven. At the front desk, a young woman with a tangled mop of short auburn hair in a green silk suit and familiar olive trench coat was checking in. "Tara!" Susan touched LJC's elbow, and was greeted by a sunny smile. "I was just about to ask for your room number, I thought I'd head down to registration, I tried to get out earlier but I was flying on passes on Southwest and had to spend the night in Chicago to change planes--" "Forget the conference." "But that's why I'm here--" Tara picked up her bag, fingering her room key, and they started towards the lifts. "Something big has happened," Susan sighed. "Really big." * * * "Why would anyone kill Stonetree? And a teddy? That's sick." Tara fished a cigarette out of her purse, and fumbled for her lighter. Susan snatched the frail paper cylinder out of her mouth, crushing it and dropping the remains in the plastic wastepaper basket next to the bureau. "You shouldn't smoke those things." "Thanks Mom, I know. But I haven't had one all day, they passed that bloody law, and finding a designated smoking area in the Dallas airport is hell, and Phoenix--" "Tara, you're babbling. Concentrate." "I do *not* babble." Tara pretended annoyance. "Alright, down to business then. Are you sure it's her choker?" "Hers is missing, it has to be." "Why frame Janette? You know she won't allow herself to be prosecuted by some silly mortal court, she'd leave." "Precisely." "So, you think someone wants her to *have* to leave Toronto, and the Raven then? That's pretty hard, you know that club is her life, she's so proud of it. And you and I both know Nick wouldn't want her to go, so that leaves... Oncle, I should imagine." "I'm not sure of anything, but we have to shift the metros focus from Janette to someone else, someone surprising." "And you have someone in mind, I'm sure." "How do you feel about a little freelance Breaking and Entering?" "Not my specialty, but I've always liked a good bit of fun. And I think I know exactly who would make a lovely diversion. What kind of choker was it?" "Velvet ribbon, gold clasp. This is a cop killing, no doubt this case will have top priority, so we don't have much time, my bet is it's probably at forensics right now, they won't be able to pull any prints off it, but fibers... hair, maybe." "Good, then I'll see what I can do. First, a little shopping, and then I pay the division a little visit, and then forensics." "I knew I could count on you." "Nice to know someone can." Tara held up another cig, and made a great show of lighting it and inhaling deeply. "Vile habit." "Ain't it tho?" * * * Schanke, Nick and Nat were sequestered in Cohen's office when Tara arrived at the office. Watching the door very carefully in case someone should suddenly step out and ruin her little intrigue, she made her way to Nick's desk, where a woman's coat was draped over the back of his chair. She saw what she was looking for, and smiled. *Here kitty- kitty,* she smiled as she got what she came for, and slipped out as quietly and unobtrusively as she had come. * * * The choker safely in her pocket, Tara looked about as her heels clicked on the cement steps of the building that housed the forensics lab. She deposited a small pink paper bag bearing the legend Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons Boutique in a wire trash basket on the curb, and whistled as she hailed a taxi. "The Raven," she leaned back in the vinyl seat and watched the city lights flash by outside her window. * * * "Forensics lab just called, they pulled something off the choker we sent them," Schanke leaned over his desk, and Nick and Nat looked up from their discussion. "Get this: it's a cat hair." "Well, I guess that puts Janette in the clear, she doesn't have a cat." Nat was relieved, though she wasn't sure why, there was no love lost between the two women. "No, she doesn't," Nick rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. There was a long pause. "Hey, why are you guys staring at me?" Nat's eyebrows crept up into her hairline, as Cohen came out of her office, arms crossed, and took in the picture the three of them made. "Doctor, I think we need to talk." ************************************************************* Shell Game by Tara LJC O'Shea Stepping out of the taxi and noting with no small amusement there were Mounties on the note she gave him, LJC pocketed the handful of dollar and other coins and approached the Raven, a smile on her face. Say what you will about the circumstances, it was still nice to visit. "I was wondering when you'd get here," Miklos winked at Tara, who took a seat at the bar, and she let him light her cigarette for her. "Hey Miki, want to have an understanding?" "Perhaps later." "Then a blackberry brandy will have to do me, I don't suppose you have any?" "Gone off screwdrivers and gin'n'tonic, have we?" "You know I like to broaden my horizons every now and again. Is the boss around?" She sipped the purple liquid, happily running the tip of her tongue over her lips in case she missed any of the sweet liqueur. Miklos raised a brow, but said nothing, simply jerking his head toward the office door. * * * "You're over dressed for my club," Janette looked up from her desk, taking in the green suit and leaning back in her chair as a cat would stretch in a patch of sun. "Well, anything too gothic would have stood out at the Forensics Lab, don't you think?" Tara dropped the choker on the desk with a smile, and sat on the edge of the desk while Janette examined the scrap of cloth. "Yes, yes this is mine. I hadn't noticed it was missing, it's been so long..." "Why is that, anyway?" "My dear, I don not follow fashion, I make it. They became much to common." "Well, it doesn't help us any, that means anyone could have lifted that necklace at any time over the past two years." "Non, not that long. I inventoried my jewelry earlier this year, it couldn't have been more than a month at the very most." "I suppose that helps somewhat." "Since when are you a detective?" "Don't get me wrong, I'm not. However, certain abilities I possess, such an aptitude for the less legal and moral acts one can perform on short notice, didn't escape the notice of my fellow Ravens, so I was elected one might say to do what I can in regards to the evidence being collected against you." "What else have you done, besides return my necklace to me to show the police when and if they arrive?" "I paid a little visit to a shop, and a certain doctor's flat, and with Aristotle's help, I think I can make a case that would draw suspicion away from you, and buy us time to find out who really killed Stonetree, and better yet, why." "Aristotle doesn't like mortals." "Well, he's going to have to get over it, if you want to keep your club." "I'll see what I can do." * * * "This is so tiresome," Aristotle sighed dramatically, and Tara frowned. "Oh do shut up and get the job done? You don't have to like me, you just have to do what I say." "Is she always this presumptuous for a mortal?" the vampire looked up and met Janette's eyes, who nodded. "Yes, I am." Tara snapped, and leaned closer to the screen. "What I need you to do is add these charges, at this time and date, so it appears to anyone making a cursory check of Nat's financial records that she made a medium-sized purchase at Darkangel's the day before the murder." "That's too easy, and anyone digging a little deeper would be able to see the fraud in a moment, now if you really want to challenge me, I can even make sure the money gets into the store's accounts and so the purchase was made in fact and not just on paper." "No, you fool, I want the deception to be discovered. I don't want to send the good doctor to jail, for heaven's sake, I just want to buy us time." "You have no imagination." "On the contrary, I thought this took rather a lot of it." Tara turned to Janette, "I placed the customer copy of the receipt, complete with Nat's own signature, in the pocket of a dark wool coat at the rear of her closet. If and when the metros get a warrant, they'll find it." "However did you manage to get her signature?" "People sign things all the time without looking. Put me in a lab coat, colour contacts, and no make-up, and my own mother would blink. Trust me, Nat doesn't remember me too well from the last time we met, she won't make the connection." "Good girl." "I try." "Done," Aristotle pronounced with a flourish, and Tara clapped appropriately. "Good boy, now I'll take my leave of you." Tara slipped on her trench coat. "I have got to get some rest, I've been here 12 hours and haven't slept a wink yet. Shall I come by tonight? We still need to find out who stole the choker." "If you say so, my dear. And do stop flirting with Miklos, it's hard for him to keep his mind on the job these days." "Don't worry, my horizons aren't *that* broad. I'll do my best." She yawned, and let the door to Aristotle's sanctum slam behind her. Altogether too much was happening in a very short time, and she was almost afraid to sleep, lest she miss something important. ************************************************************* All the News... by Perri Smith Perri stumbled back to her desk at the Houston Post with something less than enthusiasm, but a full glass of Diet Pepsi. The life of a first-year reporter was not a pleasant one--she'd spent the last few days... Yuck, nights... Writing obituaries. Out of habit, she brought up the AP wire and started scanning the news stories from the last few hours--there were advantages to working at a newspaper. She pulled all of the Canada datelines; more than once, she'd found a story about Nick and Schanke, right after a major arrest, and gotten a vicarious thrill--the only kind she really wanted after the last war! The Toronto headline jumped out at her--Police Captain Found Murdered. For a moment, she thought it was Cohen--her fingers slipped and slid on the keyboard until she brought the story up. *Ohmigod. Stonetree.* She closed her eyes for a second, trying to get a grip, then read the rest of the story. She gasped out loud when she read about the witnesses, getting curious looks from a few of her coworkers; the rest were on morning shift, hadn't had their coffee yet and really didn't care. *What the hell's the area code for Toronto?* She remembered after a second, then dialed Toronto information. A few minutes later, the Royal Constellation hotel connected her to the room. Or tried to, anyway... No one answered the phone. She got voice mail instead. *Wonderful,* she grumbled while the 'Leave a message' message played. "Scottie, it's Perri, I just saw what happened... Are you two O.K.? I'm going to try and contact Nick--there's something I think he should know about. Call me, I'm at the Houston number." She hung up and started biting her fingernails, staring at the phone. She realized what she was doing and dropped her hands, forcing them to grab the receiver. "Get real, Perri, it's only Nick." The number for Toronto P.D. was not hard to remember. "Homicide," someone answered. "Nick Knight, please. What do you mean he's not in? No, never mind, I'll try him at home." She hung up the phone in disgust, grumbling under her breath at people who refused to be where they were supposed to be. She dialed again... And got another flamin' answering machine. "Hi, this is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado..." she said it along with him. "Yeah, yeah, Nick, I know, I have this on MY machine." After the beep, she spoke quickly. "Nick, it's Perri. I just read about the murder and I need to talk to you--there's something you ought to know. I'm in Houston now--" The phone was abruptly picked up. "Nick?" she asked. "It's Ron," a much-too-familiar voice answered. Perri held the phone away from her ear and stared at it, then cursed silently. "Ron? What re you doing in Nick's apartment. I thought you two hated each other." "Long story," the Enforcer answered. "Let's just say I owed Nick and I'm paying him back." "Great." "Hey, I'm not that bad," Ron said indignantly. "Not once you get to know me..." He let his voice trail off. Perri rolled her eyes, grateful he couldn't see her. "No, thanks. Look, Ron, can you make sure Nick calls me as soon as he gets in? I may have some information about the murder." "Tell me and I'll pass it on when he gets here--it's close to sunrise." Perri debated with herself, then decided. "O.K., look, I'm one of the people who monitors the Associated Press wire at work, looking for stories we need to pick up for the Post. Over the last few weeks, I've seen a few stories abut high- ranking police officials in Canada and the northern U.S. turning up dead in weird circumstances. Most of them were in cities close to Toronto. The reports were pretty sketchy because dead cops were involved, but I might be able to find out more. I know Nick could." "And you think Stonetree's murder is related to these?" "Helluva big coincidence if they aren't." Perri drained her Pepsi and rubbed her eyes, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. "All of them died from wounds to the neck." Ron thought for a moment. "All right, Perri, I'll tell him. By the way, how's your Die-Hard friend?" "I don't know, I haven't heard from her, except some nagging to finish a story, but that was a few days ago." Ron chuckled. "I'll tell Nick." He hung up without a good- bye. Perri made a face at the phone. "Abrupt little..." She sighed, and sat back to think. ************************************************************* Random Acts part 11 by Diane Echelbarger The bouncer at the door waved the delivery woman through. He recognized her from her last visit, four days ago. "Hey, you Miklos?" she asked the shave-headed woman with the tray. The woman scowled. "*He's* behind the bar," she said. "Sorry!" the courier said, and headed over there. "Hey, fella!" she called. Miklos finished drawing a draft, handed it to the server, and turned toward her. "Yes," he asked. "What can I get you?" "If you're Miklos, I have a package for you," she replied. "Sign at the X." Miklos signed. She handed him a flat, brown leather case, about six inches by four, and left. Janette had recognized the uniform, and arrived at the bar just as the courier departed. "So, you have one, too," she said. "What is it?" "I don't know," Miklos shrugged. He hefted it thoughtfully in one hand. "Too?" he asked. "Someone sent me this," Janette touched the Art Noveau choker, "four days ago. Whoever it was didn't sign the card." Miklos shrugged, and opened the box. Inside, on a lining of blue velvet, was a silver pocket watch. The cover showed a timber wolf howling at a full moon. A fine silver 'cobra' chain led from the watch to the fob, a silver coin. Miklos picked up the coin and examined it. He frowned, puzzled. "What is it?" Janette asked. "What is wrong, Miklos?" "A Romanian leu," he murmured. "1870." He hesitated, then slipped the watch into one pocket of his vest and clipped the fob to the other pocket, so that the chain fell in a graceful arc. Only then did he pluck the small white envelope from the lid. The card inside was silver foil, embossed with an abstract pattern. And it, too, was blank. ************************************************************* 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... ************************************************************* Catching Up by Sandra Gray Sandra Gray waited behind a dumpster across the street from the converted warehouse. Was it a good idea to have come here? He hadn't acted like he had wanted to renew their acquaintance. She looked around a bit nervously. Although it was near dawn, the neighborhood she found herself in wasn't one she felt very comfortable waiting in alone. She thought back again to seeing Nick in the Regal Constellation. Afterwards, she'd gone up to her room and pondered his reaction for a while. His companion had called him "Knight" and apparently he was still calling himself Nick. Out of curiosity, she looked up the name in the Toronto phone directory, slightly surprised to find it listed. There was only one Nick Knight, in fact... Living at 101 Gateway Lane. Across the street. After a sleepless night, she had gotten a cab to drop her off near dawn. *He* hadn't changed, after all, which meant if she was right that he would be coming home soon. The sound of a car approaching down the quiet street made Sandra duck even further behind the dumpster. It wouldn't do to be noticed by the police. She smiled slightly. The car didn't sound like it was moving very fast and she peeked out just in time to see a large green Cadillac pulling up in front of the building across the street. thought Sandra, as she watched it disappear into the garage. Surely she couldn't be mistaken now about knowing him. But just to make sure she would wait a while longer... Until the sun was up. Once the sun had risen fully and was casting its bright light into the clear day, Sandra walked across the street. The door had a numbered pad on it. She pressed what seemed to be the doorbell and looked up at a camera mounted above the door. Guessing that sound was also a feature of the set up, she said, "Nick? It's Sandra Gray. I'd like to talk to you." There was no response. "Nick? I know you're there. Please, may I come in?" There was still no response. Sandra pressed the doorbell again. "Nick, if necessary, I'll ring this bell until you're either sick of it or you let me in." She pressed the button again for emphasis. The door clicked. Sandra turned the knob and found that it opened into an elevator. She closed the door behind her and pressed the up button. The elevator went up one floor and stopped. Sandra waited, but when the elevator door didn't open, opened it herself instead. Nick stood by the room's fireplace. Some lamps cast light dim by comparison to the brilliant day beyond the shuttered windows. He had a glass goblet in his hand and was studying the liquid in it. Sandra stepped further into the room. "I knew it was you in the hotel. Why... Why did you... Act like you didn't know me?" He didn't answer--just kept staring into the swirling liquid in his glass. Sandra frowned, irritated. "You recognized me, even though it's been... Years." "How did you find me?" "The phone book." Nick finally looked at her. "The darker man you were with... Called you Knight." He looked at the glass again. "Is your life here so secure? *You* haven't changed so you must still be a vampire." "Why did you come here?" he asked. Sandra was glad he wasn't looking at her as she swallowed and blinked a few times as sudden hurt swept through her. Then it was gone. "I... I don't know. After you left..." Nick looked into the fireplace and frowned. "I had to do that," he said. "I loved you. I would have done anything to stay with you. But it was a mistake to tell you I knew, wasn't it?" "How did you find out?" Sandra studied him, then walked closer to him and sat on a black leather chair. She looked at the twin to the chair that sat across from her. "I was helping with your research. It didn't take long to see that a common thread--vampires--ran through it. Then when we went out and you didn't eat; I never saw you outside in the daytime... You drew back when we got too close. At first it seemed silly, but as time went on, I realized you were seeking a cure... For yourself." She paused and looked up at him. "Are you still seeking one?" "Yes." "Someone is helping you?" "Yes. A doctor. She's... Working on finding a medical cure." "Really? Well, I hope she succeeds." Nick sat on the sofa and placed his glass on the table. "Do you?" "Of course. Oh, I was hurt and angry for a while..." He frowned and looked down. "...But eventually I realized your reasons for leaving." He looked at her again. "You don't want to be what you are. You wouldn't want to make someone else that way. And there was that man." "What man?" asked Nick sharply. "Tall and thin, very short hair, pale skin. He followed us sometimes." "You never said anything about him." Sandra shrugged. "I didn't know if it was any of my business. But he was part of why you left, wasn't he?" Nick rose and walked over to the fireplace. He ran his hand across the mantel and finally said, "Yes." "Was he... Like you?" Nick looked at her, hesitated briefly, then said, "Yes. My... Sire." He sat on the couch again. "But what about you? What are you doing in Toronto?" "I'm here for a writer's conference." "Writer's conference?" "Fiction--horror and science fiction mostly, although I've maintained an interest in vampires." She smiled slightly at his somewhat shocked expression. "Don't worry. I use a pseudonym for the vampire stuff." "What else... Have you been doing?" "I graduated. Got married, have a nine year old daughter. They're home. Living a standard mortal life." A wistful expression crossed Nick's face. It made Sandra feel a little uncomfortable. "What about you?" she asked. "You're some sort of policeman?" "Homicide detective. I work the night shift." "Then when I saw you at the hotel, you were there on a case?" "Yes." He looked at his glass on the coffee table. "Well. Then I guess I should go, let you rest." She rose and so did he. She walked briskly to the elevator door, then turned and looked at Nick. "I'm sorry if you didn't want to see me. I guess... It wouldn't have made any difference if I hadn't told you I knew what you were." "No. I still would have left." Sandra smiled a little. "But you would have written once in a while?" Nick opened his mouth to answer, but Sandra laid the first two fingers of her right hand over his mouth. "Never mind. Good-bye, Nick." She dropped her hand. "Good-bye, Sandra. I'm... Sorry... Things didn't work out for us." He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. When he pulled away, she backed into the elevator and was gone. ************************************************************* WKRP (sorta), Part deux by Sara Orel (Merc central, at the end of a very long but fruitful night) Sara lay back on the downstairs couch, smiling at the purring cat on her chest. "How are you George?" More purrs from the most timid of the household's residents. One could certainly not call the other Mercenaries timid by any means. Sara was glad that she had assigned Dianne to the singing group along with Darkangel (she couldn't really call her Steff, as that just wasn't glamorous enough, or at least sounded too much like a strawberry blonde beauty pageant contestant, or at least someone squeaky clean, not someone with the loudest meanest motorcycle in the neighborhood and a black leather jacket to match) and Jenn (high administrative poobah extraordinaire and keeper of the Merc charter), while Maureen was doing the purring voice-overs calling folks out to the 24 hour shoe sales and the slinky (almost as if it were silk) lingerie (for those who can't afford Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons boutique) for purchase at Walmart in Etobicoke and Mississauga... At this point the house was a bit tense with stresses between Dianne and Maureen threatening to get out of hand. But George was happy; he loved having the ears scratched... And the sun was up. Sara had noticed that about 4 a.m. suddenly the tape of LaCroix had been turned off and it was not just another one of his minions--the ever intriguing Nightcrawler was back, and by about 4:30 the Walmart commercials (a particularly obnoxious combination this morning of a purrrrrring Maureen talking about bras in a rather, how should I say it? Orrrriginal tone of voice--Sara couldn't help but hope that the spring-fresh douche ads that Maureen had done in the same tone (with great pauses for giggling) would be able to run tomorrow--and Darkangel, Dianne, and Jenn singing the Brady Bunch theme... "The Walmart door...the Walmart door... That's the way we became the friendly store... Oooooooh, Ooooooooh, Woooooooooo...." And then there were the Walmart blue light specials for wooden stakes for the garden with Sara's bright sunshine voice...). Anyway (where was I?) at about 4:30 a.m., all ads for Walmart stopped, with a growling LaCroix simply shutting off the Merc choir in mid wooooooo. Sara had listened to him snarling about the ads for a few minutes at the end of his shift, and then smiled. The contract with Walmart was airtight. She wondered if the Cousin who was silly enough to sell the advertising time would last the day. Oh well, Heather had not said "Don't get anyone other than LaCroix." In fact she had left it rather open, and Sara never asked more questions than she felt she needed to know the answers to. The Cousin at least deserved to lose her job, because the contract was clearly non-standard. And if he started to run the ads in the middle of the day to clear his obligations to Walmart (at least he could run the advertising time that way), the CRTC would attack for the lewd sex kitten ads (and Maureen, although she was not too fond of shoes, saying that for a fetish they were quite smelly, and not always in a nice way, and she preferred chocolate anyway, could be made to purr very orgasmicly when you bribed her properly). ************** Walmart took three days to notice that their ads were not being run at night by the new night team at CERK. They did not want the money back--they wanted the ads to run. LaCroix said non, of course. This was exactly the situation that Sara had wanted--two very rich opponents implacably opposed. She offered to refer her new friends in the Walmart advertising group to a good Canadian lawyer she knew (but they already had their own). They were quite annoyed when the station management could never meet at a reasonable hour and when they could no decisions could be made (whoever heard of making business decisions at midnight, I ask you!) until the next morning. It took no time at all for the superstore company to decide that the station management was not negotiating in good faith (although it took them more time to come to that conclusion than really anyone familiar with the station would have taken, but they refused Sara's legal advice) and to sue the owners for everything they had... LaCroix, faced with CRTC regulations on the one hand, an incredibly successful advertising campaign on the other, and an irate megastore on the third hand, decided to spend more time with Nicholas, who was ever so much more rewarding these days... But LaCroix did not like to be threatened, and he instructed his lawyers to fight the corporation, just for the sake of fighting (bankrupt HIM, would they? Ha!)... I leave you with a few words from _Bleak House_ by Charles Dickens... " and drones on. This scarecrow of a suit has, in course of time, become so complicated that no man alive knows what it means. The parties to it understand it least; but it has been observed that no two Chancery lawyers can talk about it for five minutes without coming to a total disagreement as to all the premises. Innumerable children have been born into the cause; innumerable young people have married into it; innumerable old people have died out of it.... The little plaintiff or defendant, who was promised a new rocking-horse when and should be settled, has grown up, possessed him of a real horse, and trotted away into the other world... and has passed into a joke. That is the only good that has every come of it. It has been death to many, but it is a joke in the profession." ************************************************************* A Die-Hard Strikes Back by Heather Parks After the PI's left Heather was mad. Well at least she knew what going on. She took two Advils. The headache was almost gone but she wanted to make sure it stayed gone. Catherine was upstairs with Darkstar. Heather had never seen anybody eat that many chocolate pop- tarts. "I known what happened," Heather blurted out. "What?" Catherine seemed surprised. "The headaches, the loss of memory, I know why." "Tell me or I will beat it out of you." "Ok, two words Mind rape." "Oh shoot." "Not quite the words I used but close enough." "Who?" "Well, that's the thing it was at least two people, maybe more." "Well?" "Officer Lu... LaCroix and the guy from the Raven." "Miklos." "That his name." "I'm going to need some Die-Hard help. If Miklos asked me to help Janette that that would have been different. But he didn't. He went into my head, changed my memories, and left me going crazy. "How many people do you need" "It will take at least two but more would be better. Darkstar might want revenge, but I doubt she's rested enough from her experience at the Raven. Darkstar came in, "I'm fine, just give me a pop-tart and I'll take on anyone." Heather and Catherine just looked at each other "No, You can't." Catherine started scolding them both. "Darkstar you're not ready. And Heather, You can't go out and take on a whole faction. Die-Hards don't do that." Heather eyes popped out, "What? DAWN, enough said. I have good a reason for wanting justice. LaCroix is already taken care of. If you and the other Die-Hards won't help me then that's just fine I'll do it myself. Even a Knightie will attack when attacked." "What? LaCroix, and the Ravenettes!! I thought you had some sense." "Fair is fair, Besides I hired a Merc for LaCroix he won't know it was me. But I agree Darkstar needs to rest. Go ahead and enjoy the Karaoke, but I have a job to do." With that Heather stomped out. "I Should get her," Darkstar stared at the door. "Nope she works here. She'll be back," Catherine still amazed at what had been said. She hoped for Heather's sake that Darkstar wasn't a Cousin. ************************************************************* Coercion by Sharon Himmanen LaCroix had not spoken to her since he'd been brought in, but she could feel him watching her. Natalie had spent a few moments during the shuffle of Tara being released thinking about how to start a conversation with him. She had to be careful. It would look suspicious if she *didn't* talk to him, that in and of itself giving away her secret. Fooling Nick about what and how much she remembered from Valentine's Day had been almost too easy. Fooling LaCroix on the same score was another matter entirely. Finally all was quiet and Natalie dared to meet his eyes as he looked at her through the bars of the other holding cell, fully expecting to feel the same sense of pressing invasion she'd experienced in Azure's. Surprisingly, there was none. Calm icy blue eyes met hers, but the challenge was openly apparent. She stepped forward, wrapping one hand around one of the thick bars. "I never expected to find you here, Captain Cross," she said truthfully. *This* situation in particular was going to put Nick in a horrible position, especially if LaCroix *had* killed Stonetree. One eyebrow rose in amusement. "I could say the same thing about you, Ms. Lambert." Natalie gave a small laugh. "What's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this," she said. "Something like that." Then his expression turned serious. "Tell me, did you kill Captain Stonetree?" His gaze intensified and she caught herself almost too late. "No. Did you?" She was rather proud that her voice was steady and even. it was frightening to think that he still had some power over her even though she was prepared. Well, she amended to herself, at least more prepared than last time. "Oh, come now, Ms. Lambert. You can tell me," he said, his voice becoming soft, coaxing, almost droning. "You want to confess everything. You killed him. It was a crime of passion." Natalie swallowed, and raised her eyebrows but continued to meet his gaze. It was probably a mistake but his arrogance and what he was trying to do to her were beginning to infuriate her. "What I find interesting," she said conversationally, "is that *you* were the one who found his hat in my apartment. How fortunate for you. Especially since I have no idea how it got there." She glared at him purposefully. Several seconds of silence followed as a wicked smile spread across his face. Natalie felt his mental assault intensify and realized that the choice was hers. She could stand here and attempt to stare him down. And lose. She blinked. And turned away, moving over to the bunk and picking up the paperback copy of "Interview With the Vampire." She heard him laugh softly to himself before he stretched out on the bunk in his cell, clasping his hands across his chest. And when she glanced over at him and saw the slight, knowing smile on his face, she knew that he was well aware of the racing of her heart. Staring at the page before her, pretending to read, Natalie wondered if this had really ended in the draw it appeared to be or if she'd tipped more of her hand than she'd intended. ************************************************************* Get Out Of Jail Free by Elaine Polemenakos Elaine sat in her office reading over Sharon and Jennie's report of their investigation. She looked at them from across her desk. "Let me get this straight. Someone hypnotized the salesgirl at Darkangel's to say that Natalie had bought all this stuff, but really it was a dark-haired man and a very pale short-haired tall guy?" "That's what she said." said Sharon. "And I'm supposed to believe this?" "If you'd seen her faint like we did, you'd believe it too." said Jennie. "OK, I trust your opinion, but how am I supposed to get the police to believe it?" "By showing them this affidavit that she signed, retracting all her previous testimony. They have to take it," answered Sharon. "Really? Glad you're here. Procedure is a little different where I'm from. OK, but that just takes care of the more direct evidence. There's still some circumstantial evidence we have to deal with, like those notes in the fireplace. Do you have any ideas?" "Well," said Sharon, "I did some more digging about that sword shaped pin we found in that police officer's body, and it turns out that a lot of people saw that IA officer Capt. Cross wearing one just like it." "When did you find this out?!" exclaimed Jennie. "When you were back at the office typing up the report." "You told me you were going to pick up some lunch." "I did, I just did this too." "But that's not..." "Ladies, Please!" Elaine interjected. "You can hash this one out later. So Sharon, what you're saying is that you think Capt. Cross killed Amy Hull. And he did this because...?" "Because during the search of Natalie's apartment she found something that would either clear her, implicate him, or both." "You think he killed Capt. Stonetree?!? Why would he do that?" "Don't ask me," said Sharon. "That's the Crown Prosecutor's job" "True. All I needed to do was provide a way to clear Natalie, and thanks to you two, I can do just that. Thanks a lot guys. You did good. This calls for a celebration. Know any good places we could go tonight. I figure I owe you each at least a drink. Probably dinner." "There's a fun karaoke bar in town called the Tiki Room," suggested Jennie. "OK, just don't make me sing. I care too much for my fellow man to do that." said Elaine. "No promises" said Jennie. "I'll meet you guys there at eightish, OK. Right now I have to go talk to Capt. Cohen about getting my client out of jail. See you then." With that, she breezed out of the office. Jennie turned to Sharon, her eyes dark with anger. "Now about this solo stunt you pulled." ***************** Police Headquarters. Capt. Cohen's office. "So you see Captain, its possible that Capt. Cross planted those paper fragments in Dr. Lambert's fireplace. He had every opportunity. Hell, searching her apartment was his idea. And with the affidavit from the salesgirl at Darkangel's you don't have any reason to suspect her, much less to lock her up." "Alright, Ms. Polemenakos, you've made your point. I'll have her released immediately." said Capt. Cohen. "An apology would be nice too." "Don't press your luck, Ms. Polemenakos." She turned to the beaming Nick and Schanke. "Wipe that grin off your face Schanke. You too Knight. I'm not happy that a private investigator did your job for you. Ms. Polemenakos, I'll have someone escort you down to lockup to get Dr. Lambert." "Captain, I'd like to go down there too" said Nick. "Oh, no Knight. You and Schanke are going to pick up Captain Cross. NOW." ***************** In Lockup "Thank God I'm out of there," said Nat. You wouldn't believe the food. And I had the strangest girl in there with me. What do we do now?" "About three hours of paperwork." said Elaine. "Oh, joy!" "And after that we'll go out. I'm meeting Sharon and Jennie at the Tiki Room around eight, if you'd like to come with me." "How about I meet you there. I've got a cat whose going to feel very neglected if I don't get home. I shudder to think what the drapes look like." ************************************************************* A Lead? by Sandra Gray "Yeah... Yeah... Uh huh. Okay, thanks for the info," said Schanke. He hung up the phone. "Hey, partner, I think we might have a lead here." Nick looked at Schanke. He was in the process of dialing yet another precinct in another city about the mysterious death of a police captain there, but put down the phone to listen to Schanke instead. "What?" "I was just on the phone with Al Marino. Seems a suspect in one of the murders who was jailed on other charges has just been released on parole. A John Aston... With some connections to some weird groups." "Yeah? So?" "So Mr. Aston was paroled to Toronto." "Where's he staying?" "I'll find out," said Schanke, and picked up the phone again. A commotion by the main desk caught Nick's eye. He was startled to see LaCroix standing there signing some papers. Captain Cohen was standing next to him. Then she saw Nick looking at her and walked over to him. "What's going on?" asked Nick. "Captain Cross is being released." "But I thought you said he was going to be kept in jail." "I've--reason to believe we made a mistake in arresting him. Fortunately, I think he understands." Nick looked down at the file in front of him. Apparently his hypnotism of Captain Stonetree had worked. "How are the two of you coming on that assignment?" Schanke hung up the phone. "The IA guy's being let go?" Cohen nodded. "Well, Captain, I think I may have found out something useful, I hope." Nick glanced over at the desk and saw LaCroix standing there watching him, a slight smile on his face. "Um, excuse me for a moment." He stood. "Go ahead and explain, Schank. Your find, after all." Then he walked off in the direction of the men's room. LaCroix moved to intercept him. "Thank you, Nicholas, for getting me released." "What makes you think I had anything to do with it?" asked Nick. LaCroix smiled. "I know you did. We have to protect each other." "Is that what you call it?" LaCroix merely smiled. Nick ducked into the men's room. He wet his hand at the sink and ran it over his mouth and studied his reflection in the mirror. When he emerged from the men's room a few minutes later and walked back into the squad room, he saw LaCroix standing by Schanke's desk. As he neared, he could hear Schanke winding up his description of what he had found out about John Aston. Captain Cohen looked up and saw him. "Okay, you and Knight go check him out," she said. "And perhaps you'd like to go along, Captain Cross?" "No, I think your officers can handle it." Nick didn't like the switch in LaCroix's attitude, but could only satisfy himself with a glare at him. LaCroix turned and walked to the exit. Schanke got up from his chair and said, "Let's go, Knight." Captain Cohen headed for her office. Nick picked up his jacket and followed Schanke out of the precinct. Nick drove as fast as the law allowed to the address Schanke had found for John Aston. He wasn't surprised when they didn't find him at home. "Damn!" said Schanke. He looked up. "Is it too much to expect *one* break?" Nick sighed. "Maybe he's just out somewhere." Schanke looked at Nick. "Yeah. Let's go to the Raven and see if your friend Janet's heard or seen anything of him." He turned and strode off down the hall of the apartment building. Nick followed him. But he had a feeling that John Aston wouldn't be easily found and wondered what LaCroix was up to now. ************************************************************* Desperate Measures by Lane Lombardia Lane frowned. The bug planted in the Cadillac, and similar monitoring devices planted elsewhere had revealed reams of data on the personalities of the major players in Toronto. Unfortunately, it became increasingly apparent that none of them was motivated to kill the decedent, Stonetree. Finally, in frustration, he had resorted to hacking into the Police Department computer network. He had needed four basic pieces: his Macintosh 7100, Tenon Intersystem's Mach Ten UNIX emulator, the S.A.T.A.N. network administrator's tool, and some key advice from two friends on likely security flaws. Slowly, methodically, he had managed to locate a largely unguarded area in the Toronto Police department's computers that would give him what he needed. Eventually, he found what he was looking. The good Doctor Lambert had possessed the presence of mind to order time on a tunneling electron microscope to examine fluid samples taken from the torn throat of the decedent. The work order contained the note, "Flag any and all unusual nucleotides." The results were, of course in a secure subsection of the computer network; but the Toronto PD had failed to secure the area where such work orders were kept. He backed out of Toronto PD's accounting system, and stood up. His fingers hurt from the endless keying *bloody command line interfaces*. He tool a few moments to stretch out using the Togakure Ryu junan taiso (Japanese body conditioning exercises). Grabbing his Gargoyle sunglasses and leather jacket, he walked out of the hotel room, heading down to the garage where his black pearl Honda Del Sol awaited. Arriving at the University, he found the laboratory where the tunneling electron microscope mentioned in the work order was located, and checked the schedule to determine when the lab was next due to be occupied. The lights were out, and no sound came from within, so he tried the door knob. It wasn't locked. "Is this academic carelessness and optimism, or a trap?" he asked himself. Slipping inside, his eyes swept the interior. The only place to hide was behind tables or above the suspended ceiling. He examined all the paperwork, including scribbled post-it notes, and scrawls on torn sections of brown paper bags, whether it was on the desks, lab tables or in trash bins. He checked pads of paper for missing notes by shading to pick up imprints. Finally, he was satisfied that he had been as thorough as possible. He now knew what manner of being Stonetree's killer had been. Sprinting to the Del Sol, Lane knew he had to get the information he had collected to Magister, who had successfully bid for his services. Lane also knew that he may well have revealed himself to the killer by coming to the University lab, so he checked every inch of the car's undercarriage for any foreign object. He checked his low-tech burglar alarm (small pieces of black plastic that blended with the cars color scheme trapped in place by the hood, doors, targa roof, and trunk). Only after he was as sure as he could be did he start the car. The car started normally with no indication of having been tampered with. Only when he was fully satisfied (paranoid Mercs live longer) did he head off for the Raven. Arriving at the Raven slightly after noon, he slipped inside. Miklos intercepted him as soon as the last vestige of offending sunlight had been squelched by the closing door. "I realize it's late; but, I'm here to report to Magister on what I've found so far. Just show me where I can wait out of the way," Lane said in soothing tones, knowing that he had most likely disturbed the vampire's sleep. Miklos indicated a seat by the bar, then vanished into the gloom. ************************************************************* Case Solved by Sandra Gray Nick walked into the station and Schanke quickly approached him. "C'mon, we've found Aston." "What? Where is he?" "They found him down near the lake." Schanke sighed. "Dead." Nick frowned, then turned and headed back out to his car, Schanke following. Natalie and forensics were on the scene when they arrived, as was Captain Cohen. Nick approached the Captain. "Has he been murdered?" he asked. Cohen shook her head. "Natalie says it looks like a suicide. Shot himself." "What? Where'd he get the gun?" asked Schanke. Cohen shrugged. "I don't know." "Did he... Leave any kind of note?" asked Nick. "Yes, he did," said Natalie, approaching them. She held up a clear evidence bag, which Cohen took from her. "What's it say?" asked Schanke, peering over her shoulder. "It's a confession, admitting to the murder of Stonetree and Captain Williams in Montreal." She looked at Natalie, who was looking at her strangely. "Except... Except Captain Stonetree isn't dead." "What?!" asked Schanke. Nick feigned surprise too and glanced at Nat. "The victim was Captain Stonetree's twin brother, George." She looked from one detective to the other. "I placed him in protective custody until we could find the murderer." "Why didn't you tell us?" asked Schanke. "Internal Affairs was involved. I wasn't sure who to trust with the information." She looked uncomfortable. "It's okay, Captain. We understand... Right, Schank?" said Nick. "It wasn't something I wanted to do," said Captain Cohen. "Hey, like Nick said, we understand," said Schanke. "Well, at least it's all over now," said the Captain. "Captain Stonetree can go home." Then she moved away. Schanke walked over to take a look at the suicide scene. Nick drew Natalie aside. "You know about Stonetree being alive?" "Yes. I discovered it during the autopsy," replied Nat in a low voice. "Captain Cohen swore me to secrecy." She paused and then added, "He didn't do it, did he?" "I doubt it," said Nick. "Stonetree's memoirs--" "It's been taken care of." At her dismayed expression, he said, "Don't worry. He's safe." At that moment, Schanke came up and said, "So when did he buy it?" Nat looked at him. "Well, the autopsy will be more certain, but I'd say at least twenty-four hours ago." "Well, I'm glad it's over, but I wish it hadn't ended like this." "Yeah," said Nick. After some more time, the body was loaded into an ambulance to be taken to the morgue and Nick and Schanke were again in Nick's car. "What I don't get is why all the frames," said Schanke. "Who knows? To generate confusion?" "And why commit suicide?" "I don't know if we'll ever know that." "Maybe he didn't commit suicide. Maybe someone murdered him." "Who?" "Someone who knew he didn't off Cap'n Stonetree." "Well, we can check it out, but Nat says it looks like a suicide and there's the note." "Yeah, well, we'll see what comes out of the autopsy, I guess." Nick drove on in silence. * * * * * * * When Nick got a free moment, he went off in search of LaCroix, finding him in his radio station. "John Aston," he started. "You should thank me for taking care of him," said LaCroix. "You expect me to sit by and let some innocent person take the blame--" said Nick in a low, throbbing voice. "He was hardly innocent," said LaCroix in a low voice. "He *was* responsible for the death of Captain Williams." Nick stared at LaCroix, then said, "That's no excuse--" "But isn't that why you're an officer of the law? To see that those responsible for their crimes pay for them?" Nick didn't reply. "I was only trying to protect you from your own folly," continued LaCroix. "You were nearly exposed." "I could have taken care of that. You took advantage of the situation to try to drive me out of Toronto." "Yes, well... I can't see why you stay." "You don't see a lot of things. At any rate, your efforts didn't succeed, did they? I'm staying. And so is Janette." LaCroix glared at him, but said nothing. "You'll pay for trying to kill Stonetree too." Nick then turned to leave. "Do you think I would have failed if I wanted to kill him?" asked LaCroix. Nick paused for a moment, then continued out the door. ************************************************************* Nat Steps Out by L. Bruce Gray Nat grabbed her medical bag and went out through the front door. She got into her car and drove downtown. She went through several alleys and back roads, stopping several times to make sure that she wasn't being followed. Finally, she pulled up into a well lit parking area about a block from George's hotel, the Royal Astor. She knew that George would have probably wanted to give Stonetree something important-- and if he knew that he might be in danger that George would have hidden whatever it was that he had wanted to give Stonetree. * * * * * After making sure that she wasn't being followed (again) she went up to the hotel desk and asked which room that George had been staying in and used her police ID to get a pass key from the desk clerk. Good thing he was only a kid, Nat thought. She went up to George's room door, unlocked it, opened it and went inside. She got her flashlight out of her bag and started to look around the room. * * * * * An hour later showed her no better off than when she had started. There was still no sign of anything that George might have brought with him to give to Stonetree. She had looked everywhere, too. Under chairs, under cushions, on chair bottoms, in and under drawers, and just about anywhere else she could think of. She was just about to leave when a flash of inspiration hit. She went back into the room, opened the small hotel refrigerator and looked for any packages. Sure enough, there was one inside. She carefully removed the package from its hiding place, put it in a plastic bag, and put it in her bag. Then she went back out of the hotel and went back to her car. She went back downtown using some of the same back streets she had used on the way to the hotel. She parked in her parking space next to the office and went directly to her lab. She put the package on the lab table, opened it and began to read the small book she had found inside. * * * * * A few hours later and she was done with the small diary. It had a lot of information in it, especially about the "incident with the swimming pool," but nothing that gave Nat any clues about who might have killed George Stonetree. It also held a lot of the prior history of George, right up until the time that he had decided to try and mend some of the rifts that had grown up between him and his family. She put the book back in her bag and made preparations to leave. Just then, a few police came through the front door of the lab. "Natalie Lambert?" asked one of the police. "Yes. Why?" asked Nat. "You are under arrest for murdering Stonetree." said the policeman. Nat looked at him in shock. "You have the right to remain silent..." started the policeman, while the rest of the police began to search the lab. ------------------------------------------------------------- Please note that this post assumes that my two previous posts, "Surprise, Surprise, Surprise", and "Double, Double, We're In Trouble", both concerning Nat, were, IMHO, -not- a dream and actually happened. ************************************************************* Narcolepsy by Dreamweavers Natalie Lambert sat at the precinct, wearily filling out forms. She could hear Schanke and Nick talking about LaCroix... Oops, Captain Cross, in the next room. If only she could get these forms finished, she could get out of here... Her eyes drooped, and she laid her head down on one arm, just for a second... -----***----- "Hey, Nat, wake up." Someone was shaking her arm gently. She jerked awake, then sat blinking up into Nick's face. "Oh, I just felt so tired, Nick. I'm sorry, I couldn't keep my eyes open. Do they put something in the food around here? One taste and you're conked out so you can't cause trouble?" she shook her head. "I'm not sure I'd mind that so much, but the dreams are starting to get to me." Looking around, she made sure they couldn't be overheard before continuing. "I just dreamt that you hypnotized Cohen and she told you Stonetree was alive and that there were two copies of his memoirs, one talking about LaCroix being a vampire and the other one talking about *you* being one. You even went to the safehouse Stonetree was in and hypnotized *him*." Nick laughed, "Well, maybe we just need to get you home and get you some rest. Perhaps once this whole matter is laid to rest, the dreams will go away." "Yeah, you're probably right. The ones I had while I was in jail were all about Stonetree really being alive, too. Must just be the stress. One of them was a quite a nightmare--I woke up just as I was being arrested for his twin brother's murder!" "Just finish that one last form, and we'll get you home, Nat." She looked down, only just realizing she *was* on the last one. She bent her head over the paper with a lighter heart. -----***----- Something felt weird about this. She was moving. She wasn't supposed to be moving like this while she was asleep... Nat jerked awake again. Nick cradled her in his arms, and was trying to get the door to her apartment building open without disturbing her. Her head rested against his chest, and it was tempting to just close her eyes and stay like that... But Nick *was* having trouble with the door, so she blinked up at him and said, "I went away again... I'm sorry." She struggled a bit until he set her on her feet, then turned to him, "it was a nice thought, but I'm glad I woke up. I was having more dreams about Stonetree not being dead. It's eerie, how real they seem. I'm even getting names--this time there was a 'John Aston' who had committed the murder. I don't know anyone named John Aston. Can't figure out where I got the name from. It was the twin brother who'd been killed again, too. I think I was watching too many old TV shows last week-- they all showed 'evil twin' episodes, so I guess that's how come I've got twins on the brain." "Shh, it's been a long week. You just need to get some quiet sleep, and you'll be fine." Nick soothed as they headed in to her apartment. "I know. I'm not upset by the dreams on an intellectual level, it just bothers me that I can't escape this horrible week, even in my sleep." Her voice was already starting to sound sleepy. "Can we watch a movie?" "You sound like you're ready to go to sleep right now, Nat. You *did* have a busy night, you know. You really sing beautifully." Nat blushed. "I *did* do that, didn't I? Jennie's awfully persuasive. I had fun, though. Pick a funny old movie, to take my mind off the dreams, OK?" "OK, Nat." He went over to the video case, and picked out 'Bringing Up Baby," flipping it into the VCR and returning to settle on the couch next to Nat as the opening credits played. Nat was asleep by the time the leopard escaped. Nick watched her sleep for awhile, then quietly got up and turned the TV off, found a blanket to cover her with and made sure she was settled comfortably on the couch. He started out the door, then turned and looked back. Natalie was muttering slightly in her sleep. He hoped these dreams were good ones. ************************************************************* Afflicted Houses by Cousin Lisa Special guest appearance by our very own Valery King as "Myrtle Letterman." "Wow," said Selma McCrory, luxuriating in the soft leather interior of the Rolls Corniche, "when you borrow cars, you don't fool around." Lisa laughed and turned out of the Regal Constellation's driveway. "And this is Felik's idea of a 'little runabout for in town.' I was afraid to ask what he uses for long trips. Oh, well, at least I came by this one honestly." She summarized the wild ride of the previous night. Selma swallowed hard. "Lisa?" "Yes?" "Why aren't you dead?" Lisa nonchalantly overtook a large moving van. "I thought I was when I first woke up. It was like falling into a drop forge plant, but then Feliks hexed the hangover away, and--" "You let Feliks hypnotize you?" Selma remembered too late that at family reunions, it had usually been Lisa who got into situations like being marooned up an all too slender tree with a bear cub. "Sure. It beats having a hangover. Look, Sel, we've got to talk. Did you pick up anything about nakhajeedah when you were a kid?" Selma automatically crossed her hands in the Neemonee anti- evil influence gesture. "Not a whole lot. Mom thought it was nonsense. Why?" "Because Granny tried to train me as a Ta-nakhajeed after she came to live with us." Lisa began signaling for the turn into the Stonetrees' subdivision. "I'd forgotten most of it until somebody sent me that book, but you know how to turn a curse back on the curser?" "No. My Dad was deadset against any of that when I was little," Selma answered. "Oh. Well, you dress in the opposite sex's clothes for three days and then get someone who doesn't know what's going on to burn something that you've projected the curse on." Lisa smiled grimly. "All I can say is, if Joe knew there was a scorpion in that big brown envelope he gave me, I hope Granny's caught up with him in S'yahlmana." She used the Neemonee word for the afterlife. "Oh, that must be it, with the gables." Several cars already occupied the driveway. The cousins had parked the Rolls and were just setting foot on the walkway, when Selma grabbed Lisa's arm and gestured for silence. She would have gotten it, if Lisa's foot hadn't come down on the tail of the Stonetrees' outsized Siamese cat, Geronimo. He had been asleep under the rose bush Lisa jumped backward into after he sprang up with a war cry that would not have disgraced his namesake. "Oh, there he is!" said the woman who had been squatting under the kitchen windows. "Naughty Tommy--here, kitty- kitty." She came to her feet as she spoke, patting her brown hair back into place. Geronimo growled low in his throat, probably regarding the sobriquet of "Tommy" as infra dig. He shook his tail and hindquarters in the ultimate feline put- down before stalking off. "Whatever gets into him..." the erstwhile eavesdropper said. "You'd never believe he was my cat." She was the tall, Rubenesque type who reminded Lisa of the late Marguerite Dumont in some of the Marx Brothers' more insane moments. Selma looked up from staunching Lisa's wounds. "No, we wouldn't think that," she said. Too late, she saw the wildness ignite in Lisa's eyes. "You have a cat outdoors in this neighborhood? Now?" Lisa said with every appearance of horror. "You do live here, Mrs....?" "Letterman, Myrtle Letterman. Yes, I live right next door, at 807." She backed toward her own property as she spoke. Anguished concern scored Lisa's face. "Oh, how brave! I mean, you're not afraid the Nakomis will come back?" Selma took a firm grip on her cousin's arm. Lisa ignored her. Myrtle quavered "the Na-what?" "The Nakomis--you know, that thing that everybody says was following poor Joe around, so he had to move out of the house to keep it away from Zenaida and little Joey." Lisa shook with something that might have been fear. "The only thing that was following Joe Stonetree around was that blond floozy!" Myrtle Letterman sniffed. "Really, there they were in poor Zenaida's own kitchen, just a couple of days before Joe was killed, with the blinds up and everything." At this juncture she was interrupted by a poodle-ish yapping from her own house. "Say, this Na-thing, does it bother dogs?" "Only female and on two legs," muttered Lisa. Aloud she said, "Oh, no. At least, I don't think so." "Lisa, Selma, so good of you to come!" The Stonetree's kitchen door opened and Zenaida Stonetree stepped outside. Geronimo called out a hoarse, bass greeting and sprang onto her shoulder. Zenaida scratched his ears. "Good boy, 'romino! Come and have your dinner." Lisa looked around as she and Selma moved toward their cousin in law, but the only sign of Myrtle was a loudly banged screen door on the other side of the driveway. ************************************************************* Deus Ex Machina: Gopher Hunting by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger "Yessir, I'll get them delivered right away, Mr. P.," the Gofer promised as she backed out of the producer's trailer. Still sorting through the fistful of memos, script changes, and shooting notes, she turned and headed toward the main sound stage. As she walked down the backlot "street", a sleek gray cat watched her approach from under one of the shaggy yew bushes that lined the walks. Tuppence needed to figure out where the Fanged One needed her next, and she suspected this human's papers would tell her. As the girl passed her, Tuppence lashed out with one carefully-timed paw. The girl screeched, and papers went flying everywhere. Tuppence darted out, grabbed one at random, and scurried back to her hiding place. The human examined her scratched ankle, gathered up her papers, and departed, muttering. Tuppence flattened her find in a sun-dappled spot deep in the bushes and examined it carefully. ------------------------------------------------------------- TO: Scripting FROM: JP SUBJECT: Continuity "Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!" and "Double, Double, We're In Trouble" have been rewritten as dream sequences. Please cancel all subsequent shoots in this series and re-write scripts to reflect this change. JP ------------------------------------------------------------- Tuppence hissed, annoyed. This was no help. She'd just have to hope she could find something interesting to do on her own. She scampered away, toward the sound stages, leaving the memo firmly wedged deep in the yew, where no human would ever find it. ************************************************************* Really Weird by Sharon S. Scott "She's acting weird, Karin. Really weird." Margaret held the phone tightly while Karin demanded specifics. "You want examples? How about she's stopped drinking Diet Coke and has started in on the hard stuff. Classic Coke. And she wanted a rare steak for lunch." "So?" Karin's crisp California accent indicated that Margaret was making a mountain out of a molehill, and that she had more important things to do. "She's a vegetarian. She doesn't eat anything that can wink at her, remember? And we were at Victoria's Secret at the Eaton Centre today, and she didn't even scream when I waved a pair of frog bikini briefs in her face. And, Karin, you're not going to believe this, but she was singing "Froggie Went A-Courtin'" in the shower this morning. It's scary." "Quit worrying. Maybe she's just finally seen the error of her ways, or she's gotten some therapy or something. She'll be okay." "Karin, listen to me! She's stopped humming "I Burn For You" when she sees Nick!" That got through to the blonde vampiress. "This *is* serious. When did all this start?" "After that little incident at the Raven. I'm scared." "Just stay put. Don't leave the hotel." "She's insisting on going to the karaoke." "Well, keep an eye on her. Don't let her get in trouble. And keep me informed, okay?" "I'll do my best. Oops, here she comes--gotta go." She hurriedly hung up the phone as the door to the room opened and Scottie came in with an armful of candy bars and Cokes. "Margy! We're in luck! They restocked the candy counter in the gift shop and refilled the Coke machine!" "Don't you think you ought to lay off all the sugar?" She watched in amazement as several candy bars disappeared down her roomie's gullet in a matter of seconds. "I've decided that chocolate is a girl's best friend. Forget diamonds. Forget men. Chocolate is the answer to everything. See, Nat's going about this cure thing all wrong--chocolate! That'll cure him!" "You wish. Would you quit dancing around the room? You're making me dizzy! Besides, it looks silly in cowboy boots and a black leather jacket." Scottie heaved a sigh, perched on the side of the bed, and looked down at her feet. "Yeah, well, I never owned a pair of cowboy boots before. I didn't know how comfortable they were- -and I like the pointy toes. Good for kicking things out of your way." "Just don't put on a mini-skirt with them, okay?" "I promise." She shuddered at the memory of Laura Garfield's get-up. "Boots go with jeans. It's a rule or something." "Or something. Speaking of rules, can I announce a few for tonight? For the karaoke?" "I'm listening." "No grabbing Nick. By the ankle, or anywhere else. Got it? No singing. You know you have a voice like a fr..." "Go ahead, say it. Like a frog. I know. I can take it." "No nasty remarks about LaCroix. There'll probably be lots of Cousins there, and we don't want to start a fight, do we? Okay? Are we agreed?" Scottie pondered a moment, and then nodded her head. "Agreed. Can we go now?" Margaret sighed, picked up her purse, and started toward the door. She didn't see Scottie uncrossing her fingers and smiling. ************************************************************* The Fix by Karin Welss A dial tone sounded hollowly in the spacious, austerely furnished townhouse. Karin grinned and put down the phone. "It worked! It worked!!" she exclaimed excitedly. Annoyed, Jennise looked up from her Apple Powerbook. The sound of rapidly clicking keys slowed and came to a stop. She shoved her black-leather-and-chrome chair away from the ebony dining room table. " worked?" Her amber eyes were glowing with flecks of gold annoyance at the interruption. "The vampire hypnotizing thingie! I actually got it to work on Sharon Scott!!" Karin was practically dancing around the table, her twirling toes coming perilously close to the modem line snaking across the polished hardwood floor between the dining room table and a phone jack in the wall. "That was Margaret on the phone just now. She says that Scottie is, like, really frogs now." "Oh, goody," Jennise said, with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "I hope you managed to plant those post- hypnotic suggestions, too?" Karin stopped twirling, but her smile remained. "Yeah, I think I got those right, too. Everything just fell into place so perfectly--Scottie willing to do for Nicky-boy, AND get rid of her frog phobia into the bargain..." "And the big Karaoke contest is at the Regal Constellation tonight." Jennise finished. "Things should get very... interesting. Shall we?" "Why not?" Karin agreed, cheerfully. "A bunch of tipsy writers making fools of themselves up on stage and in front of a mike--how can we resist?" "And we have to make sure that thing with Scottie goes down okay," Jennise cautioned. "Let's go!" Very shortly thereafter, the front door slammed shut, and the throaty growl of the plum-colored Saturn's engine could be heard fading in the distance. Abandoned on the dining room table, Jennise's PowerBook gave a single forlorn beep. ************************************************************* Rise and Shine by Cousin Deborah RRRIIINNNGGG! RRRIIINNNGG! Deborah sat up groggily, trying to figure out where that annoying ringing was coming from. RRRIIINNNGGG! RRRIIINNNGG! Oh, yeah, phone, pick up, ok... If only I could find the phone, she thought Finally she found it and managed to yawn out a greeting "Hellohhaww." "Deborah, wake up." a voice spoke briskly. "You've been asleep for hours. In fact, you've slept the whole day away. Come on, up." "Dianne, is that you ?" "Yes, of course. Get up. LaCroix is *not* happy with you and even though I heard from reliable source at the police station that you're "uncle" is now the one in lock up, but I don't have any faith in their ability to keep him there. If he gets out (and I think he will), you will be a sitting duck conked out like you were earlier. Now get yourself together, I am coming to get you and we are going out to get lost in a crowd." Deborah was sure she was still asleep. She thought Dianne had said Uncle was in jail. She checked the phone set in her hand. Yup. It was attached to the phone. She musta heard right. "Uncle is in jail?" she repeated "OK, look, I'll be right there, coffee in hand. Think about where you want to go. See ya soon." and with that, Deborah's Mercenary of choice, hung up the phone. Deborah hung up and swung her legs off the bed. After a few, less than ladylike yawns, made her way to the hospitality bar near the TV and took out a Diet Coke. She wandered to the window a looked out over Toronto. It was getting dark. She turned and looked around the large room as if realizing for the first time that she was indeed alone and that might not be such a good thing. Suddenly she was glad Dianne had suggested getting out of there. She'd make it up to Uncle somehow, but in the meantime best to stay out of his way. *Well, I better get myself together.* She thought as she made her way towards the closet to find a change of clothes, *It won't take Dianne very long to get here from Merc headquarters. I wonder where we can go. It has to be public, crowded and frankly I am due for some fun.* While she was laying out her outfit, an inspiration hit her like a ton of bricks (No not *that!* Down, down I say. He's not here. Not in my scene.) Of course! That's it. Karaoke Night at the Regal Constellation. It was the perfect answer. Nothing bad ever happened at Karaoke Night. (Well, I mean apart from bad singing.) In addition to that, it was bound to be crowded. After all the hotel was filled with those people attending the writers conference and all sorts of other people were always coming and going. Much happier than she had been since she'd fallen asleep, Deborah began humming, warming up for later. ************************************************************* Music of the Night by Dianne T. DeSha As Dianne approached Deborah's room she paused for a moment, then put her ear to the door. , she thought in amazement. At her knock the sound stopped and Deborah opened the door looking far more conscious than she had sounded twenty minutes ago on the phone. "OK," Dianne demanded, "What's up now? I came over here with a triple espresso prepared to drug you into some semblance of wakefulness and I find you bouncing around singing..." Dianne stopped as a terrible thought crossed her mind. "No, you're *not*..." But Deborah just grinned and pulled the Merc into the room, closing the door behind her. "Karaoke Night! It'll be fun! And Uncle will *never* look for us there!" Dianne groaned, not bothering to point out that is wasn't _us_ that LaCroix would be coming for, it would be _Deborah_. "Lots of people who can't sing getting drunk enough to think they can?" she asked cynically. "Well, different strokes, I guess. Have a ball and give them a round of "Feelings" for me. It's been nice knowing you..." "No!" Deborah stopped her. "I'll need protection!" Dianne shook her head an started to protest when Deborah cut her off, "And I've got just the thing for it!" Deborah grinned, holding up a small, yet perfectly lethal-looking dagger. "My own sword smith made it for me," she continued, turning it slowly so that its finely crafted handle caught the light. Dianne's eyes lit up. the Mercenary scolded herself half-heartedly. she thought, smiling and reaching for the exquisite piece, *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Dianne thought grumpily, wondering how badly she was going to regret her moment of weakness before the night was over. As they entered the predictably Polynesian-themed room she saw a woman already on stage, putting her heart into her song. "Turn your face away from the garish light of day..." <"Music of the Night">, Dianne named that tune, just as Deborah grabbed her arm. "That's Valery, Valery King!" she hissed excitedly in the Mercenary's ear. "Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world; Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before; Let your soul take you where you long to be-- Only then can you belong to me...." Valery was doing a nice job of it too, Dianne thought while scanning the room with a professional eye. She had to admit that Deborah was right, they were probably as safe here as anywhere--maybe safer. Quite a crowd had gathered already, and a few seemed to be actively working on their stage- fright. *Very* actively in some cases, she corrected herself, noting the number of empties still in front of them. As Valery finished her number, to a rousing round of applause, Dianne ordered a club soda and settled back against the bar, preparing for what might well prove a most _interesting_ evening. ************************************************************* That's What Friends Are For by Cousin Deborah (Special Guest Chanteuse - Valery King) ******************** Deborah grabbed Dianne's arm. "That's Valery, Valery King!" she hissed excitedly in the mercenary's ear. "Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world; Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before; Let your soul take you where you long to be-- Only then can you belong to me..." "I wonder what she's doing here" Deborah mused out loud as they made their way to the bar. "I saw her in... Oh, let's see April I guess it was... Doing Rigoletto, I think." As Valery finished up with crowd applauding wildly (it *was* much better than one expected of Karaoke performing in general), Deborah got her drink, downed half of it and told Dianne she'd be right back. "But where...?"--too late; she was gone. Dianne shrugged and turned back towards the bar. "Barkeep!" she said, "Let's run a tab. I have a feeling we'll be a while." ************************ By the time Deborah got to Valery, someone had already taken her place on the stage. Someone whose friends should have stopped them. Deborah ignored it. Those were the pitfalls of Karaoke. She finally reached her quarry. "Excuse me... Pardon me, hey lady watch the cigarette will ya'?... Excuse me... Valery?" "Yes." "Oh, I just knew it. I'm Deborah Menikoff, I saw you back when you were in Rigoletto, oh way back in April." "Oh, yeah, hi. What are *you* doing here? You're not from Toronto are you?" "No I came because Unc... Uh, for the writer's conference. I work for a publisher and we like to keep an eye on what's out there. That kinda thing." "Well, the hotel is filled with them. Come to think of it," she added, looking around, "An awful lot of them are here in the bar. Lots of sessions were canceled." "Oh, how come?" Deborah asked, all innocence. "Someone said there was dead body found in one of the rooms and the police have been all over the place." Deborah was about to respond when she saw Dianne signaling her from the bar. "Um... Look, Valery, I've gotta go talk to someone right now but will you be here later?" "Sure thing. I'm filling in for a friend who works here. She's the regular performer but she is also supposed to encourage people to perform and stuff so I'll see you later." Valery waved as she walked over to a table of tipsy revelers, intent on finding a new sucker for the stage Deborah made her way back to the bar and as she approached she saw that Dianne was getting ready to leave. "Where are you going?" Deborah demanded. "*We* dear, we are leaving. Your sparing partner is here." Dianne was trying to push Deborah ahead of her. "My sparing par... Nick! Well, wait, wait, stop shoving me." Deborah grabbed the doorjamb to prevent being pushed right out of the bar. "Why are we leaving? He's probably here checking on something else. It can't possibly have anything to with us." At Dianne's look, she amended, "_Me_, I mean. Nothing to do with me." Dianne didn't answer. She just sighed, and seconds later Deborah knew why. "Good evening." Nick blocked the entrance to the bar. "You weren't leaving, were you? I'd like a word. Shall we?" He indicated the bar they had just left. Dianne spoke haughtily, "I assume, Detective, that my client and I are not being formally questioned at this time? The Tiki Room hardly seems the right place for that sort of thing." No, it's informal. For a formal inquiry we would need a lawyer, and we don't have one here." He looked at her pointedly. Not at all disturbed to have been found out, Dianne nodded and asked "Then you won't mind if we order something to drink?" He shook his head. After they had gotten their drinks, they made their way to a table near the back. Once seated, Deborah spoke up, radiating sincerity, "Detec... Um, Nick? May I call you Nick?" He nodded slowly as if not sure it was such a good idea. After all, she'd slapped him pretty hard. She continued, "I would really like to apologize. I mean, I shouldn't have hit you. I was way outta line... And about the rest " she looked at him and paused significantly... Ummm... About people being able to change?" He nodded again, still wary but less so than before. "Well I was thinking that maybe you were right." His eyebrows raised. She held out a hand, "Truce?" He looked at her for a moment very surprised, but as she continued to look at him straight on, he found he believed her. In fact, he was sure she regretted hitting him. She seemed like a nice girl. She'd just been scared, he decided. "Truce," he agreed. As Deborah pulled her hand back, she knocked into Dianne's drink causing the Merc (who couldn't believe the exchange she had just heard) to yelp. "OH! Dianne I am so, *so* sorry. Oh, gosh I don't have a napkin, I... Nick, could you get a towel or something from the bar?" "Sure," and he was up and gone. "_What_ are you doing?" Dianne asked, thoroughly exasperated. "This is one of my favorite blouses!" "Drying you off," Deborah said sensibly. "Don't worry, it's just club soda." "Not that, though we will discuss that additional fee later. I meant that little speech just now. You expect him to buy that?" Deborah shushed her, quickly glancing around. "Oh stop it," Deborah whispered. "He *did* believe it. He wants people to be good and so he thinks they are. Instant gullibility. Just add water... Or rather club soda. And speaking of which, there's nothing wrong with your blouse. I would have knocked over my drink but it would have stained something. Play along with the abject apologies for now. I want to know what's happening and exactly what they have on Uncle. If I can fix it, I'm back in his good graces. Now hush! He's coming." Nick came rushing back with a pile of paper towels. "Thank you," Dianne said mopping at her damp blouse, "I appreciate it." "No problem," said Nick, handing her a replacement drink as he sat back down. He looked at Deborah, "Since you mention it, I should also apologize. I should not have shouted like that. It was inexcusable. *And* I should thank you for not pressing charges, though..." he added with a small grin, "Next time you need a real lawyer for that." Dianne snorted. "Did _you_ buy it?" He nodded. "Real enough, then." Nick started to glare at her. Deborah rushed to diffuse a potential argument. "Well, I guess we all did things we shouldn't have really. Now, what can we do for you, Nick?" "I need your help." he spoke quietly but with great feeling. "I want you to help get whoever is responsible for Stonetree's death." Just when Dianne would have snorted in disbelief again, a foot connected with her shin. She added injuries sustained on the job to the list with the blouse, and shot a look at Deborah. Deborah was ignoring her. She was too busy speaking to Nick. "Of course," she was saying reassuringly. "We'll help anyway we can. After all, isn't that what friends are for?" ************************************************************* And the Show Goes On by Cousin Deborah (in a recurring role as the emcee: Valery King and a special performance by Hyo Moon) The emcee's voice filled the bar, "And now Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce our next singer! Please give a big round of applause to Ms Hyo Moon, who will sing...," she leaned to the left of the stage for a moment and then straightened, "The hit Toni Basil tune as a dedication to her favorite bartender...," another pause and another lean, "With whom she has 'an understanding'." A spattering of applause and a few gasps of surprise greeted Hyo Moon's appearance and the beginning of the intro music. ******************** Deborah was sulking. Her attempt to wheedle information out of Nick had not quite gone as she planned. He was apparently quite willing, in fact, eager to believe that she had turned over a new leaf and regretted slapping him. *Well* she thought, *I do regret slapping him... Only once. I should have done it *twice*. She finished another screwdriver and signaled to the bartender. "Barkeep!" "Name's Dan-o," he said as he placed another drink in front of her. "You mean as in book 'em?" she asked. "Yeah, like that," he answered as he wiped a spot on the bar. "Are you with this conference that's here?" he asked. "In a sense, why?" "Well, it's just that I saw you talking to that guy earlier and he's been around asking me a lot of questions about the conference and the people here for it. He's a cop right?" "Yeah, but what was he asking you for? You a writer?" "Nah. But you know how it is. Bartenders hear things. Weird things. And besides, the guy that was killed. He was here. One of the writers I guess. He talked about some woman he was having problems with and with his book and all. Seemed like a decent guy. Since you were talking to the cops, I thought maybe you knew something about it. I hope they get whoever did it. _Shame_ the things that happen to decent folks." He shook his head. The silence that followed was filled with the dulcet tones of Oh Micky, you're so fine, You're so fine you blow my mind, Hey Micky! Hey Micky! Yeah, shame." Deborah repeated. She was getting an idea. It wouldn't be easy but it might be useful. "So, lots of people come in here. Must be pretty interesting having total strangers telling you stuff they don't tell anyone else," she ventured. He shrugged, "Part of the job. People talk to people behind bars. They can't help it." "Still, I think it would be interesting. At least for a while." *Should I?* she thought glancing around. She didn't see Nick anywhere. *Probably out harassing a desk clerk or something.* She faced Dan-o again. Then as if suddenly struck with an idea she asked "Hey, could I come back behind the bar for a while. I've always wanted to," she gushed. "I won't be in the way, I promise. I'll just do the basic stuff. I know I can do it. Gosh knows I drink enough of it." "Well... We aren't suppose to le..." "Oh come on, just for a while. I'll be no trouble at all," she assured him. "Well..." "Please?" she pouted rather prettily. It was a skill she had developed as a young child. "OK, just for a while." As she hopped off the barstool to come around the bar, he asked, "Hey, you know how to make Zombie Beachcombers?" "No, why?" "It's one of the guests. She's been in at some point almost every night this week and she always orders Zombie Beachcombers. Lots of'em. Here I'll show you" Dan-o gave Deborah a tour of what was where behind the bar, ran over some of the basics and generally filled her in. Seeing two new customers approaching, he went to deal with them, leaving Deborah alone to practice making a Zombie Beachcombers. A woman approached the bar, but Deborah was so intent on what she was doing she didn't notice. "Barkeep, I'll have a... *What* are you doing now?" Dianne demanded. "Making a Zombie Beachcomber... Or rather, I am trying to make one. I don't think it's going too well." Deborah held out a glass, "Would you taste this please?" The applause at the end of Hyo's performance drowned out Dianne's answer (which is just as well since it would be a highly inappropriate word for a PG-13 story.) Dianne watched as Deborah, left with no guinea pig but herself, tried the Zombie Beachcomber, anticipating the worst. *Where was the nearest emergency room?* Dianne wondered. *And should that be time-and-a-half? Flat Rate? Metered, perhaps?* The result, while not fatal, was almost amusing enough to make Dianne consider giving Deborah a discount on this whole protection gig. *Almost.* * * * * * * * * The emcee was back on stage, "Ladies and Gentlemen, a big, *big* round of applause for that last performer. And now, a song I'm sure you all know and love..." She paused as someone whispered in her ear. "Oh, sorry... And now a slightly altered version of a song I'm sure that you all know and love sung by a performer..." She paused for yet another whisper, "fine... A *group* of performers who I am sure we will all enjoy. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Mission Impossible gang singing "On the Road Again." As the emcee stepped back, four women came on stage to share with the audience a musical tribute to their most recent adventures. * * * * * * * * * * * Deborah poured out the rest of drink and started again. "I guess it's harder than it looks," she muttered. "Would you care to share with me *why* you are behind the bar and *exactly* what you hope to accomplish there?" Dianne was learning that with Deborah, the questions had to be pretty specific. As Deborah started to speak, Dianne leaned across the bar as she added, "And if you tell me that you are making beachcombers and hope to accomplish a drinkable one, I will cease to work for you. _And_," she finished with great emphasis, "there are no refunds." Deborah blinked a little. No refunds? * * * * * * * * * Back on stage: On the road again, Just can't wait to get on the road again, The life I love is stealing caddies with my friends, and I can't wait to get on the road again. As the song continued a few members of the audience looked very confused but some were looking more and more amused by the minute. Far more amused than the song alone really warranted. * * * * * * * * * * * "Well it's obvious. I want to make sure I know what's happening with this case, and Nick was no help at all, so I needed to be behind the bar." "Because...?" *Really!* Dianne thought, *It's like pulling teeth!* "Because everybody, including Joe Stonetree, talked to this bartender about things that were bothering them and if we know what was bothering Stonetree we are halfway to knowing who offed him." Deborah finished up just as she completed the second beachcomber. She didn't look as anxious to try this one and looked around for another guinea pig. She looked at Dianne who just laughed. "You couldn't pay me enough. _No one_ could." Deborah shrugged. "Fine." She turned and called, "Dan-o! I'm done with my drink. You want to come check it out?" ******** "Thank you, thank you, Mission Impossible Gang! A big, big hand for them ladies and gentlemen!" ********* Dan-o came over, took the glass, and looked at it. "Looks good," he said. Then he drank it. Then he passed out. No one saw him fall. No one except Dianne and Deborah. They looked at the unconscious man on the floor and then at each other. ************************************************************* The Trouble With Dan-o by Dianne T. DeSha "Do something." Dianne just looked at her employer for a moment, then at the unconscious bartender slumped on the floor at their feet. "Get rid of him," Deborah insisted. "What do you mean 'Get rid of him'? You're starting to sound like a bad gangster movie." "I'll take over the bar, it's perfect timing. I can get _loads_ of information this way." Deborah glanced down, poking the body gingerly with her toe, "He'll be fine. Just stash him somewhere for the rest of the evening so no one makes a scene or anything." "And where do you suggest I 'stash' him?" Dianne countered. "That's _your_ job!" But as Dianne started to protest Deborah gave in, "A rapier." "Rapier?" "To match the dagger." Dianne still looked unconvinced. "With *sapphires*," Deborah wheedled. "Oh, all right," Dianne sighed, reaching down and grabbing the limp form under the arms. "Let's go, Dan-o." _________________________________________ Luckily everyone's attention was still on the stage. Cousin Candice, emboldened by the success of the Mission Impossible Gang, had apparently stayed to do a solo number: "You are here, so am I, maybe millions of people go by,..." Dianne knew when not to waste an opportunity. All eyes were on Candice as she eased the unconscious bartender out into the room and dragged him quietly towards the service exit. "But they all disappear from view, 'Cause I only have eyes... for you...." <*@#$!*>, Dianne thought as she gauged the considerable distance still to go and came to a quick decision. The applause for Candice was very enthusiastic... And loud enough to cover the sound of Dianne hastily shoving Dan-o into one of the darker (and, fortunately, empty) booths. "Thank you Candice, that was wonderful!" Valery enthused, reclaiming the microphone. "And now we'll take a break for a few minutes. Refresh your drinks and muster your courage, because in fifteen minutes we'll be back with more opportunities for *you* to be a star!" <*Fifteen minutes?*> As people began milling around Dianne groaned to herself, muttering every exotic curse she knew. (She decided, after a brief moment, that she didn't know _nearly_ enough.) Realizing that she was stuck here for the duration, she tried to shift her body into a more natural position. Preferably something that didn't _so_ much look like she was standing tight against the booth because she was the only thing holding this guy upright and on the seat. She was notably unsuccessful. , she muttered to her oblivious companion, She made a mental note to add a nice long massage--make that a full day at a nice spa--to Deborah's tab. Twisting her head around so that she could scan the room-- --Dianne saw something that made her _vow_ to learn some particularly colorful curses when this was all over. , she added to herself as Nick smiled and continued his approach. Deborah, predictably, was nowhere to be seen. Dianne assured herself. , she groused, Realizing her time and options were equally limited, the Mercenary took advantage of a group of highly intoxicated patrons who managed to distract Nick momentarily by almost running him down. With a few judicious pushes, shoves, slides, and twists she managed to seat herself in the booth with her charge in a manner that suggested they had retreated to this darkened corner for a bit of "privacy". Nearly choking on the smell of dear Dan-o's breath (), Dianne didn't know whether to be offended or relieved when she felt Nick's hand touch her shoulder. She twisted her head around to scowl at him, using her body to shield his view of her companion as much as possible. "Uh, excuse me Ms...," he began, before realizing the only name he had for her was one he knew to be only a nom de guerre. Dianne took advantage of that pause to go on the offensive, "Do you mind, Detective? I'm a bit... Um... *Busy* at the moment..." She tried to blush innocently, but didn't think it worked. "Well, I did have some questions..." "Can we go over them _later_... _Please_?" She turned her head for a moment, as though responding to a murmur from her (still quite comatose) companion. "Is your... Um... Friend all right?" "He's _fine_," she assured him, just managing not to snarl in exasperation. "Just a little... Uh... 'Overwhelmed'. We just wanted a little time... Out of the crowd and all..." , she thought, "Well, I suppose if you could come by the station... A bit later, perhaps?" Nick suggested. "I *promise*," Dianne answered quickly, her fingers crossing reflexively as she spoke. "*Later*." With a slightly embarrassed expression, the detective finally left. Dianne, however, found herself still stuck in the booth and desperately hoping no one else would stop by for a chat. she realized, growing desperate. A quick glance at Dan-o's watch (she could no longer reach hers) confirmed she had seven minutes left. Spotting a fellow Merc, she decided she needed help, and _fast_. "Lane!" she called, struggling awkwardly to her feet again and standing so as to disguise the fact that the bartender had slipped into a particularly bizarre position. As he neared her with a friendly smile she grabbed his arm and pulled him into a conspiratorial huddle, "Lane, I need a favor, a distraction." , she thought. As he looked at her warily, she hurried on, "Volunteer as the next singer--tell Valery you want to go on _now_." "Me?" he looked surprised, but not overly alarmed. "What would _I_ sing?" She reached in her back pocket and handed him the folded square of sheet music, silently thanking the Goddess that the Boy Scouts had _nothing_ on a Merc's preparation! "*No*!" Lane yelped, drawing the attention of nearly half the room. "I meant distraction *away* from me!" Dianne hissed at him in annoyance. She cut off any further protests, "It _has_ to be done by someone! And using a foreign language will help take the edge off!" He just glared at her until she gave in, "Ok, what do you want?" "A dagger like that," he said, pointing to her waist. With muttered curse Dianne untwisted her jacket so that it once more concealed the weapon. "It's only a _song_!" she protested. "Whatever the market will bear," Lane countered, craning his neck to try to see behind her. "And you sound pretty desperate." Shifting again to block his view, Dianne conceded defeat. "Fine, a nicely worked dagger, but no jewels!" she insisted. "Done!" Lane broke into a grin. A grin that faltered slightly as he looked again at the music in his hand. "But do I _really_ have to..." "Go!" Dianne snapped. "*Now*!" As Lane dashed off across the room in search of Valery, Dianne sighed. This was not going particularly well--even _she_ winced slightly as she mentally added one more dagger to Deborah's invoice. , she rationalized. It was, after all, against her own personal policy to actually pay for anything _herself_. And she happened to know that Deborah had her own, personal sword smith... As the music started people turned instinctively towards the stage and Dianne hauled Dan-o into a more convenient position. "*Sentimientos..., nada mas que sentimientos...*" The Mercenary shuddered once--"Feelings" was just too much of a cliche in *any* language--then dragged her burden out of the booth, behind the enraptured (stunned?) crowd, and into a storage room--where, for a moment, they _both_ collapsed. ************************************************************* Lurking with LaCroix by Croaker Place: Arcadia, Tir na n'Og, call it what you will. When he could see again, it was dark. *Of course it's dark... It was night when you left the jail. So where am I?* another part of him asked. *In the woods,* the first part replied. And so, indeed, they were, LaCroix and the strange youth. The edge of a rather beautiful wood. Also, it was twilight, which was about right, he thought. The trees seemed to be mostly fir and pine... Animal life everywhere, birds, squirrels, wolves, all the fauna one would expect in such a forest... Were that forest transported directly from ancient myths. "Come, and quickly... We haven't much time." "Time for what?" "To get to where we're going." "Where are we going?" "Where you have to be. Why are we still standing here?" "Because you're not walking." "Oh," the youth finished, and started walking. And they walked. And walked. For what seemed, to LaCroix, like hours. He'd been on long marches before, and his vampiric stamina was great, but they still seemed to be taking quite a while. "Don't worry," the youth said when he asked about it, "Time doesn't mean much here." "Oh," was all he said to that. There didn't seem to be a lot to say, despite the thousands of questions running through his head. For some reason, he didn't feel very curious at the moment. Then, his sharp eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of a humanoid form moving amidst the trees, and he suddenly realized where he was... *** Flashback *** In mortal years, it was 1697. LaCroix had been hunting alone in the woods, following the trail of a mortal girl who'd come out seeking her lover... Not knowing that Janette had already found the lad, much to his (quickly ended) displeasure. Then, everything changed. The woods were somehow brighter, though still night, and more -alive-. "Who goes there?" came the voice. "I, Lucien LaCroix, go here. Who are you to demand it of me?" "The warden of this place, M'sieur. It is barred to your kind, you are not welcome here." "Foolish boy... I am not barred from anywhere!" Enraged by the prattling guard's talk, LaCroix had jumped at him... Only to find himself sprawling as he tripped over a tree root, back in the mortal-realm forest. There was no trace of the girl. *** End flashback. *** "Come on, we're almost there!" the youth called to him. "Don't just stand there... It's almost sunrise!" And so it was... The youth broke into a jog, and led them on quickly to what seemed like just another tree, at first. "Here we are..." "Where?" "You'll see. You're supposed to be there already... You'll only be a few minutes late. Don't worry." "Don't worry," he grumbled. "Don't worry... Pfaugh. I should- -" "Oh no you don't. Try it, and you'll land back in your cell this time." *THIS time? Did the youth know of his first encounter, then?* "Very well... Where is it, again?" "Here." And the youth pointed out the hole in the tree, and Lucien LaCroix stepped in... The next thing he saw was the light. Not sunlight, but artificial light. *Good,* he thought, *it's still dark out.* Next was the crowd. Which all of a sudden parted, to reveal a -very- familiar face... ************************************************************* First Steps, Trembling by Catherine Boone Catherine and Courtney lurked silently in a far booth of the Tiki Room. Courtney was intently watching everything and everyone in the noisy and getting-ever-more-crowded room while Catherine slowly going into a stupor, but whether it was from the drinks or from simple boredom, she couldn't tell. "Come _on_, Courtney." Catherine begged, "We get all hot to get to Toronto when we hear about this writer's conference, pack our bags overnight and take an entire week to drive here from LA, and we aren't _doing_ anything! We came here to meet people, didn't we?" Courtney's eyebrows lifted slightly in a particularly Cousinly fashion. "We _did_ come to meet people. Publishers. Preferably sober ones." She cast an aggrieved glance over the room and sighed. "Hopeless." Catherine's eyes wandered across the room, lighting up as they hit the stage. Catching Courtney's eye, she nodded toward the stage and broke out in an evil grin. "You know you want to." Courtney looked at her askance, but that only fueled the fire. "The stage is calling to you. Can't you hear it?" She cocked her ear, whispering, "Courtney... Courtney, come here. I need you..." Courtney gave her a patented "you are a moron but, out of friendship, I won't say anything" look, and ignored her, hoping she would snap out of it soon. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Having seized upon the perfect opportunity to make a fool of herself (always a favorite pastime) _and_ Courtney at the same time (second-favorite), she grabbed Courtney's wrist and began to drag her toward the stage, rationalizing the whole way. "Come on, we've both sang in front of audiences before. In large choirs, of course, but that's a technicality, and where's your sense of adventure, anyhow?" "Catherine." Her voice was soft, the knife in her hand was not. And the _very_ Cousinly smile was enough to make Catherine drop her hand as if it burned her. "Oh, darn! I forgot you carried that thing! Courtney...?" Courtney's smile only grew wider and more wicked, and as she began to advance toward her, Catherine wondered exactly how much hot water she'd gotten herself into. "Courtney, I'm sorry! Calm down. Can't we even talk about this? C'mon, just put the knife away... Please?" As she backed away, Catherine scanned the room, judging distances as best she could... *Now!* She suddenly grabbed Courtney by the wrists (Watch the knife!) and swung her around, hoping to spin her into the mic (while it wasn't being used) and force her to do a number. *It's for her own good. Really.* But even as she swung, she saw that Courtney was a good four feet from hitting that mike. For an instant, she went limp in defeat, her Great Plan completely wrecked. Meanwhile, Courtney saw an opportunity of her own and took advantage of the moment (and the momentum) to swing _Catherine_ around, nearly throwing her off her feet, but more importantly, smacking her directly into the microphone, which promptly gave a loud screech of static, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. *Oh, dear.* Catherine closed her eyes, then opened them again, but the crowd stubbornly remained in firm reality, and they were beginning to look annoyed, to boot. *OK, a song, they want a song, any song...* She thought with growing urgency, yet her mind remained as blank as the Void. *ARRGH!! YOUAREASELFRESPECTINGKNIGHTIEDOYOUWANTTOEMBARRASSYOURENTIREFA CTIONINFRONTOFEVERYONE!!!* And seemingly of its own accord, her mouth opened, and she began to sing. Sister moon will be my guide In your blue blue shadows I would hide All good people sleep tonight I'm all by myself in your silver light I would gaze at your face the whole night through I'd go out of my mind, but for you She kept her eyes tightly shut, singing only for herself, and thought of nothing but the words until the last phrase fell. Sister Moon Then the applause started, so she finally peeked an eye open and recognized only the fact that the crowd was no longer annoyed, so she managed a weak smile and nod of thanks before she beat feet back to the secluded booth where Courtney sat with a smug grin. "So, did you meet anyone interesting?" she asked innocently. Catherine wore a pained expression. "Next time I come up with a bright idea like that, I give you full permission to knock me senseless. Deal?" "Deal." They resumed their surveillance of the room as another brave soul stepped out of the crowd to sing. ************************************************************* Karaoke, Anyone? by J. Michele Freemon The young woman paused in the doorway of the Tiki Room, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. She let out a low groan when she saw the crowd. "Just my luck," Michele muttered. "I finally get up the nerve to do this, and there's a convention in town!" She sighed and headed for the bar. "Just a shot or two of Dutch courage..." Wading through the crowd, she managed to find a spot at the long bar and glanced around for the bartender. The only person behind the bar was a young woman, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention. Michele tried for a subtle glance, moved on to waving, then banged on the top of the bar a couple of times. No response. Finally, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The bartender turned her way at last. Unfortunately, so did most of the rest of room. Michele felt the blush creep from her breastbone all the way up to her scalp. "Sex on the Beach?" she managed to sputter through a clenched jaw. The bartender looked puzzled. "Uh, no, thanks. Too much sand." It was Michele's turn to look confused. "Uh.... Oh, skip it. Vodka shot. And leave the bottle." The woman behind the bar grinned and put a shot glass and a bottle of Absolut in front of Michele. "Thanks," Michele said, tossing a twenty down on the bar. The bartender scooped it up and went back to her conversation. "What am I doing here?" Michele muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Singing in the shower is one thing, but this...?" Several shots later, her mood had lightened considerably. She glanced up at the stage, wincing at the decidedly off-key crooning. "I can do better than *that*! I can do better than that dead drunk!" 'You're gonna have to,' the last vestige of rationality replied, before fading into the alcoholic haze. Ignoring it, Michele weaved over to the sign-up sheet. ***** "Let's hear it for that last singer! Wasn't she great?" Valery's enthusiastic clapping drew only a lukewarm response. "Well. Okay, our next suck... Er, singer wants to dedicate this song to everyone's favorite Uncle." Valery grinned and stepped back offstage. Michele ever-so-carefully walked into the spotlight and placed a tall stool behind the mic stand. Cautiously perching herself on it, she grabbed the mic and nodded to the dim figure operating the karaoke machine. The first few guitar notes of "You Go To My Head" wafted from the speakers, and Michele closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the staring audience. You go to my head And you linger like a haunting refrain And I find you spinning 'round in my brain Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne You go to my head Like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew And I find the very mention of you Like the kicker in a julep or two The thrill of the thought That you might give a thought To my plea casts a spell over me Still I say to myself "Get a hold of yourself Can't you see that it never can be" You go to my head With a smile that makes my temperature rise Like a summer with a thousand Julys You intoxicate my soul with your eyes Tho' I'm certain that this heart of mine Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance You go to my head She held the last note as long as she could, then popped her eyes open and scurried off the stage. "Hey, that went pretty well. At least nobody threw anything!" The smattering of applause finally registered and Michele let out a small squeak. "Ooo, they're clapping! They're actually *clapping*!" She gleefully bounced back over to the bar, grinning with an over-inflated sense of success. She poured yet another shot as she contemplated the possibility of an encore. "Nah. Better not press my luck." ************************************************************* Bar Girls by Abby "So, this be the place," Abby said as she lowered her sunglasses. Sure, it was night time, but after growing up with the song "Sunglasses at Night" she couldn't help it. Her face turned a sickly shade of green as she progressed deeper into the bar. She wasn't sick, though after the hotel's buffet it was a surprise, the green paint was reflecting of her pale, white face, instead. She sidled up to a large semi-circle of a bar in the middle of the room. "Margarita, please. Without the salt." Abby said to the female bartender. She nodded to confirm that she heard the order and went about making it. "That'll be $4.99," the she said as she handed the drink to Abby. "$4.99? Huh?" Abby asked as she sipped at the drink. "Discounting," she shrugged as she pocketed the five dollar bill Abby handed her. She began to turn, but Abby's hand gripping her shoulder stopped her. "I think you forgot something." The bartender blinked innocently. "My penny, remember?" The bartender threw a penny at Abby and stormed away, muttering about lousy, cheap customers and how she should have stayed in Vegas. A hand reached around Abby and grabbed the margarita from her. She shoved her elbow into the person behind her. Knowing it was a guy from the shape of the hands, she was hoping she could hit him a little below his stomach. *Sheesh, This is MY drink!* "I wouldn't do that, Abby," a masculine voice said in her ear. "Besides, you don't drink." Spinning around on her heel, Abby found herself face-to-face with Nick. "Uh, hi," Abby mumbled quickly as she grabbed the drink from his hand. *Mine, thank you very much... Geez, I'm talking to myself again!* "I didn't think you drank either," she said. Her eyes danced in the bright rainbow lights. Nick grabbed the cup from her hand once more and dropped it unceremoniously onto the bar. The bartender looked up, but then quickly looked down when she saw Nick. She put the wine glass she was cleaning down and disappeared to the back room. "What are you doing here anyway?" "I'm buying a puppy dog. What are you doing here?" Abby replied. She knew others wouldn't be so snide with him, but that wasn't any fun. He smiled back. "Ok, I deserved that one. But you really shouldn't be here. LaCroix has heard that you're new around here and he wants to 'meet' you." "Why? Everyone knows I'd follow you to the ends of the earth," Abby said. *Sheesh, I sound pathetic.* "And everyone knows you'd probably fall off, Miss Oblivion." "Hey! You're supposed to be the nice guy! Remember?" She pouted deeply. The door to the bar opened again. Everyone went silent when they saw who was standing in the doorway. Well, everyone but an old woman in the corner. She was mumbling something about her daughter's "not so fresh feeling." LaCroix smiled at everyone. ************************************************************* Really Weird (2) by Sharon S. Scott A very bad voice singing "Roxanne" very loudly assaulted their ears when the elevator door opened. Margaret sighed. It was going to be a long night, and she already had a headache, as well as strict orders from Karin to keep an eye on her roommate. "Remember, you promised to stay out of trouble tonight." "I'm an adult. You don't have to treat me like a three year- old." "Just stay away from Nick, okay? Promise me that?" "No problem. He's made it very clear that he wants to stay as far away from me as possible. Of course, he doesn't always get what he wants." Scottie's smile was not reassuring. They paused at the door nearest the elevators, then Margaret pointed to a table in the far corner and led the way through the crowds around the bar. "This will do nicely. Just stay put, and I'll get us something to drink. I expect you to be here when I get back." "Who died and made you Mother Superior? Jeez, what a grouch." At the long-suffering look that crossed Margaret's face, she regretted the tone she'd used. "I'm sorry. I'll stay put. I promise." "Okay. Judging by the size of that crowd, it may take a while. I'll be back." She probably didn't realize she sounded like Arnold Swarzenegger. Scottie watched her standing patiently in line at the bar, then took a look around the room. She spotted Nick immediately. He caught her eye, grimaced, and looked away. Schanke was too busy keeping an eye on the group around the stage to pay much attention to dark corners. "Captain Cross" was nowhere to be seen, but he always turned up, sooner or later. She lit a cigarette and watched the crowd. Tall, short, and medium redheads; blondes, both natural and un-; lots of raven-black tresses; but very few gray heads other than her own. Everything from shorts and t-shirts to prom dresses and tight black leather; from bare feet to 5-inch spiked heels. An overwhelmingly female crowd. She tried to match faces with the names she knew from the lists, which was mostly impossible. People rarely looked like they wrote. Suddenly the canned music stopped, and the erstwhile reggae singer came to a screeching halt. As several of the mechanically-inclined members of the audience tried to determine the cause of the malfunction, a steel-gray cat strolled off the back of the stage, wove its way through the forest of human legs, and disappeared under the tables. The music machine was found to have become unplugged somehow, and once the power was restored, the music started again. Mercifully, with a new singer. Scottie returned to watching the crowd and waiting for her Coke. Then something soft and warm and furry jumped into her lap. The cat rubbed its head against her hand, demanding attention. She obliged, and the cat wound its way up her jacket, ending up wrapped around her neck, its head on one shoulder and tail hanging down the other. "Make yourself to home, cat." The cat twitched its tail, then grew still as it watched the humans. "This is a little warm, but it'll work until I have a hot flash. Then it's down you go, understood?" The cat didn't seem to be worried. Margaret finally returned with the soft drinks, put them down on the table, and stared at the cat. "Where'd she come from?" "The back of the stage. She may or may not have been responsible for stopping that Sting wannabe. If so, she deserves a prize." The cat thumped her tail twice, which the two women decided was a yes. Margaret reached over and gave the cat a few good scritches, at which the animal peeled herself off Scottie's neck, jumped gracefully to the tabletop, delicately sniffed the Coke, and hissed at the glass. "Well, she obviously doesn't like Coke. Wonder if she'd like some cream? We might be able to liberate some from the restaurant." The cat's purring signaled her assent. Scottie finished her Coke and stood up. "You want to stay here with her? I'll be back in a minute." Intrigued with the cat, Margaret just nodded. It was an hour later that she realized Scottie hadn't ever come back. ************************************************************* Lurker (6) by Maddog "How are we gonna get to his desk?" Maddog whispered as they peered round a corner into the office. The Lurker Tesseract had deposited to two trouble-makers in an empty interrogation room in the station. "I thought you had a plan," said Rastro. "I thought it was your turn," said Maddog. They regarded the problem. Cops to the left of them, cops to the right, and right in front the desk of Don Schanke, their current target. The man himself was seated behind it, munching a bagel and complaining about paperwork. "Hell," said Rastro, "Just tuck in your shirt and try to look official. And put that can down." "Haven't finished it yet," protested Maddog as she attempted to tuck her thick black cotton shirt into her rather tatty jeans. "And that's a stupid plan. Nobody could mistake us for anyone official." "Then we need a distraction. Think of something." Maddog looked blank for a second, but was saved from having to put her brain into gear as the fire alarm went off. "Brilliant!" exclaimed Rastro as the squad room emptied in seconds. "How'd you do that?" Maddog shrugged. "Probably another Lurker." They scurried over to Schanke's desk and deposited their gifts, arranging them strategically for maximum effect. Ten minutes later the faint hum of the Tesseract went unnoticed as the officers came noisily back into the room. "Settle down," Cohen had to raise her voice to be heard. "Just a false alarm. Somebody trying to be funny." "No, Captain," one of the younger officers said, "I think someone trying to be funny." He pointed to Schanke's desk. "The Complete ABBA Collection," proclaimed the gold letters on the Special Edition boxed set. "Greatest Hits of the Seventies," all 17 volumes, were arranged in a delicately- balanced pyramid on upside-down Dunkin' Donuts boxes. "Hey, great!" exclaimed Schanke. "This only just came out! It's even got the 'Muriel's Wedding' soundtrack in it. And all on CD! Nick, we can play it in the Caddy!" Nick, pale as he was, went even paler. "Nooooo," he wailed, wondering which of LaCroix's minions had planned this. ************************************************************* Cousins; Cousins Everywhere (OR: Further proof that I am not above going for the cheap laugh.) by Cousin Deborah Menikoff * * * * * * * * * * * * Picking up the microphone from where the last performer had dropped it in their haste to be off the stage, Valery spoke to the boisterous crowd "Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together and welcome our next brave soul..." she passed, as if expecting someone to join her on stage. No one did. "Our next brave soul..." she repeated. "If you will excuse me for *one* minute, she must be nervous. In the meantime..." as she left the stage she hit the button on the sound system and the crowd heard the opening refrain of by Elton John. * * * * * * * * * * * * Deborah was pretty sure that she'd gotten the hang of the whole bartending gig. It wasn't so bad after all. There had been one moment of panic when Nick had approached one of the customers at the bar but as soon as she'd seen who it was, Deborah ducked in back. After a few minutes she saw that it was safe to come out and that there were new customers. As she passed by the table, she overheard parts of the conversations "Scottie, I don't know why you are carrying on like this. It's *just* a song." "It's not *just* a song. It's "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog" and I am not singing it!" The second speaker sounded pretty adamant and Deborah placed a mental bet on her. The she passed a larger group of women "But what if they end up here?" asked a nervous voice "No one is going to pressure you while you're with us. Think of us as Switzerland." Switzerland? Why on earth would you want to be thought of as Switzerland? Cheese was all well and good, clocks weren't bad and generally useful as a rule but... *Oh of course,* Deborah thought to herself. *Neutral. They're Die Hards.* Finally she made it back to the bar, extra lemon slices in hand and was delighted to see her recent partner in misfortune, Lashoka. Both rushed to speak at the same time. "Lashoka! You're out, I mean you're here. Where have you..?" "Deborah, I called your room over and over and there wasn't any answer. What do you mean where have I been? I was at the police station and then I cam straight back here." "Well so did I. It took a while of course. I had to call Dianne and then she had to get..." "Dianne?" "Yeah, well I don't know any lawyers in Toronto so I called Merc headquarters and got some help. What did you do?" "Uncle got me out." "What!?" Deborah was stunned "Uncle." Lashoka repeated "He just walked me out of the station. Just like that. No muss, no fuss." "He's not angry about the whole radio signal thing?" "No, not at all. In fact the whole thing has brought me back into the fold so to speak. We were very chummy as I left." Deborah gave a huge sigh of relief "I am so glad to hear that. I have been wracking my brains with ways to get on his good side... Bad side, rather and now you tell me there's no problem. We're fine." Lashoka shook her head. "No, *I'm* fine. You are in a spot of trouble. You called outside help. By not trusting him to get you out, you've given him doubts about your sincerity as a cousin." When she saw Deborah was going to speak, Lashoka held up a hand. "Hey, I've been there, ok. I've heard all the excuses. Just be aware of it. He'll end up testing you somehow and you need to be ready." "Great." Deborah muttered Essay or multiple choice?" "What?" "Nothing." Deborah sighed and then shrugged. She'd figure something out. "You want a drink or something?" she asked. When Lashoka hesitated, Deborah added "On the house. Tonight all Cousins drink free." A small voice piped up "What if you don't know if you're a cousin anymore?" Deborah turned to see the nervous woman from the Die Hard table. "I thought you were a Die Hard. You were sitting with them. Who are you?" "Lt. Darkstar." Lashoka slapped her forehead "Hey! I know who you are. You were spying on the Ravenettes, right? You were supposed to call the radio station and check in. What happened?" "It's a long story. But it was like this..." * * * * * * * * * * * * Valery was back. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am told that our next singer would like to dedicate this song to a very special friend in the Toronto police department. I am sure you will was to join her, considering how much we have seen of them in the past few days. And now, please welcome the brave, the talented and perhaps just tad nervous... Sharon Scott!!!" Through the smattering of applause, a slight scuffle could be heard. "No Susan, no! I don't want to do this. He'll think I'm nuts." "You said, as long as it wasn't the frog song, you do it. It's not and you will." Susan pushed the reluctant chanteuse out into the spotlight and faded back off stage chuckling to herself. As Sharon stood there clutching the microphone, the music started and her eyes (along with everyone else's) widened appreciably. The song was "Ain't Goin' Down Till the Sun Comes Up." by Garth Brooks * * * * * * * * * * * * Lt. Darkstar finished her tale with "...and so I'm feeling very conflicted about the whole thing. I was so sure before that Cousin was the way to go but then the Die Hards got me out from between Uncle and Nick and then... Then there's the whole Nick thing." she hesitated Deborah prompted "The whole Nick thing?" "Well, it's just that... I think I... Ohhh..." she put her head down on the bar as if she couldn't face them. The two other Cousins looked concernedly at their confused compatriot but as they were about to pursue the topic, Valery appeared next to them. "Lashoka, you're up next." and then she was gone again. "OK. Be right there. Look Deborah, would you take care of this? I gotta go on next." "You're going on? I mean, to sing? What are you going to do?" Lashoka smiled. "You'll see," and she followed Valery to the stage area. Deborah watched Lashoka leave, still wondering what she could expect. Then she turned her attention back to the problem at hand. Lt. Darkstar. "You were saying... The whole Nick thing? Come on. It's just the two of us. Everyone else is watching the stage." There was no answer. "It *can't* be that bad" Deborah insisted. Lt. Darkstar looked around, assuring herself that everyone else was more concerned with the song. When she looked back, she took a deep breath and blurted out "I am really really attracted to Nick. He's so cute, I just don't know what to do! What am I..." she was silenced by the hand Deborah had quickly placed over her mouth. "Hush! Do you know what you are saying? You can't just blurt that out. Here, have a nice Zombie Beachcomber. I am really getting quite good at them. Of course, you're a Cousin. You drink, I'll explain. By the time you are done with this, you'll see reason." Deborah smiled. * * * * * * * * * * * * As Valery came on stage to introduce the next song, she was forced to wait a moment for the cheering for Scottie's performance to die down. There were cries of "Brava!" and "Encore!" and a very distinct "I told you so." After a moment or two, the crowd calmed and Valery was able to introduce Lashoka, who came on stage and said, as she readjusted the microphone, "I would like to dedicate this to anyone who has been in police custody in the past few days... And you *all* know who you are." And with that, Lashoka launched into a rockin' and rollin' rendition of "Jailhouse Rock" and the audience danced along. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Bird Watching by Lorelei Feldman and Tuppence Tuppence's work transcribed by Diane Echelbarger Lorelei stood on top of the scaffolding that supported the fake, ivy-covered wall. She looked skeptically at the structure and raised one eyebrow, then turned to the large stagehand next to her. "Are you sure this thing's going to stand up to my weight? It feels like it's shaking every time I lean on it." "Sure, babe," he grinned. "I climbed it this morning, to make sure. Just keep a good grip on the ivy and you'll be fine." <*Yeah, right*. I hate heights! The last time I tried climbing a wall I had bruises on my side for a week! How do I get myself into these things? I'm gonna kill myself. I know I am*.> She closed her eyes and winced as the stagehand climbed down, shaking the ivy with every step. The director walked into the 'alley' below. "Lorelei?" she called. "You ready? Got your cues straight?" "Yeah, sure. You say 'action', I climb down. How hard could it be, right?" She joked. "And I've got my lines just fine." "OK," the director said, then turned and called. "You two ready for this?" The two stars walked onto the set. A Costume Assistant followed them, fussing with the woman's headdress. The man tugged at the hem of his tunic. "You *sure* it's supposed to be this short?" he asked the costumer. She sighed. "Look, I told you, that Eshelberger woman sent *fifteen pages* of documentation for that outfit. It's accurate, *believe* me." His fellow professional grinned. "Now you know how I felt when they put me in those skimpy dresses first season," she told him. He scowled at her. Lorelei just sat and stared, glad the tall ivy covered her from view. *I'd drool if it weren't so tacky. I still can't believe I'm really here! Now, if I can just concentrate on what I'm doing and not make a complete idiot of myself..." She took another deep breath. "OK," the director shouted, "We're running behind schedule again, so let's make this good, folks!" She walked around the corner of the set. "Quiet on the set!" The two professionals positioned themselves at the mouth of the 'alley'. "Lights!" The house lights went out, and the special 'night spots' kicked in. "Camera!" Lorelei saw the little red light on top of the camera below light up. "Action!" Lorelei pulled herself together and quickly but gingerly lowered herself over the side, holding onto the ivy with a death-grip, and digging the toes of her boots into the cracks in the 'wall'. Once all the way over, she relaxed a little, and reached down with her left hand for the next grip. A small gray shape darted to the edge of the platform and swatted at the Ravenette's right hand. With a muffled "Yip!", Lorelei lost her grip and fell to the floor, landing with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. Looking up at the two pros and, summoning her memories of school productions and "101 ways to save face", Lorelei quickly began her lines as though nothing had happened. After all, couldn't medieval people be klutzes as well? Tuppence purred softly as she began her climb down the scaffolding. ************************************************************* Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by Dianne T. DeSha and Deborah Menikoff "I wouldn't do that if I were you." The low, soothing voice from directly behind her made Lt. Darkstar jump. "You don't want to know what happened to the last person who drank one of Deborah's Zombie Beachcombers," Dianne said, removing the sinister glass of dubious liquid from the table and returning it to the bar. "I'd really hate to have to go through all that again." "Wha...?" Lt. Darkstar mumbled as she looked back and forth between the Cousin and the Merc. "Really, Deborah! LaCroix should have no doubts about your loyalty. Only a true Cousin would consider poison an appropriate recruiting aid." Lt. Darkstar looked at Deborah, eyes wide. "I *wasn't* poisoning her! That woman over there has had three already and she's fine." Ignoring Deborah's indignant protests, Dianne laid a friendly hand on Lt. Darkstar's shoulder. "You _can't_ be a Cousin, dear. They're far too intolerant of free-thinking--see how much trouble you're in already?" Deborah continued to make noises of protest, which Dianne continued to ignore. "You obviously need flexibility," she continued, positively oozing reassurance. "But the Die-Hards are, well..." she groped for the best possible wording, "Rather _dull_, don't you think? I mean, all that neutrality is very noble and all, but what do you get to do except try to keep the peace?" "Not to mention that being thought of as Switzerland is not all *that* great," Deborah interrupted. "Certain parts of Switzerland didn't give women the vote until the mid 1970's. Very noble." "Be a Mercenary, a real free-spirit!" Dianne was getting into her sales pitch now. "There is very little *free* anything with Mercenaries," Deborah interrupted. Dianne continued undeterred, "You can pull off a very Cousinly maneuver one minute, then turn around and do something special for Nick the next." _What_ that would be, Dianne had no idea, but from the look spreading across Lt. Darkstar's face, her own imagination was doing the rest. Dianne thought. Deborah threw up her hands. "Oh, great. Now look what you've done. She's mooning over that dithery detective again. Lt. Darkstar, hey, hey listen up! There is nothing remotely attractive about a man who rushes off leaving his mother and sister alone, unprotected in the early 13th century... Are you listening to me?" But she could see that she was not getting through. Dianne continued her efforts, "Choose who you work for, change your preferences every time if you like, earn great pay... *And* you're backed up by the entire Merc Guild. And even LaCroix knows better than to mess around with us!" She finished with a triumphant grin. "Hey, I _hired_ you remember!" Deborah finally managed to get in with a snarl. "And I'm paying you *well*!" , Dianne chuckled to herself. "I'm doing what you paid me for, but that doesn't mean you own me. Besides, I *am* supposed to be Recruiter for the Mercs... Can't be lax in my duties to my Guild." With an indignant snort at Dianne, Deborah leaned down in Lt. Darkstar's very confused face. "Listen to me. I understand that you felt abandoned. We weren't there when you called... Mea maxima culpa. The DieHards took you in, hey, that's their job. Shelter those who need it. They would've done it for anyone." Deborah paused, thinking about the wisdom of her next statement. Then she figured she might as well. "As for thinking you may be a Knightie... Well, gosh darned girl! I'm not blind. The boy is certainly easy on the eyes but get real! He is incredibly immature, self-centered, dithery, and he has absolutely no convictions. He abandoned his family for the Crusades, he abandoned the Crusades for LaCroix and Janette, he abandoned LaCroix for a dream, and _trust_ me, as soon as he realizes that that is what it is, he'll abandon everything here... Followers included." Deborah stopped, out of breath. Lt. Darkstar was staring at her. "Nice job," said Dianne sarcastically. "I think you've sent her into shock." After a moment, Lt. Darkstar blinked. Dianne took that as a promising sign. "And _that's_ exactly why loyalty to a single faction is so foolish!" she said, capitalizing on Deborah's point. "She's right, Nick _can't_ be relied upon... Do you really think *LaCroix* can? The balance of power is constantly shifting, you need the flexibility to move with it. Have you ever read Machiavelli?" Lt. Darkstar, if possible, was by this point looking even more confused. "But what _is_ a Mercenary, really? I mean if you don't follow..." Dianne cut her off, pulling out her pocket dictionary. "See, right here: 'Mercenary: (noun) a free-lance fighter, *adventurer*'." Deborah, peering over her shoulder, continued reading, "'(adjective) Ruthlessly seeking personal advantage, corrupt, unscrupulous, praetorian, unethical, unprincipled, venal'..." Dianne snapped the book shut in her face. "*Adventurer*," she repeated seductively (with a glare at Deborah). "Come on," she purred in Lt. Darkstar's ear, "You _know_ we're the ones having all the fun!" Lt. Darkstar looked at Dianne and seemed to consider this carefully. Deborah, who felt that the whole point was being missed slammed a beer onto the bar, bringing attention back to her. "*I* am having tons of fun and I resent the implication that I am not." Deborah said with great conviction she shot Dianne a withering look. "And before you go trashing loyalty, Ms. I- live-in-a-glass-house Mercenary, I would like to point out that you have loyalty to your guild." Dianne rolled her eyes, but Deborah continued. "Look, there's nothing wrong with loyalty... My point is that Nick--and I am only talking about Nick here--isn't worth the loyalty. On the other hand, have any of us ever doubted what Uncle meant to accomplish and what his goals were? No. Has he ever swayed from the attainment of these goals? No, not in centuries. Now *that* is commitment." "That," Dianne said, "is blind devotion to a despotic megalomaniac." "Well it's better than being to devoted to the pursuit of personal gain," Deborah retorted. "Well better that I seek my own gain than someone else's!" Dianne insisted. The two recruiters glared at each other. Lt. Darkstar looked at Dianne, then at Deborah. She thought for a moment that they had forgotten her existence. When Deborah spoke, her voice was deadly calm and dangerous. Dianne, who up to this point had seen Deborah simply as a serious handful, was surprised to see this side of her. She was beginning to see why Deborah had become a Cousin. Deborah looked straight at Lt. Darkstar. "I am going to bottom line this for you. You will remain a Cousin, and be privy to all the benefits and privileges thereof, by committing yourself to Uncle and his cause. But--and please pay close attention--you will also receive, in addition to all this, a three-bedroom pie de terre at Trump Tower in Manhattan, an all-expenses paid shopping spree in the city of your choice, and, finally, the entire video collection, uncut versions, of the television show of your choice. All you have to do," Deborah enunciated each word carefully, "is denounce Nick and all he stands for. Agreed?" Lt. Darkstar's eyes widened. *The whole video colle... But to denounce Nick? How? She couldn't poss...* She swayed dizzily for a moment. Dianne turned on Deborah, protesting vigorously, "Hey! You told _me_ that _I_ was getting..." "Agreed?!" Deborah raised her voice a fraction. "I... I... I can't." Lt. Darkstar broke down into tears with her head down on the bar. Deborah, her voice back to its usual bouncy self, looked at Dianne and said, "See, I told you she wasn't a Mercenary. Now run along dear, we Cousins are having a family reunion." With a snort of her own, Dianne left. She _still_ didn't buy Lt. Darkstar as a Cousin, but it was obvious she was no Merc. Dianne shook her head in disbelief. , she mused, making a mental note to add a few more "adjustments" to Deborah's bill. ************************************************************* What Goes Around... by Lorelei Feldman and Diane Echelbarger Lorelei sat in a booth along the wall of the Raven, playing with her glass of Martinelli's and idly watching some of the more luscious men (mortal and otherwise) dancing out on the floor. She thought about going out there herself, but she just didn't feel like it just yet. Besides, she really didn't feel like getting her new outfit all sweaty; dry-cleaning was a pain. As she sat there wasting time, she wondered what was happening back at the hotel. When she'd gone in just long enough to shower and change, she'd noticed a banner for Karaoke Night in the bar, and the talk in the lobby seemed to indicate that most of the convention, and a good deal of other people, were going to be there. She'd thought about going herself, but Janette had insisted she stay at the Raven; something about a possible job later on. *It's probably just as well. After all, the last time I was in a Karaoke bar, I got dragged up on stage with about five other women, to sing,* she still shuddered at the thought, *"Delta Dawn"*. Her skin crawled and she grimaced. *I'm definitely better off here. And so is the music.* Janette strolled over to the bar, where Miklos refilled her glass of the "House Special." As she sipped it, she leaned up against the countertop and glanced around the club, taking notice of all her mortal followers that were still there. As her eyes strayed to Lorelei, she wondered just how she could play this little card that had fallen her way; after all, it wasn't every day, or decade either, that one got an opportunity like this. Her appearance was quite uncannily like that other young lady... Her eyes became unfocused as she thought back upon that evening, remembered with vampiric clarity... <> Nick, Isabelle, and Janette make their way down a deserted street. The mortal girl is in the middle; each vampire has hold of one arm. The gates of the Convent de la Sacre-Couer can be seen a short distance ahead. Suddenly, Nick and Janette stop and turn to face an alleyway on their left. Six thugs in rough clothing step out of the alley and move to circle them. They are armed with wooden cudgels, quarter staffs, and knives. Nick pushes Isabelle behind him and Janette. The leader, a big, broad man with a broken nose, steps forward, slapping his club against his palm. "Well, well, what have we here, my friends" he grins. "Two pullets and a cockerel." He looks Janette up and down, insolently, and licks his lips. "A very *pretty* pullet. I'm going to enjoy plucking that bright plumage, pretty bird." Janette, face tight with rage, begins to step toward him. Nick lays a hand on her arm and stops her. "We have no quarrel with you," he tells the bandit. "Leave now, and we will not call the watch." The bandits laugh, mockingly. Their leader grins. "The cockerel knows how to crow!" he says, and takes another step toward them. "No, master cockerel, we will not leave. Not until we have what we came for. Take them!" The bandits rush them. Nick pushes Isabelle back, quickly. She staggers into the wall and falls. As she goes down, one of the bandits grabs for Janette, and another swings his cudgel at Nick's head. Janette, eyes blazing, catches her attacker by the arm and flings him across the road. He hits the wall with a and slides bonelessly to the ground. Before he lands, she seizes another of the bandits and buries her fangs in his throat. Simultaneous with this, Nick catches his attacker by the wrist. Bones snap as he wrenches the shoulder out of joint and flings the man into one of his companions. The two remaining bandits try to flee, but Nick flies the width of the road and grabs the leader by his tunic. Slamming his captive against the wall, he rears back, fangs extended and eyes aflame, ready to feed. It is at this moment that Isabelle regains her feet and looks about her. A few feet away, Janette, her chin blood-streaked, tosses aside her victim like a rag doll, and reaches for another. Across the road, Nick buries his fangs in the bandit leader's throat, snarling. Horrified, she flees down the road, stumbling in panic, toward the convent and safety. Neither vampire notices. They are too caught in the throes of blood-lust; too intent on satisfying their hunger. Isabelle has almost reached the gate, when a silent form floats down to land in front of her. It is LaCroix, in a calf-length, severely black version of Nick's tunic, and his usual full, hooded cloak. She screams, and tries to flee, but he catches her easily and pulls her to him, bending her head back to expose her throat. Isabelle's scream has broken through Nick's blood-hunger. He looks up from the torn throat of his victim and reacts in horror. "LaCroix!" he shouts "NO!" and flies to where the pair stand. He is too late. As he lands, LaCroix drops her limp body to the ground, and delicately wipes a red trickle from the corner of his mouth. "Why, Nicolas," he says, raising one eyebrow, "Surely you did not intend to keep all this bounty to yourself?" Nick drops to one knee, cradling Isabelle's body in his arms. "She was Fleur's," he chokes, smoothing her hair from her face. "Fleur's line. The last---" He buries his grief-twisted face in her hair. LaCroix says nothing, just stands there, expression frozen, staring down at Nick and the shape in his arms. Silent. Janette walks up to them, glances from Nick to LaCroix, and cautiously places a hand on LaCroix's arm. <<> Yes, surely there was some way to turn that resemblance to her advantage. If not now, later... Janette walked slowly back to her office, contemplating possibilities. ************************************************************* A Question for the Ages by Susan M. Garrett There'd been too much to do and definitely not enough time to do it in. Like sleep. Susan hadn't seen a lot of sleep. Which, of course, was why she was sitting in a bar, listening to varied renditions of impossibly cliched or kitsch songs and wishing desperately that she remembered her room number. The hotel tended to give out keys with fake room numbers on them--Susan had tried that number and it hadn't worked. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she asked someone, at the Karaoke night, they'd be able to tell her what her room number was. And that thought was what kept her awake, listening to Karaoke and nursing an Amaretto. Until, of course, she saw Janette, who was desperately trying to pretend that she'd slipped in by accident and wasn't really here to find out why the Raven was empty and everyone was crowded in the Tiki bar at the Regal Constellation Hotel, thank you very much. It was then that Janette saw her and pushed her way through the crowd. Susan had a moment of two of grace because of the wall to wall people. She considered asking Janette if she knew what Susan's room number might be, then decided that she didn't really want to know if Janette knew. So she frantically marshaled what was left of her conscious thoughts, searching for a question that might keep Janette from launching into a brief but bitter tirade about Ravenettes who weren't where they should be and should know better. Janette had reached the table and barely opened her mouth before Susan launched into the only question she could come up with on such sort notice. To whit: "Why do so many list members want to have sex with a vampire?" Susan was no less surprised than Janette at the question-- although it was something she'd thought about for some time, she hadn't thought it was quite that close to the surface, or in the little metal, glass covered booth covered by a sign that said 'break glass and use in case of emergency.' But it was a fair question. And it managed to take some of the wind out of Janette's sails. She pulled up a chair beside Susan, snagged the ashtray, tossed the collection of Amaretto covered paper straw papers from the ashtray in disgust, then lit up a cigarette and regarded the stage thoughtfully. Susan hadn't really expected an answer, but--realizing that she was actually going to get one--waited with baited (actually, Amaretto-tainted) breath. "Are there many?" asked Janette distantly. "Seems like it. I mean, half the Cousins either want to get laid by LaCroix or spanked by him." Susan nodded at Janette's raised eyebrow. "Sometimes both." "Really?" "And the Knighties..." Susan shrugged and flicked one of the wet paper straws across the table with a fingernail. "Well, you'd sort of expect it. I mean, they're not after him because he's a rocket scientist." "In a manner of speaking," corrected Janette. She took a drag from her cigarette. Susan cleared her throat. "Miklos hasn't been around that long and everybody's hit on him. God knows the Ravens and Ravenettes haven't been shy--it's the same thing the Cousins do with LaCroix, they either pant after you or go toe-to-toe with you and play 'my fangs are bigger than your fangs' to get your interest. And then there's Alma..." "Alma," said Janette slowly, taking another drag from her cigarette, "is shy." "Which I wanted to mention to you." Susan looked around and lowered her voice. "I've been noticing a few Ravens and Ravenettes have gone 'missing' lately. If you could check up on Alma... We really try not be as gauche as the Cousins. LaCroix is biting his people. I mean, we don't want our motto to become, 'The Few, the Glamorous, the Undead,' do we?" "Point taken. I'll look into it." Janette tapped out her cigarette in the ashtray. "But that doesn't answer your question." She paused long enough to take another cigarette out of her cigarette case (God only knew it came from and Susan was certain that was information Man Was Not Meant To Know), then eyed Susan thoughtfully. "What do think?" It was Susan's turn to pause. As she didn't smoke and her drink was almost gone, she did the only thing she could to catch a moment's thinking space--she took off her eyeglasses and cleaned them off with a dry cocktail napkin adorned with Tiki gods. "Other than the standard psycho-sexual frustration theories? Or the vampire-charisma-stuff-that-I'm-not-about- to-mention-in-a-bar theory?" "Other than that. Yes." "I think--" having run out of delaying tactics, Susan shrugged, "that I don't have the faintest idea. Which is why I asked you. Half the time you bite people, mortal people, or even vampire people, you guys seem to go into rush overdrive." "Ummmmmm. Well, sometimes. And sometimes we're just... ." Janette looked pointedly at the remains of Susan's glass of Amaretto and Susan realized that her boss was without a drink. A . A drink. "Then again," said Janette, leaning back against her chair, eyeing the crowd, as if searching for prospective donors, "we have secrets. I don't know if you know this, but--" The latest Karaoke victim finished and the thundering applause drowned out most of Janette's words. Not gifted with vampire-augmented hearing, Susan strained to make out most of Janette's words. "--Which would explain it," finished Janette, waving away the waitress, who had veered toward the table. Wondering if Janette had said what she thought Janette had said, Susan pondered the new information solemnly, then picked up her glass of Amaretto and slung the rest of the alcohol down her throat--she needed a good belt. "Does--" she cleared her throat, the Amaretto having burned away at least one layer of throat cells, "does know about this?" "A few. Words gets around, after all." Janette shrugged. "With all you seem to know about vampires, I'm surprised you know." "That's not really what interests me. I mean--" Susan cleared her throat again as Janette raised the other eyebrow. "I , there are other aspects about vampirism that interest me. History. Immortality. The whole hair thing." "Hair thing?" "If you're brought across on a bad hair day, are you stuck like that for eternity?" Janette picked up her cigarette case, which almost instantly disappeared (where the ?--oh, never mind...), turned and stalked away from the table. "Some people are just sensitive," decided Susan. She picked up her empty Amaretto glass and sighed. Then again, maybe Janette didn't the answer to that one. And vampires were careful to pretend that they knew everything about everyone. So Susan sat back against her chair and mulled over the possibilities of checking with the front desk for her room number. That, after all, was a question for the ages. ************************************************************* Lurker (7) by Maddog The tesseract deposited its occupants in the middle of Captain Cohen's office. They were getting confused by jumping timelines in and around the War but figured, what the heck, rent a wreck. The two Lurkers glanced around and took stock of their surroundings. While sticking her nose into one of the numerous drawers on the Captain's desk, Maddog pulled out a mass of sticky papers. "Gross, she's had this gum so long its melted all over these receipts." "What are they receipts for?" "Hmm, they all seem to be for roast beef sandwiches with extra horsey sauce and chocolate shakes. Could it be the Captain has a drinking problem we don't know about?" "Working around Nick and Schanke would drive me to chocolate," Rastro replied, pulling a hat out of the bag she was carrying. It was a Bubba Gump Shrimp hat and had several fly lures stuck through it. "The hat turned out well, don't you think?" "Yeah, but still think it was gross jumping into that box full of dead fish with it to make it smell authentic." "Realism is very important, at least in fanfic," Rastro explained. "You got the rest of the gifts?" "Sure do," Maddog took out two heavy duty weed whackers from her interdimensional mass compressing pocket. She began dancing with them. "Do whacka do, whacka do do do," she sang. Rastro put the hat on the Captain's seat, noticing slightly that a fish head had been trapped in the brim and was now sliming its way across the seat's fabric. "Fish heads, fish heads, ooey gooey fish heads," she chanted taking one of the weed whackers from her Lurker companion. "Whacka do, whacka fish head, whacka do!" "Hey," Maddog cried out as she spotted the Captain's dress jacket. Pulling it on, she pointed the weed whacker at Rastro and said, "Badgers, we don't need no stinking badgers!" Leaping on to the desk, Rastro responded, "Use the whacker, Luke!" Jumping down from the desk, Rastro held her weedwhacker up at attention in front of her. Maddog copied the movement then bellowed, "Samurai Weed Whackers! Hai ya!" "Lurker dog," Rastro spat out, "You have no honor and let out really stinky farts after bean soup! Hai ya!" The two Lurkers started fencing with the weed whackers, engaging the motors so that the fish line (and wasn't that an original use for that product) was spinning madly about. Unfortunately, the two lines connected and wrapped themselves around each other. The weedwhackers were wrenched out of the Lurkers hands and spun themselves around in helicopter faction until they hit the ceiling and then crashed onto Captain Cohen's desk. Maddog tiptoed around to take a look at the damage. The files about Stonetree's death were now partially shredded and Captain Cohen's autographed picture of Greg Brady was totally ruined. "You know, Rastro, maybe we should stop making such big messes." "Mess, what mess, I don't see anything do you?" "Nah, hey, you wanna go over and sniff men's cologne's until we find one that smell good on LaCroix?" "No, we did that last night. Let's go over to the men's robe department and see if we can find a nice soft one that'd look good on Nick." "Did that two nights ago. I know, let's go over and look for a tie that'd match all of Schanke's suits! We can find some other Lurkers to help." "We'll never find it," Rastro sighed as she activated the tesseract and carried the Lurkers away from the demolished office. ************************************************************* With A Little Help From My Friends (1) by Diane Echelbarger, Jennie Hayes, Karen Weston and Di Sudduth Diane almost didn't go to Karaoke Night. Almost. She walked into the Tiki Room and looked the crowd over. She didn't recognize anyone at first, which was par for the course. She was about to leave when she spotted Jennie Hayes, sitting with a bunch of other people at a table. She wove through the crowd and tapped Jennie on the shoulder. "Hey, Jennie! Can I sit with you?" "Yeah, no problem!" Jennie said, and snagged an unoccupied chair from the next table. "Everyone, this is Diane. Diane, this is my partner, Sharon, and Elaine from the Crown Defender's office, and Betsy and Amparo from the precinct. Oh, and this here's our psychological consultant, Di. This is gonna be confusing." A chorus of "Hi!" echoed around the table. Diane took the chair and squeezed into the hole the others made for her. Jennie handed her the song card. "So, whatcha gonna sing?" she asked with a grin. Diane skim it quickly, then handed it back. "I think I'll just watch. I'm no good at this stuff," she said with a wry smile. "Hey, c'mon," Jennie encouraged her. "They've got most of the songs from "White Nights" there. You love that stuff!" The rest of the group also made encouraging noises. "Maybe later," Diane said with a notable lack of enthusiasm. Jennie frowned a moment, then smiled. If Diane had seen that smile, she would have left the Tiki Room, and probably Toronto, immediately. Unfortunately for her, she was busy introducing herself to Betsy, who was sitting on her other side. Jennie shot a look at Di, who raised an eyebrow in response and nodded slightly. "My turn to fetch drinks!" Jennie declared brightly. "Whatcha drinking, Diane?" "I'll have a Han Solo." Diane reached for her purse. "Don't bother, we're running a tab," Elaine told her. "You can settle up later." "What's a Han Solo?" Amparo asked, as Jennie pushed through the crowd to the bar. "One part dark rum, two parts Bailey's," Diane told her. "They're great. A friend of mine invented them." They chatted and introduced themselves until Jennie returned and distributed refills. Diane got an on-the-rocks glass filled with a pale, milky-brown liquid and lots of crushed ice. She took a sip. "It tastes kind of funny, Jennie. You sure they got it right?" she asked. "Well, they were out of dark rum, so the bartender used light," Jennie explained. "Oh, OK." The women chatted, and listened to the singers. Every so often, one of them would put her name on the list to sing. Di fetched another round. While she was gone, Jennie handed Diane the song card again. "They've got _Separate Lives_", she pointed out. Diane hesitated, but at that moment a middle aged man in a rumpled suit began cranking out a truly awful, off-key version of _With A Little Help From My Friends_. "I don't sing soprano," she said quickly, and sat the card on the table. Jennie chuckled, then looked up. "Oops, my song's up next," she explained as she got up. "See ya in a little while." Di returned and distributed the second round, just as Jennie got on stage and began to sing "Come to My Window". "Wow, I've never actually seen her sing in front of people before. I know she said she used to, but lately she just keeps saying she's too out of practice," Diane mused, then began to pay attention to the song. "I would dial the numbers just to listen to your breath. I would stand inside my hell and hold the hand of death. You don't know how far I'd go to ease this precious ache. You don't know how much I'd give or how much I can take. Just to reach you..." As she sang, Jennie's eyes swept the room, noticing that she and her friends weren't the only ones connected to their case who were present. She made note of where the familiar faces were, and saw a strange look on both Nick's and Nat's faces as she sang the next verse. she mused. "Keeping my eyes open I cannot afford to sleep, Giving away promises I know that I can't keep. Nothing fills the blackness that has seeped into my chest, I need you in my blood I am forsaking all the rest. Just to reach you..." "Hmm...Jennie kept saying how she loved this song. I'm starting to see what she means," Di put in, with a sly glance at Diane, just as Jennie began to sing, "I don't care what they think! I don't care what they say! Jennie smiled, noticing Di's wink just as she completed those phrases. Exactly the words she wanted Diane to hear as she worked on her second drink... ************************************************************* With A Little Help From My Friends (2) by Diane Echelbarger, Jennie Hayes, Karen Weston and Di Sudduth "Wow. Not bad at all. I hate to think what you sound like when you're *in* practice," Diane commented as Jennie returned to her place at the table. "Oh, it's more like I can consistently sound like that, instead of the croaking and pitch-wobbling I do half the time now," Jennie responded. "My voice seems happy tonight, so I figured I could manage to get up on the stage this once." She latched onto the drink that was waiting for her. "Ahh, it's nice to wet the old throat now, though." Halfway through her drink, Diane began humming along with the performers. Jennie smiled *that* smile again. When Diane's glass was almost empty, Jennie handed her the song card for a third time. "How about _Snake Charmer_?" she suggested. "You like that one." Diane's sense of self-preservation was fast being replaced by a warm, slightly detached feeling. "Dunno..." she said, a little fuzzily. "I'm outa practice..." "Aw, c'mon," Jennie urged her. "We all want to hear you sing it, don't we guys?" The table agreed en mass, and Diane gave in. "OK," she agreed with a broad, slightly spacey grin. "Put me on the list." Elaine fetched another round. ********** Karen Weston finished reassuring her 3 year old son that Mommy loved him and would bring him a Mountie hat just like the man on Due South wears, and hung up the phone. She was glad she'd come to the writer's conference, but wished it had been a little closer. Luckily, her husband, A. E., didn't mind taking care of all three kids on his own occasionally. Then she grabbed her purse and her room key and headed for the elevator. Jennie had said she and a bunch of friends would be at the Karaoke session tonight, and she was looking forward to meeting them. By the time she got downstairs, the Tiki Room was packed. A young man was just finishing up a rendition of _Those Were The Days_ as she entered. She paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust, and someone bumped into her from behind. She said "Sorry," automatically, and was three steps inside before she realized who she'd spoken to. She watched as Detective Schanke pushed his way through the crowd to where a slender, dark haired woman was talking to a man with curly blond hair. she thought, At that moment, she spotted Jennie, sitting at a crowded table in the middle of the room. She walked over, while some woman with a passable but undisciplined alto voice began belting out _Snake Charmer_ with *great* enthusiasm. "Bad babe, I got news for you. It's all right!" "Hey, Karen! Glad you could make it!" Jennie said. "Have a seat, I'll introduce you later. You don't want to miss this." She gestured to the stage. "Long bloond hair, shooort black dress, stand-ing there,uun-im-pressed" Karen took the seat next to her, and looked up at the woman on the stage. Her jaw literally dropped. "Is that *Diane* *Echelbarger*?", she asked, stunned. "She never does stuff like that!" "She's a snaaake--Charmer!" "She does now," Jennie grinned incorrigibly. "One look, I'm a bas-ket case. I get shook." Karen stared in shock at her three year old's godmother. Diane was really getting into the song, complete with classic-rocker-style microphone moves. Karen thought she *might* be doing Buddy Holly. Or maybe Elvis... She watched in stunned silence for a few minutes. When the instrumental section started, Diane played along on an invisible guitar. Karen wondered. The crowd was cheering her on. "Bad boys checkin' out each other's hair-styles. "She ain't gonna last in this rooom full of rep-tiles!" "What is she *drinking*?" Karen asked. "Well, she *thinks* they're Solos," Jennie told her. "But I had the bartender make them with two shots of 151, and one of Bailey's. That's her third." "Music gettin' tough. "C- C- Can you get my heart to pound!" Karen looked at the half-empty glass in front of her. Diane almost never drank. A glass of wine or two with dinner, an occasional tot of Bailey's. Nothing stronger, and never more than two. Then Jennie's recipe registered. "Jennie, that's backwards," she said. "I'm- I'm- I'm on my knees... I can't think!" "Yeah, I know," Jennie said. "But I figured she needed to unwind." "Now I'm just a liiiittle worm!" "Well, she is *that*," Karen agreed, as Diane began the final chorus. "She's a snake! Charmer! She's a snake! Charmer! Yeeeaaaah!" ************************ At another table, Schanke had broken off his conversation with Nick to watch the crazy woman on stage. She was either completely blasted, or a grade-A exhibitionist, he wasn't sure which. And the song she had chosen... "I don't get it," he muttered. "I never heard that song until yesterday, and now I swear it's following me." "What's that, Schank?" his partner asked with a grin. "Nothing," he said. ************************ The crowd cheered Diane enthusiastically as she bowed and left the stage. She walked rather unsteadily back to the table, where someone had wedged in another chair for her. "That was fun!" she said, and almost missed the chair. "Karen?" she peered blearily across the table. "Hi, Karen!" "I think you overdid it," Karen told Jennie. Jennie studied Diane a moment. Her usually overcautious friend seemed blissfully unconcerned with the fact that she was going to be the talk of the writer's conference tomorrow, and probably for many days to come. "Maybe you're right," she said. Diane just smiled. Jennie took the oportunity to pounce on another at her table. "Come ON, Di! You've been staring at that song card all evening. You *know* you want to get up there.." Di smiled sheepishly back. "I suppose if I don't I'll never hear the end of it, will I?" "Nope! Now, whatcha gonna sing?" "I noticed this one song on the list, and it's been positively *haunting* me lately! Seems that every time I work with homicide this one tune just won't leave me be. So maybe if I sing it it'll get out of my head?" "Maybe so." Jennie teased. "Which one is it?" "Put me on the list for _The Night Calls (My Name)_" answered Di. "I'm heading to the bar for another shot of courage. Another Solo, Diane? Jennie, I'll have the bartender whip up something *really* special for you!" ************************ After a couple more rounds, Nat appeared at the table. "Well?" she asked, "you guys ready? I think we're up next." "Wha's this?" Diane asked Jennie, quite unsteadily. "Oh, some of us agreed to do a song with Nat earlier. You were... Distracted," Jennie returned. "I'm gonna sit this one out." Diane didn't look like she'd be able to make it to the stage, so Jennie nodded her agreement. The rest of the group accompanied Nat up to the stage, then began a rousing chorus, only wavering a little unsteadily. "Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones, Connect these bones, dry bones, dry bones..." Jennie noticed, delighted. "The toe bone's connected to the foot bone, The foot bone's connected to the heel bone, The heel bone's connected to the ankle bone..." Jennie sneaked a quick peek at Nick and Schanke. Both watched the stage avidly; Schanke with obvious amusement and Nick with a look that said Nat would be getting teased about this later. Looking back at the performers, though, she realized that Nat was really enjoying herself and had managed to forget her troubles for the time being. She threw herself even more into the performance as the group continued... "The shoulder bone's connected to the neck bone, The neck bone's connected to the jaw bone, The jaw bone's connected to the head bone..." ************************************************************* If You *Don't* Please by Lisa McDavid "What did you say was in this?" asked Valery King doubtfully, as Mission Impossible caroled on-stage. She had never actually met Lisa McDavid face to face before, and was beginning to think she should have kept her amateur standing. "Oh, odds and ends in mango juice," said Lisa evasively, sipping her first Zombie Beachcomber of the evening. This time she would have to be careful, with no Feliks to mesmerize her hangover away. Suddenly all the bar talk stopped as though turned off with a switch. Even Mission Impossible's rendition of "Bad Moon on the Rise" choked into silence. Lisa hastily put her glass down, then reconsidered and finished it instead. The scorpions, she reminded herself, had been real. On the other hand, scorpions would be far more pleasant than LaCroix if he'd found out--Just the thought caused Lisa to signal the nearest waitress frantically for a refill. "My friends, I beg you to consider well what you do!" said a deep, rich voice that sounded like LaCroix, only more so. "Alcohol is the Devil's poison--one day singing, the next day Sheol. Nay, repent ye of the evil while there yet remains time..." One of Mission Impossible, braver or of higher altitude than the rest, ventured the first few bars of "Father, dear Father, Come Home with Me Now." The first row of spectators dived under their seats, but the apparition that was so like LaCroix only turned a look of tearful compassion on the songster. "12 Steps may be reached night or day at 555-0000," he continued, "Overeaters Anonymous at ..." Even in the indirect lighting of the Tiki Room, the white he wore from head to toe made him look like a slumming angel. Wait a minute! White? Yes, white, including cowboy boots and dingo hat. Lisa slumped with relief. So Lakhbah, like LaCroix, was much too old and powerful for killing. She ought to have guessed. Lisa took a long pull from her second Zombie Beachcomber. By the time she came up for air, the bouncer had regained his wits and escorted the the intruder from the premises. Valery smiled benignly. Like Mr. Sulu in a certain episode of the Original Star Trek, with an armful--well, in this case, tummyful--of this stuff, she wouldn't be afraid of a supernova. She must remember to thank Lisa profusely for introducing her to this novel way of flavoring mango juice. Lisa finished her second Zombie Beachcomber. Too late, she remembered her resolve to take it slow. An idea was beginning to form out of the liquor fumes in the back of her mind. "Valery, I have this idea..." And that was how the goody reel for the third season of Forever Knight came to feature Lisa McDavid and Valery King on-stage live at the Tiki Room of the Regal Constellation, singing, with highly evocative moves, imitations, and self- produced sound effects. "We are Siamese, if you please." "We are Siamese, if you *don't* please." "We were never resident of Siam," "But there are no finer cat than I am." "Do you see that thing swimming round and round?" "I think we could reach in and make it drown," "If we sneakum up upon it carefully," "There will be a head for you," "And tail for me!" ************************************************************* Bar Girls (part zwei) by Abby Albrecht to set the scene... Lakhbah was a hallucination brought on by too many beachcombers ingested by Lisa... special appearances by Lisa, Valery (Lisa told me too), Dianne, and Darkangel LaCroix surveyed the room like a king. He wanted to make sure he knew everyone in bar, and that everyone knew him. The old woman kept talking about buying her granddaughter her first bra until he began glaring at her. "Talk about oblivious," Abby remarked to Nick. He chuckled lightly and nodded. The laugh drew LaCroix's attention from the old woman and onto Nick and Abby. The old woman shrugged, and mumbled something about the young people today. A Knightie at the next table smiled, but did not say a word. Lisa and Valery stared open mouthed from their seats at the bar. Air escaped Lisa's mouth as she attempted to scream. *It isn't real! He isn't here! He can't be here!* LaCroix began to walk forward, but stopped suddenly in front of Lisa's table. *It _is_ him!* Lisa thought frantically of what she should do. He probably wasn't very happy with her right now. *Wait a minute. Who let him out of jail?* Screaming, Lisa ran from the bar at Warp 10. LaCroix watched her leave, but didn't do anything to stop her. That would be taken care of later. In the time it took to watch Lisa leave, Abby and Nick had gotten onto the stage and had begun to sing "All I Ask of You." "Say you'll share with me, One Love, One Lifetime." LaCroix went forward slowly. Nick, he knew. It was the other person that had him confused. She seemed so familiar, yet... *+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+* Flashback The warm air blew though her long, beautiful hair, pulling it slightly as if it did not want to leave her. Lucius sighed heavily, wishing he was the wind so that he could caress her in the same way. Her body lay seductively on the grassy knoll, protected from any sharp sticks or blades of grass by a large rug and five silk pillows stuffed with the down of 1,000 baby ducks. Lucius knew this because he had to pluck the birds himself, and he had the bite marks to prove it. But he loved every scratch he had, because it was his link with her, his first gift. There would be more gifts, of that everyone could be sure (especially Dianne, the guard who didn't seem to like him very much), but this was the first. Looking up from his thought, he saw Dianne smiling at him wickedly. She knew something, but refused to tell him. He was going to ask her again, but just then his goddess awoke. She rolled over slowly, her few coverings trying to keep up. Lucius was so taken aback by her lovely legs [authors note: hey this is my story. I can have nice legs if I want. So stop laughing Dianne and Perri!] that he didn't notice the wink Abby gave to Dianne. Laying on her stomach, Abby beckoned Lucius closer. "Lu. Rub some more oil onto my back." He was shocked. She was allowing him to touch her! And she called him Lu! He slowly rubbed the oil into her soft skin enjoying every moment. "Don't forget your date tonight," Dianne reminded Abby. "Oh yes. Balthazar, correct? Lu, have you met him?" Abby smiled coyly at Lucius. She knew Balthazar knew Lucius, he had in fact been his commander in the army. She also knew they hated each other. *But, that is where the fun starts.* "I know him madam. Why do you ask?" "He has asked me to marry him, and tonight I'll say yes." Lucius stared silently at Abby's back. He had to change her mind. Somehow... *+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+* LaCroix clapped along with everyone else. A bloody tear rolled down his face as Abby and Nick walked off the stage. Realizing it wasn't a good idea to let others see him cry, he wiped the tear away quickly leaving a red smudge behind. Nick saw LaCroix and tried to steer Abby away from him, but she wouldn't put up with that. She grabbed his hand and dragged him right up to LaCroix. "You going to introduce us?" Abby asked. "Abby, this is Lucien LaCroix. LaCroix, this is my good friend Abby." "Hi Lu! It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you." LaCroix was silent. *Abby? Lu? What in the names of all the gods was going on here? She looked just like the other Abby.* He grabbed the Kamikaze Darkangel was carrying back to her table and downed it in a split second. Everyone watched him do it, stunned... ************************************************************* Stopgap by Dianne T. DeSha As the shock of the alcohol hit his system, LaCroix managed to gather himself. Ignoring the stares of nearby patrons--and the haunting sight of the eerily-familiar Knightie in front of him--he buried all thought of his weakness, his Achilles' heel. Spotting Deborah and that insufferable Mercenary she'd hired over by the bar, he strode purposefully in their direction. ************************************************************* Your Total Comes to.... by Cousin Deborah and with a *great* deal of input from Dianne la Mercenaire When she saw LaCroix enter the Tiki Room, Dianne knew that immediate action was needed to avoid disaster. She made her way to the bar where she had left Deborah talking animatedly to various customers. Now she saw that Deborah was alone and that suited her just fine. "Deborah" "Yeah, what can I get for... Oh, Dianne, you're back! I thought you were off sulking about the whole Ltdarkstar thing." Deborah grinned. "I was _not_ sulk... Look, never mind about that!" Dianne said sternly. "You have bigger problems." The faux bartender saw that the Mercenary looked very grave indeed and sobered quickly. "What's the problem, you look so serious? Did someone die or... Oh my God! Dan-o! I didn't pay you to stash a _dead body_. I paid you to stash an unconscious one!" Realizing who she was talking to, she felt compelled to add, "And I am _not_ paying the 'dead' rate. He was alive when I asked you!" "No, no. It's not that. Though I _am_ adding on a bit for all the trouble I had getting him into one of the empty guest rooms." As Deborah opened her mouth to protest, Dianne cut her off. "Hey, I couldn't take the elevator with him; I had to go up the stairs... I *am* adding on. _End_ of discussion!" "Fine. Then what is it?" "LaCroix just came in," Dianne pointed out. "So?" "'So?'! Deborah, he's not too pleased with you, if you'll recall." "Oh Dianne! That's so nice. You're worried about me!" "You're darned right I'm worried! If he gets to you, how will you pay these outstanding charges?" Dianne held out an invoice. Deborah glanced down and gasped. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - To: Cousin Deborah Menikoff From: Dianne la Mercenaire Re: Invoice for services rendered *General Protection 1 sapphire-encrusted dagger *Bartender Disposal Service 1 rapier (to match) *Private Advice to Potential Karaoke Night Participants *Expenses to be Reimbursed 1 designer silk blouse 1 worked dagger (for Merc Lane) *Damages for Personal Injuries Sustained in the Line of Duty 1 kicked shin 1 week at four-star spa (to recover from sore back) *Additional Surcharges and Miscellaneous Taxes... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Now just wait one minute, missy!" Deborah huffed. "I _gave_ you the dagger already, so off that comes. And what is this... _Who_ is Lane and why am I giving him a dagger? I don't just give daggers to every Tom, Dick, and Lane that asks, you know." "You think getting someone to sing "Feelings" _in Spanish_ comes cheap?" Dianne objected. "Oh, and don't worry... 'Spur- of-the-moment improvisations' and 'quick saves' come under that last heading..." "What is this about your blouse? Your _blouse_ is fine. It was club soda." "Hey, dry cleaning's expensive..." "Kicked shin? When did I? ...Oh. But I didn't kick you _that_ hard." Dianne just glared. "Oh, all right! ...One kicked shin." Deborah continued to peruse the bill. "A *spa*! You want to go on vacation and I am supposed to cover that?" "It's a medical expense. Consider it 'Worker's Comp'," Dianne countered. "And if you want to collect miscellaneous taxes, I want to see how you file all this stuff with the IRS!" "Oh don't worry...we have an *arrangement*..." Dianne's voice trailed off and a slight smile crossed her face. #################### [At the premiere, near the back of the room] Deborah was chuckling quietly, "I can't _believe_ they actually wrote that I paid that bill. Only on TV!" "Oh, that reminds me," Dianne said, taking a piece of paper from her pocket. "Here." "What's this?" Deborah asked curiously as she took the paper. "Well what the heck do you think it is?" Deborah looked down. "An _invoice_? Dianne...!" "Shhh! We' re still on." ############################# Deborah just stared for a moment in shock. "Arrangements" with bartending vampires was one thing but the _IRS_? Giving a slight shudder she decided that she probably didn't even want to know. She also decided not to argue anymore about the bill. Uncle would cover it. Sure he was a little miffed at her presently but she was sure that she could convince him of her loyalty. She had _plenty_ to tell him. "Where exactly _is_ Uncle?" Deborah asked, glancing around. "He was over there talking to Nick a minute ago." Dianne looked around as well, while at the same time reaching for the invoice. If she was going to have to get Deborah out of another jam, she might as well amend the bill now. It was while she was busy making her financial adjustments that LaCroix approached them. Seeing Deborah behind the bar may have taken him aback but he hid it well and simply said, "Come out from behind there. I wish to talk to you... Now." He turned to Dianne, "You leave us." "I think _not_!" Dianne said firmly, taking a seat at the bar. "I wasn't asking," he growled at her. "I will deal with _you_ in my own time." "Oh, _really_,... Lu?" Dianne was pleased to see LaCroix blanche at her words. It wasn't everyone that could claim to be able to do that. "Very well. It doesn't matter in any case. You are not a Cousin and therefore of little use or interest to me." He turned back to Deborah "You on the other hand..." Deborah, who'd been trying to get a word in edgewise, spoke up very quickly, "Oh, Uncle let me explain about the police station! I should've known you would get me out but I didn't want to endanger your disguise and I thought it would be better to handle it myself and leave you for more _important_ things." She gazed up imploringly at him. Dianne thought. Seconds later, she thought she was going to proved right. He reached out and put his hand on Deborah's shoulder. Dianne tensed, prepared for anything. "It's all right," he said. "It is?" Deborah asked. "It is?" Dianne repeated. She _hadn't_ been prepared for that. "I heard your discussion with Ltdarkstar." He glanced at Dianne, "_Both_ sides." Dianne shrugged. "Just doin' my job." He looked at the terribly-relieved Cousin. "Your reasoning and arguments were exceptionally sound and _passionately_ delivered. How could I doubt your loyalty after I heard that?" ###################### [Back at the premiere:] "You know," Deborah said, "I think we did a very nice job considering everything." She gave a satisfied glance at the Merc standing next to her. "Sure, considering that Maureen nearly had me drummed out of the Guild right before we shot that scene, I think I managed pretty well!" "Look, I know you are upset about that, but hey! We did manage to get a little of your own back in those last-second rewrites.... Which reminds me... Shhhh! Here it comes! ####################### LaCroix turned to Dianne. "_You_ have been... Problematic," he said dangerously. "You seem determined to bring my wrath down upon your head. Why?" "It was a job. Nothing personal... Lu." She drew back sharply as he snarled at her. He was a tad too close for comfort. "I have lost my patience with you... Mercenaries. Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson in what _I_ consider 'the Bottom line'." "Uncle," Deborah interrupted, "If you want to teach the Mercs a lesson, I think there is someone your time is better spent on. And she is here." LaCroix looked at Deborah inquiringly and she pointed across the room. "She's over there." He whirled around and his eyes lit upon Maureen the Mad. The very same Mercenary that had reneged on her assignment. He smiled, Dianne all but forgotten--which, of course, had been Deborah's whole goal. Sure the Merc's fees were outrageous but she _was_ a lot of fun. Deborah had come to regard Dianne as a friend rather than a one-woman rescue squad. And she was pretty sure that, beneath all the bills, fees, and invoices, Dianne felt the same. LaCroix spoke to Dianne, "Bring her to me." "Wait!" Deborah interrupted. LaCroix glared again. Deborah laid a hand on his arm, "Uncle, think a moment. If she sees Dianne go straight there from talking to us, she may get suspicious." LaCroix nodded, so she continued, "Dianne, go sing something. Distract them a bit. Then...." "Then bring her to me," LaCroix repeated softly. His voice was like ice. Dianne hesitated briefly. "A three bedroom pied de terre at Trump Tower, was it not?" LaCroix whispered to her. With that, Dianne saluted smartly and hurried away. As she did, she heard LaCroix say to Deborah, "You know, she has potential that we should explore more... Fully." ************************************************************* A Knightie on the Town by Perri Smith with Sharon Scott Perri stood in the entrance of the hotel bar, silently watching as Scottie completed an out of breath rendition of "Ain't Going down 'Til the Sun Comes Up." She was certainly impressed--she couldn't get through verse two without running out of breath. She started to head for Scottie's table, but got sidetracked by Nick, sitting at the bar next to Abby. "Hi, you two." "Perri! When did you get here?" Abby asked in surprise. "Couple hours ago." "Did you bring..." Perri shot her a warning glance that cut off the question. "Yes, I brought them. How are you, Nick?" "I'm doing pretty well, all things considered." He leaned over to brush a kiss across her cheek, which she accepted with a smile before sliding onto a barstool on his other side. "What's your pleasure?" he asked. "Bailey's." He ordered. "So how goes the investigation?" "Off the record?" Perri rolled her eyes. "I'm here on personal business, not business business," she answered. "I'm just being nosy." "I'm starting to wonder just how many of your friends are involved in this, and how many of them are framing how many others. Do you by any chance have a score card?" She shrugged and grinned. "Hey, I'm at least as confused as you are. I just got here, remember?" "Yeah, I know." Out of the corner of her eye, Perri saw the crowd start to drift away from Scottie's table, and decided she needed to drift over there. "You two going to be around later?" "I believe we have a performance scheduled," Nick said with a gallant bow towards Abby, who smiled. Perri raised an eyebrow. "This I've got to see. I need to talk to Scottie, I'll see you later." "Without Scottie, I hope." Perri's other eyebrow went up. "You still embarrassed about that? Jeez, Nick, it's not like you haven't been known to get out of control on occasion. Have a heart." "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "How did you hear about it anyway?" "Are you kidding? I've heard three separate versions since I got here." She slid off the barstool, taking her drink with her, and headed for Scottie, sliding into a chair. "Hi there. Nice Garth imitation." "Thanks." Scottie didn't look particularly happy. "How are you doing?" "I've been better. Nick thinks I'm loony, Margaret's watching me like an English teacher (you have no idea how hard it was to slip her), I have *no* idea what's going on with the investigation, and I've missed most of the sessions at the conference. I don't wanna even think of what else may go wrong--I shoulda just stayed in Waco." She stared morosely at the empty stage. "Are we gonna get you up there?" "Not if I can help it. I go off-key when I have to do solos." Scottie's mind shifted into high gear. "What if we did a duet? I'm a tenor--maybe we could team up?" "I don't know..." Perri dragged out. "What would we sing?" Scottie grinned, looking much more cheerful. "We're both from the Lone Star State, surely we can think of something. The Eyes of Texas?" Perri suddenly remembered something. "Noooo," she said slowly, "I've got a better idea..." *** Valery was back up on stage to do the intro. "And joining us tonight are two Texans we all know and love... Well, some of us," she added, looking towards a conspiracy of Cousins in one corner. "In an encore appearance, Sharon Scott and joining her, Perri Smith." Scottie and Perri came out, Perri giggling nervously and vibrating in place. Scottie looked like she was trying not to laugh. The music started and they jumped right in... To a medley of "Wizard of Oz" tunes. They started with a very warbaly "Somewhere Over the Raven" -- "Somewhere over the Raven, Miklos pours. And the blood that you dare to drink could make him yours..." Reducing several Ravenettes to fits of laughter, then segued into "We're Off to See the Nickie," -- "We're off to see the Nickie, The wonderful Nickie of Oz. We hear he is a champ of a vamp, If ever a vamp there was." to Nick's extreme embarrassment and Abby's delight. Then they switched to "If I Only Had a Donut," causing several FoD's to threaten to throw said donuts at the singers, and ended with, of course, "Ding-dong, LaCroix is Dead." Half the room remembered the lyrics from the list and sang along. If Nick hadn't already been dead, he would have been in serious danger of dying laughing. They wound up to a huge round of applause and death threats from the Cousins. Perri laughed into the mic, "Don't blame me, I believe credit for that particular thread goes to Bruce Grey." They left the stage fast, Perri dragging Scottie to Nick for protection. "Not up to your standards," Perri managed to gasp out, "But I think it went pretty well." "Not bad, as long as LaCroix never hears about it," Nick agreed, starting to get control back. Perri shrugged. "Hey, the first ones were mine, but Bruce has to take all of the blame for the last one." She was reduced to giggles again, in serious danger of falling off the barstool. Scottie looked close to joining her. Nick looked at Scottie and seemed tempted to let her fall. Then a grin broke out and he reached out and steadied both of them. "Thanks," Scottie forced out, almost shocked into seriousness by his action. "No problem," he smiled. She returned it, then started laughing again from sheer relief. Nick caught Perri watching the whole thing with a distinctly smug grin. It widened as she caught his eye, then she winked. He returned it. ************************************************************* Knighties in Knots by Sharon Scott and Perri Smith "So, why did you haul me up here?" Perri asked, knowing there had a be a reason other than a free trip to Toronto and the dubious pleasure of singing for assorted friends and enemies. Said enemies were across the room--the two Knighties had chosen a dark, deserted corner in which to talk. Scottie thought carefully before speaking. "Because... Nick needs help." "Nick needs *our* help? He's the cop, and Cousinly comments aside, he is good at his job. Why does he need us?" "Because there's more going on here than he knows about." Scottie lit another cigarette and looked everywhere except at Perri. "Like what?" Perri was starting to get a bad feeling about the whole thing. "You're a reporter and I'm a librarian. We're both trained in research techniques, right? We know how to ferret out information." "Yeah, and... " "So if we know how to find it, we also know how to hide it." "Reporters rarely *hide* information. It's their job to make it public," Perri said in a slightly offended tone. "What if you knew it would do irreparable damage to someone you cared about? And would *not* serve the public good? Then would you conceal it?" Perri wasn't sure this conversation was going anywhere other than in circles. "Now we're into ethics? I just took this class... Oookkkay. I think my answer would be that I'd have to know what kind of information we're talking about, and who would be hurt by it." There was a long silence from the other side of the table. Finally Scottie spoke, in a very quiet voice. "Nick. It'll hurt Nick. At the least he'll have to leave town and the life he's made here. Leave Natalie. Leave Janette. Worst case scenario? He might die the true death. And not by his own hand." Dumbfounded by the implications of that little speech, Perri sat openmouthed. "Whoa," she finally said. "That's pretty serious. What the hell do you know?" Scottie still wouldn't look at her, and didn't speak for a long moment. Perri crossed her arms, sat back, and waited. "You remember that thread someone started on the fic list? About whether Stonetree knew Nick is a vampire?" "Yeah." "He knew." She paused, letting that sink in. "Oh lord," Perri said softly, not as a curse, but as a heart- felt prayer. "He wrote a manuscript, his memoirs, and he included a lot of material on the existence of vampires in general, and Nick in particular." The words came tumbling out now. "Whoever killed him did it to try to get rid of the manuscript." "But who..." A culprit came immediately to mind. "LaCroix. Out to 'protect' Nick again. And if he can cause him some pain in the process, so much the better. Damn him." "As far as I'm concerned, that happened a long time ago," Scottie said with a small flash of humor. But her tone turned serious almost immediately. "But I'm not sure he murdered Stonetree. Ordinarily I blame everything on him, but in this case... I don't know, I just have a gut feeling." "But why the other cops?" Scottie shrugged. "Maybe to cover Stonetree's murder--make it look like a serial killer so people wouldn't look so hard for a motive for the murder of a well-known and respected police captain. You know how much they like the serial killer motif on this show." "And then we promptly started running around setting people up with motives for Stonetree, which blew that plan out of the water," Perri finished, sinking lower in her chair. "So where do we go from here?" "Perri... I know where the manuscript is." "What?" Perri's voice went up about an octave. "How? Where?" she went on in a perfect imitation of a cub reporter. "I have it." "Oh lord," Perri repeated. Her jaw clenched as she thought furiously. "How did you get it?" "I... It's a long story." "I don't think I really want to know." Perri closed her eyes and finished off her drink. After a second's thought, she motioned the bartender for another. "Who am I kidding--I'm dying to know." "Later," Scottie promised. "Right now we need to figure out what to do." "You know," Perri said slowly, "If you've got the manuscript, the Enforcers are going to be after you next." "Gee, thanks for reminding me," Scottie said sourly. "And how do you protect yourself from them?" "You don't. But Nick can. We've got to tell him about the manuscript." She sighed heavily. "I don't know how much even he can do. But that manuscript has to be destroyed--the original *and* any copies that are laying around. Maybe that will satisfy them." "Maybe. Whatever happens, we're in big trouble," Scottie said quietly. "The question is--*will* Nick protect me? After the last few days, I can't be sure about that." Perri looked at her across the table. "Scottie... I think it's okay now. At least, it will be, once we get rid of those memoirs." "We don't have to get rid of the whole thing, just the... Pertinent parts?" Perri nodded, stood up, and tried to catch Nick's eye. ************************************************************* Knighties in Knots (2) by Sharon Scott Perri caught Nick's eye and motioned for him to join her. He smiled and started toward the darkest corner of the bar, hesitating slightly when he got close enough to see Scottie. "I'll go. You talk to him." Scottie's voice was barely audible. "Don't be a pain in the butt--he's a big boy, he can handle it. If he's afraid of you, he can zap you into submission for the few minutes it'll take to tell him what we need to tell him. Everybody here knows what he is," Perri said impatiently. Nick gave Perri a quick kiss on the cheek when he arrived at the table. Scottie got a curt nod. "What's up?" he asked. "Just your future." "Explanation, please." Perri looked a question at Scottie, who nodded. "We know where the manuscript is." "Where?" "Never mind. What's important is that we know where it is, and we have a pretty good idea what should be done with it." "You don't know what you're getting involved in. Give it to me--I'll do what needs to be done." He obviously didn't like mortals messing in his business. Perri thought. "Not so fast--this isn't the place to slap it on the table. With LaCroix and his minions here, God only knows who'd end up with it. It's safe for the time being. We'll get it to you." "Where? When?" Now *he* sounded like a cub reporter. "Dawn. Your place." He didn't like it, but he didn't have much of a choice. "Okay. But be careful--*both* of you." As he turned and walked back into the crowd, Perri smiled. "See? Easy. All arranged." Scottie let out the breath she'd been holding. "And he said 'both of you'--maybe he's forgiven me." "Get a grip, Scottie. He needs the evidence. So, he needs us. Meet you at dawn. Nick's place." ************************************************************* Good Night, Ladies by Sharon Scott Having managed to offend almost everyone in the room with their ditties, and with an appointment set up with Nick, Perri and Scottie parted ways temporarily. It had been fairly easy to elude Margaret in the chaos of the karaoke, but now Scottie wondered what had happened to her. She found her, asleep, head on the table. Margaret didn't function well without eight full hours of sleep. "Wake up, Margy, it's time to go to bed." A gentle nudge roused her. "Hmmmmpppfff." Margaret's head lifted momentarily, then fell back to the table. "Come on, the bar's closing." "Go 'way." "Margy, Uncle wants you." *That* would get her up and moving. It did. Margaret stood to attention, peering around the room in search of her beloved Uncle Lucien. Not finding him, she glared in Scottie's direction. "Okay, I lied. But it got you up, didn't it? Now head this way, toward the elevator. That's right." If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn Margaret was one of the walking dead. "Good. Now get *in* the elevator." She pushed the floor button and then grabbed Margaret as she began to slide down the wall. "Just a couple more floors and we'll be there." The bell dinged as the floors went by. Past their floor. She punched 16 on the panel again, but the elevator kept moving up, up, and away. The stop button did absolutely nothing to halt their ascent. The elevator finally stopped on the top floor. And LaCroix was standing on the other side of the doors as they opened. Suddenly the air in the car felt very chilly. "Have you carried out my wishes?" He smiled as he asked the question, but somehow Scottie didn't feel better. "I'm workin' on it." She had waited years to get to use that line. "You will complete your task, or you and your friend here will wish you had. Nicolas is mine. He always has been, and he always will be. I won't allow anyone, mortal or otherwise, to interfere." The smile had disappeared. "I know where the evidence is. It will be destroyed. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? That was the deal?" She sounded a great deal braver than she felt. "That was the deal. Be very sure you carry out your part of it." And with a whoosh, he was gone. "Hmmmmmmmpppfff." Margaret blinked sleepily. "Hush. Go back to sleep." Margaret did so, and Scottie pushed the button for the 16th floor again. Maybe this time they would actually get there. ************************************************************* Connections by Lisa McDavid and Diane Echelbarger Schanke checked his car out of the hotel's parking garage and started back to the precinct. As he drove, he pulled his cellular phone out of the holder and dialed a number from memory. He had a pretty good idea who this "Cousin Lisa" of Stonetree's was. The phone connected, and Schanke said, "Mama? It's Don." Pause. "No, Mama, nothing's wrong." Pause. "Jennie and Myra are *fine*, Mama." Pause. "Mama, I'm calling about business. You remember that woman, Lisa Something-or-other, from Feline-l?" Pause. "No, Mama, she's not a suspect." Pause. "Yes, Mama, I'm sure she's a nice girl, but she may be a witness in a case I'm working on. Can you tell me where to find her?" He tucked the phone between shoulder and ear and grabbed a pen, then almost did a Nick-type swerve. "She's where? But, Mama, I just got back from there, and she's not registered. Ti-what? Tizzie Nicholas? Oh, two of her cats. No, I guess Java Mocha would have attracted attention. No, I didn't know you gave her Nicholas. Uh-huh--Uh-huh--Thanks, Mama, I--" Pause. "Dinner? Sunday? Gee, I don't know, I think maybe Myra--" Pause, ending in a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Mama, Sunday, two o'clock." Pause. "I love you, too, Mama. G'bye." Five minutes later, back at the precinct, he spotted Captain Cohen talking to a man he recognized as one of the Mayor's aides. "Captain!" He called, "I think we just got that break we've been looking for!" Cohen raised her eyebrows, brushed off the Mayor's flunky, and walked over to meet him. "This had better be something good, Detective," she said. "The press is having a field day, and the Mayor is *not* amused." "How does a woman who was speaking to Stonetree mere hours before his death, *and* who was tied in with that scorpion thing in the same hotel, *and* was related to him sound?" he smirked. "You have this person?" Cohen asked. "I have a witness from the hotel who saw her." "Then I suggest you bring her in for questioning," Cohen told him. She almost smiled. "Take a couple of uniforms with you, just in case." "Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "But she won't be in until after dinner." Schanke smiled to himself as he slipped across the street to the Acropolis Deli. Mama'd never forgive him if he broke up her dinner party for Ms. McDavid. This way, he'd have time for a second souvlaki before returning to the Regal Constellation to talk to her. He knew who she must be now, the one in all those pictures of the kitten Mama had rescued from the alley behind CERK. ********** Alas for Schanke's good intentions, the mayor's niece chose that evening to go missing and by the time the kid was found, safely asleep where she'd been playing hide and go seek in the attic, it was well past midnight. Schanke, grumbling about the absence of Knight, arrived at the Regal Constellation just in time to question his sanity. Ms. McDavid was indeed in--in the lobby, charging across it, in pursuit of someone who, as he streaked by, looked remarkably like the missing I.A. Captain Cross. Ms. McDavid was yelling like one of the louder Valkyries in a language Schanke couldn't recognize, while brandishing a three foot lobster, bright, boiled red but snapping and lunging at the Captain Cross look alike, who was staggering as though drunk and who smelled like a pizza restaurant. He was dripping a yellow substance which looked remarkably like melted butter. One of the uniforms whom Schanke had brought along for backup stepped forward and did a home plate slide. The stuff *was* butter and, to judge from the green smears on the uniform's shirt, laced with garlic. Schanke had just time to notice the gray cat which was standing on Ms. McDavid's shoulder, shrieking in a language of its own, before he was bowled over by the pack of howling Great Gray Timber Wolves. Timber wolves? Schanke closed his eyes and let go of his sanity just as he heard the siren on the patrol car they'd left in front of the Regal Constellation entrance go on as the car peeled rubber. Both uniforms were in the lobby with him. Schanke, closed his eyes more tightly and pretended to be knocked out. ************************************************************* I'm Not Yours For Better... But For Worse by Tara LJC O'Shea If anyone was surprised to see Tara at karaoke night, they hid it well. She was wearing a long-sleeved black cocktail dress with a down-right dangerous neckline, and her auburn hair was curled in a vaguely 30's style around her pale cheeks and neck, and her glasses had apparently been put aside in favour of contacts this time. No one announced her, she just suddenly appeared on stage, and in the growing silence, moistened her impossibly red lipsticked lips with the tip of her tongue, took a deep breath, and sang the first line... I have eyes for you, to give you dirty looks LaCroix looked up then, recognizing the words, if not the singer at first, and was shocked to see she was singing straight to him. As soon as she realized she'd caught his eye, she smiled strangely, closed her eyes and gave herself up to the song, her voice strong and clear. 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. I've a powerful anesthesia in my fist, and the perfect wrist to give your neck a twist. There are hammer-lock holds, I've mastered a few... And ev'rything I've got belongs to you. Share for share, share alike. You get struck each time I strike. LaCroix frowned then, but she continued, if not unaware, then purposefully ignoring the dark look that crossed his face. You for me, me for you I'll give you plenty of nothin' I'm not yours for better, but for worse and I've learned to give that well-known witch's curse. I've a terrible tongue, a temper for two... And ev'rything I've got belongs to you. Ev'rything I've got belongs ev'rything I've got belongs ev'rything I've got belongs ev'rything I've got belongs to you... She held the note, singing it directly to him as he stood at the foot of the small stage, and had the audacity to wink. He would have pulled her down then, but the music segued, the low mournful notes of the bass ringing into the sudden silence. Retire ta main Je ne t'aime pas... At the bar, Janette had entered, and watched Tara on-stage, raising a silent toast as the mournful song drifted through the room, and a few lone couples began to dance. Ne demande rien Je pleure, c'est tout Je ne t'aime pas Je ne t'aime pas Oh mon bien aime The ancient vampire continued to frown, the glass in his hand forgotten as he crushed it, blood and wine dripping on the carpet like red rain. Someone pressed a napkin into his hand, and he wiped his hand absently, started towards the stage. Retire ta main Je ne t'aime pas Je ne t'aime pas As the music ended, and the scattering of applause died, LaCroix dragged Tara down from the stage and into the wings, eyes glowing amber with anger. "What kind of game are you playing?" he hissed, squeezing her wrist painfully. "I think you have your answer." Tara tried to pull her wrist from his grasp, but he held fast. "I take it that you are saying 'no' then?" "You had my passport and tickets stolen, my records changed, my face plastered all over the bloody precinct, and then you had me thrown in jail. You framed me for murder, and then actually expected me to join you?" Tara was white with anger, her entire body shaking. "After what you did to Janette, Natalie, Heather, Selma, Nick, all of them, how could you possibly expect me to give you any other answer?" "Ah, is that what all this is about?" He released her, and she rubbed her injured wrist, glaring at him. "I had thought you were such a clever mortal, but I see I was wrong. Obviously you can't see the mistake you are making, in passing up this opportunity." "Is that how you think of it? Passing up an opportunity? Nevermind the lives you have disrupted, the havoc you have caused, just another day, or rather, night, ho-hum. After all, what does it matter, the lives of mortals, if you get your precious Nicholas back? We're just pawns to you." "And why not? Why not pawns, you play the game so well. If you must know, I saw what an effective tool Janette had in you, and thought only to remove you from her service. It wouldn't do to have you following me around, unraveling all that I had carefully wrought. Your ingenuity impressed me." "Is this how you reward ingenuity? With treachery?" "Give me some credit, I knew you would find a way to wriggle out of the traps I laid." "Please, stop. You'll turn my head with such compliments," her voice dripped venom, and she leaned against the wall, crossing her ankles and inspecting her nails. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Tell me, did Deb struggle any before you killed her? Or did you hoodoo all her fear away?" "Who?" All trace of playfulness disappeared from his voice, and he watched her as one might a snake that was poised to strike. "You know, the unfortunate officer who caught you planting 'evidence' at Natalie's apartment, surely you haven't forgotten her completely?" "Well, you know what they say... Mortal's die." He waved the matter away with a flick of his wrist, and this time she was the one who advanced. "Vampires die, LaCroix. Does it really matter how, or when?" Her voice was low, throaty, her features twisted with hated, but her eyes... Her eyes were the worst. He grasped her jaw, leaning in to speak to her, fangs bared. "You act as if you are invincible, little girl, and I think you think you are. But you are not." "Empty threats." "Not so empty, I think." "As you wish." She bowed her head, waiting with eyes tightly shut for the inevitable fangs. She had pushed too hard, gone too far, and didn't expect to live. She was no better or worse than those who had already died by his hand. He laughed. ************************************************************* So Long, Farewell by Tara LJC O'Shea LaCroix released her, and Tara stared at him, dumb with shock as he laughed, wiping a blood tear from his eye. "What? Kill me! Do as you will, you know I can't stop you." "Ah, but I enjoy your attempts. What would I do to pass the time without your growls and barks?" "I am not a lapdog." "Yes, yes, you are no one's pet, we've covered that ground already. There would be no pleasure in killing you now, you are not broken yet. And while there is fight left in you, you amuse me." "That's it? You're letting me live because I amuse you?" "Why not?" "I will never understand you," Tara shook her head, and stepped out from behind the stage, walking back to the bar, her hands shaking as she struggled to light a cigarette. The bartender offered a lighter, but she waved him away, setting the unlit cigarette on the bar, her hands shaking. "Hey, why are you bothering with writing, you should have been a torch singer," Susan sipped her Amaretto, eyes dancing. "I can't picture myself draped over a piano, singing 'Feelings' to potential heart-attack victims." "I saw Uncle drag you off, are you okay?" "No," Tara laughed and motioned to the bartender. "Scotch, neat." "Uh-oh, the hard stuff." "Look on the bright side, I'll be inebriated, but breathing." Tara downed half the drink in one swallow, without wincing. "That bad, huh?" "Yeah." Tara leaned against the bar and watched the festivities. ************************************************************* Don't You Know What the Night Can Do? or Strangers in the Night. by Amy M. Denton As I walked into the Tiki Room of the Royal Constellation Hotel I was assaulted by the most off-key version of "Hotel California" I had ever heard.(And believe me folks, I've heard some pretty bad ones). Shaking my head I moved into the room and started looking for some familiar faces. I saw a couple, mostly Knighties, a few Cousins and some Natpackers. I walked in the direction of the bar and passed a reluctant Scottie being dragged toward the stage. The room was dark, so I couldn't see who else was with her. I heard "I don't like 'Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog'." as I passed her. I shook my head, >>Poor Scottie, I don't think she'll ever live that frog phobia down.<< I finally made it to the bar and was pleasantly surprised to see both Nick and Anna there. Anna was a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in ages until the episode shooting had begun. I managed to persuade her to come along with me to Karaoke Night but we had come in separate cars so this was the first I had seen of her all day. I didn't know if she knew Nick or not but they had apparently introduced themselves to each other. I ordered a Dr. Pepper, then turned to talk to the two. "Nothing stronger?" Nick asked. "No," I replied. The bartender handed me my drink and I paid him. "I don't like the taste of alcohol, never have. Besides I don't need to alcohol to help me make a fool out of myself." I smiled and sipped my drink. Nick nodded and looked toward the stage, it was empty for the moment. "Are you going to sing?" Anna asked, an evil smile playing across her face. "I might. Depends on if I can find a suitable song to sing. I know a few I would like to sing, but I can't remember the all the words." "Like what?" she asked. "'The Monster Mash,' maybe." I said chuckling. Nick groaned and shook his head. "That was terrible." "I know, but it was all I had so I went for it." "Well, there was the most interesting rendition of 'Snake Charmer' before you came in." Anna said. "Really?" "Oh, yeah, really." "Ladies and Gentlemen" a voice from the direction of the stage said. "We will now hear from..." There was silence for a moment while the announcer learned the name of the latest victim. "...Scottie, from Texas." "I wonder what she's going to sing." I said. "'It's Not Easy Being Green?'" Anna asked. We both laughed and got the strangest look from Nick. Anna was wrong though, 'Ain't Goin' Down 'Till the Sun Comes Up' by Garth Brooks, started to fill the room as Scottie stepped on stage. The conversation stopped for the time being while Scottie did a good version of one of *my* favorite Garth Brooks songs. After Scottie was done, several more 'singers' came and went. Finally, I decided to try myself. (See, I told y'all I didn't need alcohol to make a fool of myself. Sugar works just fine. :) ) "Okay, I'm gonna go sing. Wanna join me Anna?" She shook her head, "I don't think so. You're a braver soul than I." "You mean crazier." I looked at Nick. "Would you?" He gave me a 'you've-got-to-be-kidding' look. "Okay, just asking." "What are you gonna sing?" Anna asked. "You'll see." I said, walking away from the bar. No else stepped on stage before I got there, fortunately. If someone had, I'm certain I would have turned and left. I walked up to the announcer and whispered in her ear. A delighted smile spread across her face. She walked on stage and announced "Folks, our next singer will be doing a classic number for us. Would you please welcome...." she stopped and looked my way. "Amy." I said, "Also from Texas." "Amy, also from Texas." the announcer repeated. There was a smattering of applause as she walked my way and handed me the mike. "It's all yours" she said. I walked out onto the stage and the butterflies started. >>What am I doing?<< I thought. Before I could change my mind the music started and I began to sing 'Strangers in the Night' 'Strangers in the night, what were the chances ? Strangers in the night, exchanging glances....' Fortunately for me, the song was short and I was quickly finished. I walked off stage to moderate applause and headed toward the bar. "Good job." The announcer said as I walked by. "Thanks." I pratically ran back to the bar and gulped down the rest of my Dr. Pepper. Then, I ordered another one. I looked up for the first time since walking off stage. Anna and Nick were still there and Perri had joined them along with Shannon. They were all grinning. I felt my face go red. "Was I that bad?" I asked. "Not too bad." Anna said. "It was nice." Nick said. Perri just chuckled. Shannon said nothing. "Anna?" I asked. "Yes?" "If I ever get the urge to do something stupid like that again, would you kindly reach over and hit me." "Maybe." She said, still smiling. "Thanks." ************************************************************* Stopping the Show by Dianne T. DeSha with extensive assistance from Cousin Deborah (Song idea, lyric transcription, and English translation of "J'aurais Toujours Faim de Toi" by Catherine Boone, another Sting fan--thanks, Catherine! ;-) Karaoke Night was winding down as more and more people "boosted their courage" past their own personal limitations. Dianne thought as she moved towards the stage. For a Cousin, Deborah could be a really nice person--not that Dianne would ever betray her by letting anyone know that, _least_ of all LaCroix. , Dianne thought as she spoke a few words in the right ears, The Merc started, shocked to find such dark, un-Mercenary tendencies within herself. She quickly buried them. The crowd in the Tiki Room--well, those still capable of comprehending the change--turned collectively towards the stage as the lights dimmed dramatically and a hush fell over the room. Dianne thought, smiling. Pulling a stool forward into the lone spotlight, she took the microphone from its stand and nodded to the stage tech. As the driving jazz beat issued from the speakers, she closed her eyes and began: "Rien de dormir cette nuit Je veux de toi Jusque'a ce que je sois sec Mais nos corps sont tout mouilles Completement couvert de sueur..." [No sleep tonight I want you Until then, I am dry But our bodies are all wet Completely covered in sweat...] *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Deborah and LaCroix both broke off their conversation when they realized that Dianne had taken Deborah's suggestion to "go sing something" quite literally. "Oh my," Deborah said. "She *can* sing." "Yes," LaCroix said quietly. "She brings it... Alive somehow." He shook his head as if to clear it and then looked back at Deborah, "Now, as I was saying..." *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* "Nous nous noyons dans la maree Je n'ai aucun desir Tu as ravage mon coeur Et moi j'ai bu ton sang.' [We're drowning in a pool of blood I have no desire You ravaged my heart And me, I drank your blood.] *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* Deborah held up a hand, "Wait, I'm sorry, Uncle. Can we discuss this in a minute? I mean, Dianne has been so helpful and all. I really would like to listen." But LaCroix was already entranced, appreciating the lyrics as only he could. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.* "Mais non pouvon faire ce que nous voulons J'aurais toujours faim de toi..." [But no matter what we want I'm always hungry for you] As the final note died away, the crowd remained silent for another moment, before breaking out into thunderous applause. Bowing gracefully as she exited, Dianne stepped down from the stage, took Maureen by the wrist and led her forward towards the bar. "Come on! Let me buy you a drink," she coaxed her wary fellow Merc. "For old times' sake!" "I don't know," Maureen started to protest; their old times weren't _all_ worth celebrating. "Oh come, on!" Dianne insisted as they neared her target. "But I thought you didn't drin..." Maureen's voice died out as they reached the bar and she saw who was waiting for her. "You money-grubbing little backstabber!" she turned on Dianne, outraged. But she was suddenly overcome by an odd feeling of deja vu... Whether at the words she had spoken or at the sight of LaCroix up close she wasn't quite sure... ************************************************************* I Just Gotta Be Me! by Jennie Hayes and Sharon Himmanen The lady at the microphone looked out at the audience. "And now, please welcome Amy Hull, with "Double Vision". Amy bounced up to the microphone and stood waiting for the song to start. She wore her own customary blue and white dress with a t-shirt underneath it. Her hair was so curly it was almost kinked in spots. "I'm *soo* sorry..." came a muffled voice from somewhere in the room as Amy began to sing... -----***----- Schanke blinked at the girl up on the stage. He turned, looked at Janette, then turned back to the stage and stared. "Hey, she looks just like you!" he pointed out. Janette looked dubiously at the singer. "In *that* dress?" she asked, incredulously, "Hardly." Nick just shook his head and grinned. ************************************************************* These Dreams by Dawn Steele A quiet moment in the Tiki room. Musak started playing in the background as Valery searched frantically for another vict... Volunteer. She went over to the bar area, and started looking. She spotted a huddled figure in a trench coat, brimmed hat and sunglasses. The woman had been quietly downing straight orange juice, and sitting in a small booth near the door. She didn't appear to have company to urge her on, but Valery decided to take a chance anyway. "Evening. Would you like to go on stage and sing?" The woman smiled. She looked completely sober. Drat! "I'm not sure. I was just relaxing after a hard days work..." "It's easy. Come on." Valery started tugging on her arm, and pulling her towards the stage. After a minute's debate about what to sing, she strode onto the stage. "I've got one!" Valery motioned for her to come onto the stage. "She's trying to stay anonymous because she wants to sing a more serious note than most of our songs tonight." Dawn had kept her trenchcoat, fedora, and sunglasses on. In the dim light it was a fairly good disguise. She didn't want to ruin her reputation as a hard-boiled private investigator. After a few seconds of fumbling with the microphone, a soft alto voice went out into the Tiki room. "Spare a little candle Save some light for me Figures up ahead Moving in the trees White skin in linen Perfume on my wrist And the full moon that hangs over These Dreams in the mist Darkness on the edge Shadows where I stand... The voice was decent, and the mood in the bar quieted a bit. A more serious song than had been setting the tone so far, true, but it was... Oddly appropriate in an evening filled with apparitions, walking legends and dream figures. "There's something out there I can't resist I need to hide away from the pain There's something out there I can't resist The sweetest song is silence That I've ever heard Funny how your feet In dreams never touch the earth In a wood full of princes Freedom is a kiss But the prince hides his face From dreams in the mist These dreams go on when I close my eyes Every second of the night I live another life These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside Every moment I'm awake the further I'm away" The applause wasn't thunderous, but it was still there, and that was enough. Dawn slipped off into the night. Another day, another case. Her job in this particular Forever Knight episode was done. ************************************************************* Lurker (14) by Laurie Dudik "Rastro, you want another drink?" Maddog asked her companion in lurking. They'd both gotten dressed in their best black jeans, black Red Dwarf t-shirts and hats to go out to the bar. "Sure," Rastro nodded, watching as her friend headed towards the bar. Nothing better than a few hours off the hardwork of lurking about doing nothing than a few good drinks. The crowd in the Karaoke bar was starting to get larger as various people from the fkfic list showed up. The Siamese cat song had been well received by the crowd. Probably a lot of cat owners, she thought, thinking of her own herd, fart cat, barf cat, ornery cat and bendy kitty. Maddog returned to the table with the drinks, she'd got them two instead of just one. "Thought we might get thirsty before we got the energy up to get some more." "You're going to get cactus?" "We're going to need to be drunk if we're going to get up and sing." "Sing? Oi, are you mad or something?" "Everybody else is doing it, besides, I brought these," Maddog reached into her fourth dimensional pocket and produced two very large feathered hats and feathered boas. Rastro shook her head in disbelief, "You're not suggesting we sing..." "Sure, why not, finish your drinks and let's do it!!" The two Lurkers finished their drinks in two gulps and took the stage. They took out their handy dandy total sound nullifying ear plugs and put them in. Rastro started "There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall and the bells in the steeple too," Maddog adding the "Cuckoo" sound effects as the song continued. People were slamming drinks but it didn't help drown out the dreadful noise. As the two launched into the main chorus "So long, farewell, auf weidersehn, good night, adieu, adieu, to you and you and you," totally butchering the high notes, mixed nuts and pretzels started pelting the stage. It was lucky for the Lurkers the bar did not provide rotten tomatoes and moldy fruit as snack foods. As it was, the Lurkers thought the nuts were a form of applause, and happily snacked between verses. The owner of the Karaoke looked on in horror. His patrons were all turning bright green. Visions of horrible stomach and intentional blows filled his mind. He hadn't heard signing that bad since, well, he'd never heard anything that bad. Taking out a large baseball bat he waved it threateningly at the Lurkers until Maddog noticed it. "Rastro, I think he wants you to stop singing!" "Me, at least I can carry a tune, I've heard dying moose stay on key better than you can!" "Hey, that's not fair, this just isn't my song!" "The call of the wounded wombat is not considered a melody!" "I'll do my party piece, that'll be better," Maddog yelled over the retching of the crowd. She inhaled deeply and started to sing, "Marshall, Will and Holly, on a routine expedition, met the greatest earthquake every known. High on the rapids, it shook their tiny craft and plunged them down a thousand feet below, to the la-and of the lost, lost, lost, lost, to the la-and of the lost." Maddog took a bow just before the baseball whooshed over her head. Rastro sighed deeply and activated the tesseract. Banned from another bar, the shame of it. ************************************************************* Why Oh Why Did I Let Them Talk Me Into This? Sharon S. Scott Bailing Out by Lisa McDavid One of the production assistant brought Lisa McDavid a phone. "Call for you, Ms. McDavid, phone for you. He's says it's an emergency." Lisa took the cellular. "Hello, Larry. What is it *this* time? Larry, stop babbling--I can't understand you. No, I won't hang up. What do you mean, you only have one phone call? You're *where*? Larry, vampires don't *get* arrested. Yeah, but Nick's different. He's *not* weird. He's idealistic. No, that's not just another word for stupid! Look, Larry, why don't you just call Dorian to bail you out? He's--" Lisa sat down in the first chair to hand, which happened to be LaCroix's. He snarled at her but Lisa, intent on her conversation, merely shushed him. "Ok, Dorian's in the slammer, too. Then why aren't you calling Igor? Bellvue. Hoh-boy. I wonder what Thorazine does to vampires. Well, what about Olaf? No, I don't know how he snores. Wait a minute, him too? But why did they take him to the zoo? Oh, I see, Halloween--no, I don't see. It's the middle of summer. What was he doing with a Halloween costume? No, I didn't know akvavit makes him sentimental. No, I didn't know Bourbon made him touchy. Let me get this straight. He went off to the zoo because he was going to bring you a real one to prove he looked like--Larry, I don't care how good a costume Olaf's got, the zoo's bound to notice they've got one too many gorillas!" Lisa paused to glare at LaCroix, who was staring at the phone with the expression of a Siamese cat sniffing catnip. "Ok, I know I'm going to regret this, but where's Jean-Pierre? Well, if he's driving around New York, why can't *he* come get you? Ohmigawd!! Yes, I guess the Mayor *would* like his limo back." "Look, Larry, I still don't get it. All right, I understand you introduced Dorian and the Enforcers to Jack Daniels. Sometimes I'd like to stake Dorian!" She added over her shoulder to LaCroix, "No, I am not going to be your guest." Lisa turned back to her long-distance vampire brother. "So Dorian made a research project out of it. How much bourbon did he have? Larry, there *can't* be 117 different brands. I don't care what Dorian said. He was probably seeing *triple* by that time. So you had to be polite. Olaf contributed the akvavit--on top of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Larry Merlin, do you mean to tell me you mixed *akvavit* with bourbon? Akvavit, bourbon and vodka. Absinthe--absinthe's illegal in the U.S.! Ok, so it can't kill Jean-Pierre. I wish I could." Lisa made a chopping gesture. "Larry? Tell the officer just one more minute, please. What was that? Well, watch how you hypnotize people if they're going to be holding guns. I hope they can get the copier repaired. Larry, why were you guys in Manhattan anyway? I thought you were all cozy in New Jersey. What? Well, who *did* you think was buried in Grant's Tomb? Hello? Oh, damn it--I'm sorry, officer, no, not you. Look, I'm out of town right now but I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight back." And that was how Lisa's departure necessitated several creative edits, but even LaCroix had to agree that it would be unwise to be responsible for delaying bailouts for three of the most senior Enforcers and the Archivist. Besides, he couldn't be sure Lisa *didn't* in fact have a video to go with Betsy Vera's tape from the second war of him talking baby talk to his goldfish. ************************************************************* Oh Where, Oh Where Have the Little (Were)Wolves Gone? by Selma McCrory "Uggh," Selma groaned as she lifted herself up. "Don't tell me, we have a pack of spirit wolves on the loose. Great." "We indeed have a pack of spirit wolves loose," the woman from the University of Toronto said. Selma helped Hilary up. "LISA!!!" she yelled at her cousin before she realized that doing so wouldn't help. "I would suggest finding them," the woman said. "I think I will," Selma said. "After all, it's *my* Cousin that set them loose. Can you give us a hand, Ms.-- "Roth. Linda. And I think I'm up for a little--challenge." "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Selma said, bowing a little and then turning to face her friend. "Hilary, I think that we have gainful employment for the next few months." Her companion groaned. "'Scuse us, officers," Selma said, taking Linda and Hilary in tow. The startled officers let them by and watched them go. Outside, Selma could be heard saying, "Oh, cheer up, it's only a pack of wolves..." ************************************************************* Breaks by Selma McCrory The two friends laughed as the part with the wolves showed on the screen. "That was a riot," Selma said. "I'm glad I'm not chasing wolves in real life!" "Are you afraid of dogs in real life?" Hilary asked. "You think I'm silly enough to answer that in a room full of listmembers?" Selma snorted in reply. "Well, I can think of other things to be afraid of in real life," Hilary said. "Him, for example." Selma nodded as she looked at where LaCroix was having a fit. "Yes, I think Jennise will probably be in the soup for the next few months," she said. "Somehow I think that she'll be so wrapped up with 'pops' that she won't be able to do anything else." "That's an understatement," Hilary agreed. "I guess that she won't be proofing anything of mine for a while now," Selma said. She noticed LaCroix catching her stare and looked down, finding it wise to change the subject. "Speaking of which, did you like the collection I gave you?" "Oh, yes! I just got to the point where Greer blurted out that she saw Adam and the others jaunting in..." The two chatted merrily on through the rest of the screening. That's what friends do, after all. ************************************************************* Burning Bridges by Sharon Scott, Karin Welss, and Perri Smith Scottie reached out to touch the doorbell of Nick's warehouse, then stopped. "Are you sure I was included in the agreement?" "Of course you were. He said *both* of us. That includes you. Hit the buzzer." "I'm fixing to. I just..." "You're dithering again. Stop it and punch the buzzer." She punched the buzzer. In a matter of seconds, Nick's voice came from the intercom speaker. "Yeah?" Scottie was speechless. The gruff greeting was repeated. "Uh... It's me, Scottie." Silence. "I brought *it*." Still no answer. "I'm sorry--were you asleep? I can come back later." Finally that warmed-honey voice answered. "I hadn't gone to bed yet." "So, can we come in?" "We? Who's "we"?" "Me and Perri." It seemed forever before the buzzer sounded and they heard the lock pop open. Scottie took a deep breath before she touched the knob, and assisted by a shove from Perri, they were in the door and heading for the elevator. Perri slid the door to the loft open, and stepped into the loft, followed by a reluctant Scottie. Nick put a bottle back into the refrigerator, then turned to face the two women. "You have it?" he asked. Perri nodded. Scottie lifted her tote bag in reply. "You're carrying it in a tote bag?" he asked incredulously. "Sometimes the best place to hide something is right out in plain sight." She reached into the bag and pulled out a large stack of papers, sorting through them until she found what she was looking for. She thrust the handful of pages toward him. He took them, quickly scanned the words, and looked deeply disturbed at what he was reading. "Where did you get these?" "You don't want to know where, or how, I got them. Suffice it to say that I got them." Scottie's eyes went out of focus, as if she were staring off into another time, another place. It was a look Nick knew well. ****************Flashback begins********************** Scottie took a deep breath as she shut the hotel room door behind her. she thought miserably as she walked down the deserted hotel corridor. It was dinnertime, and the writers--Margaret and Susan included--were down in the hotel restaurant and bar, busily networking and trading critiques. She had pleaded a migraine headache and stayed behind to carry out her mission. Luckily, Stonetree's room was only a couple of doors down-- the short distance lessened the chances of actually losing her nerve before doing what needed to be done. As she raised her fist to knock on the door, she wondered for the hundredth time what fit of insanity had led her to agree to this scheme. LaCroix's proposal had seemed reasonable enough after several spiked Cokes in the dimly lit hotel bar, especially when pitched by the elegant black vampiress sitting in the booth across from her. Nick was in terrible danger from the Enforcers, although he didn't know it yet, the vampiress had told her. Scottie could save him. All she had to do was steal Stonetree's manuscript, thus removing the empirical evidence of Nick's condition. The vampires would take care of the rest, putting in a small post-hypnotic block against writing about or even talking about vampires. The thought of Nick, being held down by the Enforcers while justice was administered in the form of a wickedly pointed wooden stake... "Yes," she had gasped. "Oh yes. I'll do it." Jennise had inclined her head solemnly. "Pops--er, LaCroix-- knows you're committed to Nick's welfare. That's why he suggested I talk to you. As a sign of appreciation for services rendered, we'll give you a small hypnotic treatment to render you immune from your frog phobia. Forever." Scottie had nodded, and Jennise had continued, "Here's the plan..." And here she was, carrying out LaCroix's wishes to keep Nick safe. Never thought she'd agree to anything that psycho suggested. But then maybe it had been more than a suggestion? she thought, and then knocked stoutly at the door. "Just a minute," came a muffled reply from inside the room. She waited, her heart pounding, her stomach churning queasily with anxiety. What if it didn't work? What if he didn't-- The door opened, and she found herself face to face with the Toronto PD captain. His face bore smeared traces of hastily wiped-off eyeliner and lipstick, and the barest hint of black lace showed above the paisley robe. "Yes?" "Uh, hi--Captain Stonetree," God, that sounded lame. But the makeup and lace had really thrown her for a loop. "I don't know if you remember me from your reading yesterday, but I'm Sharon Scott, Deputy Sheriff Bruce Scott's sister..." A broad grin spread over Stonetree's face. "Bruce, huh? How's he doin'? We had some good times, trading stories at those joint law enforcement conferences. Oh, come on in." As she stepped into the room, Stonetree hastily pulled his paisley robe up over the tell-tale lace. "Please excuse the strange, uh, clothing--I'm in the middle of a--well, it's kind of hard to explain, but as you know I'm a Neemonee, and the best way to describe this, is that I'm doing a purification ritual." He looked extremely embarrassed as he saw her eyes go to the silk stockings and the extra-extra- large garter belt strewn across the dresser. "What can I do for you, Ms. Scott?" She swallowed. The best way to deal with that garter belt was not to look at it. "I was totally... Uh... Fascinated by the chapter you read from your memoirs at the conference, and I was hoping that I could maybe read the rest of it? And offer my services as proofreader? If you don't have someone lined up for that already? I mean, I know a lot about police work from Bruce... And my uncle used to be the police chief in Waco." Stonetree's smile returned. "Sure--that would be great! It needs a lot of polishing, but I'm hoping it'll be a bestseller! Lots of juicy details." He winked at her, and she forced a smile in return. She really *was* going to have a migraine after she got out of here. He turned around, and began sorting and piling together various stacks of paper scattered across the king-sized bed. While he was thus occupied, Scottie took the opportunity to surreptitiously palm the 3.5" diskette laying on the bedspread. She managed to tuck it into the pocket of her black leather jacket just as Stonetree straightened up, an untidy pile of pages in his hands. "It's got notes scribbled in the margins. Hope you can decipher it," Stonetree said as he handed her the manuscript. "You think you'll get to it fairly soon? I'm going to need it back in the next few days." "No problem," Scottie lied. "So, do you mind if I scribble my comments in the margin, too?" As she reached out to take the papers from him, she noticed that her hands were shaking. she tried to reassure herself. *****************Flashback ends************************ Nick's voice jolted her back to reality. "What's your price?" "My price?" Scottie didn't understand. Perri did, and she was pissed. "Your price. For these pages. You *are* trying to blackmail me, aren't you?" Perri couldn't contain her anger any longer. "You... Creep. After all we've done for you... You think we're trying to blackmail you? Sometimes I think you are the most clueless vampire in history." He had the grace to look ashamed. Now Scottie understood. LaCroix had truly trained him well. The son of a... "They're not for sale. They're yours, to do with as you see fit." "Where's the rest of the manuscript?" Perri answered. "Schanke's got it, but he doesn't know these particular pages ever existed. We erased the relevant parts of the disk, and printed out the new, revised, and abridged version before we got it to him. He thinks it was in the evidence locker all along." He read through the pages again, then asked, "And you don't want anything in return?" Perri spoke firmly. "Your protection, when the Enforcers find out. And they *will* find out, sooner or later. Then we're dead meat." "You've got it." He looked at Scottie. "And that's all you want?" "There is something else." Nick looked pained. "It's a simple request. A fire in that beautiful fireplace." Now it was his turn to look confused. "That's all. Just a fire." The light bulb finally went on. He turned and moved swiftly toward the fireplace. "It's always a bit chilly at dawn, isn't it? A fire would be just the thing." He grabbed the remote, stopped, and then held it out at arm's length. "Would you like to do the honors?" "I'd be happy to." Scottie took the remote, pushed the button, and watched the flames leap into life. And then the three of them watched each page of incriminating evidence char, catch fire, and turn to ash. ************************************************************* Taking the Best Shot by Sandra Gray Sandra Gray walked into the lobby of the Regal Constellation. She heard music coming from the Tiki Room and walked over to the door. Karaoke night appeared to be in full swing. Not that she cared a great deal, but a drink would be good right about now, considering what she was contemplating doing. Sandra walked into the room and over to the bar. "I'll take a Zombie," she said to the woman bartender. When it was given to her, she paid the woman, then walked over to see if she could find a free table to sit at. The place was crowded. She finally asked another red haired woman if she minded if she sat with her. The woman didn't object so she sat down. What a rowdy bunch in the bar! Sandra resolved not to stay too long. Although some of the renditions were kind of interesting. She sipped her drink slowly as she watched the proceedings. Looking around the bar, she spied Nick talking with a young woman who seemed to be hanging on his every word. She wondered if she had acted like that when they were together. She looked back to the stage. Well, it was too late for them now, but if she had anything to do with it, maybe he'd be free to pursue a relationship with someone else. The bar got a little quiet and she looked toward the entrance to see Nick's "sire" enter the bar. If she'd had any doubts about that before, they were erased as she caught sight of Nick's expression when he saw him (although he covered his reaction quickly). Sandra leaned over to the other woman seated at the table. "Who's that man?" she asked. It was worth a shot. "What man?" she asked. "The tall, thin one there, with the short hair and the pale skin?" The woman looked to where Sandra had unobtrusively pointed. "Oh, him? I think his name is LaCrock or LaCroix or something. The Nightcrawler." "Nightcrawler?" The woman looked at her in some surprise. "I'm not from around here," she explained. "A local radio personality on CERK," said the woman. Strange. That didn't seem to jibe with what she had seen when she had spotted him in the lobby the first time. Then he'd seemed to be with the police. But then Nick hadn't looked pleased at that prospect. She wondered what was going on. "Are you sure?" "Yeah," said the woman. She broke into loud clapping as the person singing on stage finished her number. thought Sandra. She wondered if she'd be able to follow the man when he left the bar. Just in case, she decided not to have any more alcohol. The man appeared content to stay a while. Sandra decided to slip up to her room for her crossbow. She did just that, putting the box it was in in a shopping bag and slipping back into the Tiki Room. He was still there. So was Nick. She found a seat at another table and waited. Hours later, the Karaoke night was winding down when a sudden and very strange disturbance hit the place. Sandra sat frozen as several large dogs or wolves entered the room. A cat jumped on a woman's arm, then suddenly the same woman was wielding a lobster in a pot at the man who Sandra had been watching. Yellowish liquid splashed out of the pot and over him and she caught a strong scent of garlic. He was very affected by it and ran from the room, chased by the woman with the lobster and the wolves. Sandra sprang up. What the heck was going on? She saw Nick talk to a woman and dash out. Sandra almost forgot her shopping bag in her haste, but snatched it up and left the room. She hurried out on the street, looking for the "Nightcrawler." There was no one in sight. Playing a hunch, Sandra went back into the hotel and out the back service entrance. The night was dark and quiet, but dawn would be coming soon. A sound caught her attention and far ahead down an alley she saw a tall, thin man lurching along. No one else was near him. Sandra hurried down the alley, pausing as she got closer to take out the crossbow from its box and load a bolt into it. she thought. She wondered if the cross she'd carved into the wood bolt would make a difference. He was so drenched in garlic butter, the garlic on the tip probably wouldn't make much difference. The alley was deserted. The man still lurched along and as she got closer, she heard muttered cursing from him. He must have heard her too because he turned. He stood stock still when he saw her and Sandra took advantage of the situation by taking aim and shooting at him. The crossbow bolt hit him square in the chest. He fell to the ground and lay still. ************************************************************* Rude Awakening by Sandra Gray Sandra Gray pushed Nick's doorbell. She'd waited until the sun came up before taking a cab to his apartment, and now stood impatiently before his locked door. "Nick?" she said and rang the bell again. "Let me in." The door clicked. She went inside and took the elevator up. She opened the door on a shuttered room. "What are you doing here?" asked Nick. "I... Didn't expect to see you again." "Why do you have the windows shuttered? It's a beautiful day!" said Sandra, smiling. Nick frowned and looked at the fireplace. She suddenly noticed he had a glass of red liquid in his hand. Sandra stopped in her tracks, confused. "But..." Nick looked at her. "But what?" "But I killed him. You should be... Free!" Nick set his glass on the fireplace mantel, then strode over to her and took her arms. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Your sire," she said. "I shot him with a crossbow bolt-- through the heart." "You did what?!" he said. Sandra was a bit frightened by his intense reaction. "He didn't move. He has to be destroyed. And the legend says that if you can destroy the one who made you, you can go back." Nick released her with a sigh. "That's apparently not true." He walked a few steps away, then turned and looked at her. "I once drove a stake through his heart. He survived." He frowned at her. "When did you... Shoot him... And where?" "In an alley about an hour ago." "Did he see you?" "Well, yes--" "Then you have to get out of Toronto--today! Or he'll come after you when the sun goes down!" "But--" Nick came closer and took hold of her arms again. "I'm serious! You have to leave town as soon as possible. And not come back." Sandra studied his face. "I... I just wanted to help you." Nick smiled slightly at her. "I know," he said softly. "But you shouldn't have taken that kind of risk for me. You put yourself in great danger by doing what you did. Please... You must leave town while it's still light." Sandra looked at him in silence for a moment, then said, "All right. I'll go." "I *will* find a cure someday," said Nick. "I hope so," said Sandra. "I will. Now you'd better go. Call me and let me know you're safe." Sandra smiled and nodded. "Take care of yourself," she said. "You too," he said. He kissed her forehead. Then Sandra left Nick's apartment. ************************************************************* The Morning After... by Diane Echelbarger Schanke took the Regal Constellation's elevator up to the floor Stonetree's room had been in. He walked past the yellow taped door and knocked on the one beyond it. According to the desk clerk, the woman who was staying there had checked in the same day as Stonetree. He was hoping she had seen something. They really needed a break in this case. After a long pause, the door opened and a woman with long, wavy brown hair leaned against the door frame. She was wearing a powder blue, calf-length T-shirt emblazoned with a pink triangle and the phrase "I'm straight, but not narrow." Her face was pale and puffy, and she looked sick. "Yeah?" she asked blearily, peering nearsightedly at him. Ms. Echelbarger?" Schanke said. "I'm Detective Schanke, Metro Homicide? Could you answer a few questions?" "Schanke?" the woman leaned closer, and squinted. "It is you..." "Do I know you?" the detective asked, doubtfully. She did look vaguely familiar, but where... "Uh--no, I--ummm--saw you on television," she mumbled. "Justasec, gotta get m'glasses." She disappeared back into the room. When she returned a minute later, she was wearing wire- framed, thick-lensed glasses and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. And Schanke suddenly knew why she'd looked familiar. She was the woman who'd sung "Snake Charmer" with such verve the night before. "Hey," he said, "you were at the Karaoke thing last night!" "Yeah," she mumbled, leaning against the door frame again. "Look, I've got a killer headache. Don't shout, OK?" Then, as his words sank in, "I--I didn't sing, did I?" He hesitated. The woman was obviously nursing a massive hangover. If she honestly didn't remember, it would be cruel to tell her... She gulped visibly and asked, "Was I really bad?" he thought, and said, with perfect truth, "The crowd loved it." "Oh..." She considered that for a moment. "So, why are you here?" "The hotel tells me you checked in four days ago," Schanke said. "Is that right?" "Yeah. I'm in town for a writer's conference, but I got here early so I'd have some time to sight-see," she replied. "During the first two days you were here, did you ever see the man who had the room next to yours?" he continued. "The murdered one? Stonetree?" she said. "Yeah, umm... Three, four times, I think." She hesitated, wavered, gulped. "That was--kinda strange, y'know?" "Murders usually are," he told her. "No, I mean, before that," she explained. "I mean, I work in Madison. Wisconsin, I mean. So I've met cross-dressers before. But he wasn't--well, it just wasn't right." "Wasn't right? What do you mean?" he pounced. "Well, most of 'em, the ones that go in for full clothes, and not just underwear, act, well, *comfortable* that way." She hesitated. "Like, y'know, Klinger on MASH? He never really looked awkward, just weird?" Schanke nodded. "Or they go the full impersonation route. Makeup, wigs, maybe even falsies." She took a deep breath, and winced. "But this guy, well--I only saw him a few times, in passing. Getting a Coke from the machine, putting out a tray for housekeeping, that sort of thing--but he looked, well, uncomfortable. Like he was doing it because he *had* to, not because he wanted to." She swallowed. "Does that make sense?" "Yeah, yeah, I think I see what you mean," the detective told her. "Did he have any visitors, that you know of?" "No, I--" She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, he had one. That last afternoon, there was a break in the conference, and I came up to my room to get a story I wanted to bring to the next session. There was this woman standing at his door, with a big brown envelope in her hands. But he was alive then, he was talking to her..." "Did he call her by name? Can you describe her?" "Um, yeah," she said, "he did. He called her Lisa. And she called him 'cousin'." She rubbed her forehead. She was short, kinda heavy, with dark hair. Glasses. And, um, her shirt had cats on it." She squinted painfully up at the detective. "But like I said, he was alive when she left--" Schanke thanked the woman, told her she might have to come down to the station to make a formal statement later, and headed to the station as fast as possible. ************************************************************* Nightmare by Sandra Gray "Nick?" came Nat's voice. Nick opened his eyes and focused the blurry image before him into the form of the coroner. She was leaning over him, pressing a cold cloth to his head. Her face was filled with worry. "Nick? Can you hear me?" "Nat?" he said. "What... What happened?" He realized he was lying on his couch. "Nick! Oh God, you're back!" "Nat, what--" He looked beyond her and saw Janette standing at the foot of the couch. "Do you remember anything?" asked Nat. "Lots of things. But... What are you doing here? Janette?" "You don't remember me giving you something--" Nick frowned. A memory of picking up at the morgue some new concoction that Nat had come up with as a substitute for the blood flashed into his mind. "Yeah, at the morgue tonight." "That was three days ago, Nick," said Nat. "What?" He tried to rise, but she held him down. He noticed as she pressed her hands onto his chest that his shirt was wet. "Nat, am I..." he started hopefully. Then realized that he *wasn't* cured as a sudden lust for blood rose in him. He felt his eyes change and his fangs start to descend. "Here, cherie," said Janette, and handed him a bottle. Nick struggled upright. He uncorked the bottle and upended it. Natalie sat down on the couch and watched helplessly. After Nick had drained the bottle, he looked guiltily at Nat. "It's okay, Nick. You must be... Hungry," said Nat. "You're probably lucky you aren't dead," said Janette. Nat bowed her head and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Nick. I don't know what happened." "You almost destroyed him, that's what happened," said Janette. Nick looked at Janette, then at Nat. "It's okay, Nat. I'm fine," he said soothingly. Janette made a choking sound. Nick looked at her. "I'm fine," he repeated firmly. "You don't have to stay." Janette's expression became angry. She picked up her wrap and left. Nick turned his attention back to Nat again. "She was just trying to help. Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry. I don't know what went wrong." "You said I was... Out for three days." "Delirious. Raving. Feverish." Nick wondered, if what Nat said was true, why LaCroix was not there. Surely he would have wanted to know what was wrong. "LaCroix..." "Came. Janette convinced him that I was the only one who could probably help you, since I caused..." Her voice trailed off. Nick felt a stab of guilt for his prior treatment of Janette. He thought of something else. "Work?" he said. "I called them and said you had the flu." Nick looked at the empty bottle and sighed. Natalie felt his head. "Are you sure you feel all right?" Nick smiled weakly at her. "I'm okay, Nat. Although I sure had some vivid...dreams, nightmares." He sat upright. "My car!" "It's in the garage." "Good. I remember someone stole it, but... I guess that was one of the nightmares I had. And... LaCroix had murdered Stonetree, then he posed as an IA captain and tried to drive Janette and I out of town, and... People were getting framed right and left for the murder. I'm glad it was just a dream." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Nick." Nat said again. Nick looked at her. He took her face in his hands and said, "I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt me, Nat. Don't beat yourself up over it. I'm fine. Really." Nat smiled weakly. "Well, I'm glad, but I'm going to find out *exactly* what happened if I can. I don't want this to ever happen again." Nick thought about the vivid dreams he'd had. "Neither do I," he agreed. And for a moment, he thought he heard LaCroix laugh. ************************************************************* Fade To Black by Karin and Jennise (The End of the Episode: Writer's Draft) EPILOGUE FADE IN INT. LARRY MERLIN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT Larry, Dorian, and two Enforcers are sprawled over various bits of furniture. All four vampires are extremely hungover. At first no one moves when the banging sounds from the door. Finally, Dorian glares at one of the Enforcers. The Enforcer just begins to pull himself to his feet when Lisa comes dashing out of the kitchen. LISA I'll get it! She opens the door and less than pleased to find Ron the Enforcer lounging insolently in the doorway. LISA Oh. What are you doing here? RON Just filling Dorian in on the Toronto Situation. LISA What situation? Everything's under control. Besides it's none of your business. RON Any violation of the code is my business. DORIAN Violation?! Lisa, do you know anything about this? LISA (bubbly) Well, yes! And I took care of it too. She ignores Ron's incredulous snort. DORIAN Ron, I want your report. Now. LISA But... Ron stalks by her. RON The situation in Toronto was clean up of your sloppy assistant's mess. LISA Mess! I DID NOT LEAVE A MESS. DON'T LISTEN TO HIM BOSS. I TOOK CARE OF A POTENTIALLY LOUSY SITUATION! RON You left a MESS! DORIAN Enough!!!! Both of you. Sit Down. RON (snarls) I don't take orders from you, Archivist. Dorian's eyes flash a fiery red. DORIAN Don't play games with me, Romulus. You're here to report so report. Lisa. Quietly. What is this about? LISA (swallows hard) Well, sir, I went to this Writer's Conference. In Toronto. This ex-cop was reading from his memoirs. It was one of those tell-all things--and I immediately noticed that he was threatening to 'tell all' about the Community. So, I took care of it. DORIAN You 'took care' of it? LISA (proudly) It was all quite simple, really. Ron begins to chuckle sardonically. Lisa glares at him and continues. LISA Silent. Dead. Or one of you guys, right? I couldn't talk him into 'silent.' So, I gave him 'dead.' But not before I retrieved this. She triumphantly produces the manuscript and slams it on the coffee table with a thud loud enough to make Dorian wince. LISA I even got Larry to hack the police mainframe and neutralize the master. Ron's chuckle turns to a full blown laugh. DORIAN All right, Romulus. RON She killed him all right. Left the body in her hotel room. I moved the body, planted a little evidence and retrieved this from his house. He places a Macintosh Powerbook on the coffee table next to the manuscript. LISA *You* put Janette's choker in Stonetree's hand?! Ron shrugs. DORIAN (frighteningly calm) You involved Janette in this? RON It's not like they could do anything to her. And I made sure that she wouldn't be the only suspect. I-- LISA And none of that was even necessary. I had it all under control. I had an alibi, a clean record, and who would suspect a 5'4" woman of killing someone Stonetree's size? Dorian sits down wearily, and holds his head in his hands. DORIAN Lisa, does this sudden enthusiasm for enforcing the Code have anything to do with the little--promotion--you requested last month? RON (howling with laughter) You're not--seriously-- considering! Making HER an Enforcer! Oh, you ARE in trouble, Archivist! LISA (hopefully) But I'd be good at it! Dorian groans. Ron continues to laugh. On Lisa's crushed expression. FADE TO BLACK ************************************************************* Who's Gonna Drive You Home? by Sharon Himmanen "OK, I just want to talk through this scene with you quickly," Jennie said handing a clipboard to the over-eager production assistant before turning to the fan-turned- actress. "Here's what has to happen..." -----***----- "Action!" Jennie yelled. Schanke, Natalie and Nick walked out of the 96th precinct building. Before splitting up and heading toward their cars they chatted and joked about the recent events. It wasn't a huge explosion, but it was enough to startle the three of them. Schanke threw up his arms just as there was a flash of orange from his car parked over to their left. A huge black cloud of smoke rolled out from beneath it and there was a horrible creaking sound as metal twisted and snapped. Through the haze of smoke Schanke watched in horror as all four wheels popped off and the car dropped to the concrete with a loud crash and whine of metal. Nick, who had grabbed Natalie, pushing her back against the wall to shield her from flying debris, looked up at his partner. "What the--" Before he could continue, there was another sound, this time from Captain Cohen's car parked in her usual spot. There was no quick explosion but a long, low, ominous rumble as the inside of the car filled with white, dense smoke. This continued for several seconds, then stopped. Schanke and Natalie breathed a small sigh of relief only to be cut off when both hoods of Cohen's car popped open just as another small explosion blew out all the windows of her car. "Schanke!" Nick yelled, pushing Natalie toward the front door of the precinct. "Somebody get the bomb squad!" "They blew up my car!" Schanke yelled instead, stepping forward. "Why would somebody blow up my car?" Natalie turned sharply, struggling against Nick. "Get inside, Nat!" he cautioned, taking her by the arm. "But--" Natalie began. The sound of another explosion cut her off. "Oh no! Not *again!*" she exclaimed. Sure enough, this time *her* car was going up, and in a much more spectacular way than the previous two. Someone had placed a fairly large cache of fireworks in and under the car, and a rather impressive and colorful display was now ensuing. Red, gold and green fireballs were spinning and colliding inside the car while blue and white streamers flew out from beneath it. With a final flourish, the inside was filled with a huge red fireball, completely destroying the inside of the car just before blowing off both front doors. They landed on the pavement with a clatter. As the lights and smoke began to fade Natalie shrugged Nick's protective arm off her and stepped toward her car shaking her head. She surveyed the damage for several long moments before turning to Nick. "Do you know what having three cars blow up does to your insurance?" Nick stood quietly surveying the area which looked more like a battle zone than a parking lot at the moment. "Man, oh man," he heard Schanke say, then followed his arm as he pointed to the street. "Isn't that your friend Janette's car?" he asked, indicating the expensive black sports car that was lurching down the street. As it moved it left behind a stream of engine parts, first the muffler, pipes, screws, sparkplugs and so on. A huge array of spare parts littered the street. As the car rocked to a halt at the light on the corner, both the front and back bumpers clattered to the street. A final, single shudder raced through the car as the whole bottom gave way and the engine crashed to the pavement. The trio watched as Janette stumbled from the car, her hair a tangled mess and her coat and handbag askew. Her driver jumped out quickly and gave her a quick hand which she shrugged off violently. Whirling she screamed several amazingly creative epithets at him in a combination of English, French and possibly Spanish, Natalie thought. Her driver, for his part, cowered silently under the onslaught until Janette turned indignantly on her heel and stalked over to Nick. "Car trouble?" Natalie asked Janette, unable to hide her amusement. She nearly flinched under the animosity in Janette's glare. But Janette said nothing to her, turning instead to Nick. "Nicola," she said sharply. "Take me home, please," thought it was clear from her tone of voice that this was anything but a request. "In a minute, Janette," Nick said. "We've got to get to the bottom of this first." "You can do that *after* you take me home," Janette said pointedly. She turned and quickly surveyed the lot. "Ah, I see that relic of yours is still intact. Shall we?" And she started to move off in the direction of Nick's car. "Why is it, Knight," Schanke observed, "that your car, which is illegally parked I might add, is the only one that hasn't blown up?" "How do you know it isn't going to?" Natalie asked. She looked at Nick who suddenly went a little paler as he looked across the lot toward his car. Stepping forward quickly he caught Janette's arm and pulled her back. "Don't," he cautioned. Then he brushed past her and started to move forward quickly, concern very evident on his face. Natalie caught up with him after he'd taken only a few steps forward. "Don't you, either!" she said emphatically, but Nick continued moving forward quickly. "Nick! it's only a car!" she called after him. Nick pulled up short and whirled, about to give her yet another lecture on how his car was a classic when a deafening roar filled the air around them. Nick used all his vampiric speed to again grab Natalie and drag her down and under a nearby car as the night sky became brighter than the day and a pillar of fire where the caddie had once stood rose toward the heavens. After several moments of silence, Natalie glanced up and surveyed the blackened crater that had once been Nick's caddie. "Oh, Nick!" she breathed. He answered her with a small whimper and she turned quickly. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He didn't answer, but just laid there staring out from beneath the car. "Nick! Talk to me!" She shifted so that she could get a closer look at him, and was about to shake him when the clatter of more metal against concrete filled her ears. She looked out and saw hundreds of charred pieces of metal raining down around them. Whoever had done this had literally blown Nick's car to bits. Nick moaned again as one of the hubcaps struck the pavement near them. Then a sizable chunk of the hood hit, then the muffler pipe. Natalie thought she saw part of the radiator fall into one of the potholes on the main thoroughfare of the lot. * Standing in the shadows nearby, Susan Garrett was nearly completely satisfied. She wasn't quite sure how she'd possibly square this with Janette, although that *had* been an accident. It would probably be better for her if Janette never found out that she was in any way involved with this situation. Susan wasn't quite sure who had wired up the cars so elaborately. She only knew that she'd been adjusting the settings on her new watch, one of those really neat, cutting edge ones that allowed you to get e-mail via a wireless signal. It was an anonymous gift that had mysteriously appeared in her hotel room last night while she was in taking her shower. As soon as she'd saved the settings and hit the activation switch Schanke's car had blown up. She'd stopped for a moment to observe, then shrugged and reset the watch after noticing that it didn't work. That's when Cohen's car had blown up. That had been interesting, and Susan wondered whether it was simply a coincidence or not. She she'd changed the settings again and wasn't really surprised at all when Natalie's car had blown up, although, in retrospect, she was sort of sorry about that too. This was, what? Number three? Then she'd change the settings again, hoping that this time she'd get that damned green monstrosity, but nothing had happened. In disappointment, she'd tried again, and *that's* when Janette's car had literally fallen to pieces en route. Now there was only the Caddie left, and Susan figured she'd already blown up four cars. What did one more really matter, especially when there were so many people who would thank her for it if they knew. After several unsuccessful attempts and noting that Nick was clearly worried about his car, she'd finally hit upon the right combination of settings and watched gleefully and with a complete sense of accomplishment as bits and pieces of that horrible car fell to the earth. * Gradually all became quiet again, and Natalie struggled out from beneath the car, carefully looking up at the night sky to make sure nothing was going to come falling down on her head. She looked over to where Janette was obviously restraining herself from using her vampiric strength to throw Schanke, who had pulled her down to the pavement, across the parking lot. "Nicola!" she screamed. "This is all *your* fault!" Natalie turned toward Nick who was slowly crawling out into the open, a dazed look on his face. She felt a wave of sympathy for him as she helped him up. He looked so lost. "Don't worry," she consoled him. "The first time is a bit of a shock, but you get used to it after a while." * * * * * "Cut!" Jennie yelled. "Print that! It was perfect!" ************************************************************* Lurker (18) by Maddog "Whrfff-worf," the tesseract made a blorping noise as it deposited the two Lurkers in Dr. Natalie Lambert's apartment. The smell of freshly steam cleaned carpet assaulted their nostrils. "Hey, why's the tesseract making funny noises?" Maddog asked. "Beats me," Rastro shrugged her shoulders, "Hey Sydney," she said, zooming in on the cat, "do you have anything to say for our viewers?" Sydney had padded into the room when he'd heard the tesseract. He remembered the Lurkers well from their last visit. The smell and taste of the cheesecake was burned into his brain. The fact that he'd done the Technicolor yawn afterward had not registered however. "Meow! Now!" he told his visitors. "Sure Sydney," Maddog responded, knowing that the cat wanted food because that's what cats and fans always wanted. She opened the refrigerator to look for some cat food. "Hey Rastro, guess what I found?" "Mold?" "No, wine coolers!" Maddog pulled three four packs of wine coolers out of the refrigerator. "Berry!" "Meow! Now!" Sydney insisted. "Uh, sorry Sid, I can't find any cat food," the Lurker opened the freezer and peered inside it. "Hot damn! We've hit the mother load!" She pulled out two pints of ice cream, one Bailey's Irish Creme, the other Amaretto. Foraging even further back she found a small cheesecake. She unwrapped the cheesecake and handed it to the cat. "Here you go, enjoy!" "Meow! Wow!" Sydney acknowledged as his pink tongue darted out and began to nibble the cheesecake. Rastro had already popped open a wine cooler and was chugging down its contents. She burped, "Bwap!" "Pig!" "You should talk," Rastro pulled a face. Maddog was already scooping out Bailey's ice cream and shoving it in her mouth. "Hey, Rastro, I've got an idea!" "That would imply you've got a brain, and that can't be right." "Ha, ha, very funny, toss me a cooler," Maddog took the berry wine cooler and emptied it into a very tall mug, she then began scooping Baileys Irish Creme ice cream into it. "See, it's a float." "It looks disgusting!" The Lurker took a tentative sip and then a larger one. "Ahhhh," "Oi, let me try," Rastro took the float and began to drink it. "That's really good." The next hour was spent consuming the wine coolers and ice cream. Sydney was now laying beside the cheesecake and taking a nap. "How many vampires does it take to change a light bulb?" Maddog asked. "I dunno, how many?" "None, vampires can see in the dark!" The two Lurkers began to giggle madly. "I got one," Rastro said, "What do you call two vampires sunbathing?" "I dunno, what?" "Toast!" "Heh, heh, heh, burp..." Rastro looked around drunkenly at the apartment. "You know, that cat's gonna be sick again." "Yeah, but look how happy he is right now! Isn't it our job to make cats happy?" "Sure, guess so, but what can we leave Nat. Should do something since we've drank all her wine coolers." "Hmmm, I've got it," Maddog reached inside her extradimensional pocket and began pulling out posters. Rastro picked up one and nodded. They began stapling them to every surface in the apartment. Ten minutes later they finished taping the last one over the toilet. "There, floor to ceiling Brad Pitt, what more can a woman want?" "Heick, heick," went Sydney. "Uh, oh," went the Lurkers. Sydney had started eating more cheesecake and found himself more than slightly sick. "Think we'd better go," Rastro said, giggling. "We should go visit Nicky." "Oh, Nicky, you're so fine, you eat my vines!" Maddog sang insanely. "I don't want to work, I just want to bang on the Duncan all day," Rastro countered. "Wrong universe!" "Let's go," Rastro thumbed the tesseract and the two Lurkers were elsewhere. ************************************************************* Coup d'Etat (2) by Jennise Hall and Karin Welss "Give me an e-mail flame war any day." Lisa thought as she stared out a the growing crowd of FKFIC-Lers. As nervous as she was, she didn't really think she was THAT nervous. Until a hand touched her shoulder. She screamed. When she landed she found herself facing Laurie Salopek. "Uh... Nevermind. I'll tell you later" "What? Tell me what?" Lisa said, trying desperately to bring her pulse back to normal. "Well," Laurie searched for just the right words. "The guy responsible for our having a third season is here." "Good. I was worried Mr. P. would be late." "Not THAT guy." Laurie said, looking nervously at the closed curtain, as though she could see the audience through the thick material. "What?" Lisa yanked open a hole in the curtain and searched the audience. She didn't seen anyone unusual. *Good heavens,* she thought. *It's not bad enough I've had to get in front of actual cameras and ACT this week. Then they force me to speak in front of the great Mr. P. But NOW...* The rest of her thought disappeared as she saw him. She squeezed the edges of the curtain together and looked back at Laurie. "You know, really should be making this speech, Laurie. Being the first assistant listowner and all." "No way. Look, you'll be fine. Really. Come on--read your speech to me again." Laurie dragged the ever-brave FKFIC-L Assistant Listowner of record into the depths of backstage. * * * "All I'm saying is we should have told him Mr. P. had changed the script." Karin said for the umpteenth time today as she followed Jennise though the crowd. Heading for D-Day. Judgment Day. The wrath of Pops. Jennise suddenly stopped, spun around and said in a harsh whisper. "You're right. Happy!? Or should I grab the microphone out of Lisa's hand and tell the whole crowd that you were right and Pops may just send us into the sun or worse yet FIRE ME as head writer before the season premiere is over!?" "Not necessary." Karin replied, grinning triumphantly. Jennise, you're hysterical. Take a few... What vampires do when they hyperventilate?" "They don't hyperventilate. Wait! That's it. We're vampires. I can get a job writing on ANY show. Just a little whammy and..." "Get into more trouble with Sir." Karin said. The pleasure of hearing her friend admit she was right was beginning to wear off. Sir might not be happy with the changes. In fact it was highly doubtful. Jennise was probably right. She hadn't allowed a single change that didn't improve upon their original script. But that original script had had LaCroix's approval. He highly disapproved of things he hadn't approved. "Do you think he'd notice if we waited a hundred years or so before saying hello?" "Not at all. You ignore him. Maybe while he's dealing with you I can tell him about the script and slip away before he registers what I said." LaCroix glared at several overly enthusiastic list members and they scuttled off. Both young vampires were immediately aware of his frustration as he turned to them. "You led me to believe this was to be a private screening," he remarked coldly, settling in his high-backed throne of a chair. "It is. P..." Jennise's words faded into a light coughing spell. If it had been anyone but LaCroix, Karin might not have had the self-control to hide her laughter. "Sir, this *is* a private screening. The producer thought the fans deserved a thank-you." "Then let's get this over with. We shall discuss notes later." LaCroix allowed himself a small smile at the quaint industry phrase. "Yes, sir." The two vampires said in unison. They turned and fled into the crowd. Jennise sought out Mr. P. and the special crew seating area. She nodded to him and he in turn nodded to someone behind the curtain. She could have sworn she heard a faint yelp. Jennise and Karin took their seats on each side of Mr. P. He turned to them. "You're sure there's no way he'll pull his money?" Jennise grinned confidently at him. The Creator really thought this was still his show. *I shouldn't have been so cooperative.* She thought. "No. He won't pull his money. But he might make some changes in the production staff." She swallowed hard. She and Karin were production staff, after all. * * * The curtain on the stage slid open stopping at the edges of a gargantuan tv screen. Lisa McDavid, Assistant Listowner, stepped gingerly toward center stage. The room fell quiet, mostly out of respect for her obvious nerves. On the stage Lisa scanned the gathered crowd. *My friends. My friends. They're nice people. I'll be o...* She suddenly stopped her anit-neves litany when she saw LaCroix at the back of the room smiling at her. *Why is he smiling?!* Her mind screamed. She turned to dash off the stage and saw Laurie there. She mouthed overexaggeratedly. "Go on." *There's nothing to do but to do it.* "Hi, everyone. Welcome. What a wonderful week it's been!" The crowd erupted into cheers. When she raised her hand to signal for quiet, Lisa was startled at the immediate compliance. Smiling, she began to relax. Just a little. "It's been a long fight for renewal, but we won. Tomorrow night the world will be greeted with the premiere of the third season of Forever Knight. Before we start your special preview I think we should say 'thank you' to the man responsible for our being here--Mr. P." Jennise and Karin both glanced back at LaCroix when Mr. P. stood and accepted his applause. Both wondered how Pops was going to handle the evening. *Unfortunately,* Jennise thought, *I can still see his face clearly once the lights go out. I should have listened to Karin. No way I'll ever tell her that, though.* "And everyone knows our illustrious writers," Lisa continued. She was really getting into the swing of this introduction thing. "THE Daughter, Jennise and Cousin Karin." Both vampires stood and took their bows. On stage Lisa looked to the back of the room. "And..." LaCroix's smile disappeared. Ever so slightly he shook his head "no." "And with that done. Let's get down to business." Even she was surprised at how steady her voice was. "Tonight, you the stars, get to see a sneak preview of the show you helped to make. The season premiere of Forever Knight, Season Three. Your contributions truly helped to make this episode the best so far. If anyone has to go to the bathroom please do so now because there will be no commercials, just little 10 second black spaces. You will see all show and nothing but show. Enjoy." With that the auditorium lights faded down and Lisa, her hand in a classic auto model movement, gestured to the huge screen as she backed off stage. Seconds later she and Laurie tiptoed down the side stairs and took their reserved seats on the front row just in time for the show to BEGIN. ************************************************************* Lurker (10) by Maddog Interview with the Vampire "Oi, Maddog, where'd you get all this stuff," Rastro gestured to the television cameras and audio equipment strewn around the Lurker's Fortress of Solitude. "Uh, I acquired it, don't ask, don't tell. Thought your idea of interviewing all the FK people was an idea whose time had come." "And come again," Rastro responded. "So we're going to pretend to be Entertainment4Night and interview everybody as they go in to the premiere?" "Ooow, we get to be obnoxious press people!" "Nobody will notice the difference in your case. Who are we going to do first?" "Uh, don't you think we should plan out what we're going to ask first?" "Nah, that's for poofs, let's go ask LaCroix some questions!" she shouted as she activated the Tesseract. They found themselves outside the Forever Knight season three premiere, various fans were strolling around before they went inside to watch themselves in the episode. Putting on their Entertainment4Night hats they lugged the camera over to LaCroix. After a quick coin toss, which Rastro lost, Maddog shoved the camera in his face. "Mr. LaCroix, I'm Rastro from Entertainment4Night, I'd like to ask you a few questions." LaCroix stared at the two annoying Lurkers. He considered refusing but the lure of television fame was too much even for him. He gave a short nod and prepared himself to answer stupid questions. "If you were trapped on a desert island with the three original Charlie's Angels, which one would you kill first?" "That's easy, the one with the hair, Chris." "If your sister was a kangaroo would you let Nick date her?" "No, because Nick would be a wombat" Rastro was impressed--this guy was quick. "Ginger or Mary Ann?" LaCroix thought about who he'd rather dine on, then raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. "Gilligan." "Mr. LaCroix, do you prefer boxers or briefs?" "Neither. I always wear leather. G-strings." "Blondes or brunettes?" "Right now I have one of each, but I'm looking for a redhead." He leered at Rastro who took a hasty step back and shoved the microphone at Maddog, who decided it was time to go and interview somebody else. ************************************************************* Code word - Goldfish by Maureen Wynn with a little help from Betsy Vera and Susan Garrett "Hey, Betsy! I see you found the place all right!" "Oh, be quiet! I don't *always* get lost! Besides, I've been on every street in this city *twice*--I now know it better than the natives." Betsy did a double-take. "But what are *you* doing here?! Didn't you know that *he* was going to be here?" "Yes, I knew. I don't have anything to worry about," she said, unconcerned. Betsy stared at Maureen, sure that she had finally lost it. Maureen turned around as she heard someone call her name, and waved and smiled at someone across the lobby, calling out "Hi, Nancy!" Betsy turned to also greet their neighbor, then cringed as she noticed LaCroix standing in the doorway to the theatre, glaring toward them. Betsy tugged on Maureen's sleeve, then tried to nod her head unobtrusively toward the vampire to point him out to Maureen. Maureen frowned at her, saying, "Are you developing a twitch, Betsy? I know the War was stressful, but it's over now." "He's *here*," Betsy hissed through her teeth, trying to point toward the vampire without being obvious about it. Maureen turned to look where Betsy had indicated, and exchanged glances with LaCroix, then smiled and nodded at him. Betsy's jaw dropped when he smiled back at Maureen, with no hint of rage in his face or eyes, then turned to enter the theatre. "Um, Maureen... I thought he threatened to, um, *kill* you? Didn't he?" Betsy said, starting to doubt her own sanity. "Oh, that was *ages* ago. We're over that now." Maureen smiled, remembering... *****Maureen's Flashback***** The angry vampire (surely that's redundant?) towered over the Mercenary, eyes glowing red. "You have angered me for the last time. We will end this *now*, and I will be bothered by you no more!" He bent over her neck, baring his fangs, and was about to bite when she said "Pocket." He stopped, startled. He looked at her face, and said, "*What* did you say?" "I said, 'pocket'. Look in my pocket." "Why would I want to do that?" he snarled, bending over her throat again, and opening his mouth to expose his fangs. When she didn't shrink back, he paused, then pulled back. He sighed/snarled, and said, "Which pocket?" (Narrative hooks get them every time!) "Inside coat pocket." He pulled open her coat roughly (no need to be *gentle* with the wench!), and pulled a set of folded papers out of the pocket. He kept one hand wrapped around her neck as he opened the papers and started to read. As he read, he frowned, and the hand around her neck loosened, then dropped away. She wanted to rub her neck, but she'd be damned if she'd give him the satisfaction. She stood calmly and watched him as he read through the papers. He sighed (without the snarl this time), and looked up from the pages. "How did you get this information?" "It's a cliche to say that I can't reveal my sources, so why don't I just say urkkgh!" He tightened the hand that was once again wrapped around her throat. "I asked you a simple question. A simple answer is all I require. Now, where did this information come from?" She tried to talk, but only a choke came out, and he loosened his grip slightly. This time when she tried to talk, actual words came out. "I have a friend who was there when it happened; she helped me find them all..." ****LaCroix's Flashback (from FK War 2)**** ...Robin pulled a cassette tape from her pocket. Betsy V. took the walkman from her belt, inserted the cassette, then walked toward LaCroix. When LaCroix glared down at Betsy, Natalie cautioned, "Believe me, you want to use the headphones." LaCroix reached out and took the walkman from Betsy with the hand that had been at Janette's neck. LaCroix's eyes widened as he turned on the cassette and listened to the first few moments. He glared down at Natalie. "One never knows about people and their pets," she said, seeing Janette smile at the echo of her words. "We've got a full twenty minutes of that." "Not any more." LaCroix tore the headset off and tossed it down to Betsy V. "This one's mine. Destroy the tape," he ordered. Betsy just grinned at him. "Sorry, I'm a double agent." ***Betsy's Flashback (from FK War 2)*** "...Can't you blackmail him with something? Something you could threaten to publicize?" "Like what? He's never left any witnesses; besides, I can't think of anything he'd be ashamed to have spread around." Betsy got this innocent look on her face. "How about, oh, I'm guessing here, something like, say, a recording of LaCroix talking baby-talk to his pet goldfish?" "A wha----!!" Natalie choked while an incredulous laugh and a piece of powdered-sugar doughnut tried to use her windpipe at the same time. After a few minutes, she had recovered enough to ask as she reached for some Kleenex to wipe her eyes, "Where are you going to find something like that, even if it exists?" "It's on Ivy's tapes. I was listening to them when she surprised me in LaCroix's apartment building." "Hold it. These tapes are *real*? You're not just making this up?" Betsy feigned indignation. "Do I look like the type of person who would invent something like that? The kind who could come up with dialogue like, `And `ow is daddy's favowite fishy today? Umm? Is `oo hungwy? Oo, yes, I can tell `oo is vewy hungwy. Look! Daddy bought Spiky's vewy favowite fishy food. Nothing but the best for Spiky-wiky, awen't you my Spiky- wiky?' By now, Natalie was laughing so hard she was in danger of falling off her chair. Finally, after a long while, she got herself almost under control. "Spiky-wiky?" "That's what he said." ***End Betsy's Flashback*** LaCroix stared at Nick, who shrugged, "I told you your place was bugged when I apologized." Nick took a step toward LaCroix, who raised a hand to Janette's throat again. "They've got copies of the tape," said Nick. "Dozens of copies. And there's a loud-speaker system right here. Maybe we should just hook it up--" "No!" said LaCroix quickly. "There's no need... No need to act hastily." He withdrew his hand from Janette's neck, then released her hands and smoothed down the sleeve of her dress. In response, she smacked him in the shoulder, then stalked her way past Nick, to join her Ravenettes. "I'm certain we can come to terms," finished LaCroix, holding out his palms. ****End LaCroix's Flashback**** He glared at the Mercenary he had in his grip. "I thought I *finally* had taken care of that particular problem, and now I find it returning to roost in my nest yet again." He shook himself slightly; thinking about pets had got him talking in animal metaphors. "It won't *be* a problem... If you let me go. All those people in there," indicating the pages that LaCroix still held, "no longer have a tape of you, um, *talking* to Spike. Each tape has been replace with a tape of Elton John singing "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me." The real tapes are ready to be sent to those radio stations listed there." LaCroix glanced again at the pages he held. "There are an awful lot of them, aren't there? The list of radio stations alone takes up two pages. Single spaced." The pages he held started to crumple in his hand, as it slowly closed into a fist. Maureen quickly added, "The tapes will only be sent to the radio stations if I don't check in at regular intervals. So long as I'm alive, your secret is safe." He suddenly tightened his grip, and Maureen tried to gasp as the flow of air was cut off. His eyes glowing again, he leaned down to the helpless mercenary. "I will *not* be blackmailed! You will tell me where to find the tapes..." he said, staring mesmerically into her eyes, which started to glaze over. "Tell me!" "I... Don't... Know..." she managed to gasp out. "What!?" She tried to speak again, but not enough air was getting through. When LaCroix realized what the problem was, he kindly loosened his grip again. "I gave the tapes to my lawyer to hide, and he passed them on to someone else." She panted for a moment, then added, "They could be in Tibet now, for all I know!" LaCroix flinched slightly, thinking of Tibet. He released her throat again (this was getting to be a habit!), and stepped back, thinking hard. Maureen watched him, waiting to see which way the cat would jump (so to speak). "Perhaps I should get the information from your *friend*..." LaCroix suggested slyly. "The one who helped you find the tapes?" Maureen laughed, albeit a little hoarsely. "She doesn't even know *who* my lawyer is! You're barking up the wrong tree, Lucien!" Maureen shook herself slightly. They stared at each other for a moment, then Maureen reached out her hand. LaCroix stared at it, astonished, then back up at the woman's face. "We seem to have an equal advantage... Or perhaps, disadvantage, here. Why don't we call a truce, or at least a cease-fire?" she suggested. "Can't we shake on it?" The vampire was taken aback. *No one* ever offered to shake hands with him! He chuckled, suddenly amused at the temerity of the mortal. He decided to take the little Mercenary up on her offer, and took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he bent down to kiss the back of it, in a gesture of courtliness that had been out of date since before this one's grandmother had been born. He felt her start of surprise, and smiled, pleased that he had regained the advantage in their battle of wills. "We are agreed, then..." *****End Maureen's Flashback***** The two women started to move toward the entrance of the theatre. Maureen, thinking of the vampire's hot glare, that Betsy didn't seem to realize yet had been directed at her, said, "You know, Betsy, you've been awfully nervous lately. Maybe you should consider a vacation. I can recommend a good travel agent. You like mountains, don't you...?" ************************************************************* Lurker (12) by Maddog (more interviews before the premiere) The Lurkers lugged the camera over to Nat, managing to smack it around quite a bit since neither of them had been eating their Wheaties. Maddog took the microphone and shoved it at the coroner who managed to look very calm about the intrusion. "Maddog here for Entertainment4Night. We're interviewing Dr. Natalie Lambert, coroner and designated intelligent presence. Dr. Lambert, mind if we ask you a few questions?" "Go ahead," Natalie smiled at the camera. "If you were going to be stranded on a desert island for a year would you take a man or a truck filled with chocolate?" "Godiva?" "Any kind you want." "The chocolate." "Dr. Lambert, Starsky or Hutch?" "Hutch, of course." "Did you ever want to kill Tweety bird, have him stuffed and set above your fire place?" asked Maddog, Rastro zooming in for a close up. "Doesn't everyone?" "And our last question, before we move on to another victim, Natalie, when you fart at night, do you lift the covers to let the smell out?" Dr. Lambert considered the question carefully then noticed that Detective Knight, possible future mate was staring at her. "I never fart under the covers. Nope, nope, not me." "Yeah, right," Maddog shook her head, "So much for truth in reporting. Detective Knight, do--" "Oi, I get to interview Nick!" Rastro objected, smacking her fellow Lurker in the head with the camera. ************************************************************* Lurker (11) by Maddog (more interviews outside the premiere) "Ooo viewers, look who we just spied..." Maddog's eyes lit up. "My turn!" Rastro grabbed the mike from the drooling Madpuppy. Who whined in typical form, "No fair! You got LaCroix!" "Oh alright," said the Australian, relinquishing the mike and taking the camera. She never could stand Maddog's whining. She zoomed in on their next victim. "Detective Knight, I'm Maddog from Entertainment4Night. Would you mind answering a few questions?" Nick looked askance at the rather odd-looking woman who'd just been speaking to Natalie and her equally strange sidekick who didn't seem to know how to work the camera. She was pointing it at his face. Maddog hit Rastro who hastily refocussed. Nick considered refusing but he'd seen the pair earlier interviewing LaCroix, and he wondered what the vampire had told them. "Uh, sure." "Mr. Knight, are you now or have you ever worn leiderhosen and if so, did you like it?" What LaCroix told them? "Um no, I can't say that I have. They're really not my style." He realized this sounded a bit condescending and hastily added, "Though I'm sure they'd be very comfortable and I definitely respect men who choose to wear them.." LaCroix in particular, who had a strange fondness for the odd garments. Nick started going red as he realized Natalie was staring at him. "If you were a tub of Ben and Jerry's, what flavor would you be?" "Chocolate chip cookie dough." Nat's favorite. "One final question, Detective Knight, if you were a woman would you wear a one piece or a two piece bathing suit?" Maddog leaned forward to hear the answer. It said so much about a man's character. "A two piece thong, black," Nick replied, smiling into the camera. He knew that was the safest answer to give. "Uh, interesting, let's move on Rastro," The two Lurkers moved into the crowd. "We need to go find some chocolate. I'm feeling..." "Unfulfilled?" "Yeah, that's it, unfulfilled." ************************************************************* Entering the Fray by Judith Freudenthal Judith Freudenthal slipped into her seat glad that she hadn't missed the beginning. She couldn't wait to see herself on the screen. She also couldn't wait to see the scene she'd written. Unfortunately she'd have to wait til later for that one. This would show all those who doubted her when she said she wanted to be a writer. From the back of the room she carefully looked around noting who was here and where they were. She almost hadn't made it due to several problems. First of all she had real trouble convincing her parents that the message/invitation was real. Then came the transportation and money problems. Once she had solved those the rest was easy. She chose to keep her affiliation to herself for the moment. It would become clear to all when the time had come. She looked forward to the adventure ahead of her. She hoped that she wouldn't return home with any new "allergies." Her diet was sometimes bad enough without having any new problems added. She was fairly confident that she would be protected by her friends. She eagerly watched the premiere. By coming here she had made a friend or two quite jealous. Some couldn't believe that she'd run off to do this. Others thought it was great and wanted to hear all about it upon her return. She was careful to stay out of sight of LaCroix. She did not want to have anything to do with him if she could avoid it. She was not a Cousin and frankly he gave her the creeps. He seemed to get too much delight out of torturing Nick and his friends. She was mad at him for what he had done to Nick and Nat. ************************************************************* Lurker 17 by Maddog "Good Evening, this is Rastro of Entertainment4Night. We're here at the Forever Knight premiere interviewing people. You can smell the excitement in the air!" "That's not excitement, you twit, that's cabbage farts!" Maddog informed her fellow Lurker. She shifted the camera on her shoulder. It was getting heavy. "Can I do the next interview?" "Oh, all right," Rastro traded her equipment for Maddog's. "Hey, there's a new victim!" Maddog exclaimed as she bounced over to the man walking into the theatre. "Detective Schanke, Detective Schanke, we'd like to interview you." "Of course," Don Schanke mugged for the camera, then his nose wrinkled, "Who's been eating cabbage?" "Rastro," Maddog informed him. "Hey, you had some too!" Rastro protested. "Never mind that. Detective Schanke, how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?" "Three," Schanke remembered his commercials well. "How do you eat an Oreo cookie?" "I twist the two cookie parts in opposite directions leaving only one with the creme filling still on it. I then lick the creme filling off with my tongue until its totally gone. Then I put the two cookie parts back together and dip it in milk, then I eat them." "Hmmm," Maddog contemplated the answer for a moment. "What do you do if the creme filling doesn't stay just on one cookie?" "I put the whole thing back together and gulp it down in one bite. No use wasting milk on an oreo that's not aesthetically pleasing," Schanke explained. "Would you say that food is important to you?" Maddog asked as Rastro zoomed the camera in to Schanke's expanding gut. "Can you think of anything more important?" Schanke looked pointedly at the chocolate ice-cream stains on Maddog's shirt. "Uh, not really. King Dongs or Ho-Hos?" "Ho-Hos." "Have you ever clipped your toe nails with your teeth?" "Only when nobody's looking." "What's your favorite ABBA song?" "Mamma Mia." "One last question. If your partner, Detective Knight was a pie, what flavor would he be?" "Oh, he wouldn't be a dessert pie, he'd be a blood pie. You know, one of those black pudding things." He leaned closer to Maddog and whispered conspiratorially, "You know, he's really a He thinks I don't know. But why else would I eat all that garlic?" Maddog coughed and spluttered as the garlic breath washed over her. "I thought you just liked souvlaki." "I do. But now I have an excuse--Myra can't complain if I'm protecting myself from the Evil Undead." He winked at the Lurkers and headed for the hot dog stand, humming "Mamma Mia." Maddog turned to Rastro. "He's a lot smarter than Nick." Her fellow Lurker nodded and refocussed the camera. "Well, there you go folks," Maddog finished. "Those who serve and protect are looking out for you tonight." "Are we done now?" whined Rastro as she set the camera on the ground. "I'm hungry." "Nearly. There's someone important we haven't spoken to yet. And we can raid the fridge at the same time." Maddog said as she thumbed the tesseract. ************************************************************* Curtain Rises by Tara LJC O'Shea As the familiar strains of the Forever Knight theme began to fill the auditorium, and titles flashes on the screen, LaCroix approached Janette, his voice low. "Where are your ravens? I only count a few." "They are around and about," Janette shrugged. "Some of them declined your invitation." "It was not my invitation, but I am hurt nonetheless. What about..." he groped for a name, and not finding it, dismissed the need for it with a flick of his wrists, "the cocky one, with the trench coat who is always smoking those vile cigarettes." "Why, I have no idea who you are talking about, cher." Janette kept her eyes on the screen, ignoring LaCroix, who now had an idea in his teeth and would not let it go until he had devoured it. "I think you do, she was one of your first, surely you do keep track. She had black hair the first time, brown the second." "Not purple?" "No, her I remember." "Ah, you must mean Tara, then. She's not here, didn't you notice? Her name wasn't in the programme book. Frankly, I don't think she trusts you, and meant to put herself out of harm's way. Or perhaps she thinks to avoid the war this time, I don't know. She does what she does, and hardly consults me." "Where is she again?" "I have no idea why you care, but if you must know, she's in New Mexico." "Thank you my dear. As always, you are most helpful." Janette continued to ignore him, and he slipped away as act one started. ************************************************************* Lurker (13) by Maddog "We're here at the Forever Knight premiere. The excitement just crackles in the air. Ooops, sorry, that's just Rastro eating some Cheetos. Let's interview one of the attendees," Maddog shoves the microphone in a passing woman's face and Rastro points the camera at her. "Hi there, we're from Entertainment4Night, and we'd like to get the opinion of some of the attendees tonight. Mind answering a few questions?" "Only if you hand me some of those Cheetos," Maddog hands her the bag, "And what's your name?" "Dianne la Mercenaire, Instigator and War Recruiter Extraordinaire!" "An instigator, I see, well Ms. Mercenaire, if you could be the shape of any breakfast cereal, what would you be?" "A rice chex." "Red or green M&M's?" Oh green, _definitely_! You _know_ what they say about green M&Ms..." the woman responded with a knowing smirk. "Since you are an instigator would you instigate Bobby and Cindy Brady leaving the Bunch and forming their own grunge rock band in Seattle called Generation Brady?" "Only if it would kill the show for good... _And_ I didn't have to listen to them." "If you committed some horrendous crime and were on the lam and had to pick a new name to disguise your true identity, what would it be?" "Dianne la Mercenaire" Maddog gulped. "Paper or plastic?" Dianne smiled wickedly, "I'll never tell." "And finally, Ms. Mercenaire, if you could throw a pie in Mr. LaCroix's face, what flavor would it be?" "Uh, that's Ms. _la_ Mercenaire to you. And the answer is rhubarb. I just like saying "rhubarb." I try to do it as often as possible." "And there you have it folks, how the ordinary person on the street thinks." Maddog smiled and turned off the microphone. The woman she'd been interviewing waved and disappeared into the crowd. "Oi, she took my Cheetos!" Rastro yelled. ************************************************************* Lurker 15 by Maddog "Hey, Rastro, there she is, boy, does that woman know how to dress or what," Maddog stared at Janette as she stepped out of a black limo. Janette was in a very daring black lace dress. The Lurker envied her dress sense, she herself was lucky if her socks matched. "Yeah, and it's my turn to interview. You carry the camera," the woman dumped the camera on Maddog and strolled over to the vampire. "Excuse me, I'm Rastro for Entertainment4Knight, I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind." Janette looked the two Lurkers up and down quickly. "Only if I can ask you one first?" "Sure." "Does your mother know you dress like that?" Janette wondered who in their right minds would walk around with baseball caps that had their bills flipped up. Rastro considered for the question for a moment, "No." "I thought not, you may ask your questions now." "Janette, Victoria's Secret or Fredricks of Hollywood?" "It doesn't matter as long as its silk." "Matching underwear and bra?" "Always." "Shaken or stirred?" "Shaken, of course. What a ridiculous question." "When you swab tonsils with Nick, can you tell that he drinks cow?" "No comment," Janette shook her head. "And finally, if you were jumping about on Nick's bed, throwing his underwear around, what would you sing?" Janette glared at the Lurkers through narrowed eyes. Throwing Nick's underwear about was secret fantasy of hers, but not one she would ever admit too unless very, very drunk. "My Favorite Things..." she enunciated slowly, "but I'd change the words." She swished off into the crowd, wondering who had blabbed. "Well there you have it, folks. What female vampires think. This is Rastro with Entertainment4Knight." ************************************************************* Curtain Rises (2) by Tara LJC O'Shea Janette slipped out of the auditorium during act one, and with a quick glance behind her to make sure her leave-taking hadn't been marked, she removed a cellphone from her little beaded handbag, and dialed quickly. * * * Alone in her apartment, LJC snatched the phone out of it's cradle on the first ring. "Hallo?" "C'est moi," Janette whispered, and Tara's eyes widened. She recovered herself quickly, however, and sipped from a glass of ice tea she had set on the counter, and forgotten. All the ice had melted, and so it was a bit watered down, but in truth, she didn't notice. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure?" "LaCroix was asking after you." "My, my. Isn't this a night for surprises? Imagine that. Well. I thought I might wait here and watch it on the telly like any normal person." "What a liar you are. You left your names, any of them, off the programme book, I noticed." "Oh, I was in it. I was there, and once it was in the can, I got as far away from Toronto as I could." "Whatever did you do?" Janette purred, curious. "Nothing out of the ordinary, for me anyway. I said my lines, I hit my marks, and I didn't bump into the furniture. But somehow, I don't think *oncle* will be pleased." "Knowing you, no, I do not think he will be. It's your neck." "How kind of you to remind me. Now then, you must be missing the show, do go back in, and please, don't tell me anything that might ruin it for me, I detest spoilers." Tara hung up the phone, chewing on a fingernail lost in thought. Definitely a night for surprises. ************************************************************* Lurker (16) by Maddog "This is Maddog and Rastro with Entertainment4night and we're here in the trash... Lovely apartment of LJC. She's not attending the Forever Knight premiere but since travel through the tesseract is free we decided to visit her. Good to see you, LJC." "And good to see you Lurkers, though its hard to when you keep standing in the shadows." Rastro panned the camera around the apartment wondering what tapes they should try and steal. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions." "Go ahead," LJC agreed, taking a long draw on her cigarette. "When you blow your nose in a Kleenex, do you look at it afterwards?" Maddog asked as Rastro did an extreme close up of LJC's nose hair. "Yes." "If you were a man would you wear boxers or briefs?" "Boxers, I like freedom of movement." "How much wood could a wood chuck chuck, if a wood chuck could chuck wood?" "I suppose that depends. Are we talking toothpicks here, or redwoods? Gourmet wood, or just anything that comes along?" "Uh, never mind," Maddog mumbled, "When you eat a chocolate bunny, which part do you bite off first?" "The ears, then the head, then maybe a foot. But the head is definitely the place to start," LJC informed the Lurkers. "If you had a chocolate LaCroix, which part would you bite off first?" "Oh dear... I'd be tempted to see if I could just swallow him whole I think, for fear that if I bit off his head three more would grow. Or is that seven?" "Can't say for sure, one last question. So, LJC, have you ever been in a men's bathroom and if so, why were you there?" "Well, Kelly left her camera with Kate and Morn, who had to drive Kip to the airport, and foolishly left the camera with me, Colleen, and some chick named Laurie... Actually, I never went in, I only held my hat over the sign on the door so no one would disturb Laurie while she photographed urinals." "I'm sure it was an educational experience," Maddog stated as she closed the interview. Rastro panned around the apartment one more time, gently nudging some tapes into the multidimensional bag she was carrying, then settled the camera on Maddog who concluded their interview. "And there you have it folks, the world according to LJC. This is Maddog and Rastro for Entertainment4night." ************************************************************* Going on Alert (2) by Dirk Giles Dirk thumbed the clear button and speed-dialed 4, a number he had programmed just for this eventuality. The phone was answered almost immediately. "42nd ECS Ravens, unsecure line, Captain Pearson speaking." Dirk smiled. "Hack" Pearson wasn't the one he needed to speak with, but he transfer him to the right party without asking questions. "Hey Hack, Socrates here. Is Buddha available?" "Well, party on dude! Yep, he's back in the vault. I'll transfer you." The connection started to buzz a little as the line ran through the EM scramblers. After a few clicks, the line cleared. "Captain McElroy here." "Buddha, this is Socrates." "Hey Socrates. What can I do for you?" "You guys are participating in Maple Flag, right?" "That's right. As a matter of fact, we'll be flying missions up there for the next month or so." *Perfect,* thought Dirk. "Hey Buddha, remember that scenario I sketched out for you a few weeks back? It's time to put it into action." "Sure thing," Buddha replied. "Just give me a zero hour and we'll do our thing. We're Ravens, after all, and have to stick together." "Just finalize the plan and wait for my go. It probably won't be too long now." Dirk stressed. "I'll get back to you soon. Oh, by the way, I'll contact you from Toronto." "Don't you think going there will be dangerous?" Buddha asked. "I hear these people can be pretty unpredictable." "We"ve seen the Intel reports on these *wars*, remember? I'll be ok. Catch you later," Dirk said and hung up. Buddha hung up his phone, and cleared the scrambler. After grabbing a new ECM mission planning template, he called over one of the 42nd Intel specialists. "Get me the positions and frequencies for all Canadian air traffic control radars in a 200 mile radius around Toronto. And check the status of the local power relay stations as well. Oh, this is classified Top Secret." ************************************************************* Planes in the Sky by Dirk Giles "One final call before heading out", Dirk said to himself after talking with Buddha at the squadron. He dialed the hangar at the local airport. "Yes", a voice answered. "10 minutes", Dirk said and hung up. "It's a good thing I'm so close to the field!" After donning his suit, he grabbed his bag and jumped in his car and drove quickly to the hangar. The sound of aircraft engines already filled the air in the vicinity of the hangar. Inside, ready for taxiing, was a SR-71, missing only a pilot to fly her. The crew chief handed him his helmet as he approached. "She's leaking, but full. We did a full inspection yesterday with no problems to report..." "Great," Dirk said, "disconnect the aux. power unit. I'm leaving immediately." He then climbed the ladder into the cockpit and strapped in. "Tower, Raven 1 ready for immediate taxi and take-off." "Roger Raven 1. You are cleared to taxi to runway 35. Your flight plan has been approved." Dirk taxied the old but sleek black jet to the runway. After receiving take-off clearance he lit the afterburners and took off, turning north on departure. He climbed to -------- and set speed at Mach ----- ------- (sorry, can't tell you, I'd have to kill you :) ). *At this speed I ought to make it there before the first half of the show is over*, Dirk thought, adjusting the controls. *First a radio call.* He set the frequency to the 42nd's. "Raven base, this is Raven 1. Execute phase 1." "Roger Raven 1. I'll notify the Maple Ravens now." a voice said. "Raven base out." *They should be in place by the time I arrive at the premiere*, Dirk thought. After crossing in Canadian airspace Dirk received clearance to land at Toronto. "I hope they fixed the brakes..." he said, touching down on the runway. Dirk taxied the Blackbird to the assigned parking spot and cut the engines. After securing the plane, he removed his pressure suit to reveal his tuxedo, in reasonable shape after being pressurized for the flight. Thankfully Janette had arranged to have a limo waiting to take him to the premiere. *One of the great things about working for Janette is that you always travel in style,* Dirk thought as the limo sped off. After a short drive they arrived at the auditorium. Flashing his gold card to the man, uh, to the *vampire* guarding the door, he went inside and found an empty seat inside the nearly full room. ************************************************************* An Evening Out by Abby and Perri We walked through the maple doors, as late as always. It was beautiful, I thought to myself. But then again, I had thought everything was beautiful that night. Perri had told me during the drive up that I was hopeless, but I didn't care. My shadow danced in front of me as we entered the building. The halogen street light didn't seem to want to let me go, but I insisted. For some reason when I saw my shadow grow I had the strangest feeling of vu ja de--I had never been here before, and I didn't know what I'll be doing. Perri was the only reason why I had driven all the way to the premiere. It was all so crazy--ditching school, and more importantly work--wasn't something I normally did... Well except for English lecture, but that didn't count. "Ok, now remember, be careful," Perri admonished me as we made our way to the screening room. "This place is probably crawling with Cousins." "I know... Mommy," I said with a sly grin. "Would you quit calling me that! I'm gonna have to go back in my files and kill whoever started calling me that." Perri stormed off ahead to open the door for me. "Thanks... M--" Flames from Perri's eyes stopped that wisecrack. "Uhh, thanks much.... Yeah, much, Perri." "That's better. Go on, the show's already started." I entered the darkened room. There was only enough light to let me find a space against the wall. Perri closed the door as quietly as possible. As it snapped shut she waved at me to tell me she was off to find a seat, and some of her friends. I nodded in recognition. ******************* Perri wandered through the crowd, spotting a familiar face here and there. She waved at Amy Toole, caught Susan Garett's eye and pointed at the cowboy boots she was wearing, mouthing, "No ice." Susan laughed. She looked for Dawn Steele and LJC, but couldn't find them. Instead, she pulled up a seat next to Jenny and Amy. "Hi Roomies." ******************* "Dang, why aren't these places more bloody accessible?!?" I mumbled to myself in the back of the room. The screen had brightened enough for me to see that the room was lowered everywhere but where I was sitting. If I had tried to sit with Perri I would have crashed into the floor--not a good first impression. I resigned myself to being the odd woman out and curled up to enjoy the show. At least I was above all the heads... It took me a few minutes to realize that someone was sitting next to me. I didn't want to look, but then I also didn't want to eat the nachos from Taco Bell. I knew I needed a little less curiosity, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. I looked over but all I could see in the darkness was short white-blonde hair. Hadn't his mother ever told him that wearing black at night was dangerous? I asked myself. Then recognition hit me like a ton of bricks. "All alone? What happened to your friend?" LaCroix asked, smirking. "Uh, yeah... Uh, nothing..." was all I could manage to get out. LaCroix seemed amused at my confusion. Breathing in deeply, I started again. "We had agreed ahead of time that she'd sit with some other friends." "Oh, of course," he smiled again. "But why are you with her? That... Knightie?" LaCroix shuddered when he said that one. I was gaining confidence. Not a good thing to do around LaCroix, I knew, but I couldn't help it. "Because, she's my friend... And because I'm a Knightie too." "That I knew. You're too innocently foolish to be anything but a Knightie. But, remember, people change." "I don't." "You will," he said as he walked away. "Never." ************************************************************* Big Brother is Watching YOU! By Ron the Enforcer LaCroix's eyes were beginning to glow red with his anger. How *dare* they do this! He fumed. He noticed his Cousins, most particularly Karin and Jennise, were backing away from him. He would deal with them *later*. He noticed Mr. P. was looking like he was enjoying the show. A light scan of the mortal's mind revealed that the producer was *not* surprised by anything he was seeing. However, his telepathy also revealed that Mr. P. had a lot of help in getting the show he wanted made. And all of his helpers were in the audience watching the show with him. The entire premier episode had been written and performed by the *fans*. All of those women (and a few men) had put aside their petty factional difference to foil him! He *felt* a familiar presence and glanced across the stage. In the flickering light created by the images on the large screen he saw a familiar figure clad in a black suit over which he had on a long black leather trench coat, a black Stetson, and mirrored aviator shades. The man's sharp chiseled features were unmistakable... Romulus. The Enforcer gave LaCroix a wry smile and Sent: Before LaCroix could respond, the Enforcer was gone. Only one pair of blue eyes caught his escape via the air vents that lay above them on the roof of the auditorium. Nick Knight smiled to himself. He knew The Enforcer was full of surprises but he didn't know the man had the ability to turn himself into mist... ************************************************************* Racing to the Premiere (or But for the Love of Cheesecake, There Go I) by Gaylin "Jasmine" Walli and Tami LaFrank "I can't believe I did this for a mocha chocolate cheesecake," muttered Tami as she gripped the dashboard of the truck tightly. A quick glance down confirmed the cheesecake in question was still lodged between her feet on the floor. "Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked looking back up. She issued a quiet gasp as they narrowly missed the bumper of the taxi they had been passing. A low chuckle let Tami know the gasp hadn't gone unnoticed. "Relax. This is me, remember? The Ravenette with the infallible direction sense." To be honest, Jasmine's direction sense was uncanny. Drop her alone in the middle of the an unfamiliar city and she had no problem finding locations that would have stymied even local cab drivers. Toronto was no exception. Noticing Tami's white-knuckled grip, she asked politely, "Is my driving bothering you?" "Well, it *is* a little, uhm, fast." Tami almost retightened her grip as they careened around a curve. "Ah, but I'm in complete control," she said, one hand gesturing while the other remained firmly fixed on the wheel. "That's the key, you know. Did I tell you I learned from my mother?" Jasmine's last word was punctuated with a blast of the horn as the truck swerved around a delivery van unloading in the middle of the street." Tami nervously chuckled, "Oh really? What was she, a race car driver?" The sarcasm would have been more obvious if she hadn't squeaked as she caught a glimpse of the speedometer. "Actually, yes. She taught me everything she knew. There's a funny story my mom tells--" Leaning hard, the truck rounded another corner. Jasmine's right arm slammed Tami back into her seat as they made the turn. "Sorry. Reflex. I'm used to riding with dogs in the truck. Now what was I saying?" And she proceeded to tell the story of the time her mother was drag racing a '57 Chevy in front of church when her engine threw a rod and narrowly missed the minister who was, at the time, shaking hands with exiting parishioners. Tami barely heard her. She was paying more attention to the rapidly approaching octagonal red sign. Panicked, she fumbled a loud, "Mmmph rxyty." "What?" "STOP SIGN!" she yelled and then watched with horror as they approached and passed said stop sign. Her hands flew to her face as she braced for impact. The squeal of tires made her heart plummet and she was positive that the rapid deceleration of the truck would end with their death. It felt like they were spinning wildly out of control and so it came as a complete surprise when the truck stopped of it's own accord and not because they had been hit. "Tami?" Jasmine's hand rested gently on her shoulder. "Tami, we're there. I told you I knew where we were going. You just distracted me for a minute. You can look again." She risked a peek from between her fingers and discovered that the truck was now through the near-fatal intersection, facing the opposite direction, and parked conveniently in front of the building where the premiere was being held. Two rather shocked doormen were standing on the curb next to Tami's window, obviously debating what to do next. Tami threw open the door and, grabbing the rest of the cheesecake (it would help settle her stomach) kissed the ground after she exited the truck. "Come on," she said, regaining her composure, "let's go inside. At least we got here fast enough to get good seats. Your driving ability is quite impressive. Maybe I'll let *you* teach my daughter, Jessica, to drive in 10 years. It'll help keep the boys off- balance," Tami said, chuckling. Jasmine stuck out her tongue in mock annoyance and tossed the keys to the nearest doorman. "Take care of my baby." She smirked. "It's delicate." And with that, the two women went inside. ************************************************************* Commercials by Dirk Giles The screen faded to black, prompting many of the audience to start to grumble. "Hey, that can't be all!", yelled someone from the back. "I've haven't seen my part yet!", another shouted. A caption suddenly appeared on the screen: "A Representative Commercial" The scene opened up on a trio of scantily clad ladies lounging around a fireplace on thick bear-skin rugs. Next to each woman was a phone. "We're all alone, and need you bad!", said one, as she picked up the phone. "Call us; we're so lonely." A phone number started flashing at the bottom of the screen: 1-900-FOR-LOVE. JP stood up quickly. "What is this crap? I thought we were going to see a representation of the third season sponsors!" he shouted at one of his marketing assistants. "Uh, this is a good sample of the commercials that will be showing", the assistant replied, looking slightly embarrassed. "Besides, it's a well known fact that most FK viewers are used to seeing scantily clad women lounging around in lingerie..., um, we'll skip the other two." Signaling to the projectionist to skip the rest of the commercials, the assistant sat down, averting his eyes from JP's withering gaze. After a short delay, the episode started up again... ************************************************************* Song and Dance by Andria M. Marcoux Utter and complete silence fell over the theater. Andria smiled to herself in the darkness. It had been so easy, the filming was such chaos that no one had blinked twice at a musical number. And Diane was right, the lyrics were a perfect fit... But, she had to wonder: was the chorus line of uniforms too much? Nahh. She scrunched further down in her seat, wondering what other surprises had made the final cut... ************************************************************* Lurker (9) by Laurie Dudik Maddog opened the Twizzler package and started gnawing on one. "Munch, munch," they were slightly stale so perfect for chewing on for a long premiere. Rastro reached over and grabbed one and started munching. They munched for several minutes, their chewing getting ever louder for after all, Twizzlers is plastic. The viewer in front of them turned around and glared at them. It was LaCroix. The Lurkers hadn't paid any attention to who they were sitting behind, though they'd noticed people trying to slink away from whoever it was. "Cease that annoying noise," LaCroix whispered menacingly. Then he noticed who was sitting behind him. "Are you still following me, Lurkers?" Threat coated his voice like nonpareils on a hot stick. He still smelled slightly of Hai Karate. "Uh, no, I'm following her," Maddog pointed to Rastro. "And I'm following her," Rastro pointed to Maddog. "Therefore, neither of us are following you, we're just sort of existing around you. Wanna Twizzler?" "Be quiet and go back to lurking silently," LaCroix snatched the bag of Twizzlers before either of the Lurker's could even react. "Wanna JuJu Bee?" Maddog asked, offering some sickly sweet confection to Rastro. Who took the candy and started gnawing on it. "Munch, Munch." "Munch, sluch, crap," Rastro slurred. The black JuJu Bee had stuck to a molar. After trying to dislodge it with her tongue for a while she resorted to the old finger in the mouth method. A particularly hard dig loosened it from the tooth and sent it flying from her mouth into the hair of the person in front of her. Maddog who had saw the event in slow motion. The wet JuJu Bee taking flight from her fellow Lurker's mouth, a spit trail following it. Lit in the glow of the screening it made a perfect arc right into the back of LaCroix's head. She grabbed the Tesseract and was just about to get them out of there when she decided seeing the look on LaCroix's face might be worth dying for. LaCroix slowly, ever so slowly, turned around in his seat. Eyes glowing golden he glared at the two women who both managed a sickly sort of smile as they waved. "Sorry 'bout that," Rastro apologized. Deciding that killing them in the middle of a crowded auditorium was probably a bad idea, LaCroix came up with another one. "You Lurker's can follow anybody around, correct." "Yeah, sure, its in our by-laws." Leaning forward the vampire whispered, "If you want to continue your pathetic mortal existence, I want you to go find Nicholas and annoy him as much as you've been annoying me. Understood?" Nodding furiously, the two women thumbed the Tesseract and escaped with their lives. ************************************************************* Just Desserts by Perri Smith edited by Dawn Steele Perri was sitting back with her popcorn, enjoying the show. She'd already made her arrival from Houston and was happily critiquing her performance at karaoke when she realized what the next scene must be. She swallowed hard, and decided that cowardice would be the better part of valor. Without disturbing Jennie and Amy, she got up and eased her way across the room to where Nick sat next to Janette. Along the way, she tripped over a familiar pair of feet. "Dawn? When did you get here?" "A few minutes after it started. Pretty good so far isn't it? Reminds me of watching 'The Fix' with everyone at DOW, except quieter. Having LaCroix around sure shuts everyone up." Perri jumped at the mention of LaCroix. Dawn noticed, and saw the half-guilty, half-hysterical, half-terrified look on Perri's face. It looked very familiar. "Perri, what did you do? You look like I did after I dumped the grape juice on LaCroix." Perri looked guilty, then resigned, as she heard familiar music coming from the screen. "See for yourself." Dawn looked up... And almost fell over in delight. LaCroix was on screen at karaoke night--on stage and singing "Achy Breaky Heart" while a couple of Cousins line danced behind him. "Don't tell my heart, me achy-breaky heart, I just don't think it'll understand. And if you tell my heart, my achy-breaky heart, it might blow up and kill this man." "Not bad harmony," Perri critiqued. "I didn't think the Cousins had it in them." She caught Dawn's wide-eyed look, and realized what she'd said. "I didn't think it would make it this far--I know it's not gonna be in the final cut--but I couldn't resist." Dawn didn't even answer, just grabbed Perri's wrist and hauled her across the room to Nick, who was staring at the screen in absolute fascination. He recognized Dawn and flinched. "Got any knives?" "No, but you're going to wish I did." She pointed at the screen. "Perri did that." "I thought the handiwork looked familiar," Nick sighed. From the back of the room, an outraged howl went up as LaCroix recovered his voice. Perri hit the floor at Nick's feet, trying to hide. They could hear LaCroix throwing questions at Jennise and Karin, demanding answers. "Why?" Nick asked in a whisper, making sure the girls were out of sight. "It was my fault, the others weren't in on it until after it was too late. I was ticked off at him for trying to take over the show and for what he did to you and Natalie, and I figured this was a better alternative than staking him." She giggled suddenly. "Besides, Karin and Jennise are going to get it for the karaoke they tried to pull on me." Indeed, they were getting it. For several minutes, it looked as if the phrase chewing out was about to become literal, before assurances of quick editing calmed LaCroix down enough to watch the show. Still at Nick's feet, Dawn next to her, Perri laughed again, quietly. "I think it would have been worth dying to see that." Nick looked at her with what he hoped was a quelling glare; then he noticed Janette had given up the effort and was laughing into her gloved hand. For the sight of Janette laughing, Nick forgave Perri instantly. Dawn sprawled out in the aisle while Perri leaned her head against Nick's knee, quite content to stay on the floor, and they watched the story continue to unfold. ************************************************************* The Popcorn Controversy by Abby Albrecht "Did you have fun with that scene?" LaCroix whispered into Abby's ear. "Not as much fun as with the flashbacks," she whispered back. "We'll discuss that later... You are quite interesting, you know." "Oh, I know. Somehow, I've always known..." LaCroix's face looked confused. *I guess he's never seen "Return of the Jedi."* Abby knew she had to stop dropping vague movie quotes everywhere. People didn't just think she was weird anymore. They knew she was. "Everything will work out my way in the end, however." "So now you're Frank Sinatra?" "No, but I knew him." "I'm not even going to touch that one," Abby said as she turned back to the show. "Don't turn your back on me," LaCroix warned. "But I thought I was your sun, your moon..." Abby pouted. *Damn, this was getting fun!* "You're a diversion, nothing more." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ From the other side of the audience Dianne watched LaCroix and Abby's little talk. *She's going to get herself into trouble again.* Dianne looked around for Nick. She found him sitting with a bunch of Knighties at his feet. *No, scratch that... Two Knighties. And where _is_ Perri's head?!? Oh my!* (sorry Perri, you set yourself up for that one :) Dianne told Deborah she'd be back in a minute and made her way over to Nick. "Look behind you," she whispered casually. "But don't look like you're looking." Looking over his shoulder nonchalantly, Nick saw what Dianne was pointing out. "What do I care about a popcorn stand? You know I don't need food," Nick said. "Unless they have french fries?" "Popcorn? Where?" Perri's head popped off of Nick's knee. "Over there. Next to LaCroix and Abby," Dianne said impatiently. "I think I'll just stay here," Perri said peeking over the back of the chair, seeing the back of LaCroix's head shake at something Abby said. "I mean it's not like Abby's my friend or anything..." "Scared?" Dianne asked. "Me? Nah... I always like sitting under chairs. It's good for the back." Nick finally saw them. (It took him a while to comprehend all the types of fries offered at the stand.) Walking to the back of the room a number of audience members heard him mumble stuff about Knighties who like to play with fire. Tagging along behind, Dianne smiled at his emotional outburst. LaCroix looked up at the advancing party. "Trying to save your friend, Nicholas?" "As always." Dianne shook her head at Abby. "You're trying to get yourself into trouble, aren't you?" Abby just smiled in return. "I must be leaving this little party--" LaCroix began. "May I suggest taking a trip to the Bahamas? Lot's of sun..." Dianne replied. "No, you may not. And I'm not leaving the room, just you." LaCroix rose and said to Abby, "until next time... And trust me, there will be a next time." Nick watched LaCroix cross to the other side of the room. After he was sure LaCroix was gone he tried to give Abby an 'I'm disappointed in you' look, but it didn't work. "I have to go back to my seat. Will you please stay out of trouble until the end of the show?" Nick asked. "Ok, Nick. I'll be good." Dianne watched Nick leave. "Should I stay?" Dianne asked. "Nah. I'll be good..." She shrugged her shoulders and walked off to her seat. "...until the end of the show," Abby said smiling. ************************************************************* The Cutting-Room Floor by Sarah Welsh As the familiar music filled the air, the credits began to flash by much too quickly to be legible, and the various factions pooled in their various corners to sulk or exult as need be, Sarah sat back in her chair with a frown. They had never even brought her back from cyberspace, for goodness' sake. The last she had been seen in the episode, she had e- mailed herself (and Dawn's goldfish) home. What a way to end one's fifteen minutes (more or less) of fame. Well, she supposed it could have been worse. Look at the situations FK has left other characters in, she reasoned. She could have been Alyce or Daniel. Or Sidney for that matter who had apparently gone on a long trip during the whole of the second season. Continuity among FK episodes? Even LaCroix hadn't been able to bully Mr. P. into that. Still, she wished her last scenes had made it into the episode. It had been an inspired plot twist. Her typing in the wrong e-mail address when she attempted the return trip to Canada and ending up in LaCroix' living (ahem, dying, ahem, *existing*) room. The crossover appearance of both Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen along with Bob Saget. The revelation that LaCroix' sire was actually Steve Urkel from "Family Matters." Sarah's own near-demise at the hands (er, fangs) of all of the afore-mentioned guest stars. And finally her rescue by Dawn's goldfish who, it was revealed, was actually Alix Logan in disguise all along as she did research for her upcoming role in the FOX television drama "Fish Cop." Oh well. She had no one to blame but herself. But it wasn't really her fault. She just couldn't help cracking up whenever LaCroix turned and made vampire-faces into the camera. Yes, of course, very frightening with the scary music when you're seeing it on TV, but watching him standing in a room full of people, with his face in a camera lens, snarling to the cry of "Work it, baby! Give me more fang, more fang. Beautiful!" was an entirely different experience. Everytime she was supposed to be cringing in abject terror, Sarah had ended up rolling on the floor laughing. After the 62nd take, they had just given up and rewritten the end of the episode. It was a shame. Oh well. She gathered up her purse and what was left of her bag of Twizzlers and wandered off to find someone she could bug into giving her a ride to the airport. ************************************************************* The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men... by Deb Martin Based on ideas by Dawn Steele and Catherine Bond LaCroix's eyes burned redder than the coals of hell. He scowled as he looked around the auditorium. People were laughing and clapping as the credits rolled. "Hey LaCroix, where's the clam?" someone shouted. But he was too angry to hear the jibe. Furious didn't even *begin* to describe his mood. "Who is responsible for this... This... ATROCITY? Who?" he sputtered. Just then, the glass window to the projection booth swung open. "Monsieur LaCroix. Comment--allez vous ce soir?" LaCroix spun around to see who had said it. He looked up to the booth. There, leaning out of the window, were the Die-Hards. Each had in her hand a shiny, golden goblet. As an expression of shock came over his face, they raised their goblets. "A votre sante" Catherine declared. LaCroix literally flew up the stairs to the projection room. "You..." he almost managed to get out before stopping. "Wait a moment. I recognize you. You were the crew members on the episode" "At your service." Dawn bowed gallantly. "What can I do you for?" The other Die-Hards burst into giggles. Quiet, but audible nonetheless. "Ruined. Absolutely destroyed. How could you? I was the rightful producer. I put up the money. It was my right, especially after what Mr. P. did to them. It was up to me..." "To ruin the show," Vicki continued. "To twist it to your own purposes, despite what the fans who watch the show wanted? To undermine the artistic vision of the creators? I don't think so, LC. Mr. P. financed the new episode, the one that was done the way the show was intended to be. What he cut and burned was *your* version." "How dare you speak to me in that manner. You all could be taken care of right this instant." "I believe not," Deb replied as she pulled open her leather jacket to reveal a holster. "Hollow points, filled with garlic, holy water, *and* wolfsbane. No matter how old you are, this will hurt more than you want to find out." "I *insist* on having the film. I paid for it, it belongs to me." Nichole pointed to a pile of film cans on the table. "There they are. All the reels, all originals," she said. "Merci!" LaCroix spat. He was at the door when Dawn's words stopped him. "Of course, only the originals belong to you. *We* do have copies." The look on LaCroix's face did it. This time the Die-Hards burst into uncontrollable peals of giggles and laughter. "And of c-c-c-course," Heather barely got out, "You do realize what was shown was being broadcast live, all over the world." They barely got out of the way before the film cans came hurtling at them, and continued through the wall behind them. LaCroix was nowhere to be seen. The women slumped in relief. "Well, Dawn, want to make the announcement?" Deb inquired. "I'm just waiting for my legs to stop shaking." Dawn replied. A moment later, she walked over to the microphone. "Ladies and gentleman. As you know, many strange and interesting things happened during the filming of this episode. If you'd like a copy of the outtakes, which are eight hours long, contact..." ************************************************************* Only the Good DieHard by Catherine Bond Abruptly the scene went dark. Amid howls of protest the house light came up and a very angry looking LaCroix walked down the aisle toward his scriptwriters. Karin and Jennise made themselves as small as possible, but it didn't work. "Who is responsible for this?" he demanded, pointing at the blank scene. "THE EDITORS!" wailed the two vampires, pointing in the opposite direction. LaCroix and most of the audience turned and looked up to the projection booth. There were the DieHards, absent from the screening until now, leaning from the windows of the booth waving to the audience, taking bows, and blowing kisses. Nichole, Catherine, Deb, Heather, Vicki and even Dawn, who was holding a golden cup in her hand. She saluted LaCroix and shouted over the din her comrades were making. "So, what do you think?" "You're responsible for this *fiasco*? You dare defy my with this drek?" The Diehard fell silent and looked at one another. They all stood up straight and then Catherine spoke, with a calm the surprise everyone--especially herself. "You've never really understood what we're about, have you, LaCroix? Being a DieHard doesn't mean we're incapable of making a decision. Or even about deciding not to decide. We're DieHards because we love the show as a *whole.* And we'd do anything to preserve it. Even defy you. The show isn't called "Forever LaCroix" it's called "Forever Knight!" There were cheers from the audience--mostly from the Knighties and NatPackers. LaCroix silenced them with a look. "Never the less, you don't intend to send *that*," he pointed again to the scene, "out over the air!" The DieHards' smiles broadened. "Oh, of course not." said Dawn. "The *real* episode is being transmitted to the satellites even as we speak. When we snitched Mr. P. back from the Cousins he explained that this whole thing was set up as a distraction. The *real* episode was filmed on a completely different set. The actors were real troupers, working double shifts and everything. But, then again, they got paid double, so..." "I didn't authorize any double pay for those actors!" LaCroix glared at Karin and Jennise. "No, but I did." LaCroix turned and saw Nicholas standing behind him, smiling. "I think everyone will agree that the episode that will be aired tomorrow is *much* closer to the original vision. ************************************************************* CYA by Jennise Hall and Karin Welss The image of Lisa's anguished expression froze on screen, then the theme music started up, and the credits begin to roll. Karin and Jennise saw their names go by in "Screenplay By" credits, then stared with mute resentment at the long list of meddling amateurs given undue credit. The Nat- Packers, the Knighties, the Die-hards, Hyo Moon, and... Karin's eyebrows shot up incredulously as she saw another name roll by-- "Hey," she hissed at Jennise, who was seated on Mr. P.'s other side. "Who's this Vicki Merriman person?" "Don't know anything about her," Jennise replied. "And we have more important things to deal with right now. Right, Mr. P.? Like, the fact that our boss--your money guy--is not happy with what he's been watching." Karin nodded vigorously. "We get fired, but you have so much more to lose..." Mr. P. smiled cynically. "And I suppose you two ladies have a suggestion about how I can avoid losing my show?" "We could try talking to the Boss, but you'd owe us." Jennise's smile revealed a row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. The credits finished rolling, and the theater lights came up. A few seconds later, one of LaCroix's minions tapped on Karin's shoulder. She reached into the pocket of her stylish linen blazer and pulled out a neatly typed list of names. "Round these-- up. Jennise and I want a private meeting with them. And add Vicki Merriman's name to this list." "But your boss hired Vicki," Mr. P. added. "WHAT!?" Jennise flung herself out of her seat, and went storming up the aisle, closely followed by Karin. "Jennise. Jennise! Jennise, he's angry enough!" She glanced toward the extraordinarily angry vampire staring at the screen in shocked disbelief. "Don't make it any worse!" Jennise, undaunted, stormed up to LaCroix. "I know exactly what you're thinking! How DARE you blame this fiasco on us! It's bad enough we had to deal with mortal amateurs rewriting and sneaking scenes in on us, but YOU HAD SOME NERVE HIRING THAT VICKI WOMAN!" "Only because you two had clearly lost control of this situation." He replied silkily. "Since when do the writer's tell the producer what to do. THAT was your job! Don't try to blame us." Karin was astonished at her outburst. LaCroix stared at the two golden eyed vampires. "You're not telling me everything. Are you?" "You're not even going to apologize?" "I haven't punished you for your insolence." LaCroix grinned like a shark. "Stop while we're ahead." Karin whispered into Jennise's ear. "Tell him." Jennise thought a moment. This was creative integrity they were talking about. Could she just drop it? Yeah, to keep Pops from ripping her into little teeny tiny shreds, what's a little creative integrity. "You're right. We have a surprise for you, Karin?" Karin reached into her bag an d produced a video tape. "When we heard Mr. P. had invited all these list members to be in the episode we just it would be a disaster." She allowed herself to smile triumphantly. "So, plan B." Jennise finished. "The real episode." They finished together. LaCroix smiled like a proud Papa. He'd trained these two well. He accepted the tape. "This is what is going out over the satellite feed in a few hours." Later, outside in the plum colored Saturn, Jennise and Karin finally allowed themselves to give vent to their triumph. "Yesssssssssssss." "And now we've got some business to take care of with those so called writers." Karin's stomach growled as the Plum Colored Saturn roared off into the warm LA night. The End of FKWar 4. "We ain't never doin' that again." "Now I know why no one's ever started more than one war." Stay Tuned. Sometime, in the near future. When we can breathe again and Karin returns from Europe we'll be posting a real 'alternate episode.' ************************************************************* Credits Roll by Perri Smith and Sharon Scott The lights came on as the final credits stopped rolling. The room was silent, then, from the back, someone yelled, "We're back!" On cue, the rest of the room dissolved into a chaotic mass of hugging, cheering, accusing, defending and otherwise loud Forkni-l members. Nick hugged both Perri and Dawn--Perri managed to hold her hug longer than Dawn did--then Dawn wandered off to join the Die-Hards. "I guess we did it, huh, Nick?" Perri asked, a grin the size of Dallas spread over her face. "Well, some of us certainly did," he answered with a matching smile. "All of you did well--but you and I are going to have a talk about that karaoke stunt and reckless endangerment of Knighties." She gulped, then looked past him. "Oh, hi Scottie," she said with relief. "Hi, Perri, Nick." To her surprise, Scottie also got a patented Nick hug, and also managed to hold onto hers for a while. "How about that manuscript burning scene?" "I liked it," Nick said, "but I'm going to have to speak to the writers. I would never suspect the two of you of blackmailing me. Abby, maybe, but not you two." Perri shrugged. "Well, we couldn't rewrite *everything.* And it was in character for when you're in one of your brick modes." "Thanks a lot." He managed to look offended. "Don't mention it." She broke down laughing at the look on his face. "Don't worry, Nick, we love you even when you're a brick." His face went serious. "You'd better. Here comes LaCroix." She literally squeaked. "Oh lord. You didn't see me, I wasn't here." She turned tail and ran, losing herself in the crowd. Scottie turned around, very nervously. "Where is he?" "Probably abusing, what are their names, Karin and Jennise." He looked faintly smug. LaCroix was nowhere to be seen. "Cute, Nick, very cute," Scottie said. "You scared Perri to death." "She can take it." He grinned at her, then looked down at the floor, lifting his feet to carefully inspect his ankles. "At least we got you detached from here." Scottie went bright red. "Hey, that was not my fault. I was tripped..." "Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say..." "But they don't all actually *do* it." Scottie hadn't ever actually heard a vampire cackle, but Nick was doing a good imitation. "But seriously, you know, Nick, I keep flashing back to something weird... I keep seeing a picture of Jennise in my mind... I'm not quite sure what happened, but I think she did something to me." "Other than the usual torture, you mean." "Oh, so you know about that, too. I don't know, maybe it was just a nightmare." "An overdose of chocolate might be the cause... " "You've got a point there. But something's just nagging at the back of my mind. I'll figure it out sooner or later." "Hey, what are you two looking so serious about?" Perri was back with about ten Knighties in tow, having apparently decided there was safety in numbers. "Haven't you heard? Mr. P.'s so happy with the way the premiere turned out that he's throwing us a party." "He liked it?" Scottie asked in amazement. "I heard him say something about the extra editing to get rid of certain, um, non-canon scenes, will be worth it." She looked very pleased with herself as she turned to Nick. "Nick, Natalie said she'd meet you at the party and that if we don't bring you, we're toast. So off we go..." She grabbed one hand and Scottie, who could take a cue with the best of them, grabbed the other. They pulled Nick into the crusade of Knighties and headed out, singing at the top of their lungs (what else?): "We're off to see the Nickie, the wonderful Nickie of Oz!" ************************************************************* Let the Good Times Roll by Sharon Scott The crowd ebbed and flowed like the tide. Scottie mentally abused herself. But it was true. Factions collected, broke apart, merged with friends and former enemies in the other factions. Drinks were flowing, food was being scarfed like there was no tomorrow. The buffet table was groaning, and the smell of freshly popped popcorn permeated the room. Free, all of it, and this crowd was taking advantage of it. Schanke was having a hard time deciding whether to hit the buffet table again or hit on some of the great-looking women; Nick was mingling, introducing Cohen to everyone; and LaCroix was skulking in corners. Scottie said to herself, although she *really* hated to admit he did anything well. And then Karin and Jennise walked in. The crowd sounds came to a sudden and total silence, as if the audio track had just died the true death. The vampiresses tried to look, like totally cool, but didn't quite pull it off. Jennise, the Reubenesque Goddess of Peripherals, tossed off a blase "What's their problem?" to Karin, who began to look a bit green around the gills. "I can't imagine--we gave them the opportunity to star in the premiere, after all." Margaret looked at Scottie, who had a faraway look in her eyes. "Oh no, not again! Perri, help, she's going into a flashback again!" Perri came running, and together they shook, slapped, and otherwise tried to awaken Scottie from her instant coma. Her eyes focused again, and she shook her head forcefully. To Margaret's horror, she started a determined beeline for Karin and Jennise, her arm up and her index finger pointing at them. "You! You did something to me!" she screamed. "Who, us? We didn't do anything." Karin and Jennise looked at one another uneasily. "Yes, you did. I remember it all now. You hoodooed me into helping LaCroix. I *hate* LaCroix! You told me that you'd cure me of my f.... F... F... Oh hell--*amphibian* phobia if I helped him. You, you..." "A word that rhymes with 'itches'?" Margaret supplied hopefully. Scottie lowered her arm, dug into her pocket, and pulled out her lighter. "Why, I oughta..." "Fire, Jennise. Fire is *not* a good thing." Scottie advanced on the vampiresses, but just as she reached them, a small yellowish-white missile hit Jennise. And then a couple more, and then more, and more, and... Before they stopped, the assembled faction members had covered the two women with popcorn. Up to their eyes. "This isn't going to be fun to clean up," Perri murmured, "but it was a *lot* of fun!" And the groups partied on as Karin and Jennise tried to extricate themselves from their entombment. ************************************************************* The Sum of Things by Dianne T. DeSha Dianne slipped silently out of the back of the screening room as the credits rolled, and hailed a cab. she noted, pretty sure that it was still outright illegal for a cab to pick up an unscheduled fare in L.A. Traces of gray in the black sky announced the coming dawn. she mused, wondering who would actually get final say. *************** She had cashed in her return airline ticket for a rail pass that would take her west across Canada and the northern U.S., then down the Pacific Coast to L.A. It would give her a chance to relax and enjoy a leisurely trip home. Not to mention the fact that the ticket had been part of a retainer for unspecified services that had never been collected. Dianne had made every effort to contact Michelle and the Cadre of Canadian Cousins during the course of the war to receive her instructions, but they had never come. "Oh well," Dianne said with a quiet smile, "No refunds!" Still, considering their affiliation, she had thought it wise--as well as scenic--to take an alternate route home. Settling into her roomy, first-class seat, Dianne pulled out her notes and began composing her report to the Guild. It wasn't precisely _required_ of her, but--considering how close she'd come to getting herself actually _disenfranchised_ over that little "misunderstanding" with Maureen the Mad--Dianne thought it wise to play up her successes. she thought smugly, [Oh, o.k... So "honor" might not be the most *accurate* word for use in this context... ;-] She'd certainly been busy--working on a sort of sliding scale for everything from twice her weight in gold and jewels and a three-bedroom pied de terre in Trump Tower to a half-bag of Cheetos, as circumstances had warranted. The Cousins, though, that's where the *real* profits had been. They threw LaCroix's money around like it was going out of style. Why, Cousin Candice had given her a pair of sapphire earrings [from Saks, no less!] for just a few snide comments about Nick's brickishness! And Cousin Deborah..., Dianne's smile widened appreciably... The goose that had just kept on and on laying golden eggs... After a mild bit of relatively-civilized "discussion" during the premiere she had convinced a reluctant Cousin Deborah that the matter really wasn't worth the risk of Guild retaliation. The contracts *were* legitimate and properly signed, after all--whether or not they'd been intended as episode props. Besides, LaCroix's coffers could certainly cover the unexpected outlay. Dianne winced slightly at the thought of Deborah having to present that bill to her dear "Uncle;" she'd grown rather fond of Deborah. she reminded herself sternly before that uncharacteristic bit of sentimentality got out of hand, Anyway, Cousin Deborah could suck up to an over-inflated ego with the best of them, Dianne reminded herself. She'd be just _fine_. Her role as Recruiter for the Guild had been something of a wash: one defection, one failed conversion, and one new recruit. Dianne frowned. she decided, Thinking about all her activities in the most recent "unpleasantness," Dianne's mind began to wander, flashing back to... ********* Lucius, in a decidedly skimpy toga, peeling grapes for his cherished Knightie, Abby, to the tune of lutes playing "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch"... ********* Dianne shuddered involuntarily. she breathed in relief. But those flashbacks were one thing she'd regret not seeing in the final version. She thought, The fun of writing them--not to mention acting them--was enough. Maybe the framing of Nick hadn't held, and she hadn't been able to make Maureen sing "Purple People Eater," but it was all worth it just the same. Putting the final touches on the report, Dianne sighed. She really would miss all of this. Returning to a life of filing and phones and form letters just wouldn't be the same... she thought as she watched the countryside roll by. Smiling, she stopped to read once more the few verses of A.E. Houseman's "Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries" that she was enclosing with the report: "I sought them far and found them, The sure, the straight, the brave, The hearts I lost my own to, The souls I could not save. "Their shoulders held the sky suspended; They stood, and earth's foundations stay; What God abandoned, these defended, And saved the sum of things for pay." ************************************************************* Home again by Judy Freudenthal Judy got off the plane and was glad to see her parents there waiting for her. For as much as she had enjoyed herself in Toronto she was glad to be home again. She was tired and wanted three things--her mom's great cooking, to sleep in her own bed after a shower in her own bathroom and chocolate. "Was it worth it?" Her father asked. He somewhat knew the answer by the smile on his daughters face. "Every penny. I even got to write couple of scenes as well as act in one. The Executive Producer held a premiere just for us. It was great. We all get our names listed in the credits. I have to tell everyone when to watch it." "I'm glad you had fun." Her mother said. "You hungry?" "Yes." "How about a steak and some garlic potatoes?" "Sounds good." Judy said. Only recently had she tried garlic and realized that she liked it. A small grin escaped. "What?" "Nothing. I just spent the last couple of weeks working on a show about a cop who happens to be a vampire. Garlic nauseates them." Judy said purposely leaving out a few facts about her trip (mostly about the vampires she met because it would only worry them). "I made many valuable contacts. I also learned quite a bit." "That's important." Judy's father said. "We can't wait to hear all your stories." Judy's mother said. Her father took her bag and they headed out to the car. She knew she'd be talking about this for weeks. And that she'd never forget it (assuming no one played mind games with her like they did with Nat). Her piece of immortality securely in place (unless it ended up on the cutting room floor). Though doing a Star Trek would be a more secure place in immortality since it was only two years older than she was. ************************************************************* And Now, For Something Completely Different... by Catherine Boone She was beautiful. Her eyes were wide, green and sorrowful, and she stared up at him in perfect adoration. They were seated in Nick's apartment, with the candlelight low and the tension high. Perfect. Now was the time to strike. Nick leaned towards her and whispered confidentially in her ear. "Gretchen, there's something I have to tell you." Her eyes widened in anticipation, but her voice remained mostly calm. "Yes? What is it?" I'm a vampire, he thought, but decided to take things one step at a time. "I haven't been entirely truthful to you about my name, or my past." He looked into her eyes, but she only stared back, her brow furrowed prettily in confusion, so he continued. "My name is not really Nick Knight." He stood, then grasped her hands, and pulled her to her feet as well. Straight and tall, he proclaimed, "My name is Nicola de Brabant, Knight Templar of the Fourth Crusade, and I am immortal." As her mouth dropped in shock, he reached for a small dagger (left nearby for this purpose) and plunged it straight through his heart. Gretchen screamed in shock and terror, petrified as she watched blood pour out of the wound. Nick fell to his knees. *Oww! God, I _hate_ that part. But, is it working?* He looked up at Gretchen with puppy dog eyes, and she immediately swooned toward him. *Yes!! Works every time.* But as he tried to raise himself from his knees to meet her lips, his eyes flew open in shock. For, as he only now began to notice, his wounds were not healing, and he was growing weaker by the moment. "What the..." he muttered, then stared down in horror at the knife deep in his chest. *Ah, of course, a wooden center...* his last thoughts echoed hollowly in his mind as he died. LaCroix woke with a start, and his gaze immediately fell on his videotape of _Highlander_, still in the VCR. His face broke out in a wide and delighted grin. And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed. ************************************************************* Lurker (19) by Maddog "I wanna be a Jeffy ranger, I wanna lead a life of danger," Rastro and Maddog chanted. They both dreamed of being one of Cmdr. Jeffrey Sinclair's rangers on Babylon 5. Where they got to wear cool costumes and listen to Jeffy yell. Sigh... "Rastro, are you sure this paint will come off?" Maddog asked, moving the spray gun erratically back and forth. She was still feeling the effects of the wine coolers and the alcoholic ice-cream floats. "Sure, they use it at Ford all the time for prototype cars," Rastro explained. "It's such a lovely shade of pink." "Putrid is the term I'd use. Though I must admit Nick's Caddy looks much better this way." The two Lurkers then launched into a drunken rendition of "Pink Cadillac, crushed velvet seats, nah nah nah nah." "Oops," Rastro yelped as pink paint splashed on one of the Caddy's windows. She was finding it hard to stay within the lines. Taking a pair of black men's underpants from her rear pocket she began to wipe it off. "Hey!" a loud male voice came out of the darkness towards them. "Uh-oh, chongo," The Lurkers gulped. Detective Nick Knight appeared nearly instantaneously in front of them. "What," he asked, voice menacing, "are you doing to my car?" "Mmmm, would you belive that we're giving it a make over?" Maddog attempted an excuse, which sounded lame even to her ears. She blinked fuzzily at him, wondering whose brilliant idea this latest escapade was. "I think not. Who are you?" Nick demanded, "Some crazed Cousins or Ravenettes out for a little fun at the "Brick's" expense? The war is over, or hadn't you heard?" "Uh, well," Rastro tried to think of an explanation through the alcoholic fog in her head. Fortunately they were saved by a low laugh. "I see that they finally got you, Nicholas," LaCroix said, stepping forward. "Are these two your responsibility, LaCroix?" "Mine? Oh, no, no, actually I came to... Talk to them about their behavior during this war. Certain of their actions distressed me." He involuntarily rubbed the area of his head where the hair had been cut to free it from a piece of JuJy Bee. The two Lurkers looked at each other wide eyed, the words "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, Momma make it go away," kept echoing in the vast hollow spaces of their brains. "So who do they work for?" Nick asked. "Nobody, they call themselves Lurkers, isn't that right?" LaCroix purred. "Uh, yeah, we're Lurkers, we lurk in corners, we do our little thing in the bathroom," Maddog blurted out. Rastro poked her in the ribs. "You silly git, that's background, we do our little thing in the background!" "Ooops," Maddog said, desperately trying to still her heart rate. Having Nick and LaCroix both glaring at her was doing bad things to her blood pressure, not to mention underwear. It was also sobering her up, which was very depressing. "Your car looks much better in this color," LaCroix purred. Nick's Cadillac was nearly entirely pink. He fixed the two Lurkers with his light eyes and considered them carefully. He had no idea of the extent of their powers. They appeared to be total idiots but they did have the ability to teleport. Perhaps he shouldn't destroy them until he knew more about them. Of course, they did like "The Sound of Music" so that was a point in their favor. Nodding his head slightly while he smiled at the two women, he pronounced his judgment. "I'll let you both live for now, so don't give me any reason to regret this decision." The tall vampire flew off into the night while Rastro and Maddog managed to steady their breathing. Their joy was short lived when they realized that Knight was still glaring at them. "Wot?" Rastro asked. "I do not like my car in pink," Nick allowed his eyes to start glowing. He'd decided to frighten them into leaving him alone. His voice roughened with power. "Oooooh," sighed Maddog. "Aaahhhh," sighed Rastro. "Blork," the two Lurkers said, belching in unison. Their levity only angered Nick more. "This behavior is unacceptable. The War is over! I want you to get that paint off my car, NOW!" Nick's stern voice was making Rastro sweat so she pulled the underwear out of her back pocket to wipe her brow. She noticed that Nick was staring at her, eyes glowing even brighter. They were fixed on the cloth she was using. She gently unfolded it and realized that it was the pair of boxer shorts she'd borrowed from his underwear drawer, the pair with the bananas all over them. She smiled at the vampire. "Those... Are... My... Underwear!" Nick yelled. "You, you are the maniacs that destroyed my bed and left my underwear scattered everywhere! I blamed that on the NatPackers!" "Uh, its not my fault," Maddog managed to blurt out. "Nice underwear though, present from Janette?" The truth about the origin of the underwear being spoken aloud displeased Nick even further. In an eyeblink he had both Lurkers by their collars and was glowering down upon them. Both Lurkers needed a change of underwear very badly. "Are you also the ones that gave Janette that Dremel tool that she keeps trying to build a squirrel guard with and made poor Sydney sick?" There was no response from the two women so he shook them slightly. If they had had any brains they would have been rattling. "Well?" "Uh, hello Dr. Lambert, fancy seeing you here," Rastro managed to squeak out. Nick turned to speak to Natalie but it was a trick. Dr. Lambert was not there but his concentration was broken long enough for the Lurkers to slip out of their big Red Dwarf t-shirts (they had turtlenecks on underneath for warmth). The Lurkers took off running down an alley while Rastro fumbled around for the tesseract. It transported them instantly to another alley. A loud clanging bounced off the brick walls. "What the hell " Maddog wheezed. A sword nearly took off her head. There were two large men, one very cute with a nice tight butt encased in jeans, fighting with swords. "Time to go," Rastro activated the tesseract again before Maddog could protest. This time the Lurkers found themselves in a darkened tunnel. "We've got you this time," a low, lisping voice hissed. The two were surrounded by people all glaring at them menacingly. One of them snatched the tesseract away from Rastro. "Who are you?" Maddog asked. "We're the Lurkers, the real Lurkers!" the man responded. "Wot?" Some of the real Lurkers pointed nasty looking weapons at the pair. "We're the Lurkers that hold the copyright for the name! This is the bowels of Babylon 5 and you've been found guilty of copyright infringement!" "Out of the frying pan, into the fire," Maddog sighed. They were in for it now. All their activities of the last few weeks had attracted attention. Attention was never a friend to the Lurker. The situation didn't look good. She stuck her hand in her pocket, careful not to make too much noise. She located the goods. "The penalty for copyright infringement is death!" "Death, death!" the crowd of true Lurkers chanted. Maddog handed the Taco Bell bean burrito to Rastro very slowly. The frenzied crowd didn't notice the Australian woman taking a bite. Then it happened, the ultimate weapon, Rastro farted. At the same time, the combined effects of alcohol, dairy products and too much excitement caught up with Maddog, and she let loose a massive blast. "Aghghghgh," the screams of the true Lurkers was horrible to hear. Maddog grabbed the tesseract and she and Rastro folded space to someplace else. They were in a large field. For a moment she believed them safe until she saw a large group of black garbed Ninjas charging at them. She thumbed the tesseract which made a loud burping sound and gurgled at them. "Oh, boy!" they stared at it in disbelief, oblivious to the large blue police box that had just materialized beside them. A hand reached out and grabbed the tesseract. "That's mine, I believe." "But it doesn't work anymore!" "You farted in it, didn't you?" The Lurkers nodded guiltily. "That fatigued the structure of the tesseract. I'm going to have to make a new one now. Damn!" The door of the box slammed shut and it wheezed out of existence. "So what are we going to do now?" Maddog whimpered as she stared at the encroaching horde. "Uh..." "Thumpa-thumpa," the air around the Lurkers started to vibrate and the pounding sound of an approaching helicopter caught their attention. "Ach, lassies," a Scottish voice called out to them. "Come on then!" "I don't believe it," Maddog said in awe. "It's Cowley come to rescue us, just like we were Bodie and Doyle!" Rastro responded in a hushed tone. "Why, its Cow Ex Machina!" The two Lurkers ran towards the helicopter and managed to grab onto the legs of it just before the black garbed ninjas caught up to them. The dangled in space, giggling and burping as the helicopter pulled them up and away... *************************************************************