***Wednesday, November 1, 1995***

CALL AND RESPONSE (b)
by Michael Wayne Jackson

Time: 1:23am EST
Place: Michael's home

Tightening the bungee cord around the final bag was a struggle, but it
finally snapped into place and I went back inside to make sure I had not
forgotten any detail.  Maggie was asleep on the bed with food and water by
the door, the light timers were installed and the mail was being picked up
by Anna next door.  My boss knew that I was taking the rest of the week
off and someone was going to come by to housesit while I was away so Mags
wouldn't be lonely.  That seemed to be everything. 

I slipped on my jacket, zipped it up, and locked the door.  Walking to the
bike I noticed that the Samurai sword was sticking out a bit and adjusted
the bags to cover it more.  It was part of a two-day Initiation Ritual I
survived and I wanted it by my side. 

Straddling the bike and looking down, I smiled to myself, glad that the
loan had come through a few weeks ago and especially happy that the new
paint job had been finished in time.  I turned the key, pushed the start
button and felt the motor throb into life beneath me.  Tony had tuned it
to my specifications and it felt just right idling at a slow 975 r.p.m.'s. 
I clicked it into gear, eased out on the clutch, and rolled up the
driveway and onto the blacktop.  As I passed the BMW and the Mercedes that
lived across the street, I goosed the throttle a tad and was pleased to
hear their car alarms go off, triggered by the vibrations of 1340cc's of
pure Milwaukee metal. 

With no idea what I would find in Toronto, but feeling ready for anything,
I let the night enfold me in its soft embrace and headed for Canada. 

###

PHONE CALLS AND CONTEMPLATIONS
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 1:36 AM EST
Place: Jamie's home

Her fingers stabbed at the telephone touchpad, dialing a number she wasn't
supposed to have... 

Two rings, and the beginning of a third, before the 'click' of someone
answering. "Speak," said the voice at the other end, not pleasantly. 

"Okay," said Jamie, with her characteristic tact and grace, "what the f***
is going on?" 

"I beg your pardon?"  The words, combined with the so-very-proper accent,
might have been polite; she knew him well enough to know that they were
not.  "Would you care to repeat that last?" 

"Well, excuse me for being a person instead of a puppet," she snapped at
him, secure in the knowledge that several thousand meters of phone cord
and over ten hours' travel time separated them, and there wasn't a lot he
could do about her impertinence...at least, not at the moment. 

"I'm not getting any e-mail," she continued, "and I'm always getting
e-mail; there's got to be something wrong." 

He did not deny it.  "In your simplistic way, you've actually managed to
obtain a clue," he said, with mild sarcasm -- "mild" because it didn't
strip the puke-green paint from her bedroom walls, though it did sizzle
her eardrums some. 

She waited, and when no further explanation was forthcoming, she pressed,
"Don't f***ing keep me hanging, all right?  Is there a 'conflict'
occurring, or what?" 

"I would not consider that an inaccurate presumption," was his smooth
reply. 

"Jeez, what a d***head," Jamie muttered under her breath, forgetting about
vampiric hearing momentarily, then remembering and failing to care.  "Just
beat all the way around the bush while you're at it.  You know I'm slow on
the uptake; you just *love* tormenting me, don't'cha?" 

"I wouldn't consider that an inaccurate presumption, either.  You are
occasionally entertaining, despite your many flaws..." 

"So we're under attack," she said, just to be certain she was
understanding things correctly, and to cut him off before he could begin
enumerating her faults; she knew most of them, and didn't need them
listed.  "Am I correct?" 

"Oh, we are most definitely under attack," he responded grimly; she
contemplated asking for details, but decided against it.  With her memory,
she wouldn't remember half of it anyway. 

"Soooo..."  A slow grin spread across her face.  "Does that mean I can
play?" 

"Why bother asking?" was the instant response.  "You will do as you
please, regardless of anyone's advice..." 

"'Cause if we're at war, and someone's already started casting the first
stones," Jamie said promptly, "then I can justify a pre-emptive attack. 
If I get the wrong people, well, I can always make it up to 'em
afterwards...and besides, there's a couple ideas I've had running around
in my head for some time..." 

"Rationalization, justification," he said wearily, for it was a rehashing
of the same old argument they'd been having for ages, "why do you bother,
when in the end, you simply act according to your whims?  Why not simply
accept your nature, and be done with it?" 

"I do what I feel is right," said Jamie quietly. 

"Ah.  And how does your sense of 'right' and 'wrong' fit in with your
notion of a pre-emptive strike?" he wanted to know. 

Unseen by her auditor, she shrugged.  "Hey, the last three years, I've
gone through hell.  I'm entitled to have a little fun," she explained,
unworried by the inherent contradiction. 

"That is, without a doubt," he mused, "the most hypocritical statement I
have heard in many years -- and considering my longstanding association
with Nicholas, that is quite an achievement on your part.  You may have
more potential than I thought."  His contemplative tone shifted sharply
then, becoming businesslike and abrupt.  "I have no time for trivial
conversations." 

"Okay," Jamie said happily.  "I'm gonna go play now, Boss." 

A short burst of contemptuous laughter.  "'Boss,'" he repeated.  "You make
it sound as if you might actually accept my leadership." 

"As much as I would any other boss," she replied serenely, and hung up the
phone.  It was always a good idea to keep him off-balance...and it wasn't
as if he was going to come all the way south and east to New York to
discipline her, was it? 

Returning to her desk, she noticed that Elfy was having a marvelous time
on the bed, rolling around and batting at something and getting herself
and the covers all twisted up into a tangled heap.  "Melf-pelf," she said,
"whatcha doin'?" 

"Mrrhrraau," answered the cat indistinctly, around the greyish stick she
held clenched in her fanglets. 

Jamie retrieved the object and got swatted for her troubles; she held up
the item with distaste.  "You just looooove Q-tips, don't'cha?" she
crooned at the sleek black cat.  "Yeah, and the oockier the better.  Jeez. 
I'm gonna have to buy you a box all to yourself, just so I don't have to
keep finding these gross things in my bed."  The thought made her laugh. 
"So I'll find *clean* Q-tips in my bed, instead..." 

But for now, she had other things to think about.  Certain things that had
been tickling her fancy for, oh, a couple of days... 

Sitting down at her computer, she flexed her fingers once until the
knuckles cracked, then settled her hands at the keyboards and began to
work. 

###

OPENING GAMBIT
by Tara O'Shea

Time: 2am
Place: Tara's home

Tara was still humming "Urgos" as she headed up the stairs to her
apartment, fishing her keys out of her pocket.  She had managed to hug
three bandmembers total, but had for the second time managed to miss
Robin, and that only marginally bugged her.  She wasn't even sad that she
wasn't in San Francisco hearing Vats Laughing and Neil.  Boiled in Lead
was a perfect substitute, more than perfect. 

The lights were out and Deirdre and Nick were aleep, the heat turned up
too high perusual as she plopped down into her office chair without
bothering to wash off the white make-up or remove the half-eaten
pomegranite from her pocket as she dropped her fangs onto the desk and
booted up.  In the pale light from the screen, she reached for the pack of
Camels Deirdre had pawned off on her and froze. 

Candy.

"Not again..." Tara muttered, and clicked on the dining room light. She
only had one pack of those sugar cigatettes left after Dead of Winter, she
must have mixed them up when she was reorganising and moved her office
from her bedroom to the dining room.  Looking over her desk, lifting up
drafts of her Gargoyles story in progress and photos of her cousin's kids,
she muttered dark things as the cigarettes continued to elude her. 

Slipping off her boots, she crept into Deirdre's room and opened the
drawer where her sister kept her stash.  Deirdre rolled over and the dog
opened one eye to look at her curiously as she stood in the centre of the
room, calmly nick-fitting and contemplating murder. 

Half an hour later, having gone through every drawer, cupboard, and
pocket, Tara sat in the middle of her floor staring at the pile of sugar
sticks that had been substituted for her drug of choice. 

"I'm going to kill them," she said quietly, and glacing at her watch and
noting it was closer to 4am than she would have liked, she headed into the
bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed.  It wasn't like she *needed* a
cigarette.  She just wanted one.  And she'd had to go without before, it
was no big deal. 

Not really.

Dead.  When she found Amy and Jennie, they were going to be lifeless
corpses...they'd need *dental records* to figure out who the piles of
parts were... 

But aside from her body screaming for nicotine, another question plagued
her. 

Why?  Why go to all the trouble, and expense?  Why, when it was cheaper
just to ring her up and make disapproving noises, and then fill her
luggage with Pez and candy cigs next con? 

Tara did not sleep that night.

###

AN EVIL LITTLE IDEA 
by Cousin Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 2:06 am EST
Place: Jamie's home, Toronto airport

For the last couple of days, an idea had been drifting around Jamie's
mind, an evil little idea that was really quite unfair...actually, it
wasn't at all unfair.  Simply a...rectification of a wrong that had been
done. Which by extension made it the right thing to do. 

//Creative rationalization is a wonderful thing,// Jamie thought happily,
and began to work. 

After a few phone calls, some swift persuasion and outright bribery, and a
good deal of explaining, she managed to set the gears of her plan into
motion; finally, she sat back and took a long swig of cold cranberry juice
from her baby bottle, satisfied with her plan. 

Her only regret was that she wouldn't see the results first-hand... 

And no one could really fault her for it, could they?  No, they couldn't.
It wasn't as if she'd falsified any information -- all she'd done was tell
the truth, in certain ways and to certain people, in order to obtain the
desired effect. 

It was an elegant plan; she was sure Uncle would have approved, if she'd
bothered to consult him about it first. 

"Maairrh," said Elfy, and rubbed her head against Jamie's thigh to be
petted; and she swept the cat up into her cradling arms and kissed her
fuzzy little face, and waited to be informed of any changes. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharon was at the Toronto airport, moving through the terminal in the
company of her fellow Natpackers, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Ms. Sharon Himmanen?" inquired a gruff voice. 

"Yes?" she said reflexively.

"You're under arrest," came the startling response.  "I'm afraid I'm going
to have to take you in." 

"WHAT?" screeched the Natpacker, flabbergasted.  "For what?!"

A hand reached into the pocket of her coat, drew out a cylindrical object.
"Conspiracy, theft, and transporting stolen objects over international
lines," said the voice ominously. 

"But...but..." she moaned.

"Come clean, Ms. Himmanen," said the stern voice.  "You stole this salt...
didn't you?" 

"But they didn't have any packets!" Sharon wailed.

"None of that.  Come with us, please."  And as the handcuffs were fastened
around her wrists, she cast plaintive glances back at her fellow
Natpackers, pleading for their assistance; but there was nothing any of
them could do. 

"The *(&#)#$ Burger King didn't have any salt packets!" could be heard
faintly, as the officer dragged her away... 

###

WHAT IS IT?
by Brian-Glenn Ander"sin"
re-vamped by Cousin Candice

Time: Before sunrise
Place: The Raven

I lifted my drink and glanced over at the other side of the table.  There,
the pale man who I had been talking to glanced back at me.  A cop, he
said.  But one that knows Toronto, and has a differeent slant on things
than the normal badge.  Something seemed more...piercing about his eyes
than the average bloke on the street that you'd meet in broad daylight. 
Of course, I'd never seen Nick in broad daylight.  Then again, I'd never
seen him before in my life.  Only heard his name in passing a few of those
other pale people in the bar. 

With a quick flick of my eyes, I noticed the lithe figure in the corner
start into the shadows, anxious on not being noticed.  Though he gave no
sign, I knew that Nick had noticed the stranger too.  I raised the glass
to my lips and drank, obscuring the scene in my vision and obscuring the
sounds of The Raven with a few verses of "Long Cool Woman (in a Black
Dress)" in his head.  I thought about my Rubik's Cube(tm) at home and ow I
had never been able to solve it in seven years.  Very cool decor if I
dared to say so myself (the roses were a bit much, but still...) When I
lowered the glass, the figure was gone.  Undoubtably closer. I scanned the
ever increasing crowd for Candi, but she was nowhere to be found.  She
said she'd be here...she's never late...best not to think on it, not with
the likes of Knight around...he was kinda creepy. 

"So," I began, "What exactly is this war?"

With a quick motion Nick hit the figure behind him.  It crumpled to the
floor.  Yeah, he was a regular weirdo. 

"Oh, just some kids causing trouble.  And call me Kojak, not Nick"

###

REVENGE IS SWEET
by Laura B. Waskey

Time: 3:00 a.m. EST
Place: Laura's home

Laura was sleeping soundly and was pleasantly dreaming of what had
occurred in the previous hours on Halloween night. Ravenette Sheryl and
she had gone out to Fell's Point in Baltimore, Maryland, just a few hours
ago, to do a little dancing, drinking and maybe, if they were lucky, find
a couple of cute guys to help them celebrate Halloween. Unfortunately, no
cute men had taken their fancy, so they had ended up drinking a lot of
beer and dancing to some old disco tunes in a bar that very much reminded
them of the old Raven in Toronto.  The Raven that Sheryl's friend, Janette
had owned, not the one that was currently under new management.  They had
left the bar around midnight, since nothing exciting was happening and
decided to drive back to their respective homes. Laura had arrived home
well after one o' clock, had crawled into bed, and with the sounds of The
Village People still ringing in her ears, she had fallen asleep. A deep,
peaceful, dream-filled sleep. 
   
In the dream, Laura was actually Donna Summer at Studio 54 in the late
1970's singing a very bad rendition of "Bad Girls" to a packed audience;
when suddenly in the middle of the chorus, the microphone started to ring. 
She tried to ignore the ringing and kept singing<"Bad girls, bad girls,
talking 'bout bad girls.">, but the noise wouldn't go away. Ring, ring.
So, one minute she was the Disco Queen, the next minute she was waking up
in her bed to the sound of that darn ringing.  Her dreams of disco glory
would have to wait. The ringing was her phone. 
 
"Who in the hell would call me at this ungodly hour?", she thought, as she
climbed out of bed and stumbled to get to the phone in the dark. 
  
As Laura picked up the phone and barked into the receiver a terse hello,
she quickly said: 
   
"This had better be an emergency, 'cause I had just fallen asleep after
drinking way too many beers...so you better make it good, bub!" 
   
"Good morning, ma petite, sorry to wake you," a deep, throaty voice said. 

No, it couldn't be. She must still be dreaming...like the shower scene in
Dallas, *yes* that was it.  Because it couldn't be him..he wouldn't call
her...no, she wasn't that lucky.  Well, it seemed her luck had changed.... 
  
"LaCroix?", she timidly asked, still not certain if it really was her
beloved Uncle. 
  
"Yes, it is me, LaCroix, your Master."

That voice, that tone. Yes, it really was her beloved LaCroix. Oh no, just
look at the way she had answered the phone. Boy, was she in big trouble
for talking to the master like that! 
  
"I'm *so* sorry, Uncle, for yelling at you, please forgive me, " she
groveled, knowing that it was not in one's best interests to rile Lucien
LaCroix. Apparently he forgave her because he brushed her apology aside
and said: 

"I need you in Toronto, now! Get on the first plane you can and come
directly to The Raven." 

Great, Toronto in November. Yuk! Laura hated cold weather, but she had
better not tell Uncle that, no telling what he might do...he might sick a
carouche on her cats or something. No, scratch that. She'd walk through
six feet high snow drifts for LaCroix. 

"I'll be there as soon as possible, what is going on?" 

"There's been a little problem here and I need your special kind of help
in correcting it, " he said. "It seems those Natpackers are at it again,
they came into The Raven last night and well, let's just say, they started
another war. But, they may have started this war, however we Cousins are
going to finish it. This time our way, the Cousinly way. 
  
"And when we are done, they'll be lucky if they remember their own names,
let alone Natalie Lambert's!" 

Laura shuddered at his silky, menacing tone. Boy, those Natpackers must
have really ticked him off, to get him to call her and request her help.
And she knew from the sound of Uncle's voice that he must have a wicked,
devious scheme to get back at those Natalie lovers, and she couldn't wait
to help him out. Uncle had called the right woman, because devious was her
middle name, which was one of the reasons she had been recruited to be a
Cousin. Plus, it was so much fun to annoy all those Knighties and
Natpackers out there. The main reason why she had joined the Cousins was
that she adored and worshipped LaCroix, besides he was really hot too. 
Not to mention that sexy voice...oops, she had lost her train of thought.
What had Uncle said? Toronto, yes, she must go to Toronto and help him. 
   
"I'll do anything you say, Uncle, you know that my devotion to you has no
bounds, " she said passionately. 

"Bon, I'll see you soon then, ma petite, " LaCroix said in return. "And by
the way, Laura?" 
   
"Yes?"

"I called you becuase I need you for a very special mission, you being a
former police officer and all. I'll explain more when you arrive, but know
this, I want to you hunt down and bring to me two particular Natpackers." 

Laura listened intently.

"These two troublemakers are on the top of my hitlist and I want them,
understood?" he hissed. 
   
"Yes, I'll find whoever you want, don't worry, mon oncle. What are their
names?" 

"They call themselves Leslie and Jill...."

###

CHARACTERISTIC ENTRANCE
by Christina L. Kamnikar

Time: 3:41 AM, EST
Place: Merc Central

"What time is it, what day is it... " Christina muttered as she let
herself into Merc Central with her brass key.  God, how she hated night
flights from DIA. Commute to Kansas to fly through O'Hare to get through
customs in Toronto! Whose good idea was THAT? 
        
She dumped her sleeping bag on the couch; as usual, space would be
limited, so she'd brought the essentials. Luckily she'd managed to get
enough comp time from the State to take a month's vacation.  A week of
straight gravel mine inspections in the wilds of Colorado had left her
exhausted but smug; extra money in the back, extra time on her hands,
extra possibilities to explore. 
        
Assuming ANY of her potential contracts had left confirming messages.
        
The place, was quiet, silent; obviously, Sara wasn't expecting her this
early. Her own fault. Chris had meant to take the 7AM flight, but too much
caffeine and impatience had spurred her into taking the connecting flights
through Chicago instead of flying in on schedule. A low "mwaor" got her
attention; a soft, long-haired cat was twining itself around her ankles.
"Are you George or Ramona? Or is that a rude question?" Chris sighed,
picked up the cat, sneezed, and smiled ruefully at the animal. "Not that
it matters. You're pretty, but you're not sleeping with me. Got it? I need
my..." yawwwwn "rest. And I wouldn't be breathing in the morning if we
shared the sleeping bag." 
        
No beeping light on the answering machine; no telegrams waiting; no Dianne
no Maureen no Lane... silence. Chris pouted for a minute, then yawned
again, shaking her head. The upcoming weirdness, and the late late hour
had her talking to herself in fits and starts. 

"Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have a battle, because Tweedledum
said Tweedledee had broke his nice new rattle..." 
 
"Cry Havoc, and let loose the  dogs of War..."

Well, it'd all start soon enough, and then she'd meet her compatriots in
commerce. Maybe they'd know what was going on. She fingered the obnoxious
little Chuck E. Cheese token that had been in her mailbox in Arvada,
wondering who on EARTH would send her something so silly.  And why. She
hadn't been to Chuck E. Cheese in years, certainly not voluntarily. 
        
Still pondering the question, she spread the sleeping bag out on the
couch, slipped into it without changing out of her jeans and sweater,
tried to work out whether it was really 4AM or 5AM, gave up, and conked
out without knowing the answer. 

###

ALFRED MERCS STRIKE--SHORT, BUT SOUR
by the Alfred Mercs

Time: 03:57 AM EST
Place: A small airport outside Toronto

*yawn*
     
Diana landed the plane in a small strip outside Toronto a few short hours
later, taxiing the mooney to the FBO.  She went into the rather relaxed
atmosphere of the Canadian small airport, and paid landing fees, aranged
to pick up the rental car she'd reserved earlier, ordered the plane to be
gassed up in the morning, and using her very legal Canadian Citizenship,
(isn't it wonderful to have a grandfather who had been in the Royal
Canadian Airforce? The Canadians don't wonder at your British accent)
cleared the plane and passegers through customs and immigration. 
      
They got Candi into the rental, which could be driven right out onto the
tarmac, with little trouble and some more ether.  Diana carefully checked
the tiedowns on the plane, and then locked it.  They all piled in the car,
Risha driving and Wyndi navigating.  Di rested, flying was tiring.  Wyndi
first lovingly strapped Candi into the car, tying off the seatbelt to not
give under pressure, as well as attaching the chains. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time: Dawn
Place: A statue in Toronto

In Toronto, with Candi still knocked out, the Mercs searched in the Museum
distrrict for a statue.  Finding their needs, they removed the bondage
gear, and loosely tied her back to back with some unknown Canadian war
hero, strapped her feet to the stirrups, and stuffed a note into her bra. 
They then ductaped a sign to the rear end of the horse: 

                                I'M A
                               COUSIN
                                AND
                                I'M
                             TICKLISH!!!!!

The mercs drove off, giggling, to join their various secondary factions,
but are all still for hire at their individual prices. 

###

A LURKER DELURKS (Part 1)
by Lyn Cannaday

Time: Before sunrise
Place: Toronto

Lyn looked around the airport suspiciously.  Officially she was in Toronto
for a conference, and that excuse had gotten her the airfare and the cost
of hotel, food and a rental car.  Working for a University and being in
student government *did* have some perks.  One bag of clothes was slung
over Lyn's back and a less innocent bag was coming around on the luggage
pick-up go-'round. When a middle-aged man from the plane roughly pushed
by, Lyn had to suppress the impulse to strike out.  After all, she had
never been in a war and no one knew she was coming to Toronto for the war.
While it is true that not many tourist came to Toronto in November, the
factions couldn't possibly assume that every person getting off a plane
was heading for the War.  While she waited for her bag to come into reach,
Lyn felt for the plane ticket that would take her back to Phoenix, warmth
and safety if the going got too rough. 

After picking up her back and signing out the rental car, Lyn decided to
take a detour before the sun came up.  The Raven was on the way to the
hotel and Lyn wanted to look it over before going to her hotel.  So, even
though she wanted to go and sleep for a year, she forced herself to park
the Lincoln outside the brick building that was probably one of the most
dangerous hot-spots around during a War.  Leaving her bags in the car, Lyn
checked her appearance.  The t-shirt would never do, no one in the Raven
was ever modest enough to wear just jeans and a t-shirt.  With a pull and
a twist, Lyn tied a knot in her t-shirt.  With her midriff exposed and her
t-shirt pulled tight, Lyn looked more at home in a place like the Raven.
Carefully locking the car doors behind her, Lyn approached the heavy
doors.  Her heart raced as she thought about what was behind those doors.
With a gulp of air and a tight grip on her nerves, Lyn pushed open the
doors and slipped into the dark interior. 

The patrons of the bar were a strange lot.  Lyn had trouble deciding who
were vampires and who where mortals with white makeup and strung-out
faces.  A waiter wearing a bow-tie and very little else approached Lyn
once she settled at a table. 

"Can I get you ANYthing?" he asked.

"A bloody mary please," Lyn couldn't resist.  With a smile, the waiter
disappeared into the throng.  Now that Lyn had a chance to look around,
she could spot a number of people who were definitely not there to have a
good time.  Sitting in a tight group near the back of the bar, the Cousins
were obviously plotting an attack or counter-attack.  For a moment, Lyn
lost control of her thought and her heart.  Both fluttered out of control. 
 
Reminding herself that she was surrounded by mind-reading vampires, Lyn
fought to regain control of both functions.  She was almost breathing
normally when the waiter returned.  He set her drink down in front of her
and with a knowing smile disappeared again.  Lyn decided that she was
pushing her luck a little too far.  With one hand, she felt in her purse
for the present she had brought.  She had nothing against Cousins, per se,
but she did want them to know how easily their fortress could be invaded.
With a smile, she pulled out a copy of Giddeons Bible and a large,
obnoxious cross with a life-like Christ whose face showed the agony of his
death.  Setting the items down in plain sight, Lyn dropped a five dollar
bill on the table and headed for the door as quickly as she could without
attracting attention. 

When Lyn finally reached her hotel room, after taking multiple turns,
doubling back several times and continually scanning the sky, she laughed
to herself.  She was not a known player, and she had taken all the
precautions when reserving the room for this trip, so she didn't think the
Cousins could find her.  But she still felt the adrenaline rush every time
she thought about what LaCroix, Urs, Vashon or any other vampire would say
when they saw the present she had left behind. 

###

SUNSET BOULEVARD... (a)
by Cousin Candice

Time: 6am EST
Place: Alfred, New York, USA
        
//Oh, hell..// Candice hit her forehead for being such a moron. No keys. 
The Mercs had kidnapped her *without* bringing her keys!  And of course
her roommate wasn't home.  No, she was probably at her boyfriend's place. 
Candice didn't have a roommate, she had someone that used her room for
storage space.  She groaned loudly and hit her head on the door to her
room.  //I should have had Uncle unlock the door ..or break it down or
something..// But nooOOooo, she had been too busy flirting with him, too
busy playing up the Blonde Ditz Role (tm) to notice she had no way of
getting into her room. //Damndamndamndamndamn!!//
        
//Okay, so it's 6 am, the cleaning lady isn't here yet, my RA (resident
assistant) will never forgive me for waking him up at this ungodly
hour,...might as well check my email.// So Candice trundled down to the
VAX room, silk shirt and all, switched on a terminal.  //Oh geez ...this
is bad, 200+ messages.// That could only mean one thing.  The War was on
in earnest.  Candice needed to send out a message to the Cousins. //Well,
here goes nothing..//

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Cousins (addresses edited for space and time ;)
Cc: Anderson, steff, brian
Subject: WAR: Evenin' kids...

Thought that might get your attention.....

I suppose some of you need an explanation so here it is:

[much snippage of actual message]

Post away, and remember -No toe stomping!

Yours,
Candice -obsessed by memory, befriended by desire, Cousin by choice
          Toreador by default

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And with that done, she logged off.  As she was leaving the VAX room, she
bumped into Flip, a lacrosse player that lived down the hall.  At first he
didn;t recognize her and just smiled.  Then he did a double-take. 
        
"Candi???  You're ...you're blonde!"
        
"Well, Flip, no one's ever accused you of being clueless, but please, I'd
rather forget about the hair." 
        
"Don't worry about it ...it's all good."  Flip smiled again and then
realized she was less than appropriately dressed. 
        
"What's with the shirt, Can?  Rough night?"  Flip grinned at her with one
of those looks that just reeked of sensuality. 
        
"Rougher than I care to admit, tough guy.  Umm..listen, can I borrow a
pair of jeans?  I'm locked out of my room again and I'm not going to wake
up Jon or Dan.  I've got class in an hour, so why bother, right?" 
        
"Uhh..sure thing, any particular color?  Wait, ..I'll go get you my black
ones."  Flip hurried back to his room and returned not 30 seconds later
with black jeans in hand as promised.  Candice grabbed them, thankful for
their bagginess, tight jeans just weren't her thing. 
        
"Thanks you *SO* much Flip.  You have no idea..."  Candice trailed off as
she adjusted the jeans and tucked in the silk shirt, trying not to wrinkle
it. 
        
"Hey, it's all good -just do me a favor?"
        
"Anything.."
        
"Stay blonde long enough for me to take you out to diner, but for now, I
must return to the woman in my bed, can't leave her there too long or
she'll come looking for me."  He winked and laughed and she punched his
shoulder lightly, turning from him and heading for the door. 

###

WAR? WHAT WAR?
by Perri Smith

Time: Sunrise
Place: Perri's home

Perri stumbled out of bed, muttering under her breath at the obscenely
cheerful DJ on the radio. Garth Brooks came on and she stopped; Garth
almost made up for having to get up early. She lugged her laptop across
the bedroom, plugged in the modem and dialed in. Work called, but e-mail
had a louder voice. 

At least, it would if the phone was working. Which it wasn't. "Oh great,"
she muttered. "Da-ad, the phone's dead!" 

***

Of course, the first thing she did when she got to work was dial into her
e-mail. And almost the first message was from Scottie. 

"Save me? Huh?" Perri read, and got on the phone only a second later.
"Scottie? You got bricked in? What the hell....? Someone's already there?
How long 'til they get you out? Okay, call me when you get out. I've got a
bad feeling about this." 

She hung up, and brought up the second message -- this one from Nick. She
couldn't help it, she started laughing helplessly, then got on the phone
again. "Nick, how the hell could they get it upside down?" 

"I'm supposed to know?" the frustrated vampire said. "Perri, you would not
*believe* what they did to my Caddie!" 

"Oh, I think I would," Perri said more seriously. "Scottie got bricked
into her house this morning, and my phone lines were dead this morning. I
have a bad feeling about this, Nick." 

"So do I," Nick said reluctantly.

Perri waited.

Finally, he sighed, and said, "When are you coming to Toronto and do you
want to stay at the loft?" 

"This morning and yes," Perri answered. "I'm going to call a couple of the
others." 

"Call the airlines and put the tickets on my card." He gave her the number.

Perri scribbled it down and grinned. "You're a prince, Nick."

"And every Knightie on the face of the Earth is poor," Nick returned. "I
know. How many of you are we talking about?" 

Perri mentally crossed her fingers. "I don't know. Depends on who can get
away." 

"All right. Call me with your flight number and I'll meet you."

Perri started to thank him again, then paused. "You know, for someone who
hates the idea of followers, you're taking this awfully well." 

Nick laughed a little ruefully. "From past experience, my disapproval
doesn't stop any of you from getting involved. If I can't stop you, I may
as well get you where I can keep an eye on you. And I need someone to help
clean up the apartment." 

Perri laughed. "So we're maids now. I'll call back when I get the
reservations." 

She hung up, and dialed one more time. This time, it was a sleepy Knightie
who answered the phone. "Wake up, college kid. We've got trouble." 

Amy Denton yawned. "Again?"

###

CLOTHES? CLASSES? HA!
by Cousin Candice

Time: An hour before dawn
Place: LaCroix's digs and Alfred, N.Y. briefly

LaCroix entered his apartment in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, weary
from all the in-person communication he'd had to do in order to get the
Cousins prepared.  He entered the bedroom to check on Candice.  He was
greeted by a very much awake and very aggitated woman dressed in one of
his black silk shirts.  She was pacing back and forth, he could see
thoughts coming and going across her face, running her hands through her
VERY blonde hair. 

"You know, you look very striking as a blonde...'LaCroix chuckled much to
Candice's aggigation.  She snarled in return and continued to pace back
anf forth at the foot of the four-poster bed. 

"Well I hope -you- had a pleasant evening.  I'm still trying to warm up. 
Don't you ever have the heat on in this place?  It took me two hours to
get the shower to run at a passable warmth!  Christ, would youlook at
this?"  she tugged at her hair "They even did my *ROOTS*!! And I've got no
clothes and no food and my head hurts and...and...and..."  Candice
exagerated her helplessness by holding out her arms -the sleeves came WAY
past her hands.  She glared at LaCroix, still annoyed, knowing full well
the repercussions of this argument should she take it any further. 

She'd be dead meat.  LaCroix merely rolled his eyes and muttered
"...mortals..." and turning on his heels, walked out the door. Candice
stormed out after him, trying to keep her temper in check.  She took a
deep breath and told herself to calm down.  She stood in the doorway,
refusing to move an inch until her pulse returned to normal. 

"And then there's the matter of this..." she held the obnoxiously bright
neon pink paper out to LaCroix to look at for himself.  She pursed her
lips tightly together, trying not to get upset.  Candice forgot often that
she was in the company of such a man so dangerous to her health. 

"A ransom note, how droll."  He tossed the paper onto the table.

"LaCroix!  They have the love of my life tied up and held hostage! Where
the gods only know and all you can say is 'How Droll'???  Don't you
understand?" she pleaded. 

"You might irk me less if you would remember our differences, Candice."
LaCroix then went to the table where he had set a brown paper bag, pushing
the thoughts of his own lost love into the back of his mind.  "Now eat,
before I change my mind and throw you out." 

"You brought me breakfast?"  Candice was floored.  He's been around -how
many- centuries?  She walked slowly towards the table, very much aware of
how hungry she was at that moment.  The mere smell of food was making her
stomach cramp. 

"Yes, I brought you food and something for your headache--aspirin I think
you call it.  I can't have you debilitated during this war, you need your
health, because if you haven't got your health...what have you got?" 

Candice had to smile at that last blatant Princess Bride reference.  <So
he'd remembered...> Candice thought, very much amused with her Uncle.  She
sat down and practically inhaled the omlette and coffee LaCroix had
brought to her from The Second Cup.  She popped a few aspirin with the
black coffee an paused to breathe. 

Almost immediately she started to feel better.  Never again would she
underestimate what a decent breakfast could do for her spirits.  She
smiled at LaCroix, almost delighted, even thought it was 5:00 am. "Okay,
I'm done now.  Can we go back to Alfred now?" 

"You're joking, right?  This is that warped sense of humor I've heard so
much about, right?"  LaCroix stared at Candice, amazed that she could be
so put together with a little food and a little coffee. 

"No, I'm *quite* serious.  Those bitches didn't take into account that I
have a critique today.  I can NOT miss it, and there's nothing in hell or
heaven that's gonna stop me from being there." 

Lacroix raised an questioning eyebrow.  "Ahh...a passionate artist...well
I suppose if you must, then I'll take you home..." 

Candice knew she was pushing her luck, but thought she'd ask anyway, "Will
you help me find Brian?"  LaCroix grinned a little and said softly "No my
dear, that's what you've got family for...." 

They took off into the cool pre-dawn sky and touched down in Alfred a half
hour before sunrise. 

**A mere half hour later, in Alfred, N.Y.**
**At Candi's dorm/apt room**

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?  I'll even let you bring me
across..." Candice teased LaCroix mercilessly and bared her neck to him,
laughing as she did so. 

"You, are most definitely a woman in need of sleep.  I'll expect you back
in Toronto by 9 p.m. tonight.  Understood?" 

"Yes, Lucien..." she whispered.

Candice couldn't tell if it was just the drugs wearing off making her see
things, or if LaCroix had really flinched what she'd said. 

###

WHY ME?
by Perri Smith

Time: Around sunrise
Place: Nick's loft

Nick slid open the elevator door and stepped into the loft, still choking
back chuckles. The look on Tracy's face as the computer had repeated, "I'm
a *good* cop," had been priceless. The station techies were still having
fits figuring out how to get it out, but everyone else (excluding Tracy)
had enjoyed it. 

Still, the prank had a familiar feel to it, he thought to himself. Very
familiar...after all these years, even he could recognize the opening
shots of a war. 

He shook his head. No, he was being paranoid. Surely one of the Knighties
-- who was leading them these days? Scottie? Sandra? No, Perri -- would
have told him if anything was up. If they'd known..... 

He shook his head again and stopped drifting long enough to actually look
at his apartment. And froze. Then, slowly, he reached for the light switch
and turned it on. 

His vampire vision hadn't been fooling him, after all. The place
was...indescribable.  There were bricks everywhere! Magnets, photographs
-- *framed* photographs -- a book on the couch with bricks on the covers.
And...even fingerpainted on the refrigerator. He turned around in dread --
yes, they were on the door, as well. A Christmas brick proudly decorated
the piano bench. 

"Merde!!!!!" he cursed, stomping further into the room. "Qui en
l'inferne.....merde!!!!" A horrible thought suddenly struck him. He *had*
put the Caddie in the garage last night, hadn't he? Yes, he had.Then why
had he seen it parked by the curb as he drove in? 

He literally flew out the window, landing a few feet from his beloved car. 

It was pink.

With ravens painted on the side.

This time, the cursing was much louder and in about five languages.

***

The rage took several minutes to burn off. Only the burning of the rising
sun forced him inside and away from the Caddie. He closed the shutters
behind him and started stalking back and forth through his maltreated
apartment. Something on the counter caught his eye, and he changed
directions. 

"What the...?" The carafe was completely full of blood - and upside down
on the counter. "How the devil did someone pull that off?" He started to
smash it aside, considered his carpet, and lowered his hand. This would
take some thought. In a moment; there was something he had to do first. 

It had just been a suspicion before, but this was too much. Something
*was* starting. And, like it or not, his followers - he winced at the word
-- had to be warned. 

He sat down at the computer, noting absently that he had left it on the
night before. Again. His e-mail provider came up and he typed in a quick
message to Perri. Lord knew it was the only way to reach the woman; she
moved around more than a vampire. After sending it, he went back to stare
at the pitcher. Maybe if he slid something under it... 

***

The phone rang and drops of blood spilled to the floor. Nick cursed yet
again, struggling with the paper and the carafe. The damn paper just would
*not* go under the lip. He gave it up for the moment and answered the
phone. 

"Nick? It's Perri."

"Perri. Good, you got my message."

"Yeah; had to get it from work, though, the phone was out at home. That's
where I am." 

"Your phone was out?"

"Yeah." Perri's voice was grim. "And I just got an emergency message from
Scottie. Someone *bricked* her into her house last night. Windows and
doors." 

"You should see what they did to *my* apartment."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"The whole apartment?"

"Yes. Bricks everywhere. And a carafe of blood *upside down* on my counter."

"Nick, how the hell could they get it upside down?"

"I'm supposed to know?" he asked, running an angry hand through his hair.
"Perri, you would not *believe* what they did to my Caddie!" 

"Oh, I think I would," Perri said more seriously. "Scottie got bricked
into her house this morning, and my phone lines were dead this morning. I
have a bad feeling about this, Nick." 

Nick didn't want to say it. He *really* didn't want to say it. "So do I."

She waited. He could *hear* her waiting. He fought himself and the
Knighties won. 

"When are you coming to Toronto and do you want to stay at the loft?"

"This morning and yes," she said, not hiding the triumph very well,or the
anger. "I'm going to call a couple of the others." 

"Call the airlines and put the tickets on my card."

"You're a prince, Nick."

"And every Knightie on the face of the Earth is poor," Nick returned. "I
know. How many of you are we talking about?" He asked hesitantly. 

"I don't know," she said after an almost infinitesimal pause. "Depends on
who can get away." 

"All right," he sighed, resigned. "Call me with your flight number and
I'll meet you." 

"You know, for someone who hates the idea of followers, you're taking this
awfully well," Perri sid, slightly suspiciously. 

Nick laughed a little ruefully. "From past experience, my disapproval
doesn't stop any of you from getting involved. If I can't stop you, I may
as well get you where I can keep an eye on you." 

Perri laughed. "So true. I'll call back when I get the reservations."

Perri hung up, presumably to make flight reservations, and Nick rubbed his
eyes, sighing. He still didn't like the idea of followers, never had. But
it made him feel slightly better to know he was going to have some people
at his back. Besides, they would be at risk anywhere, as Scottie and
Perri's early-morning problems had proved. At least in Toronto, he could
protect them. 

He got up and went back to work on the carafe, idly wondering how many
Knighties would be able to come. He didn't think many; there wasn't room
in the loft. 

Maybe if he found something stiffer to slide under it....

Was there a body shop that would pick up and deliver?

###

TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE'RE DOING THIS? (a)
by Amy Denton and Perri Smith

Time: After sunrise
Place: Dallas/Ft. Worth airport

Amy Denton was waiting for Perri at Dallas/Ft. Worth airport. "Where's
Scottie?" she asked, looking behind Perri. 

"She couldn't get the time off until tommorow, something about an
incompetant dictator at Baylor. She's going to meet us in Toronto tomorrow
morning, after the construction guys finish at her house." Perri dropped
her huge carry-on bag and started rooting around for her ticket. "Good
thing I finally got my driver's license so I didn't have to get a ride
here. The 'rents still have problems with this whole concept of trotting
off to Toronto because of my friend who happens to be a vampire. they're
still hacked off about the phone lines." 

"Did you talk to Nick?"

"Yeah, he's going to meet us at the airport."

"Toronto in the dead of winter; we're going to freeze! Who have you
called?" 

"At least there's nothing there to set your allergies off," Perri pointed
out, finally locating her ticket. "And I called *everyone*. Marina, Tim,
Dottie, Matt, Amy Potter and Karen Tobin are definitely coming. I don't
know about the others. Check my mail while I get my boarding pass?" 

Amy dug Perri's laptop out of the carrier and started it up, laughing as
usual at the gratuitous (and obsessive) X-Men displays. 

"Where do you get this stuff, Perri?" she asked herself, before settling
down to find the message. 

Perri reappeared after a few minutes. "What do you think?" she asked,
ignoring the chairs and sitting on the floor. 

"I think you're right. Trouble."

"Yeah. Fortunately, I have a Plan."

Amy heard the capital. "Oh, God." Then she shut up and listened.

****

"Happy Souvlaki Deli."

"Pam? This is Amy Denton. The Knightie."

"The loud one?"

"No, that's Perri. We need to ask a favor."

"Is this about the War?"

"Word travels fast. Can we meet at your place tonight?"

"Define we."

"Me, Perri, Torrey, Jennie Hayes and the FoDs."

"...Sure. what about?"

"We'll tell you when we get there."

*****

"Hi, Torrey? It's Perri."

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I know what time it is? I do wear a
watch. And it can't be that late, I'm in Chicago and I started in Dallas." 

"Your point?"

"You're leading the Vaqueros, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're about to get more than you bargained for." Perri filled Torrey in
on the early morning present. "So it looks like we've got a war on our
hands. 

Torrey was now wide awake. "That explains those damn cows. Toronto. Sounds
like fun. Vachon...oh, my God." 

Perri laughed. "My sentiments exactly, but don't tell Nick, he'd have a
cow. All puns intended. Look, can you meet us at the..." She looked next
to her. Amy looked up from her own conversation to give her a thumbs up.
"...the Happy Souvlaki Deli tonight? We need to talk." 

Torrey thought. "Okay, if I can get up there in time. Address?"

Amy read it to Perri, who passed it on to the Vaquero before hanging up.

"Well?" Amy asked.

"She'll be there."

"Oh, God."

###

TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE ARE DOING THIS? (b)
by Torrey Harris

Time: After sunrise
Place: Torrey's home

Torrey puts the phone down and looks around the room, her eyes coming to
rest on the "mooer" on the floor. 

"I can't believe this, not now, so much for my vacation."

She starts to pack an odd assortment of clothing, tools, and books.
Lugging her two full bags and overfull backpack from the bedroom she
remembers Jesse's lying on the couch. 

"Ok, what am I going to do about you? Hmmm, I got it."

She picks up the phone and dials her brother Jeff to come and stay at her
house. It took some sweet talk and a promise that he could use her
dirtbike when she was away be he said he would do it. 

"Ok, I guess that's it. I better get going. I hope Perri realizes that
it will take me 4 1/2 hours to get to the darn airport."

****

Place: Toronto

After four plus hours on the road and twice that in the plane she finally
arrives in Toronto. Getting off the plane she shifts her backpack around
and a faint "mooo" comes from inside. The other passengers turn to look at
her and she curses herself for the tenth time for bringing the annoying
thing with her. 

After getting her bags from the pick up she heads for the doors to try and
find a cab. The doors swing open and she is left standing there with a
horrified look on her face. 

"Thissss is not cold, this is freezing!  I'm going to die out here, what
was I thinking?" 

Teeth chattering and lips turning blue she heads for the first cab she
sees. The driver puts her bags into the back and gets in. 

"Where can I drop you?"

Still shivering, Torrey answers. "The Happy Souvalaki Deli...oh, and can
you please turn the heat up before I freeze to death?" 

As the cab pulls away Torrey wonders if she should call some of her other
faction members. 

Nah...let's wait and see what Perri has to say before I drag them all up
here to freeze with me. 

###

UP, UP, AND AWAY!
by Catherine Boone

Time: After sunrise
Place: Catherine's home

The phone rang patiently several times before finally a voice answered.
"I'm sorry, you're just not important enough for us to talk to right now,
but if you go to the effort of leaving a message, we might deem you
entertaining enough to answer." <beep!>

"Catherine, it's Perri.  Pick up the phone, it's important.  You're gonna
love this." 

Catherine was sitting nearby, screening the call as usual.  She hated
answering the phone.  But she perked up at this.  Perri wasn't one to call
unless it was important.  She dived forward.  "Yo, Perri!  Where the heck
are you?  I tried to call you four times!  You won't believe what I found
on my doorstep this morning..." 

"Did you try my parents' line?"

"Uhhh...no.  Why?  What happened to you?"

There was a small pause.  "Well, you'd better sit down.  It's a long
story..." 

Ten minutes later Catherine was boiling.  "They did **what**?"

"You don't really want me to repeat all that, do you?"

"No, no!  Aww, man, the Cousins are so toast!  I assume you talked to
Nick, and he's expecting us?"  She grinned.  "I'm glad it wasn't me that
had to break it to him!  How'd he take it?" 

"Pretty well, actually.  I was impressed.  Just leave him mail saying what
you're flight number is and when it gets in, and he should meet you at the
airport." 

"Great!  I'll probably be spending the afternoon clearing all this with
administration down here, and then I'm on my way!  Frankly, they'll think
I'm insane to take an indefinite leave in the middle of the term, but hey,
when participating in a war, sanity is definitely optional." Catherine
grinned.  "With luck, I'll be there by tonight." 

"Perfect!  But don't be too late!  I think it's going to take all of us to
clean up the mess the Cousins made of everything." 

"Ah, sweet thoughts of revenge float through my brain."  She grinned.
"Don't worry, Perri, I'm on my way.  Oh, and Perri?"  She glanced around
at all her clothes in piles on the floor, and winced.  "Ya think Nick has
a washing machine I could use... ?" 

-=-=-=-=-

The ticket agent wore her most polite smile, but Catherine caught her
disapproving glance at her huge suitcase, trailing shirtsleeves, and her
bulging carry-ons.  Her polite smile faded noticeably.  "May I help you?" 

Catherine beamed.  "Yes.  I'd like a one-way ticket to Toronto, Canada,
please."  With a calm air she pulled out her American Express gold card,
"Nick Knight" emblazoned in small letters in the corner.  Simply amazing.
With Perri's help on Nick's end, the internet could positively work
wonders these days. 

Funny, the agent was only too eager to please after that...

###

Storm Building
by Erika S. Hanson

Time: Early morning
Place: UNM

Erika dragged a hand through her hair and yawned. *There should be a law
against having classes this early* she grumped. She staggered down to the
basement of UNM's Student Union Building, wishing desperately for a cup of
coffee. 
     
Luckily, the computer lab was empty when she got there. *Of course,* she
thought wryly, *No one else would be insane enough to get up this early.*
She slid into a seat in front of a terminal and logged in, flipping
through her Psych notes as the messages scrolled across the screen. 
     
Erika's eyes widened in surprise as she saw the last of the messages come
up, and what they pertained to. *War? What War?* She quickly called them
up, growing increasingly nervous as she read each one. *This is a bad
joke.*
     
But it wasn't a joke. She knew enough about Wars to know that things could
get out of hand if someone didn't do something soon. And this was a
potential time bomb...Erika shook her head. She would have to see for
herself what was *really* going on. 

She would have to go to Toronto.

But she had to make a few calls first.

Erika took the stairs to her apartment two at a time, face pale and eyes
flashing with fury. She'd decided to take the day off from school to
arrange for her pending 'vacation.' Running up the sidewalk to her
building, she decided to check the mail...get the bills in order, make
sure she wasn't going to be evicted... 

All thoughts of normality flew out of her head as she saw the package, one
of those plastic models of a heart used in anatomy classes. It was tied
with a pink bow, a fletched arrow stuck conspicuously in the middle. The
color drained from Erika's face. 

Things were much worse then she had thought.

************************

"Yes, Christine Hunt, Please...yes, I'll hold."

She drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently, waiting to be
transferred. Finally, a woman's accented voice was heard over the line. 

"This is Christine."

"Hi, Chris, this is Erika. We've got a *big* problem."

"Umm, are you sure this can't wait? I'm in the middle of teaching a class
right now."

"Yeah, I know. I would have waited until you were off work, but it's too
important to wait. We need to do something *now*.

"What's the problem," Christine asked, sounding concerned.

"Well, you know hostilities have been high on the list lately..."

"Yeah..."

"I just received a not-so-nice preasent in the mail today, A replica of a
human heart with an arrow stabbed through the center." 

Chris was shocked. "My God! who do you think sent it?"

Erika shook her head thoughtfully, as confused as her friend was. "I don't
know. It looks like the Cousins, but I haven't done anything to incur
their wrath...lately. I can't picture the Ravenettes doing anything like
this at all. They're so scattered now, with Janette gone..." She fell
silent, as a truly horrible thought occured to her. 

"What?" Christine was nervous now.

Erika's voice was flat. "The Immortal Beloveds."

"Oh, come on. Their faction's too small to really do anything..."

"Anybody can hire Mercs. And they have a motive. They'd jump at the chance
to keep Nick and Nat apart, and we're in their way." 

There was silence on the other end, then, "Okay, I have vacation time
coming up...I think we should stop this thing before it starts." 

Erika nodded. "I agree. I'm taking a flight out to Toronto tonight."
"Really?" Chris teased. "I thought you were a starving college student." 

"I am. But I talked to Perri earlier. I'm taking this flight curtesy of
the De Brabant Foundation--i.e. Nick's private credit card." 

Christine laughed. "All right. I'll see you tonight...I think I'll pick up
Judith Freudenthal on the way out of New York. She'll want to be in on
this." 

"Cool. The more, the merrier. See you later."

Erika hung up the phone and went to pack. The Nick&NatPackers were coming
to Toronto, and she had a feeling that the city would never be the same
again. 

###

SWABBIES MY BEEEEEP
by Cousin Linda

Linda rubbed at her eyes groggily, wondering what Arthur was barking at.
She cursed when the doorbell answered her question.  Stumbling to the
door, she threw it open to reveal a brown UPS shirt.  Her eyes travelled
up a broad chest to a pair of blue eyes.  "Just like Uncle's," she
thought.  Her stare was interrupted by a clipboard thrust into her hands. 
        
"Sign here."  The blue eyes glanced at her again, then he took back the
clipboard and shoved a small package into her hands.  She took it and
closed the door.  Her sleepy mind wondered who Fly-By-Night Publishers
were and why they had sent her a package. 
        
Setting it down on a table, she tore the wrapping off, then screamed and
fell back on the floor.  Q-tips exploded in all directions, they covered
the floor, showered Arthur, and blanketed the stunned Cousin.  She
grimaced as she untangled them from her curly hair, then stomped to the
phone. 
        
Her hands tremble in rage as she dialed a number she had memorized but
never used.  The phone rang only once before it was picked up.  Dead
silence greeted her. 
        
"Uncle?"
        
"Yes."  His annoyed statement made Linda wince.
        
"I've just been attacked."
        
"What did you expect during a War?  Candy and flowers?"
        
Linda bit back her own sarcastic response.  "What do you want me to do
about it?" 
        
"Make your way up here, of course."
        
"How?"
        
Lacroix chuckled, making Linda's back shiver.  "Be creative, my dear.  I
don't yet know which of those pesky factions are making nuisances of
themselves, so EVERYONE is fair game.  Remember, 'might makes right.'" 
        
Linda shivered again as he quoted her own recent post.  Then she heard a
click, and he was gone.  Everyone, he had said.  That certainly included
Vaqueras, innocent or not.  Linda called an off-list friend to dog-sit,
then dashed out the door, on her way to Deb Martin's house. 

**************************************************************

The house appeared dark as she walked up to it, having parked around the
corner.  Linda paused as she reached into a flower-pot for the key.  Deb
was her friend, after all.  Then her fingers closed on the small piece of
metal. 
 
Friends were only friends, and Uncle needed her.
        
"Deb?"  Heart pounding, Linda stepped into the house.  Silence.  She
glanced at the electronic equipment lining the walls.  TV, stereo, VCRs, a
computer - would all this bring enough at a pawn shop to pay for a trip to
Toronto?  Maybe, maybe not. 
        
A burning pain pierced her ankle and she nearly shrieked.  "Priscilla!"
Glaring as the furry streak disappeared behind the couch, Linda cursed at
cats in general.  They HAD to be Cousins at heart.  Where was Screed when
you needed him?  Dabbing at the drops of blood seeping out of the fine
lines across her ankle, she made her way into the bedroom, freezing at the
sight of clothes scattered everywhere.  "Did someone get here before me?" 
Then she spotted the notepad beside the phone.  American Airlines, Flight
341 to Toronto.  Glancing at her watch, Linda noted the departure time was
scheduled for not even an hour earlier.  "So," Linda said.  "Participating
in a little war, are we?" 
        
She grinned as she spotted the shiny piece of gold plastic peeping out
from under the notepad.  That solved the expense problem.  She picked up
the phone.  "Hi.  My name is Deb Martin and I'd like to charge a second
ticket from Austin to Toronto.  Yes, in Canada.  No, this one's for a
friend." 

###

KNIGHTIES, KNIGHTIES EVERYWHERE
by Catherine Boone

Time: After sunrise
Place: Toronto airport

Catherine got off the plane fairly disgustingly cheerful.  She was used to
sitting through long plane rides from LA to Alaska every time she went
home, so that part wasn't really anything to get her down.  And meeting
listfriends never failed to make her day.  But she'd better move fast if
she wanted to catch everyone.  She wandered off to a nice quiet corner of
the airport, and got her act together. 

She knew there were some other Knighties coming soon - they'd tried to
coordinate schedules such that Nick wasn't driving back and forth between
his loft and the airport all day.  But Judy and Maryann couldn't make it
till Monday, so she was supposed to remind Nick to pick them up then.  But
she was a little worried about getting to everyone since, in all
truthfulness, she had very little clue what the others looked like. Just
their origin points and a general arrival time.  She had tried to get to
Toronto before everyone else, but you never knew who was going to get a
tailwind or something. 

She unzipped her carry-on and pulled out a sign, the biggest she could fit
in, and her ever-present coke.  Never fails that the stewardesses give you
too little caffeine on those flights.  She rezipped her bag, and started
trolling the terminals, looking for Knighties.  Some people looked at her
strangely, but that was to be expected when you're wearing a hat that has
a pole attached to it, with a sign reading "Knighties" on it.  She'd be
afraid if people *weren't* staring.  She really wanted to make sure she
got everyone that was coming, so the obvious answer was to make a
spectacle of herself.  The most fun option, too. 

The first terminal she hit was from Houston.  She just kinda stood around
and sipped her coke, lookin' wierd, until a woman approached her.  She
pretty much fitted Susanne's description... "Susanne?  Hi!" 

"Hi...you must be Catherine."  She looked kinda spooked at the sign
towering above her, but only for a moment.  She smiled.  "Have you found
Nick yet?" 

"No, actually, I just got here myself.  I tell ya what.  I'll go split
over to terminal..." she scanned the arrivals screen nearby for incoming
Atlanta flights, "B5, to pick up Roni, while you go try to spot Nick. He
knows where we're coming from, so he can't be too far.  We'll wait for you
there." 

Susanne looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, "I have a better
idea.  Why don't you tell me what your suitcase looks like, then after I
find Nick, I can get your suitcase for you from baggage claim.  Then you
just send everyone you find down to us there.  That way our bags aren't
left hanging while we're waiting for people." 

She grinned.  "Even better!  Okay, I'll see you in baggage claim when
everyone's corraled up here." 

The two went their separate ways.  Again, Catherine lounged in the
terminal until someone cautiously approached her.  "Catherine...?  Hi! I'm
Roni!" 

"Hey, Roni!  How's it goin'?"

"I could use a ten-hour nap, but otherwise, fine!  So, what's the plan?"

"'Kay.  Nick and Susanne are hanging out in baggage claim, so just get
your bags, and hopefully they've found a nice obvious place to camp out.
Once I get Paula, Erika, and Marcia, we should be able to take off." 

Roni laughed.  "Ooh! Organization!"

"I know.  Startin' to scare me, too."

In a similar fashion, Catherine met Marcia, from her long black coat, and
Erika, whom she spotted by merely picking out the person who looked like
she was about to die laughing at Catherine's funky hat... 

Lastly was Paula, who was uncommonly sweet, and didn't seem to notice
anything strange at all about someone having a sign on their head.  They
chatted about the strange packages people had been getting, and what it
could all mean, on their way to the baggage claim.  They came to the
conclusion that it was undoubtedly Cousins harrassing everyone...again... 
"Jeez, do they ever do anything *else*?" 

Catherine snorted.  "No one knows.  Frankly, I doubt it."

Then they caught up with Nick and the others.  Suitcases were piled
everywhere, and Nick was looking awfully depressed.  "You're *all* staying
in the loft?" 

"Yep."  Catherine tried hard to cheer Nick up.  "Aww, don't look so blue,
Nick.  It's not that bad.  We're just going to eat you out of house and
home, run your credit card bill out of the solar system, and require
bailing out every once in a while.  It'll be fun, trust me!" 

She won a wry smile.  "Why am I not reassured?"  Nick sighed the sigh of
the long-suffering, and helped everyone carry out their bags to the van
he'd rented for just this purpose. 

Paula eyed it a moment, then asked gently, "Have you found anyone yet to
fix the caddy?" 

Do I even need to say Nick looked tremendously depressed?  'Cause he did. 
"They'll start tomorrow." 

Erika's eyebrows shot up.  "Wow.  Fast work."  Nick nodded.

They all shared a moment of silence, then Roni offered, "We'd better get
out to the loft and help Perri, Amy, and Karen clean up."  It seemed to at
least partially shake Nick out of his funk, and they made their way to the
loft. 

They took their luggage up through the garage, because the elevator was on
the fritz temporarily.  Each Knightie passed by the caddy like it was an
open casket.  Catherine just couldn't stop whispering to herself, "Oh, my
god...ohhh, my god..."  Nick walked straight past, looking neither right
nor left.  They all trailed after him. 

"Perri, this situation is totally ridiculous!  We have to do something!"
That was the first thing out of Maria's mouth.  Erika was right behind
her, "I agree.  We just can't stand by and let them walk all over us with
this." 

Perri looked about as murderous as they did.  "Guys, we're don't need
convincing.  What we need is a plan of attack." 

Catherine slung her carry-on to the floor, then smiled wryly, and waggled
her finger at all of them.  "Funny you should mention a plan..." 

###

SLEEP TAKES A BACK SEAT FOR THE IMMORTAL BELOVEDS 
By Felicia Bollin (Ari) and Catherine Siemann

Time: 6am EST
Place: Toronto

I practically fell off the bus in the chilly gray twilight, gathering my
cape around my shoulders with a flourish, which was completely spoiled by
the subsequent stumbling over my three bags.  I walked towards the dark
figure at the opposite end, hands on her hips.  Tall/ slim/ blonde must =
Catherine. 

"Took you long enough," Catherine said crossly.  She was wearing what she
said she'd be wearing, so together, she and I looked like a Betsey Johnson
convention. 

I took one look at her and started laughing.  "I should have known you
could only be one person, considering how much you *do* resemble Tracy." 

"You didn't mention how much you looked like Urs," sniped Catherine back
in true Ravenette fashion.  "Love the haircolor you picked out, Blondie." 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to start off like that," I apologized.  "Especially
since this is our first real in-person meeting.  It's just I guess I'm
really tired.  I didn't do a whole lot of sleeping, even though I had my
Walkman. What I mostly did was catch up on the mail."  Both Catherine and
I had never been in a war before, so it was a little alarming to both of
us.  But we were catching on fast.  We started dragging my luggage to the
rental car counter. 
 
"You'll have to do the renting.  Unless Toronto is different from New York
State, I can't rent a car until next year.  But I'll pay for it with my
new Amex, if you want.  Now, in ten minutes or less, what have we done?" 

"Well" Catherine began carefully, "I got in touch with Lane Lombardia and
he helped talk me through the stuff with the Metro Homicide division
computers. Thanks to my Tracy disguise, it was _tres facile_ .  He even
helped me add a little--extra fillip to things.  Anyway, Nick and the
other officers should be in for quite a surprise when they go to boot
up--sometime around the time tonight that we're due to serve papers on
LaCroix."  Catherine grinned evilly.  "I even ran it through into the
morgue computer.  When Nat goes to check her email--bingo!"  I clapped my
hands. 

"Oh, I love it," I squealed as we signed the forms for the only black
sportscar on the lot in a bow to Janette.  "That's a blow for the Immortal
Beloveds, and a sideswipe to Cousin Jamie, picture-extorter, while we're
at it.  Good job!" 

"What have you heard from Susan?"

"Well, we've found another home base to use while we're collecting
ourselves--the Revenant.  It's not home, but it's much."  Both Catherine
and myself observed a brief moment of silence for the Raven--the club we'd
never had the privilege to see in all its true glory.  It would soon be
ours again.  "Actually, it's not quite bad," Catherine continued.  "It's
got a certain--charm, all its own.  The owner must have been a friend of
Janette's or something--it's got a *baby* Wall of Chains over one of the
windows.  Cutest thing you ever saw." 

"And the *Ravenette* part of our plan?"

"Well, I was kinda waiting for you on that one."

"Weeeellllll..." I mused, enjoying my moment very much as we settled our
luggage into the car towards our next destination.  Unfolding the laptop,
I plugged it into the cigarette lighter and reported.  "Look at what came
to me from Larry Merlin...." 

Catherine paused before turning the key in the ignition, and was soon lost
in rapt contemplation of my message.  "Oh--oh!" 

"Wasn't that *kind* of him?"  I enthused, smoothing my crushed blue velvet
two-piece as best as I could.  Betsey Johnson made lovely colors, but her
stuff was low in the quality department at times.  "I mean, what a
coincidence, having this conference at U of T come pat to the moment."  We
were both temporarily lost in awe. 

"I myself am often surprised at life's little quirks," Catherine agreed
cheerfully, if not originally.  (Ten points to any Cousin who could
identify *that* quote.)

"This will take a little more planning.  I mean, we have to find out where
they're staying.  Wouldn't it be something if we all wound up in the same
hotel?" 

"I agree.  You know, I cannot, cannot imagine what Amy Hull is going to
have to say to this." 

"Humph.  Serves her right--after all, she and the Natpack *have* to be the
ones responsible for Heather Parks' abrupt wardrobe change.  Who else
would know to do that?  And they were really, really cruel to Tara too. 
Attacking with absolutely no provocation." 

"And the last part of our three-pronged mission?"  Catherine spoke
delicately.  No one in the previous wars had ever bugged a car, to the
best of our knowledge, but who knew? 

I waved a hand imperiously in a creditable imitation of Janette and took
an imaginary drag on the candy.  "Oh, the troublemakers are still stuck in
Brooklyn, no doubt.  They can wait.  After all, we've already kinda taken
a shot at their little red wagon." 

"And how!"  Catherine snickered.  "So okay, you might have been a little
inflammatory with your 'we're *right*' stance.  But you wouldn't have
tweaked them if the Nick&Natpack would skip tacking on their darn census
to the end of every other post.  Pity to think there are that many deluded
Romantics-with-a-capital-R out there, isn't it?" 

"_Oui, c'est ca, cherie_ ," we sighed at exactly the same moment.

***

Time: 6:30am EST
Place: Metro Homicide

Captain Reese sighed as he fell into his chair for the last time.  Those
little "chats" with Commissioner Vetter really took a lot out of a man. 
Not for the first time, he wondered why he didn't take his wife's advice
and try out for a shot on "Jeopardy."  He was great at that show. 

Leaning forward, he powered up his computer to check VICAP once more for
leads to their latest serial killer, one who was mysteriously smothering
his victims in frog legs.  His lips twitched. 

"What the dickens is this?"  He stood, staring down at the computer in
shock. Instead of the "Support Your Policeman's Benevolent Association"
screensaver he had installed, he saw an extraordinary picture.  It looked
like, yes it was, Detective Knight--and a woman with large round blue
eyes, hair like a raven's wing, and almost translucent skin.  The two of
them were on opposite sides of a wooden beam, shrouded in purple/mauve
light.  Combined with their body language--heads tilted towards each
other, the amused smile on her face as they looked towards something off
to their left with a companionable expression--Reese knew that this woman
was no stranger to Knight.  They had the look of longtime lovers.  Not
lovers at the moment, but the signs were all there. 

And here he had been, thinking that the boy must be all but celibate, if
he was nuts enough not to jump Natalie Lambert.  There was obviously
history between the two of them as well, a blind man would have known, but
from what Reese could see, she could do a lot better.  She needed someone
who could be there for her 24-7, the way she always was for everyone else. 
Reese knew a lot of the people in the division didn't think he was tuned
into human nature, but he noticed a lot more than they thought. 

Another picture of Knight and the mysterious vamp.  She *was* a knockout,
smooth cream poured into that black velvet dress molded to her body. 
Whoa, what was this?!  Now she had moved *behind* Knight!  The expression
on his face as he refused to look at her was still amused, but wary. 

*Holy cow*!  Now, she was *snuggled* into the small of Knight's back!  Her
mouth almost touched his ear.  He wasn't throwing her to the floor, true;
but he wasn't pushing her away, either.  He looked rather cute, actually,
Reese supposed, with that boyish, endearing grin. 

Another snuggle, but from a different viewpoint.  The young lady was giving
Nick an amused, knowing smile, while he was refusing even to meet her eyes.
 Yet another--the fifth so far.  And another--*whoa*!  That sent the
hormones zinging. 

This time, Knight had turned to face the lady, and he trailed a finger
down along her full bottom lip, looking at her with eyes at half-mast. 
Even from the profile angle, Reese could tell she didn't mind too much. 
When *had* he last seen Knight wear that black leather jacket? 

<**Oh my sainted aunt!>** Reese thought.  A closeup this time--and wow,
what a closeup.  Now, the woman was playing hard-to-get, and Knight was
staring, half into her eyes, half *at* her lips, eyelids almost completely
closed, no more than an inch of daylight between the two of them. 
Starting to feel uncomfortably like a voyeur, Reese looked up and wanted
to share with the first person in front of his door.  "Hey you!  Vetter!" 

Tracy backtracked, looking harassed.  Reese pointed at the computer. 
"Come here.  I want you to see something." 

"But, Captain," Tracy complained, wringing her hands, "my father wants me
to meet him for brunch in twenty minutes, and I was just finishing up some
paperwork--" 

Reese pointed a forefinger at her.  "You.  Here.  Now," as the picture
changed. 

Barely suppressing an eye roll, Tracy perched on the end of her superior
officer's desk.  "Okay, what is it?" 

Of course, her timing was impeccable.  Reese's eyes returned to the screen
at about the same time Tracy dropped both jaw and empty gun holster. 

"Land o' Grace!"  Tracy gasped as she stared at the screen.  "Omigod,
Captain, that's the woman in the picture I got from Nick's desk to give to
this girl who went to the same KISS concerts I did!" 

Reese decided he couldn't afford to ask.  Besides, the action on the
screen was too irresistible.  3-2-1-Contact!  The normally impeturbable
Detective Knight was now mingling breath with the sultry siren.  <Not bad
technique>, Reese mused. <Knight's been practicing>.  She looked composed,
but hesitant, as if she couldn't afford to believe this was happening. 
Knight, on the other hand, looked agonized, paralyzed with desire, all but
in pain. 

And the last picture, with Knight still gazing at her, temporarily
mesmerized, while the female's hooded gaze looked off into the distance,
smug and satisfied.  "The boy is whipped," Reese murmured.  Tracy stared
in fascination. 

"Oh--oh--look, Captain."  Tracy breathed in disbelief.  The pictures
started up again, but at a faster pace.  Now, they began to pull a Brady
Bunch, moving over and over and over again, all nine of them, to fill a
tick-tack-toe grid.  But wait, what was this? 

Their ears were almost instantaneously inflamed by--no, it couldn't be.

But it was.

"Sexual Healing."  Reese would know the late great Marvin Gaye anywhere.

Then, just as suddenly, it switched after the first chorus.

*The* *Bee* *Gees*!!!!!

"Night Fever," no less.

Reese screamed and jumped under the desk.  Tracy began to snap her fingers
and sing along in an extremely off-key voice as her commanding officer
writhed, hands over ears. 

All of a sudden, giggles flared out from inside the squadroom as the
blue-uniformed men on the day shift watched their computers go through the
same dance.  Reese screeched, "Vetter!  *Shut up*!" and opened up an email
form as the songs changed back and forth in an endless, demonic pairing
that could come only from all seven circles of hell. 

Tracy dropped to half volume, whimpering the lyrics softly, as Reese
composed an urgent letter to Dr. Lambert's morgue computer.  He'd get to
the bottom of this!  "If only Knight's old partner was here!  He'd know
who this woman was! Then I wouldn't have to bother Dr. Lambert!"  Reese
thought, not knowing what he was getting himself into. 

Of course, the men would think this just another example of Nick's status
as Joe Cool, and seeing him making time with such a snazzy-looking
specimen would do nothing but raise his stock in their estimation. 

But with that good ol' double standard, who knows what they would think of
the two women in this triangle? 

###

LOW FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES (Part 1)
by Cousine Celeste Hotaling-Lyons

Time: 6:30AM EST
Place: Everett, near Boston

"With the li-i-i-ight in your e-e-e-y-es, it's hard to see!"

The singer's crystal-clear, soprano voice blasted out of the Bose
clock-radio by Cousine Celeste's ear, and she sat up, dislodging two
plump, sleeping cats from their places, draped as they were over her
mid-section and left arm.  Her hand snaked out expertly, hitting the `off'
button and cutting off the alterna-rock artist in mid-wail.  The singer's
sentiment about the light *was* a simplistic one, but accurate--with even
the weak, 6:30AM New England light in one's eyes, it *was* demonstrably
difficult to see.  Once again, the non-morning-Cousine found herself
wishing in a vague fashion for Nick's automated, sun-proof window system
as she scratched blearily at her mid-section.  A third cat, Newt, joined
his step-brother cats on the bed, and they milled about in an oddly
Escherian in-out-over movement that confused the Cousine's sluggish brain
cells even more. 

"Max, are you here for your morning purrs?" Celeste said, rubbing his
pointed cat-face expertly.  The owl-eyed Indy Jones did a neat
shoulder-roll, coming to rest between her legs like a fat, shiny rainbow
trout served up on a platter, and she rubbed his belly, too; then pulled
herself free from the adoring gang 'o kitties, going to the door to see
what chaos All Hallow's Eve had wrought. 

"Halloween--haven't really enjoyed it since I was a kid," she muttered to
the cats as she opened the inner door and peered through the screen door
at the dreary, drizzly sky.  The felines were particularly frisky this
morning due to the fact that one did not allow one's cats to wander on
Halloween night in this neighborhood, and they had not been able to take
their evening's wander. Seeing the spattered eggs, shaving cream and, yes,
broken bottles that decorated the pavement and front walk, she was glad
she'd kept the meowers in. 
 
Sniffling at the mentholated smell of the shaving cream, she rubbed her
hand over her face and went to shut the door, then noticed something even
odder than broken eggs on one's sidewalk.  The mailbox.  It seemed to be
full of . . . cotton swabs? 

"That's a new one on me," Celeste muttered to herself.  She'd heard of
TP-ing a house, but he'd never heard Q-Tipping one.  Hmmm, perhaps it
wasn't the neighborhood hooligans, but one of her husband, Bob's, friends
playing a joke? Guy-buddies always seemed to be playing stupid tricks on
one another, insulting one another; heck, there was even a name for this
behavior--"male bonding." 

The phone was ringing.  Uh, oh; this could not be good, a call at dawn's
early light.  Perhaps it was Bob, he wasn't due back from Connecticut
until that evening, maybe he'd run into a few problems at the store? 

"Yeah?"

"Hi.  It's Deborah.  Cousin Deborah Menikoff."

A moment of silence as the Cousine's tattered brain cells rallied and
united to come up with: 

"Uh, Cousin Deborah?  Keeper-of-the-Vampire-Pig-Cousin-Deborah?"

"Yeah," there was a warmth to the voice at the other end at being so
noted. 

"Cool.  What gives?"

"How quickly can you get to Toronto?"  The warm tone turned brisk and
business-like. 

"Um, depends on 'why.'"

"Someone's being bad.  Check your mailbox--all the cousins have been
visited by a plague of cotton swabs in a pathetic attempt to belittle the
object of our devotion.  We Cousins must get together to formulate a plan. 
We're meeting at The Raven in a few minutes--when you get here, we can
apprise you of what's been decided." 

"Uh.  Don't count me out just yet.  I think I can make the meeting. 
Maybe. Gimme a bit." 

There was a moment of silence at the other end as Deborah digested this
fantastical bit of information.  But a mind that can take in the existence
of two-thousand-year-old vampires and rat-sucking carouches can push the
envelope a bit further and accept near-instantaneous, long-distance
travel, so she simply answered, "OK.  We really can't wait on you for too
long, but we'll try." 

"Great!  You're beautiful!"

"And powerful.  *And* without regret.  Remember that."

*click*

The Cousine slowly placed the receiver back into its cradle.  She knew
what she had to do.  She hated to do it, it *might* get her into trouble,
but it was the only way to get to Toronto quickly enough.  She'd worry
about paying for the privilege later.  She threw her clothes on, fed the
cats, tossed a change of clothing into a small case and, finally, went and
got the plastic bracelet from the back-bedroom bookshelves, blowing off
the inch-thick dust caked on it with a feeling of guilt lodged somewhere
around her pancreas. 

###

SLIPPING OUT EARLY
by Diane Echelbarger

Time: 6:30 am EST
Place: Toronto

Diane awoke at 6:30 AM, despite staying up until bar closing the night
before.  She had long since figured out that only total exhaustion could
keep her asleep until mid-morning, so she grabbed her clothes and slipped
into the adjoining bathroom without waking her roommate, Lorelei. 

<After the way last night worked out, I don't want to give her any *more*
reasons to be mad at me,> she thought morosely. 

Ten minutes later, she slipped out the door of their suite and down the
stairs.  Their landlady--a nice, grandmotherly woman who supplemented her
pension by renting out the third floor to paying guests--had given them
two keys to the front door, and Diane had made certain she got one of
them. 

She hit the nearest coffee shop--a local chain called The Second Cup--and
explored the quiet residential neighborhood as dawn crept over the city,
looking for more unusally nice Victorian houses to add to her growing
collection of photographs.  At seven exactly, she returned to the B&B for
breakfast, noted with gratitude that none of the others were up yet, ate
quickly, and left.  She was pretty sure her traveling companions would
still be mad at her when they woke up--not that she blamed them--and she
figured on giving them the whole day to calm down.  They'd agreed to one
day resting in Toronto, so there was no reason she shouldn't head out on
her own.... 

She climbed into her little rust-speckled car, tossed her camera bag on
the passenger seat, and headed to Niagara for the day. 

###

LOW FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES (Part 2)
by Cousine Celeste Hotaling-Lyons

Time: 6:45AM-ish
Place: Everett, near Boston

The bracelet was too big for her arm; clunky, a cheap, brown, plastic,
bottom-of-the-box-of-Cracker-Jacks-looking affair.  Looks can be
deceiving. But it had been so long since she'd last used it--would it
still work?  She slid it onto her wrist and pushed one of the buttons. 

"Um. . . hello, there?  In the ship?  Guys?  Uh, I mean 'chaps'? 
Liberator?" 

There was an obnoxious electronic noise, as if a computer had burped up a
fur ball, and a distant but totally recognizable voice blared forth: 

"Um, what?  Whozzat?  Whazzat?  Eh?"

The Cousine felt a sudden warm rush in her heart--yes, she had missed that
voice, and didn't even know it until just that moment.  She smiled. 

"Vila.  Vila Restal, how you doin'?"

A moment of silence.  "*Celeste*?"

"Yeah, it's me.  I missed you."

"Oh, I'll just *bet* you have," the bitterness of the voice of the Delta
thief, recognizable even over the distance the voice was traveling, shook
her to the core.  She might have expected as much from a certain Alpha
computer tech, but Vila?  Bitter and nasty?  It did not compute. 

"Vila?  Are you OK?"

"Oh, I'm *fine*.  We're all just bloody, blinking marvelous up here, thank
you so very much, a lot you care.  And how have *you* been since last
February, pray tell?" 

Yeah, he was pissed off, major league.  And, on reflection, the Cousine
really couldn't blame him.  She hadn't touched her unfinished Blake's 7
stories since the day Laurie Cohen Fenster had slipped her a few Forever
Knight tapes in the mail, last February.  She'd even almost missed putting
out D.S.V. 2, her Blake's 7 'zine, at MediaWest '95, so caught up had she
been in this new fandom, in this new medium of discussion--*the list*! 
The immediacy of fannish contact had seduced her, as surely as Nick had
been seduced some 800 years earlier, first by Janette, and then by LaCroix
and his promise of Eternal Life. 

"Oh, Vila, I'm so, so sorry.  I *did* write a B7 story about you on the FK
fiction list a few months ago, didn't I?" 

"Hmph.  That one started out as a FK story, written by James Kythe
Walkswithwind, if I'm not mistaken, did it not?  I believe a 'round-robin'
is what that was?--*not* your idea at all!"  The rebel thief's voice was
almost as arch as Avon's could be in times of stress. 

"Viiii-laaaaa," the Cousine's voice was low, seductive, and as sad as she
could make it.  Servalan had nothing on her.  "Vila, I need a big, old
favour."  She always talked in the British spelling when she was
Blake-Sevening. 

"Oh, don't try to get 'round me.  I was just up here, being in charge of
the flight deck of the Liberator whilst every one else is asleep, as is my
lot in life, and you come stomping back here, looking for favours.  Fair
makes a fellow's hair turn white.  *And* you let that girl compare *me* to
that rat-sucking Screed creature on the Spoiler list, thanks ever so
much."  He was beginning to whine, and she knew she had him.  She smiled,
much as Avon might have in similar circumstances (whilst manipulating Vila
to do as he wanted, I mean). 

"Oh, sweetie-darling!  Get over it!  You *know* Blake's 7 is my
best-and-first fandom, for all time!  But a need a little favoury-wavoury. 
I need you to teleport me to Toronto, just outside The Raven; oh, please,
please, please. Do it for me, willya?" 

A moment of white noise from the teleport bracelet as the little thief
thought a moment.  "What's in it for *me*?" was his response. 

"Vila!  You've been hanging around Avon for too long!  'What's in it for
me'?--I am *so* sure!" the Cousine thought a moment.  "I'll write a poem
about you for D.S.V. 3." 

"A poem?  A dirty one?"

"No!  A *funny* one!  You know I don't *do* 'dirty'!" she considered a 
moment.
 "I'll do a funny poem about how great you are, and I'll even make Avon
look foolish in it.  *And* I'll finish 'The Dickens You Say,' that story
Jon and I started over a year ago--you'll come off as a hero in it.  Deal? 
Will you teleport me to Toronto, toute-de-suite?" 

"Oh. . . OK.  But what if Avon finds out?  He's been slinging the word
'betrayal' around in conjunction with your name quite a bit lately, you
know." 

Urgh.  She *hadn't* known.  Oh, dear.  "Don't you worry about Avon. 
D.S.V. 3 is coming out for MediaWest '96.  He'll be pretty chirpy after he
sees some of the artwork I've got for it.  *Deal*?" 

"Deal!" came the irrepressibly cheery voice of the Delta thief over the
bracelet, and Celeste grabbed up her small suitcase quickly.  Her
back-bedroom, full of boxes of books and videotapes, disappeared around
her, to be replaced by a tidy Toronto street.  She turned her head to see
a door with the words "The Raven" above it--a mere six feet from her
position. 

"Aces, Vila!  You are *the best*!" the Cousine cried into her bracelet.

"Wish Soolin thought so," came the sad reply, then the white noise of a
cut-off connextion. 

The Cousine swung her little suitcase in a jaunty arc and turned to the
door, flung it open, stepped through. 

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" she caroled to the surprised faces of the many,
many Cousins congregating at The Raven already.  She *was* home, Blake's 7
fandom notwithstanding.  Now, to business. 

###

AND A GRACIOUS GOOD MORNIN' TO YOU, TOO
by Sharon Scott

Time: 6 A.M. CST
Place: Scottie's house

"Waking up with a cat licking your nose isn't the fun it's cracked up to
be. So STOP it already!" Scottie batted Pyper away, reached for her
glasses, looked at the clock, and groaned. "*6* a.m.? You woke me up at
*6* a.m.?" 

The tuxedo cat meowed and tried a head-butt. "Nothin' doing--you're on my
list, cat." Scottie sat up on the side of the bed, yawned, and looked
around the room. "Damn, it's dark in here. 'Sposed to be lighter in the
mornings since the time change. So why's it pitch black?" The cat
obviously had no idea, so Scottie addressed several furry objects on the
floor. "Up 'n at 'em, doggies. If I'm awake, you have to wake up, too."
The dogs looked confused. "It's not my fault--blame Pyper. She decided to
get us up early." Misha the Monster Peke growled; Daisy the Dingbat Mutt
just yawned and then wagged her tail. 

"Ya'll want outside?" Both dogs leaped from their beds and raced to the
back door. Scottie followed slowly, as she did everything in the mornings.
Not as bad as Sharon Himmanen before coffee, but slowly, nonetheless. 

She reached for the back door key, inserted it into the deadbolt lock, and
opened the door. The dogs looked puzzled. And so did Scottie. Maybe she'd
better go back to bed, and try waking up again, because she knew she must
be dreaming. 

Because she'd swear there was a brick wall blocking the back door.

Nah.

***

There *was* a brick wall blocking the back door. Looked like bricks; felt
like bricks; had mortar between them. Must be bricks. Mind you, she'd
never had anything against bricks--it's just that she hadn't expected them
to be filling her doorway. 

"Okay, mutts, somebody's played a Halloween trick on us. Let's go round to
the front door." The dogs took off at a run. They needed to go out *now*,
Mom. The cats followed at a leisurely pace, curious about the change in
routine. 

Nothing doin', Kemosabe. Front door blocked, too. She pulled the curtains
open--bricks blocking the windows in the living room. A dash to the
kitchen revealed the same thing there. And in the bedroom, and the
bathroom, and the guest bedroom. 

This was *way* too much trouble for Halloween tricksters to have gone to.
And you would have thought bricking up all the doors and windows in a
house would have made at least *some* noise. So why hadn't the dogs heard
it and barked? "So, O Great Watchdog, didn't you bark?" she asked the
Monster Peke. His only answer was a sort of groan, and she realized he was
in pain trying to hold...it...in. 

"Okay, okay, let me find some newspapers. You'll just have to make do.
Pretend you're camping in. It'll be fun." 

The dogs taken care of, she grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator,
poured it over ice, sat down at the kitchen table, and lit a cigarette. A
Coke and a smoke were guaranteed to make your brain work better, even at
6:20 in the morning. 

"I hate mornings." Pyper jumped up on the table, and for once Scottie
didn't chunk her off. "I particularly hate *this* morning." The cat yawned
and tried to get a slurp of Diet Coke. "Get your tongue *out* of my glass.
I've got enough trouble without getting a cat disease." 

***

Another Diet Coke and a couple of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups later (yeah,
so what do *you* have for breakfast on a crisis day?), Scottie decided to
go find out if there was *any* opening in her house that wasn't bricked
up. 

Nada, except for the old chimney in the wall, which opened up into the
attic, and since she wasn't Santa Claus and couldn't squeeze through any
opening, no matter how small, that was out. Maybe she could send one of
the cats out with a message. No, that wouldn't work--they'd get interested
in the mouse in the attic, or the leaves blowing around in the yard, or
the roadrunner across the road. They had never been outside, so it'd be a
whole new world full of playthings to them. And besides, who would they
take a message *to*? No other Knighties in China Spring, or in Waco, for
that matter, and even though she believed that cats had amazing powers,
she didn't think either one of hers would make it to Toronto in time.
She'd starve to death first. Only one RPBC left in the cookie jar, and
less than a pack of cigarettes left in her purse. 

The situation called for desperate measures.

The phone was still working, so she thumbed through the yellow pages
looking for brick removal services. Not a one. But she did find an entry
for Nick's Construction, decided that was a good omen, and called. And got
an answering machine, of course. She *hated* answering machines. But she
left a message, knowing that whoever heard it would think it was *really*
weird, but hoping that somebody would come, sooner or later. 

In the meantime, she got dressed and started searching the house for
anything she could use to knock the bricks out. 

After more than a few minutes of digging through hideously unorganized
closets, a light bulb went on over her head. The axe. Of *course*! Didn't
every female Texan have one, just in case she wanted to chop up her
husband and his friends? R-i-g-h-t. Thank God she hadn't been a French nun
in an earlier life, or she'd be tempted to take her little axe to Toronto
and work over a few Cousins. Because they *had* to be behind this. They
had been known to flood her mailbox with green things of all sizes and
makes. The Natpackers had, also, but at least a couple of them had been
nice enough to put a "No Fr*gs" sign on the door of the hotel room at the
Weekend With Ger. That had to count for something. 

Nope, had to be the Cousins. Only they were mean and nasty enough
to...wait a minute...how would the Cousins have done this so soundlessly
that they hadn't awakened the dogs? They couldn't have. It wasn't humanly
possible, and whatever else the Cousins might think they were, they *were*
still human. So somebody else had to have hoodooed the dogs, which meant
it had to have been a vampire. Nick? Fantasies of having him bricked up
inside the house with her aside, it wasn't his style. Vachon? Nah, he was
too busy doing nothing other than chasing Tracy. Urs? Never happen--she
was too busy looking pitiful and wanting to die. Screed? Yow, what a
creepy thought. But he wouldn't have done it unless somebody paid him a
major amount of dough, and she didn't think any of the Cousins had that
kind of money. 

That left...oh, shite, that left...LaCroix.

Shuddering, she rolled that idea around, and came up with a resounding
"Find the axe!" She scrambled to the utility closet and came up with a
crowbar, a T-square, assorted hammers, screwdrivers, a reciprocating saw,
a sharpshooter, and, glory of glories, the sledge hammer she'd bought to
pound fence posts into the almost solid rock of her yard. 

Okay, this stuff would have to do. She dragged the sledge to the front
door and gave the wall a whack. And another. And another. She stopped and
looked closely at the bricks. Yes! a crack in the mortar! Lifting the
hammer for another whack, she stopped in realization that she was going to
be a bit late for the plane. *If* they hadn't cancelled the damn thing
this time. 

Better call Perri and let her know what was going on.

That done, she started on the wall again. The crack widened, and she
grabbed the crowbar, fitted the end into the crack, and tried to get some
leverage. Not an easy task with bronchitis and pleurisy, and both dogs in
the way, barking like mad things. "Shut up! You *can't* go outside until I
get this wall knocked down. Do you understand me?" Apparently they didn't,
but maybe that was because barking was their favorite leisure-time
activity. The cats were perched on the back of the wicker rocking chair,
watching the goings-on with amazement. 

Okay. Another whack with the hammer, and another pull at the crowbar, and
she fell backward as a brick popped out. She heard it fall onto the front
porch and felt the warm and humid morning air from outside. "November 1,
and it's still 80 degrees out there. *Why* do I live in Texas? Would you
tell me that?" The animals just looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. 

"Hey, lady, you need some help?" Startled by the gruff voice, she looked
up and saw a workman's face staring through the hole at her. 

**********************************
Toronto, here I come.
**********************************

###

TATTOO YOU
by Jill Kirby and Leslie Remencus

Time: About 7:00 a.m.
Place: Cousin Jamie's home

"I don't like this!"

"Shh!"  Jill looked around nervously.  "I don't like it either, but we
don't have a <choice.>" 

Leslie shot her an exasperated look.  "I want to get out of here."

"Well, we can't," said Jill shortly.  "We're here, and we have a job to do."

"I know, but if we don't move soon my feet will be useless. I've cut off
any semblance of circulation in them squished in this corner." 

They were hiding in the end of a dimly lit hallway.  Jill and Leslie
checked their perfectly synchronized watches for the fifth time in as many
minutes. Just a little while longer...

Suddenly, a door at the other end of the hallway flew open.  A tall,
long-haired man, dressed entirely in leather and looking vaguely like a
better-built Steven Tyler (though a little less lippy), stumbled out.  He
made his way to the elevator carefully, hanging onto the walls as he went. 
 When the elevator door opened, he toppled into it with a muffled "Oooomph!"
and a string of curse words appropriate only for Darkangel's Adult list.

Jill waited a beat after the elevator door closed.  "I think we're all
clear," she said, stepping out of the shadows.  "Leather Boy should have
left the door unlocked." 

Leslie stopped, putting her hands on her hips.  "Now, that's not a very
politically correct statement, is it?" 

"No, it isn't.  Who said I have to be politically correct?" 

"Well, it doesn't hurt, does it?  'Boy' could be considered derogatory."

"Oh, please.  He had tight leather pants on, and you're saying that <boy>
is derogatory?"  Things were about to descend into a catfight when they
realized that a catfight was impossible for several reasons.  One, this
was not an episode of Forever Knight.  B, neither was wearing lingerie (at
least not visibly).  And III, both felt very strongly that catfights were
exploitative of women and just not that much fun to watch. 

Besides - they liked each other too much to descend into ratings-grabbing
behavior.  Especially when this wasn't a sweeps period. 

Giving up on the PC battle, they tiptoed down the hallway towards the door
the leather <man> had just exited.  Jill turned the doorknob quietly.
"Great-- it's open." 

They slipped inside.  Leslie pulled out a sketch from her pocket, peering
at it in the dim light.  "The living room is to the left." 

They turned and, walking into the spacious living room, beheld their first
victim. 

Jamie Melody Randel, sound asleep on the sofa, face down.

Leslie started to giggle.  "Actually, this is kind of fun," she said.
"Poetic justice." 

Jill walked over to the sofa and set her backpack down on the floor.  "I
do feel kind of bad.  She always says such nice things about my fiction. 
Plus, she's almost Natpack.  And we had to go to so much <trouble> getting
this guy over here last night, while she was already starting work on the
War...  I wonder if she's done anything..." 

"But she <isn't> Natpack," Leslie reminded her.  "She's a Cousin, with
Natpack <tendencies.> In a crunch, she's going to obey Uncle without a
second thought.  Blind obedience, you know.  We gotta do what we gotta
do." 

"I suppose you're right.  She's a Cousin, first and foremost."  Jill knelt
down and began taking items out of her pack.  "At least she isn't one of
those multi-factioned people.  They give me headaches.  Can't they pick
one and stick with it?  Or just admit they're Die-Hards?" 

Leslie was looking critically at Jamie like an artist looking at a new
canvas.  She ignored Jill's multi-factionalism rant; she'd heard it
before. Many times.  "We don't have a lot of location choices." 

"I know.  She's got almost every inch of skin covered."

Leslie touched Jamie's shoulder experimentally.  Jamie didn't move.  "What
<did> you put in that Vampire red wine you sent her?  She's totally out." 

Jill grinned.  "Halcion.  It's a wonderful thing.  Non-addictive, no
lasting aftereffects, and by the time she wakes up we'll be long gone.  I
just had to warn long-haired boy - er, man - not to drink too much of the
wine." 

"Good thing you know about Jamie's weakness for heavy-metal dudes."

"Yes - it s good for <us,> anyway."  They set up their equipment
carefully. "I'm glad you're artistic, Leslie, 'cause I'm certainly not."

"Well, it's a simple design."  Leslie carefully dipped a brush in the ink,
then paused and looked at Jill.  "This <is> semi-permanent, isn't it?" 

"Of course!"  Jill looked offended that Leslie would even ask such a
question.  "I'm Natpack - I wouldn't stick her with this <forever.> We
just want to warn the Cousins, after all.  Of course, I'm the only person
that has the formula to the solution that will get the ink off her..." 

Leslie shook her head and started working.  "You have truly evil ideas,
Jill." 

"It's a gift," said Jill, holding the ink bottle up so that Leslie could
reach it easily.  "Hurry up - I saw a really cool store around the corner
that had tons of earrings.  I think they had shoes, too.  Maybe they open
early." 

"Don't forget - we have one more job to do today." Leslie caught Jill's
crestfallen look. 

"Oh come on, just a peek." Jill said hopefully.

"OK, but we have to make it quick.  Eventually, the rest of the Natpack
will worry when we don't show up in Toronto." 

The two were done and out of the apartment in a very short time.

Behind them, they left the a picture of the Natmare, artistically
surrounded by Q-tips, sitting in the middle of Jamie's computer keyboard. 

And a large (semi-permanent) blood-red tattoo across Jamie's back that
read "Nick Rules!" 

###

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER RUDE AWAKENING
by Jamie M.R. -- The Illustrated Cousin

Time: 7:48 am EST
Place: Jamie's home

In her dreams, small strange fuzzy things were gyrating and walking upon
her, taunting her in Olde Latin (or something similarly indecipherable)...
she awoke, blinked, found herself staring up at the ceiling. 

Her eyes refused to focus; she tried to squint, found herself giggling
instead. 

What had happened?  She didn't *remember* doing anything odd...didn't
remember...it was almost as if she'd had one of her famous weird
reactions to medication; but she hadn't taken anything...had she? 

And why was there long dark hair on her pillow?

She tried to pick up a strand of the hair, missed and fell forward onto
her face, still giggling helplessly.  //Oooooh,// she discovered.  //I'm
stoned!  I'm really, really stoned...//

//This is a *good* thing,// she determined, although it was definitely
making it harder for her to perform her morning ritual of retrieving her
e-mail. 

Her back itched.

She fumbled for the mouse, managed to get her hand on top of it, sent the
cursor skittering across the screen (one of these days, she was gonna have
to clean out the mouse ball, either that or stop smoking at the keyboard)
and only then noticed that there was something perched atop the keyboard. 

Her vision was doing the yeah-you-can-see-it-but-you-can't-tell-what-it-is
thing that, when applied to red traffic signals, had led her to give up
driving; she managed to wrap one paw around it and fumble it closer (her
fingers felt as if they were wrapped with cotton wool) and stared at it
blearily until details began to form themselves. 

"It's..." she said aloud, "it's a cute weirdly thingie!" and giggled
again, because in her current altered state of mind, it seemed like the
most hysterical thing she'd ever seen in her life. 

Her back itched, really really badly.

She reached under the bed (which could have been a sofa, in the dim red
light) and dug out her "backscratcher," the eighteen-inch-long serrated
carving knife she'd appropriated for the purpose.  It had never been all
that functional as a knife, but it made a marvelous tool for getting rid
of those persistent itches...she ran it along her back until the feeling
began to subside. 

And stared at the blood-red stuff that adorned the blade.

//Naahhh... I didn't draw blood, did I?  Didn't scratch that hard...// She
twisted around, tried to see her back.  Failed, tried again.  Tried again,
and again, until she was doing a neat little
counterclockwise-circle-pirouette, looking for all the world like a puppy
chasing its tail. 

After some fifteen minutes of this, it occurred to her foggy little brain
that finding a mirror might be a plan, and she headed toward the bathroom
to check the one there. 

Addled as she was, it took her some time to figure out the intricacies of
reverse mirroring.  "'Mick Bole 8?" she muttered, perplexed.  That made no
sense whatsoever... 

A few more tries, and she'd figured it out -- "Nick Rules", which made
even less sense.  "Nick rules *what*?!" she said to her reflection. 
"Bovines and brickdom?  Jeeeez..." 

But at least the mystery was solved; and that was a *good* thing. 

She was back in her bedroom and face-down in her pillow before it occurred
to her to wonder why the words were emblazoned on her back in blood-red
ink... 

"Maairrh mraaugh mahrrh rrawhmraar," came the happy sound, and she turned
her head sideways to witness Elfy, her sleek little black cat, batting
Q-tips around her bed in ecstatic abandon.  She missed one, and her claws
raked into Jamie's thigh instead. 

"Urgharfwarhar," said Jamie indistinctly.  "Owwwww," and removed the claws
from her flesh. 

//Think, you f***ing moron,// she told her drug-addled brain sternly.
//Something strange is going on.  Something big and bad and strange...//

//...and I am sooooo stoned!// and she began giggling all over again...

---------------------------------------------------------------

A short time later, with a cup of hot caffeine sitting warmly in her belly
dispelling the nasty side-effects, she cradled the phone receiver in her
hand and made a few calls. 

"Keep her there," she said, to the first man she spoke to.  "At least
until tonight.  But make sure you feed her breakfast... I want to make a
point, not inflict cruel and unusual suffering!  Oh, and, ummm... don't
give her any Denny's sausage; and make sure she has plenty of salt
packets, eh?" 

"I don't *know* that she's behind this," she said, to the second person
who answered the phone in response to her call.  "But it does say Nick,
and that would be a Knightie thing...  What do I want done?  I was
thinking, something along the lines of a six-foot-tall animated Q-tip
showing up at her door?  Yeah, well, whatever.  Just as long as Sandra
realizes it's a token of Cousinly esteem, I'll be happy." 

"Oh, I'll leave a message at the beep, you f***ing machine," she muttered,
at the device which answered the phone the third time.  "It's me, Boss.
Thanks for seeing fit to warn me of your own accord that the crap was
hitting the fan!  I am now sitting here with temporary tattoo stuff
smeared all over my back.  And I wouldn't even mind that, I wouldn't even
care that I've got 'Nick Rules' painted on my back, after all, whoever did
it was awfully artistic about it; but the damn stuff itches, and I'm gonna
scratch my back raw trying to get it off!  I've got worse contact
allergies than you do to sunlight, in case you've forgotten...  I may be
your worst nightmare, but I'm still a Cousin, you hear me? I'm one of your
own, and you'd better do something about this before I go ballistic and
start tossing stakes at anything that moves!" 

She slammed down the receiver, winced at the noise, and (having
satisfactorily expended much of her annoyance, if not necessarily at the
right person) began to laugh. 

"Good one!" she said to herself appreciatively, twisting her head enough
to catch a vague sideways glimpse of the new artwork.  "Definitely a
devious and creative move in the game."  For everything was a game to
Jamie, especially real life... 

A question began to surface in her sluggishly-moving mind.  It seemed
obvious that this had been the work of the Knighties.  Too obvious.
Surely, the Knighties weren't dumb enough to leave such an obvious clue --
or were they?  They were Knighties, it was possible... 

...no; not even Nick was THAT clueless.

She began to reach for the phone to call off her attack on Sandra,
reconsidered.  "Everyone needs a six-foot-tall animated Q-tip in their
lives," she said philosophically, and left well enough alone. 

Instead, she reached for her backscratcher, and scrubbed at the itchy
expanse of skin again; with her free hand, she grabbed at her knapsack,
began tossing clothes into it.  "They're never gonna let me bring this
through airport security," she growled, clenching her fist around the
trusty serrated knife, "my back's gonna itch all the way to Canada, and
for THAT, if nothing else, they must pay..." 

And beside her on the bed, Elfy was blissfully surrounded with Q-tips, in
her very own little kitty heaven, busily batting them about and burying
them in the bedsheets. 

###

WHAT'S GOING ON? (b)
by Lane Lombardia

Time: 8 am EST
Place: New Canaan, CT, USA

The limosine taking the late night talk-show host to work had just left
when the produce company truck rolled up. My brother-in-law had assured me
that these men could pull of this little job for me, exactly as I had
dictated. The produce company's markings had been obscured with mud, so
the Isuzu trucks were as generic as possible. 

The two men in the truck followed their instructions to the letter,
setting up the infra-red heaters that their "guests" required to survive
in this climate. 

Minutes later, the hungry African Termites began to feast upon the
talk-show host's New Canaan house. 

As per their instructions, the two men returned and retrieved the heaters
at 3pm. The Termites began to die off, unaccustomed to the drizzly cold of
northern North America. 

The talk-show host returned to find his home riddled with insect bites and
covered in the bodies of thouands of dead termites. While the house
wouldn't collapse, it looked dreadful, and would cost tens of thousands to
repair. 

Hopefully that would teach him not to ridicule FK fans. Otherwise, I'd
have to get really unpleasant. 

###

O COUSINS, MY COUSINS
by Cousin Jamie

Time: 8am

Jamie here.  You would not believe what happened to me last night.

I was up typing, y'know, working on stories and stuff... and the next
thing I know, I wake up with a tattoo across my back.  Not a real one,
thank goodness -- it's supposed to say "Nick Rules," I think, but I've
been scratching at it pretty hard, and it's starting to wear off.  Not
fast enough, though. 

Worse yet, I think I was drugged.  Now, I can deal with a harmless little
prank, but what the perpetrator(s) didn't know is that I suffer, um, let's
say, *strange* reactions to many if not most pharmaceutical products; they
didn't just drug me, they could have KILLED me!  Mistake number one.
Secondly: the tattoo they've emblazoned on my back is not the problem, I
actually think that's kinda a cool gag and terribly appropriate, but I'm
allergic to many many things... mistake number two.  They haven't just
attacked me, they've placed my life at serious risk!  On the Jamie-Scale
of right and wrong, this is a BAD THING. 

Needless to say, I'm not pleased.

Now, I thought the Knighties were clueless, but if I'm correct in my
assumption that the thing in the photo they left as a calling card is in
fact a Natmare, the Knighties are going to have to do some swift defending
of their brickish title.  And if this was meant as a GAG, well, they've
gone 'way overboard.  I could have actually died from whatever it was they
gave me! 

Not that I'm afraid of death; it's more the inherent INSULT of it that
bothers me. 

In the immortal words of somebody-or-another: "That WILL be trouble." 

And the worst part of it is, my back is absolutely killing me, and I can
hardly walk, and I can't take a pain pill 'cause I'm afraid (and rightly
so) of a drug interaction.  Now that REALLY stinks. 

Hmmm.  I shouldn't have told them to feed Sharon breakfast...should have
made 'em withhold the salt... 

I'm on my way up North, as we all are or will be, I suspect; but will keep
in e-mail contact.  I need your assistance, my Cousins. 

Somebody's butt is going to HAVE to be nailed to the wall for this.

And I *still* want to know who the hell was sleeping in my bed last night
besides me and my cat... 

###

A DIE-HARD CHECKS IN
by Diane Echelbarger and Lillian Feden

Time: 8am EST
Place: Toronto

Lillian woke gradually, grumbling to herself, at about eight Wednesday
morning.  She slid out of bed, trying not to wake her roommate,
Vicki-the-Merc, and dressed quietly. 

Remembering that breakfast was served until 9:30, she took her time in the
bathroom, then walked down the two flights of stairs to the dining room. 
Mrs. McGillicuddy greeted her cheerily, and Lillian helped herself to
coffee, eggs and hash-browns.  Hash browns were a travel tradition for
her, since she never made them at home but loved them.  As she ate, she
chatted with their hostess, who informed her that Diane had eaten at seven
and left in her car for somewhere or other... 

Breakfast over, Lillian accepted the handy, plasticized fold-up map Mrs.
McGillicuddy offered and caught a trolley on Queen Street East, headed
downtown.  Being a city girl with no car in the city of Chicago, public
transportation was no obstacle for her.  She was amazed at the cleanliness
of the system. "Definitely not the Chicago transit system.  The windows
aren't covered with graffiti and the driver seemed friendly." she muttered
under her breath. 

Forty-five minutes later, she walked into the building that housed the
Die-Hard headquarters. 

"Excuse me," she said to the security guard.  "I'm looking for, um."  How
in the world was she going to explain that she was looking for the war
headquarters of a faction for a television show?  Yes, she'd done some
crazy things in her life, but Lillian was not prepared to be dragged away
in a strait jacket. 

"Names, names...come on, think, Lillian."  the guard looked at her, one
eyebrow cocked. 

"I'm looking for...Jane!  Yes, Jane Snyder."  She gave him an apologetic
grin, shrugging slightly. 

The security guard dialed a number, spoke softly and quickly into the
phone. He put his hand over the receiver and looked at Lillian
expectantly.  "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Lillian Feden." 

He repeated the name into the phone and hung up.  "Someone will be down to
get you." 

A few minutes later a short blond woman stepped up to Lillian and smiled.

"Lillian?"  she held out her hand in greeting, "I'm Jane.  Glad you could
make it.  We've got some plans brewing.  Come join the fray." 

"Thanks."  Lillian shook Jane's hand.  "I had a bit of a rough night, but
luckily I don't usually get hangovers." 

Lillian followed her to the elevators, feeling excited at the prospect of
actually participating in some of the mayhem. 

###

I'M ON MY WAY
by Lynn Stapleton

Time: Morning
Place: Lynn's home

Lynn woke up to the disturbing feeling that her e-mail account was going
to be bombarded with e-mail messages. This was not boding well, especially
as the flu was nipping at her, and mornings didn't go over too well with
her. 

She got up, and in a slightly dazed movement, scurried around for her
medication, clothing, and whatever else. 

"Damn, I'm gonna be late. I'll get a cup of tea at the university," she
said. By 8:30am, she was at the university, cell phone in pocket, and
headed directly for the computer science dept. After logging on to the
UNIX system, she was assaulted with TOO many messages, with the subject
"WAR". 

"Oh, boy," Lynn spoke lowly as she delved into the mail. After a couple of
hours of sifting through, she called home asking for any messages. The
response was: "There's a box here for you. It smells like blood. What do
you want me to do with it? And what the hell are you into?" All of a
sudden Lynn's mind kicked in. The Heart. 

Within minutes of checking the rest of her files, Lynn found her name had
been subscribed, permanently to the Home Shopping Network. She was
furious. 

A quick call was made to Chris Hunt.

"Chris, it's Lynn. What the hell is going on up there. I've got a heart
delivered to the house. My mother thinks I've got to be involved in some
cult or other. Now I find my account has been signed to the HSN. Who the
hell is doing this?" 

"Calm down, for a minute. It's happening to all of us. How quickly can you
get to Toronto?" 

"I can get a flight out tonight. Check back with you later tonight when I
get the connector flight. Damned Fredericton Airport doesn't have direct
flights to Toronto." After a second, she added, "So much for showing off
the Blooper Reel at tonight's local sci-fi gathering. They were counting
on it." 

After hanging up, and be assured that nothing more should go wrong between
now and tonight, she concluded her e-mailing and got ready to go home and
pack. 

"I'm gonna kill 'em. No, first I'm going to get those SOBs that sent the
heart and I'm gonna make 'em eat it. Then I'm gonna kill 'em. They'll
never tick off another Nick&NatPacker when I get there!" 

She tore out of the Computer Science Dept. and headed for home.

###

WEDNESDAY AND WAR
by Vicki Jean Merriman <vmerrima@INDIANA.EDU>

Time: 8:30 a.m.
Place: Toronto

Vicki rolled over, stretched, and buried her head back under the pillow.
It felt funny, firm instead of soft with feathers. 

<fx> yawn <do I have to wake up?>

Suddenly she remembered where she was and why she was here.  War.  There
was a War going on between the factions, and she had something very
important to do. 

She crawled out of bed, noticing that Lillian was already up and about.
After a shower and a mug of tea, she was starting to feel human enough to
wander downstairs for breakfast. 

<Better get going.  I've a lot to do today.  Well, I can always work
late.> Vicki noticed that Diane was gone, and had left a note to the
effect that she was spending the day at Niagara Falls. 

"Hmm.  Afraid we'll bite are you?"  Actually, Vicki thought Diane deserved
to know that a War had started.  <After all, she didn't push me last night
when she thought I spent 10 minutes in the bathroom.>

Instead, Vicki's contact had found her and filled her in on the details.
<War.  There's work to be done.  Money to be made.  Perhaps I should have
told everyone last night.>

Vicki left a note on Diane's pillow explaining the situation.  Then she
headed out the door. 

###

THUNDER & LIGHTNING. ENTER THREE WITCHES (Part 1)
by Maureen Wynn

Time: 9AM
Place:  Ann Arbor, MI

Maureen strode into the office, her open raincoat flapping behind her, and
barely nodded to the woman seated behind the reception desk before heading
toward her own office.  <I wonder where Betsy is? I didn't know she was
taking any time off...> she thought, momentarily distracted from her
anger, as she pulled off her wet coat and put it, along with her umbrella,
in the closet.  Then, as she bent to pick up her bag again, and noticed
the small objects that had fallen out of her pockets, she started to
seethe again. <*Somebody's* going to pay for this!> she thought angrily.
<I swear by all the demons in Scotland, someone's going to pay for this if
it's the *last* thing I do!> she continued as she bent down to pick up the
Q-tips(TM) from the floor. 

She entered her office, and tossed the Q-tips into the trash can.  She
turned on the computer, and while she waited for it to boot up, picked up
the phone and dialed a number. 

"Hi, it's Maureen.  Yeah, I've been out for a couple of days.  Don't ask!"
Maureen shuddered, something she'd gotten *very* good at lately.  "Did I
miss anything important?"  She listened to the man on the other end of the
line, making notes from time to time.  "OK, thanks, I'll let you know the
final figures for the October shows by tomorrow.  Or maybe Friday." 

Opening her e-mail, she was startled by the number of messages waiting in
her in-box. <I thought I'd set all the lists to digest...?> As she started
to scroll through the messages, she was shocked to realize she'd missed
something *very* important.  A War.  A War had started, and she'd been too
busy with the turmoil at work to notice.  *How* had this happened? 

Opening one of the earlier messages, she started to read...

**********

Some time later, bleary-eyed, she leaned back in her chair, and took a sip
of her Diet Coke.  She knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that she
*hadn't* imagined the whole horrible experience on Sunday night.  The face
that had sneered at her, that had made her doubt her own mind, that had
nearly driven her over that fine line to insanity, *hadn't* been a figment
of her over-worked, exhausted mind.  It *had* to be a part of the War. 

<This also explains the Q-tips!> she thought, thinking of the sight that
had met her eyes as she walked into her bathroom that morning.  She
shuddered again, remembering the sight of her bathtub piled high with the
horrible things, and her cat, Ophelia, half-buried in them, happy as a pig
in slop as she batted them this way and that.  The cat had turned her
little fang-face toward her companion, startled by the scream, but not
loosening her hold on the little white instuments of torture. 

Turning back to her e-mail, Maureen started to compose a message to her
Mercenary companions.  As she reached to hit the Return button to send it
off, she was interrupted by a sound from her computer. Startled, she
pulled back from the keyboard, and watched in horror as the screen give a
*twitch* before compressing into a single bright point in the middle of
the screen.  Maureen collapsed back in her chair, staring at the screen. 
<Why today?> she thought, surprisingly calm.  <I knew this was coming, the
way this &*^%$#@ technological instrument of torture has been acting up,
but why today?  Maybe it's a sign, a portent of things to come, an omen
from the Fates above...> She stared at her computer, the bright point on
the screen flickering like a candle flame, seeming to speak to her,
telling her what she must do... 

***************

"What do you mean, you're taking some time off?!  We have *four* shows
opening in November, you still haven't finished the reports for Hall--um,
I mean the concert on Sunday, and Financial Operations needs your final
deposits for the last two weeks..." 

"My flight leaves at 3PM today. I have comp-hours up the whazoo from all
the over-time I've put in over the last month."  She leaned closer to him,
and lowered her voice.  "Consider it mental-health time.  If I don't get
some time off now, I'll start strangling the customers - and that'll
*really* kill your budget!  And what do you think the Dean will say to
*that*, hmmmm?" 

*****************

The plane took off into the overcast sky, the flash of lightning and roll
of thunder not interrupting its smooth lift-off.  Maureen looked out the
window at the rolling gray clouds, and smiled.  It wasn't a pleasant
smile.  Not pleasant at all... 

###

ENTRE
by Cousin Julie

Time: 9:31 AM
Place: The Raven

"Would you please stop twitching?"
 
Julie was beyond being irritated, the man simply had no physical control
at all. 
     
"Eh, wot's the idear, kidnappin' me like that, where we goin anyway?"

"Toronto."
 
Julie paused, looked around herself.  Why did this truck seem a lot
smaller than it had three days ago when she left from South Texas to go to
Vancouver to pick up Screed (with the tape in hand, she hoped) and drive
across Canada to Toronto...'I must be going insane.'
 
"Nevermind, do you have it?"
 
"Ye' I gots it, not ike it's goin' to 'elp."

"He promised the rgular music would be on there."
 
"Eh, won't that."

Screed pointed and she shrugged, "I don't know, someone filled the bed of
my truck with cotton swabs...look, you would never understand." 
 
He sulked next to her as she turned into the city, FINALLY, headed for the
Raven, to take care of one problem, if not anything else. 
 
Screed looked at the club quizically,"You want me to go in there?"
 
"Get your butt inside before I sick Uncle on you and make you chopped
liver...oh, S*** nevermind, just give the tape to me." 
 
He handed it over and she wandered inside, the sounds of show tunes...just
as they had told her, oh sheesh, no wonder Deborah was in a fit when she
called. 
 
"I have arrived."
 
Everyone turned at once, and what was more, no one cared.
 
"LaCroix?  Anyone?"
 
"Yeah, the tall, balding guy?"
 
"Spare me, okay...where is he?"
 
The man nodded, "In the back I think..."
 
She wandered to the back room, okay, so technically I am a Cousin, but
meeting him for the first time was proving to be a little more than she
bargained for.  Should have brought Screed with me...erm...nevermind. She
opened the door, Deborah was there, Uncle was there and they both looked
pissed. 
 
"Where have you been?"
 
"Look I had to drive across the universe for this, so get over it and
don't mess with me, I'm exhausted!" 
 
Deborah moved forward to look at the tape she held in her hand, "Oh,
cool...let's put it on." 
 
They used Julie's brilliance in electronics to hack into the speaker
system and insert the necessary wires from the tape player to insert the
tape...the official Forever Knight CD, hot off the presses, and with the
correct Raven music, the sound of show tunes went out and everyone in the
room sighed as the "normal" music returned. 
 
"Now...I have a plan."
 
Both LaCroix and Deborah looked interested, but wary, after all, she was a
newbie to this stuff, wasn't she? 

"I have a truck."
 
"A truck?  Like a Mac truck?"
 
"Nononono, a regular XLT, but the bed is full of cotton swabs, long story,
anyway, it is my opinion that the NatPackers and the Nick/Nat Pack who
seem to have teamed up for this deserve...erm...a little of their own
medicine?" 
 
LaCroix raised an eyebrow,"Indeed?"
 
Julie nodded,"Mmmhum."
 
"And just what did you have in mind?"
 
Julie paused, thinking,"Well, I do have the Federal Express number of a
guy from California so we could overnite a bunch of stuff...and you
know...I do have all that GOO." 
 
"Excuse me, what is a GOO?"
 
"Forget it, I'll explain on the way, let's go."
 
LaCroix actually looked amused,"It's 9:00 in the morning."
 
"Oh, right...Deborah...coming?"

###

SEX KITTENS
by Leslie Remencus and Jill Kirby

Time: 10am EST

After Jill's rather expensive stop in NYC for earrings, she and Leslie
finally managed to get to the small, private airport and make the flight
to MD, the next stop on the Natmare tour. 

"Hurry up.  I don't want anyone to see us."  Jill looked around nervously.

"I'm doing the best I can.  I can't seem to find the right key."

"Here, let me try."  Jill grabbed the rather heavy set of keys Leslie had
been fumbling with for the last minute and a half.  "Jeez.  There are
enough keys on this thing, Leslie.  Where did you get them?" 

"When Laura went out of town, she left her keys with a housesitter.  I
convinced the housesitter to give them to me." 

"How'd you manage that? I thought she was staying with her mom this week."

"She was. It's a *long* story."

"I got it!" Jill squealed, clicking open the door lock.

"OK, let's go inside."  Leslie started through the door.

"Wait a minute, Leslie.  Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"The bag."  She waved one hand at the duffle sitting on the stoop.

"Oh."  Picking up the bag, Leslie followed Jill into Cousin Laura's
darkened apartment. 

There was a loud crunch.  "Ouch."

"Are you OK, Jill?"

"Yeah, we just need to find a light switch."

Leslie fumbled along the nearest wall until she found the nearest light
switch.  She flipped the switch, and the soft glow of a small table lamp
filled the room. "There we go." 

"Great, let's get started.  We have a lot of relabelling to do.  Let's
find her video collection." 

We couldn't help but giggle - just a little - as we walked up the stairs
to the second floor and the room with the goodies.  A large, gold-framed
oil portrait of Uncle (in his post-Q-Tip days) hung over the couch.  "Nice
decor," said Jill wryly. 

"At least there aren't candles burning underneath it," Leslie said with a
grin. 

It took them only a few minutes to find the instruments of torture.  The
*Video* collection.  "Wow!  I knew she had a lot of videos, but I had no
idea how many!  And I thought I was bad.  Where do you want to start,
Jill?" 

"Hey, this was your idea."  Jill, fascinated, was checking out the video
boxes.  "Look!  She has every episode of 'My Mother, the Car'! " 

Leslie ignored her.  "Let's start with the obvious.  All the FK tapes."
Pulling pens and labels out of the duffle bag, she handed them to Jill.
Then she entrenched herself on the floor and began to help her relabel the
entire Waskey collection of videos. 

"Now, how should I relabel these?" asked Jill, frowning.

"Just use your imagination.  I think we should use musicals and adult
titles." 

"We should start with *Chess*!"

"And then follow it with various *Sex Kitten Adventures*?"  Leslie smiled
wickedly. 

"And of course, 'The Sound of Music'..." said Jill.

"Oh, please, Jill - <don't> start singing or anything... I've had enough
of 'My Favorite Things' to last me *Nick's* lifetime." 

"Hey, I got an idea," Jill said quickly. "Let's make a really obnoxious
'Kick Me' sign and tape it to the Q-Tip over there." 

"Now that's really wicked, Ji