A Mistake? by Blake Tullo Finally, I thought, after a hectic week at work I finally got here. Now were do I go? Not knowing which Hotel to check into was one thing but what am I doing here? Ah, my bag! The brown, overused case finally made its way around the luggage bin. Now to find a money changer and a hotel and things would be better. Maybe I would even run into some fellow listmembers. Shouldering the computer carrying case and picking up the suitcase I looked around. Having been to Canada before when I was 12 was of no help to me now. And the three years of French class is even more useless! Thank God everything was also in English! Was that a money changer? "Did you need some assistance, my friend?" a voice came from behind me. I turned around relieved and dropped my bag. "UGGH..." was all that came out of my mouth. There stood Uncle. I found it hard to breathe. Somewhere in the back of my mind I just kept thinking "PLEASE don't let him be hungry!" "So how was your flight?" he asked me as he picked up my bag. "We better get going." He started toward the airport exit. Stopping a few seconds later he added "Are you Coming?" Being in a limo with LaCroix was scary enough, but sitting there while he was grinning at you and pouring a glass of red wine was extremely unsettling, to say the least! My mind was reeling, What does he want with me? How did he know I was coming? What should I do? Of course I had no answers for any of them. They all came in a flood and I couldn't even begin to think. "Well, what brings you to lovely Toronto?" he asked as he handed me the glass. "Ummm, I guess I came because of the writing... Umm maybe it was becau--" "NO" he yelled. "I brought you here to serve me. You think you can just claim to be a Cousin and then sit back and watch?" An evil grin spread across his face. "Things aren't going as I planned, and there is something you can do for me." Stunned I took a drink from the glass and gagged. I forgot that I didn't like wine. Things were becoming a bit clearer. I tried to get a vacation from work and couldn't so I was resigned to not coming and then my manager just comes up, out of the blue, and tells me that she got everything cleared and that my vacation time was ok'd. I knew it was too good to be true. But then again I am a Cousin and if he needs me I'm here. As if reading my mind, which is probably what he was doing, a grin spread across his face. "I'm glad you feel that way. Now listen this is what I need you to do..." The black limo pulled away from the front of the hotel. Dazed I turned around and walked in. As I walked to the front desk I noticed a sign: "Karaoke Night at the Regal Constellation" a grin spread across my face. No I better not, I thought, if I go in there I might make a fool of myself. Arriving at the front desk a pretty blond clerk came over. Her name tag read Lisa. "Can I help you ?" she asked. "Yes, Lisa is it? I believe that you have a room reserved for me." "Your name sir?" she asked Bond, James Bond ran through my head. No better not. "Blake Tullo" I replied. After typing for a few seconds she looked up. "Yes here we go, we have a suite reserved for you for two weeks." Two weeks I thought what else does he want me to do? "Thank you." Signing the registration card and grabbing the key I walked toward the elevator, waving off the bell boy. I could carry my own bag. "Sir!" came from behind me. Turning around there was Lisa. "This was delivered for you a few hours ago." She handed me a wooden box. "Thanks" I handed her a five. "Let me know if anything else arrives." I smiled and entered the elevator. I was assaulted by 'elevator music' right away. Grimacing I hit the button for my floor. My eyes ran over the lid of the mahogany box, I wonder what is in it? ************************************************************* Small Tokens of Affection by Karin Welss After all the excitement had died down, and the hotel manager had assured the ladies that the exterminator would be called, pronto, Margaret, Sharon, and Susan G. were assigned new adjoining rooms one floor up. They sighed deeply as they packed up their belongings for the second hotel-room move in less than 24 hours... Dead bodies, dead scorpions... Margaret imagined that the manager was beginning to put them on the list of "Hotel Guests from Hell." Lisa followed the procession into the elevator, casting frequent skittish glances behind her, as if imagining the soundless rustle of thousands of tiny feet creeping up on the hallway carpeting behind her. The ladies settled themselves into their new digs, eventually drifting over to Sharon's for a revivifying shot of Amaretto or a row of Lindt Vollmilch chocolate. A half-hour later there was a brisk rap on the door. Everyone looked at Lisa, who sighed, and got up from where she had been sitting on the bed. "I'll get it," she volunteered wearily. "If it's another batch of scorpions, promise you'll avenge me." Fortunately, it was a hotel bellhop, neat brimmed cap pulled down low over her curly blonde hair, her arms full of packages. Lisa accepted them, stunned, and the bellhop marched off. "Didn't even wait for a tip," Lisa muttered, kicking the door shut and turning back into the room. The packages came in a variety of sizes and shapes, all prettily tied with tissue paper and bows. There were names written on tags attached to each package, and each of the ladies cautiously took the one addressed to her, and began opening it. For Margaret, there was a bottle of deep reddish-purple punch in a corked wine bottle. It reeked of black currant and vodka, which made the dear girl turn an interestingly pale shade of green as she flashed back to a certain housewarming party three years previously. The plain white label had a thin edging of mauve, and a single line written in calligraphy: "To Your Health." For Sharon, there was a pair of pink-fur-lined handcuffs. She blushed prettily from her collarbones to the roots of her curly silver mop of hair, and tucked them hurriedly away in the pocket of her black leather jacket faster than you could say, "Frog spit." After all, you never knew if they might come in useful... For Susan G., a black velvet choker bearing the "Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons" label. "Hey," she remarked, as she lifted it from its narrow enclosure. "It's got a garrote wire sewn onto the back of it." Amid the shocked stares of the others, Lisa opened her package v-e-r-y slowly, fearing what she might find. To her vague disappointment, it turned out to be a book -- an ancient, calfskin bound book, but a book nevertheless. Quite a mundane gift for a librarian-turned-Archivist's-Assistant. Why, oh why didn't she ever receive interesting gifts like handcuffs or black velvet chokers? Lisa put on her bravest face (which was not terribly brave, but understandable under the circumstances, scorpions, and all), and put the book down on the night stand. "Well, that's very, um, interesting." Margaret, having recovered from the shock of receiving the spiked Ribena, said, "Look, Lisa -- there's something sticking out of your book." Lisa lifted the tome, and discovered a small yellow Post-It Note (tm) marking a page. She opened the book. The words, "I know," were scrawled across the top of the page in pencil. Lisa squinted at the faded French text on the rest of the page, and paled. "What is it, Lisa?" Sharon inquired, reaching out to take the book. Lisa hastily clapped the book shut and clutched it close to her chest. "N - nothing," Lisa stammered, backing away. "Just some mumbo-jumbo about an ancient Indian curse. From the same twisted individual who sent all the rest of these goodies, no doubt." She did not release her deathgrip on the book. Sharon thought better of trying to wrestle it away from her. Although years of gardening had toughened up those arm muscles... "And that curse wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that swarm of scorpions chasing you?" Susan's tone was carefully casual, and she was seemingly occupied in wrapping the deadly choker around her fingers. "I could have sworn I've seen that handwriting somewhere before..." Lisa mused thoughtfully, avoiding the question. If only she could remember... She found herself rubbing a place on her throat that was suddenly tingling. * * * In the Royal Constellation's parking garage, Karin and Jennise jumped into the sporty, pale-plum colored Saturn coupe that Jennise had insisted on renting. Tossing the filched bellhop's cap merrily out the window, they zoomed into town, chuckling all the way their next assigned stop, The Happy Souvlaki Deli in downtown Toronto. ************************************************************* Past Lives by Sandra Gray and Amy Denton Sandra Gray walked into the lobby of the Regal Constellation to see a disturbing sight: a procession coming from the elevators of several policemen, a shrouded body being wheeled by a couple of what looked like ambulance attendants and followed by two suited women, and two men in suits bringing up the rear. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the blond suited man. She watched as he touched his dark-haired companion's arm and then turned to go over to the registration desk. Sandra walked quickly toward the desk, and heard the man say, "Remember, no one is to enter or clean Room 1657 until further notice from us." The young man behind the desk said, "Yes, sir." The blond man turned and Sandra looked up into blue eyes she had hoped to but had thought she would never see again. "Nick?" she said. Recognition flashed through his eyes and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then his gaze turned impersonal and he said, "I'm sorry. I think you've mistaken me for someone else." Sandra frowned and opened her mouth to say something else. But a voice somewhere behind her said, "Knight! Let's go, huh?" Nick looked past her, then back at her. "Excuse me," he said politely and walked away. Sandra watched his retreating form as he exited the building. She approached the desk and said to the man behind it, "What happened?" "Nothing to worry about. Someone was found dead in one of the rooms." "Murdered?" "I--I wouldn't know." "But that *was* the... Police? Who was that man who was just talking to you?" "I don't know. Some detective." The man got more nervous so she let the matter drop. She walked over to the elevator. What had the other man called him? "Knight," she said as the elevator door closed. * * * * * * * "Man, I can't believe what happened to the Cap'n," said Schanke, as he got into Nick's car. But Nick didn't hear him. He was staring thoughtfully out the window. * * * * * * * Nick poured two glasses of wine and turned back to the couch. Why did Sandra [played by Amy Denton] have to smile? Why did she have to be so... Full of life? She used both hands to pull her long red hair back, exposing her throat. Nick swallowed and sat down beside her--not too close--and handed her her glass of wine. He looked down at his glass and said, "I--uh, got a lead on some more manuscripts to research." "Great! Tell me what they are and I'll arrange the interlibrary loan." "I can't. That is, they're part of a private collection. I have to go look at them there." He looked up to see her smile had faded. He smiled and added, "I shouldn't be gone that long." "Where's the collection?" "In New York." "Pretty far." Nick nodded and looked away, faking a sip of his wine. Beside him, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sandra toss off the rest of her wine. She set the glass on the coffee table and said, "Is this some really weird brush off? Because if it is--" Nick set down his glass and turned to her. "No," he said, taking her hands. "I care about you more than you'll ever know," he said earnestly. Sandra leaned forward and kissed him. Nick shut his eyes, lost in the feel of her warm lips under his. She slid closer, her arms going around his neck, and he slid his arms around her back and pulled her even closer, crushing her lips under his. Then he felt the vampire rise up in him and pulled back from her. Sandra turned her head and laid her cheek on his shoulder, thankfully not facing him. "I love you, Nick." Nick put his hand on her head and held her there, struggling to suppress the gold he knew had risen in his eyes, pull back the fangs. The sound of her quickened pulse beat in his ears. "Take me with you," Sandra continued. "Or even make me what you are." Nick frowned, the shock of her words suppressing the desire to possess her life. The vampire side of him retreated, and he pulled back to look at her. * * * * * * * "Nick? Yoo-hoo, earth to Knight!" said Schanke. Nick looked at his partner. "I know, I can't believe what happened to the Cap'n either... But we're not solving the case sitting here, you know?" "Yeah," said Nick, his mind back on the matters at hand. He turned on the car and they drove off down the road. ************************************************************* Damage Control by Susan M. Garrett Enough time had been wasted. Now that the other witnesses were moderately incapacitated by Amaretto and/or a chocolate high (not to say that Susan wasn't high on the chocolate herself), it was time to make get things going. The problem was, of course, what on earth to do with Lisa? And whose side was she on this time? She'd been a Die-Hard, a Cousin, and, most recently, the Archivist's Assistant. Giving a mental shrug, Susan decided to let Janette deal with the problem--she the boss, after all. "Look, why don't we go out for a drink," she suggested, in what she hoped was a slightly bubbly (gak!) tone of voice. "We've all had a shock, but we're fine." "The police said we should stay in the hotel, in case they had more questions," noted Sharon, who was remarkably mentally intact, despite the quantity of chocolate she'd consumed (Susan estimated that any lesser mortal would have been spinning around in circles from the excess energy by that point . . . but you never knew with Texans). She was, happily, saved by Margaret, who leaned up against the bottom of the bed and said pointedly, "You mean 'Nick' said to stay put. And you'd do Nick says, right Sharon?" "Would not!" Sharon opened her mouth to continue, shut it, thought a moment, then added, "Well, there are a things--" "That's all right, Scottie," said Susan, in her most amiable tone of voice, "we understand. You stay right here and do exactly what Nick says. And be bored out of your mind, the hotel where they found Stonetree, dead as a doornail, while we find a nice little bar and more chocolate." "More chocolate?" echoed Scottie, looking down at the empty wrappers scattered around the room. "It might do you good to get out of here," said Lisa, lounging in the doorway. "Once the story breaks, this place will be a zoo. Newspeople. Photographers. Frogs." Scottie paled. Margaret hiccoughed and echoed, " frogs?" Lisa nodded sagely. "Didn't you know? The Summerians noticed that frogs tended to be attracted by the scent of death--that's why the spirits that carry the souls to the underworld are shaped like frogs." "Guess you're glad you're not Summerian," Susan said to Scottie, poking her lightly in the ribs, watching Scottie go white, then green. She glanced over at Lisa, wondering what her game was, but decided to let it ride. "Oh, that's neat," said Margaret. Then she started to giggle. "I can just see the grim-reaper--bulging eyes, little froggy fingers round his scythe--" She stopped momentarily and sobered. "Would he be a skeleton frog or a fleshy frog?" By that time, Scottie was on her feet, grabbing her purse on her way to the door. "Can we can the chatter about the-- let's just get out of here, okay?" "Fine with me," said Susan, helping Margaret to her feet, then steadying her. "And I know just the place where you can get your mind off your troubles, froggie or otherwise." "I'll bet you do," said Lisa, as Susan and Margaret passed her. **************** The Taxi ride was interesting (NOTHING compared to an NYC taxi, mind you, but interesting), and they soon arrived at The Raven. Both Scottie's and Margaret's eyes opened wide at the sight of the sign as they tumbled out of the taxi and Lisa led them onto the sidewalk. "I've never been here," said Margaret, almost in awe. Scottie frowned. "I don't think Nick would want--" "Oh, 'Nick-Nick-Nick'," countered Lisa. "He'd want you to unwind, wouldn't he? And you'd be safe here, right?" "Safe?" echoed Scottie doubtfully. Susan finished peeling off a number of multi-colored bills and handed them to the taxi driver (long ago having given up trying to match the colors to denominations), then put an arm around both Margaret's and Scottie's shoulders, shepherding them to the doorway, where a bouncer was brushing off some goth-wanna-bes. "You'll be safe," she promised, giving the bouncer a nod. "Trust me on this one." It didn't always work--sometimes the bouncers didn't know her (it amazed her how quickly Janette seemed to go through studly-young-vampire-or-mortal bouncers)--but this one merely gestured them into the club. Susan leaned in close to Lisa, almost shouting to be heard over the music, "Look, get them a table and some drinks. I've got to go visit the ladies." "One lady in particular?" asked Lisa. Susan just glared at her, more than pleased that Scottie and Margaret were both somewhat dazed by the interior of the club, hands over their ears and eyes glazed. "Just don't hit on Miklos," she warned. Lisa smiled in response. "Miklos and I have an understanding." "Miklos has an understanding with just about ," Susan shot back. Then she headed past them and the dancers, aiming in the general direction of the restrooms. Which, thankfully, also happened to be near the door to the back rooms. Taking a deep breath and hoping against hope that LaCroix wasn't paying Janette a visit, Susan slipped into the back hallway and knocked on the door to Janette's office. "!" She winced at the hint of annoyance in Janette's voice, but pushed open the door anyway and peered into the room. Janette looked up from the papers on her desk, then picked up a cigarette from her ashtray. "I didn't know you were in town." "Writers' conference," muttered Susan, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind her. She took a deep breath. "You've got problems, boss." " got problems?" Janette took a drag from her cigarette and regarded Susan with an assessing air. "You know that you're to let me know whenever you're in town. And don't call me 'boss.'" Susan swallowed and started walking toward the desk. "There was a murder at my hotel. In the room next door to mine." Janette raised an eyebrow, then looked down at her papers again and flipped through them, disinterested. "As I said, problem." "The victim was Captain Stonetree. He used to be Nick's boss." There was only the briefest second in which Janette froze, then she shrugged and returned her cigarette to an ashtray. "Then it is problem, no? You should deal with him, you're good friends now, aren't you?" Susan clenched her fists, but kept her voice even. "Stonetree was dead when they found him. He was wearing a . . . pink, fur-trimmed negligee." Janette looked up, blinking. A smile slowly crawled across her lips. "A pink, fur-trimmed --well, then he won't be any different from any of the other bodies Nicola has found. And it is still my problem." "They found your black velvet choker at the scene." The smile disappeared. Janette shook her head. " Not mine. There are so many black velvet chokers . . . ." She rose to her feet and walked to the credenza against the wall. Susan followed, at a distance, and watched Janette open a large teak box. There was a hint of red velvet and satin lining before items began to fly out of the box toward her-- pearls and diamonds, emeralds and sapphires, gold and silver rings and earrings and necklaces and anklets and chains. Ducking a majority of the missiles, Susan got tagged by a diamond studded bracelet on the cheek and a pearl pin lodged in her hair before she managed to get out of range. She stood by the door and watched as Janette dumped the entire box onto the floor and hurriedly scattered the items with the toe of her shoe. "It's your problem, boss. problem." Janette froze and looked up, her blue eyes going gold in anger. "I told you, call me--" But then she stopped in mid-sentence and turned her back, arms folded. "I had nothing to do with this. Nicola will know." "Nick might not have anything to say about it." Susan took a hesitant step forward. "Someone's trying to frame you. Okay, all they've got is the choker and that's circumstantial--like you said, there are of black lace chokers out there. But you're connected to Nick. Nick's connected to Stonetree." As Janette turned, Susan shrugged. "It might go nowhere, but it'll mean a lot of questions." "Ah . . . questions." Janette nodded. "So, I must have another choker, that I can show Nicola and the others." "Yes," agreed Susan, with a sigh of relief. She knew once Janette realized how serious this was, things would get easier. Janette took a step forward. "If, as you say, someone was trying to 'frame' me, there would be other clues. The room was in his name?" "The room belonged to two friends of mine. Writers. They found the body. They're outside." Smiling, Janette walked to her and put an hand on her shoulder. "You brought them here?" "Yeah. Thought you might hoodoo them and give their memories the once over. That's how most of these things are solved-- people see stuff they don't know they've seen." "And I suppose Nicola has already 'spoken' to them?" Susan managed a slight grin. "Brief interview--tearful witnesses, that sort of thing. The cops are going to get back to them later." "Ah--" Janette squeezed her shoulder lightly and walked away. "I suppose Nicola told you all to remain there, yes?" "Do do everything Nick tells you to do?" It was Janette's turn to smile. She nodded slightly. "All right, I'll interview your friends. I can't trust this to Nicola--there's too much at stake and he's such a bumbler at times." Sobering suddenly, Susan frowned. "Boss, you can't mean you want to find out who killed Stonetree?" "Why not?" Janette glided over, her expression thoughtful. "You've worked with the police, you know what to do. The others will help you--I'll have Alma send the word and they'll be here instantly." "But I'm a writer, not a--" "You," said Janette, her eyes narrowing, "are a Ravenette. A Ravenette. There's too much to do and Nicola would sense any vampires around. You're connected with the case--it would be understandable if you were interested in the outcome. As you said, I've got a problem. I want to solve it." She jabbed her finger in Susan's direction, then returned to her desk and picked up her cigarette. "I'll be out to see your friends shortly. Send Alma in when you leave." "Right, boss--Janette," Susan corrected herself quickly, then sighed and opened the door. Slipping out into the club, she wondered what Columbo would do in a situation like this . . . ************************************************************* Death By Acute Embarrassment by Lorelei Feldman Happy and excited in her seat at the premiere, Lorelei began to get more and more nervous as the episode wore on. A few minutes before her first scene was to air, she could no longer stand it. Squirming in her seat, she looked around, hoping to leave. Unfortunately, her customary habit of sitting in the middle for the best view thwarted her attempts; the only way to get out was to climb over about 30 other people. So instead, she just sat there and winced, biting her knuckles. *Oh, no. Are they even gonna use those bits? I can't believe I've gotten into this. Why did I let Diane E. talk me into this?! And >Isabelle> As soon as the door closed behind Susan, Janette lit a cigarette and pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. Her intellect knew it had no effect, but she found it soothing anyway. So, Nikolah's old captain had been a... What did they call it these days? A "cross-dresser"? It seemed fairly harmless, as fetishes went. And, of course there were times when one had other reasons for dressing "inappropriately"... <> Janette and Nick stroll down a narrow, badly lit street. On both sides are high stone walls covered with ivy. Janette wears a cote-hardie--a close-fitting dress of thin black silk, cut with a low scoop neckline and long, close fitting sleeves. The very full skirts trail on the ground and the sleeves end in bell-shaped cuffs that reach to the first knuckle of each hand. Over this she wears a "gates of hell"-- a full burgundy velvet skirt supported by a 4 inch wide, Y- shaped yoke of burgundy and silver brocade. The deep armholes and the hem of the velvet skirt are trimmed in silver-gray fur. Her hair is confined in two silver-filigree braid-cases, one over each ear, and they are connected by a silver circlet. Nick also wears a cote-hardie. It also fits tightly, and has long sleeves with flared cuffs. It buttons all the way down the front and each sleeve has buttons to the elbow. The right side of the tunic and the left sleeve are of black velvet. The left side of the tunic and the right sleeve are of the same brocade as Janette's yoke. He wears silver-gray hose, black shoes with pointed toes, and a heavy belt of silver plaques. The belt rests at hip level, just five inches above the tunic hem. A jewel-hilted dagger hangs from the belt. The ivy on their left shakes, and they look upward. Nick raises both eyebrows and almost smiles; Janette raises one eyebrow. The ivy shakes again. There is a tearing sound, and a figure lands in a shower of leaves, literally at their feet. Isabelle (played by Lorelei Feldman) looks up from her sprawl. She is dressed in a baggy, plain, knee-length green tunic and dull buff hose. Her hair is crammed into an oversized cap, which is slightly askew. One straight, red- brown lock slithers free as she scrambles to her feet. "Oh," she gasps. Then, deliberately lowering her voice, "Good even, milord, milady. I... I can explain..." "Can you, milady?" Nick asks, smiling. Janette considers whether she wants an early supper. The young woman is very... Appetizing. "Milady?" Isabelle asks, nervously. "You are mistaken, milord. I am... Pierre, a... A groom in Lord Henri's service, and..." "Oh, come," Nick shakes his head, cutting her off. "Even if I were to believe that a groom existed with skin so fair and hands so soft," he grabs her right wrist in his left hand, and turns her palm up, "only a blind man could ever mistake you for a stripling." He reaches out and snatches off her hat. Reddish brown hair cascades in all directions. "So," he finishes with a smile, "tell us the truth, milady." Janette, bored, folds her arms and sighs. Isabelle hesitates. "I..." Nick places his right forefinger under her chin and lifts, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Tell me the truth." "I..." Isabelle whispers, "am running away." Nick breaks eye contact, and her face mirrors her shock as she realizes what she has said. She panics and starts to babble. "Milord, milady, *please*, you cannot make me go back! My guardian, Lord Henri, will force me to marry Count Orthallen. The Count... He is a terrible man! Cruel, and heartless!" She begins to cry. "And he is so *old*! He must be at least forty! Please, please, you *must* help me!" she begs, clutching Nick's arm. Janette takes a step closer to the pair. "What is your name, _ma petit_?" she asks. "Isabelle," she stammers. "Isabelle du Brabant." <> Janette was jerked out of her reverie as Alma burst through the door to her office. The door smacked against the wall with a deafening and Janette's framed Rubens sketch fell to the floor, glass shattered. Again. "*Alma!*," Janette snarled, eyes glowing red, "how many times must I tell you to *knock*!?!" ************************************************************* Reach Out and-- by Susan M. Garrett Alma sat down at the computer terminal, flexed her fingers and contemplated her situation. Janette was not happy. When Janette was not happy, no one else was allowed to be happy. (It was probably something to do with Nick, as usual.) Janette had ordered her to contact the Ravenettes with an important message. If she screwed up, Janette would be even more NOT happy. With a small sigh, Alma typed out the message Janette had given her. WE ARE IN A STATE OF SIEGE. YOU WILL BE CONTACTED. DO ALL THAT YOU CAN. With affection -- Janette Alma smiled, having added that last touch herself. It amazed her that so many of the people who claimed to follow Janette seemed so obviously... Antagonistic toward her. As if they had something to prove. That maybe their mortal lives weren't so pathetically empty and they could stand against the big, bad ice queen of a vampiress? She shrugged. It didn't matter. What did matter was that she get this right. Janette wanted the message sent to ALL of her followers. Janette had a LOT of followers. Again, Alma gave serious thought to her task then touched one button, activating the automated mailing list. The message was sent instantly to every name on the list. With another sigh, she leaned back against her chair. Thank heavens was over. She hated work. It was SO taxing. ************************************************************* Dead Air by Andria M. Marcoux The song is almost over, Andria realized. What can I say? I don't want to say it. I don't want to believe it. The song was over, and still she said nothing, taking a long, shaky breath, determined that her voice would not betray her. "Well, this will be the last dedication on Nightwatch. For the past half-hour I've been staring at a little blinking light that means someone has found my last relay. I should have shut down for good... "I know what the sensible thing, the practical thing, to do is. But why start doing the smart thing now? Was it sensible to take this on in the first place? Is it sensible to believe in... The night, the way I do? The way we all do? No, not really. "Anyway, this song is going out to someone who wanted to stand in the eye of the storm, untouched, and to watch the night without being a part of it. To someone who should have known it can't be done. That there is no such thing as 'Sanctuary'." Andria removed the headphones as Annette Ducharme's haunting soprano filled her makeshift studio. She laughed to herself. Most commercial stations weren't as well outfitted as her little "makeshift" operation. She ran her hands lovingly across the equipment. The bugging devices were most definitely not standard issue. Others like to watch, she thought, and I like to listen. She lifted the trap door and climbed onto the roof. The industrial district felt abandoned, and she wouldn't have been surprised if she was the only living human being for miles. That was about to change. The only question was, who would be the first to disturb her solitude? She closed her eyes and let the music fill her. "Who will give you sanctuary? And slay you're vampires in the night?" "Oh, you can't mean that, can you?" He asked, his voice gentle. Andria couldn't help smiling, as she turned to face her benefactor, the man who'd made all her voyeuristic dreams come true, allowing her to eavesdrop on an entire city. "Who will comfort you And be your guardian angel?" "Not literally, of course," she said, as she slipped into his arms and hugged him. She pulled away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I guess the excitement of being hunted down like prey is getting to me." He brushed a cool hand against her cheek. "Don't be embarrassed," he said in his most soothing voice, "I understand." Andria closed her eyes and allowed herself to be transported by that voice, the way she had been every night for over a year. When she tuned in to Nightwatch, it was as if he was talking just to her. It was the only time she felt connected to anything outside of herself. She would do anything for him. "You had better leave. The authorities will be here any minute, and the time this little distraction has bought you won't mean anything if they figure out you were behind it the whole time." "Too late for that, I'm afraid," he said, and pointed to the street below. A car pulled up to the front of the warehouse, and a woman leapt out, rushing into the building. "Andria, you've been more of a help to me than you know. After tonight, CERK will be safe from government interference, and all of my deep, dark secrets will go back to being deep and dark." "I don't understand-" Anna Sawitzky pulled herself through the trap door. "I'm almost surprised to see you here, LaCroix," she said with a smile. "I guess you didn't realize how much you let slip. After that crack about me tracking down pirates, it was obvious that the entire takeover of CERK was orchestrated by you. Just answer one question: Why?" "To discredit you, of course. You see, if the person who brought the irregularities of my license to attention of the CRTC was proved to be unbalanced, those and any future accusations would be less likely to be treated seriously, wouldn't they?" "There's just one slight flaw in that brilliant plan. I'm right. This whole piracy business just proves everything I've been saying about you for months, and then some. I suppose that's the person you intended to go down for this?" she asked, finally noticing Andria beside LaCroix. "Actually, you are, Ms. Sawitzky." He waved his hand impatiently, and two shapes appeared in the darkness behind her. "I leave the methods up to you. Hypnotize her into confessing that her accusations against me were false and that she was responsible for the piracy, or fabricate a suicide note to that effect. Either way, the Community will be safe." Trying to pull away from the grasp of the Enforcers, Anna pleaded with the girl beside LaCroix. "Help me, please. He's just using you, can't you see that! Don't you realize what he's doing?" "A futile effort, Ms. Sawitzky. You see, Andria is my number one fan. Aren't you, my dear?" She beamed as he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her into the night. ************************************************************* Serenity (1) by Andria Marcoux I think I'm having a panic attack, Andria realized. She was seated by herself, near the back of the auditorium, barely aware of the buzz of excitement around her. She had been just as thrilled as everyone else, knowing she was about to watch an episode of Forever Knight that she had been a part of, until an absolutely horrid thought had occurred to her: What if my mother sees this? Andria had a hard enough time reassuring her mother that an interest in vampires was *not* a sign of an emotionally disturbed individual. How was she going to explain actually being in an episode of a vampire t.v. show? Not to mention the fact that her character *was* an emotionally disturbed individual, with an unhealthy interest in a certain latenight radio host and no small dislike for rebroadcasts. And she has my name, she thought grimly. Taking several deep breaths, she prayed for the serenity to accept whatever came of it. And anyway, she thought, the way CFQC runs FK it could be years before she ever sees it. Even if she does see it, the flashbacks will probably confuse her so much she won't notice I'm in the show at all! Her calm restored, Andria settled back in her seat and began scanning the programme for her name. When she reached the M's, her fists clenched convulsively, ripping the book in her hands. ***flashback*** The choir room was deserted, the church dark. "How long have we been friends, Lloyd?" Andria asked, her voice low and deceptively calm. "Oh, I don't know..." the choir director said, trying to remember. "Since sixth grade. Seems unbelievable, doesn't it?" He nodded. "And what kind of person do you think I am?" "Oh, you're very nice," he said, "You pick out songs for me so I don't have to." "Yes. Most people think I'm nice. Polite, quiet, patient. Do you think I'm patient?" He nodded again. She pulled an envelope out of her bookbag, and showed it to him. His eyes grew wide, and he took a step backward. "What does this say, Lloyd?" It was the Christmas card he had given her that evening. Lloyd suddenly realized how dark the church was, and how empty. "What... Does... It... Say?" Her voice seemed brighter, even more sweet than usual. "Andrea." "Yes. I've been very patient Lloyd, because we've been friends for such a long time. But I think it's time you and I had another little talk about the differences between Latin and Greek, don't you?" All he could do was whimper. ***end flashback*** Andria tried very hard to be a nice girl, and it was very rare that she allowed anything to disrupt her iron control. She smoothed the programme out in her lap, praying again for serenity, this time whispering the words out loud. "...and the wisdom to know the difference." Her eyes were drawn again to the M's. She was listed as "Andrea M. Marcoux". ************************************************************* Random Acts (3) by Diane Echelbarger "Mail for you, Captain," the patrolman said, and tossed a mailing tube on his desk. "Thanks," Stonetree said, and picked it up. The tube was four inches wide and a foot long. The mailing label had been typed, and there was no return address. He used his pocket knife to cut the packing tape away from one of the plastic end caps, then pried the cap out. The inside was packed with excelsior. Cushioning the open end with his left hand, he upended the tube. The contents shifted, and he drew his hand away slowly. Several inches of packing expanded outward before a black base appeared in the end of the tube. He laid the tube flat, dropped the excelsior, and gently pulled on the base, drawing the whole object into sight. It was a Kachina. Joe carefully freed the last of the packing material from the figure and sat it gently on his desktop. It was seven inches high, and exquisitely detailed. He frowned, and reached for the mailing tube again. A Toronto postmark. Who in Toronto would be sending him a Kachina? Sure, a couple dozen people besides his family knew he was Hopi, but he could count on one hand the people who knew he belonged to a kiva society, as well as being a practicing Catholic. Most of the people he worked with wouldn't even be able to understand how he could be both. And *this* Kachina... A single, curved horn jutted from the right side of the figure's black and white mask. The white deerskin shirt and blue and white kirtle were painstakingly detailed. A deerbone rattle was clutched in the right hand and the bow in the left. Anyone who knew he was from the southwest US might have sent him *a* Kachina, but this figurine was an exact copy of Caiastacana, the Hopi rain god of the north. And his brother was the personifier of Caiastacana, something he was certain *no one* in Toronto knew... He checked through the excelsior on his desk for a note. When he didn't find one, he pried the other end off the mailing tube. A gift enclosure had been wedged against the plastic plug. He pulled it free and slipped the card out. The front had a typical "Southwest" design of two Anasazi- style pots. The inside was blank. ************************************************************* Serenity (2) by Andria M. Marcoux Serenity only goes so far, Andria thought. She had been saved the horror of actually seeing herself on screen for most of the episode by the nature of her part, and she'd been sure she could handle watching the few minutes of film they actually shot of her. She had been wrong. After the first ten seconds she'd skulked out of her seat and fled to the lobby. She didn't notice someone watching her leave. She hovered by the water fountain, trying to look like she wasn't hiding, and she let out a little screech when a voice from behind her said, "Compelling performance, Ms. Marcoux." "I'm sorry," she apologized to the pale man behind her, "You startled me." "Then it is I who should be sorry. Why did you not stay for your triumph?" "I have this thing about pictures, mirrors, film. I hate looking at myself. That's why I was so happy with a role that had me off camera most of the time. If I'd had my way, the pirate would have stayed a disembodied voice..." her voice trailed off. "I see. Well, I was quite happy to learn that you were one of mine." "I beg your pardon?" "A Cousin." "Ahh, a Cousin." Andria began to inch along the wall towards the door. "You see, that was just t.v." she explained, hoping that LaCroix was not one of those people who had trouble telling the difference between real things and pretend things. "You know. Acting." "You are trying to tell me you don't want to be a Cousin?" he rasped. "No, it's not that, I just really don't plan on joining any of the factions. I have so much trouble making up my mind I can't even decide if I'm a Die Hard, and besides, I'm no where near mean enough to be a Cousin, not that there's anything wrong with people who are mean, I'm just not one of..." she was half way to the exit. "...I mean, I just don't have the what it takes for Cousinhood. I'm a nice girl, and it's really not for me... But thanks for asking?" "Even if I told you I could help you track down those responsible for misspelling your name in the program and the credits?" Andria stopped her crab-like crawl for freedom. "Let's talk." ************************************************************* Enter a Ravenette (stage right) by Hyo Moon Hyo paced around her hotel room frowning at the script in her hand. She had to admit the premise of the premiere episode WAS rather hokey. No big deal, she'll play along after all, it isn't everyday that you get to appear in a way cool show. Still, the script COULD use a few revisions. She pulled out her Kerokerokeroppi frog pencil(while strongly squelching any thoughts of Knightie torture) and began to scribble away..... ********* Hyo ....Don't argue with me, just put her on! Honestly Alma, I have NO idea why Janette keeps you on... Oh! Janette, this is Hyo... Yes the Miami based Ravenette... Well, I LIKE the year round sunny weather... Well, anyway I just checked into my hotel room and... Uh-huh, uh-huh... Ok, so what's the deal with Stonetree being dead, and what do you care about a mortal anyway?... Oh, yeah I guess that would be a bit of a problem for you. Hmmm... Thing is, if someone is trying to frame you... Ok WHOEVER, how could he/she have gotten hold of your choker in the first place? The way I see it, it's GOT to be LaCroix. It sounds like something he'd do just to get back at Nick... Well, you DO help him an awful lot... I know he's pretty hard to resist when he pulls that warm and fuzzy act, but still by helping him with his cases, you re-affirm his mortality. Nevermind that, back to what I was saying, I figure it HAS to be LaCroix because he's the only one I can think of with both motive and opportunity...I DO NOT sound like an Agatha Christie novel!... Yeah, ok. I'll look around and see what I can find. I'm not guaranteeing anything tho'. Whoever did this was VERY thorough... Ok, bye. ************************************************************* Taking a Dip in the Carpool by Amparo Bertram Amparo stowed her Guatemalan duffel bag, her pillow, and her stuffed puppy Zandria in the trunk of Betsy's Escort. She dusted off her hands after slamming the lid shut and took her place in the passenger seat, piling the rest of her belongings on her lap. Betsy eyed the heap. "You all set?" Amparo checked to make sure her seat belt was securely fastened. "Yep. Ready and waiting." "Is the trunk full?" "Oh, no, these are the things I might need during the trip. Walkman, tape case, a few books, munchies..." She rifled through her totebag. "...Pencil and paper, hairbrush, money, Tylenol... You know, the essentials." "Right." Betsy started the car and headed out of Ann Arbor. "So, this will be your first time in Canada?" "Yeah. I've been south of the border, but not north. I'm really looking forward to it. Thanks for giving me a ride." "Don't mention it." She watched as Amparo fished around in her bag, pulled out a rubber band, and bound her hair into a waist-length ponytail. Only then did the window roll down. "I wonder what kind of part I'll get," Amparo mused as she settled her things around her. "There are lots of fans. It's hard to believe they can all be squeezed into one episode." "Hmm... Maybe it's a three-parter? In any case, meeting Natalie will be a thrill in itself." She paused to clip on her NatPack affiliation pin. "I wore this around campus once," she explained, "and everyone I met asked if I belonged to a med student association. After that I decided simply to display it prominently in my room." Betsy flashed her a smile. "The trials of fandom?" "No kidding. Well, here we are, total strangers, cast together by a twist of fate to spend the duration of our journey in close quarters... Sounds like the plot of a novel, to me." She held up one of the paperbacks from her lap. "In fact, sounds like the plot of this novel. Oh, dear." She tossed it over her shoulder into the back seat. "One down, two to go." "At that rate you'll finish them all before we leave Washtenaw County." "Oh, no! You mean I may wind up actually having to talk to people?" She shuddered in mock horror and tucked the remaining two books safely away in her totebag for later. "Don't worry, we don't bite. The Cousins, on the other hand..." "Speaking of eating, would you like some potato chips? I got the flavored kind so you wouldn't have to worry about getting dip all over your car. I know how these trips can be." She opened the crinkly bag and carefully rolled down the sides to prevent tearing or spillage. "Thanks." Betsy helped herself to a small handful. "You travel a lot?" "Family trips, with my parents and three younger brothers. Six people in a five-seat car--every one of whom has different musical tastes, I might add. About the only tape we can all agree on is _Les Miserables_, and even so, there's a limit to how many times that can be played without everyone going bonkers." "I can imagine." "But don't let me do all the talking--once I get started, I'll monopolize the conversation. Tell me a little about yourself." They proceeded to chat about inconsequentials for some time before lapsing into a companionable silence. Amparo popped a tape in her Walkman, pulled a notebook and pencil from her totebag, and scribbled down random inspirations. The skill of writing while in a moving vehicle was one she had taken great pains to master, since she didn't have any hope of obtaining a laptop computer anytime in the near future. She had filled several pages when she noticed the car beginning to slow. "What's the matter?" she asked, turning off the music. Betsy pointed ahead. Bright orange road signs were clearly visible. "Construction. Just what we needed." "I hope it doesn't slow us down too--uh-oh." She spotted the line of cars backed up for what seemed like miles. "Slight delay." Betsy sighed as their speed decreased to zero. "That Michigan freeze-thaw pattern strikes again. It's all well and good to have nice, smooth roads, but at least driving around potholes is still *driving*." Amparo put a different tape in her Walkman and slouched lower in her seat for the duration. The sun beating in through the windows and the hum of the engine as they inched forward made her feel drowsy. As she was drifting in a comfortable haze, a sudden thought occurred to her. "We're picking up Richard at the airport in Toronto, right?" She glanced over at her companion. Betsy nodded. "We'll never get there on time at this rate. I hope he's the understanding sort." The car crept forward a few feet. She held out her hand. "Pass the chips. We're in for a loooong wait." ************************************************************* Playing Phone Tag by Elaine Polemenakos After an uncomfortable, but uneventful flight, I headed straight for the pay phone booths. Then I headed to an exchange counter to get the right kind of money, and then went back to the pay phones. I decided than rather than just showing up on her doorstep, I should give Nat some advance warning. Since it was early evening, I tried the Coroner's office first. "Coroner's Office" "May I speak to Natalie Lambert please?" "I'm sorry, she's not in the office right now. May I take a message?" "Sure. Hi, Grace. This is Natalie's friend, Elaine. I think we've spoken before" "The one from Texas, right." "That's me. I'm in Toronto for a while, and wanted to let Nat know I was in town." "Came north of the border to beat the summer heat, huh?" "Partly. Do you know when she'll be back?" "She should be back soon. She's at the precinct, discussing the Captain's autopsy." "Captain Cohen's dead?!?" "No, its Captain Stonetree. I can't believe you haven't heard. He was murdered." "Oh, my God. That's awful. Who's investigating it?" "Detectives Knight and Schanke, and somebody from IA named Cross." There was that cold shiver up my spine again. "Hmm. Well, I guess I picked a lousy time to visit, huh? Tell you what Grace. Just let Nat know I'm in town, and tell her I'll drop by the office later, after I'm settled in. Sounds like she'll be in permanent residence there for a while." "Sure, Elaine. Actually, she's been at the station for an awfully long time, even for her. I hope nothing's wrong." Another shiver raced through me. "I'm sure there's nothing to be concerned about, Grace. Maybe she's fitting in some quality time with Nick." "I certainly hope so. Those two need to wake up and get the ball rolling. Oops, I've just been paged to the lab. I need to go, but I'll be sure Nat gets your message." "Thanks, Grace. I appreciate it. Take care. Bye-bye." As I hung up, I realized I had two daunting tasks in front of me. Finding the other NatPackers, and getting out of baggage claim before it was time for me to go home again. ************************************************************* Playing Phone Tag part 2 by Richard Hudson Richard was standing at the phone booth next to a NatPacker who was speaking to Grace about staying with Nat. After calling the NatPackers who planned to give him a ride, he looked at the NatPacker,preparing to ask her a question... ************************************************************* Proof Positive by Tara LJC O'Shea and Selma McCrory Aristotle was very, very tired of this woman. "It's simple, I just want you to undo what was done." "I do not enjoy being ordered about by someone I would usually refer to as lunch." "Oh, do shut up. If I had to listen to what passes for wit with you for centuries, I'd gladly give up my life." "Impertinent chit," the vampire muttered beneath his breath as he once again accessed Natalie Lambert's credit records. "Pompous berk," Tara said beneath her voice, and closed the door behind her. One job down, but the list was long, and she was running out of time. * * * "Detective Knight? There's a Miss Kaye for you on line three." "Tara?" Nick was surprised to hear from her. "I need something from you." "Now what?" "Who ID'd me?" "You know I can't tell you that." "Look, you know I wasn't involved in the murder, I have to know. I think I know who framed me, but I have to know for sure before I can do anything." "Everyone is framing everyone else, this case is really starting to get to me." "Get to you?" Tara's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. "I'm the one who ended up behind bars, remember?" "And Nat." "And Nat. But I'm trying to fix that." "Ah, yes. How could I forget? You fix everything in the end." "This is far from over." "You are one odd girl." "Tell me her name, Detective." "McCrory, Selma McCrory. Promise me you won't do anything foolish, anything un-fixable." "You have my word." *click* * * * Janette looked bored, but appearances weren't everything. She just hated to admit to Tara that she too was interested in discovering the truth. She liked to pretend she was above all this mortal foolishness of courts, and laws, and frame upon frame. But she had been mocked by this entire affair, and that was a slight that would not be ignored. The hotel staff looked up as the two women entered, one in jeans and a sweater, the other in a long cloak over what appeared to be some kind of costume. They were getting used to weird goings on, what with murders and all. "Pardon me, could tell me which is Selma McCrory's room please?" Tara leaned forward, smiling sweetly. * * * Selma was wary when she heard the knock at her door, and peered through the peephole before undoing the chain. Outside her door stood an attractive dark haired woman in some kind of cloak. "May I help you?" "I certainly hope so," Tara stepped into view, and Selma's eyes went wide as she recognized the woman she had described so carefully for the police the night before. She wanted to scream, but the willowy dark-haired woman had a hand over her mouth in an instant, and Tara quickly stepped inside and shut the hotel room door. "Please don't scream, we're not here to hurt you." Selma nodded, and Janette released her. "You're the woman I saw with Joe! You killed him, didn't you!" Selma hissed, and Tara held up her hand. "I didn't arrive in Toronto until after Stonetree was dead, someone tampered with your memories, we're just here to find out who." "Tampered...? That's not possible." "Oh, I think you know it is." Janette circled Selma carefully. "Do you like being used, Ms. McCrory?" "Of course not." "Then wouldn't you like to know if you had been?" "I... I suppose so. How do I know you're telling the truth?" "Someone tried to frame me for murder on the strength of your description. I have my suspicions, but I need proof, I need to be positive before I can do anything else. And you are the only person who can help me find that proof. Please." Tara's dark eyes pleaded with her. Selma sat down on the end of the bed, running a hand through her hair. Her every instinct was screaming this was the woman she saw get into the lift with Joe, and yet what she was saying sounded like the truth. It could be the truth... What if it was? That would mean that the real killer was still out there, free. "How does this work?" She looked up at Tara and Janette, who visibly relaxed. Janette sat down next to her, and lifted her chin so that she was staring into her eyes, couldn't look away. "Listen to the sound of my voice..." * * * "I was sitting in my room at the hotel studying the program book and the latest sheet of alterations incurred mainly by Cousin Joe's death. There was a knock on the door, and I got up to open it, figuring that Hilary had forgotten my key once again. Framed in the doorway was a tall man in a leather trench coat. 'May I help you?' I asked, thinking perhaps that he was lost, or selling something. "'Actually,' he said, strolling past me into the room, 'We can help each other, Miss McCrory.' "'Who are you?' I said, and made defiant eye contact with the stranger. That was a mistake. "Suddenly, all that I could hear was the stranger's voice, giving me instructions. Then he was gone... And I had a sudden urge to go to the police station and tell them about the man *woman?* that I had seen in the lift with Joe. I gathered up my laptop and left." "And that's all you remember?" Janette prompted, and Selma nodded. She broke eye contact, and Selma shook herself, as if waking from a dream. "Oh my god," she whispered. "It's okay," Tara crouched next to her. "He's used us all." "And he will pay," Janette said, unchaining the door, and Tara got up to go. "Are you going to be alright?" "Yeah. It's just a shock, I guess." Selma watched them go, and quickly pulled herself together. This changed everything. * * * "I knew it!" Tara clenched and unclenched her fists. "LaCroix did it all. I could kill him." "Could you?" "Well I could give it a damn good try at this point," Tara watched Toronto speed by as they headed back to the Raven. "Careful, cherie." "I was careful for too long. All it got me was a day in jail." "Better than the morgue, non?" "Maybe. At least with Himself in jail, I have some time to do a little damage without being caught." ************************************************************* New Deal by Sandra Gray Sandra looked over as Ron the Enforcer slipped into the seat beside her. "Enjoying the premiere?" he asked. "Yes, but I don't think LaCroix is," said Sandra, glancing back at the vampire sitting in the back of the room. A particularly unflattering scene involving LaCroix appeared and Sandra glanced back again, to see the vampire scowling even more. "God, he looks like he's ready to spring!" she said. "Don't worry. He won't," said Ron. Sandra looked at the Enforcer, to see him looking intently at LaCroix. thought Ron. thought LaCroix. thought Ron. Suddenly the room went completely dark. "What happened?" said Sandra. "Power outage," said Ron and then he was gone. The lights and the premiere came back on soon enough. Sandra looked to the front of the room and saw that Ron the Enforcer had taken a seat beside Mr. P. "He's not happy with the episode," said Ron softly. Mr. P. looked at the man in tinted glasses sitting beside him. "Well, apparently we need to do some editing," he said. "He doesn't like the changes," said Ron in the same low tone. "The offer of my employer that we discussed still stands. We have an edited version of this episode that will, I think, satisfy you. And my employer guarantees you complete creative control." Mr. P. glanced back at his backer. He certainly did not look pleased with how the episode was going. "But what about the fans?" asked Mr. P., looking at Ron. "That's simple. Make everyone who was involved their own video copy of this version." Mr. P. thought about that. It could be an acceptable solution. And that Mr. Brabant was offering complete creative control. He glanced back at his backer again. Except... "Don't worry about him. He won't give you any trouble," said Ron. Mr. P. looked at the man beside him and saw a dangerous glitter in his eyes that chilled him. Mr. P. took a deep breath, then said, "Okay, I accept your offer." He held out his hand. Ron shook Mr. P.'s hand, then reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a folded paper and a pen. He passed them to Mr. P. and said, "This is just a simple form that says you agree to accept my employer's backing. We can work out the specific details later." Mr. P. scanned the page, signed it, and passed it back to Ron. Ron rose from his seat and nonchalantly walked over to where Nick was standing by the right wall. Sandra watched them. After a few minutes, Ron conversed briefly with Nick. She saw him pat his jacket and Nick nod. Sandra smiled. Everything apparently was proceeding as planned. ************************************************************* Blackout by Dirk Giles LaCroix's mood was becoming more foul as the story unfolded on the screen. All his plans for a triumphal third season were falling apart. *No!* he hissed, as on the screen Tara and Janette placed the blame on his character, "I will not allow this to progress further." He scanned the audience, and spotting JP, prepared to spring. Nick could see that LaCroix was becoming more irritated as the episode ran on. A sudden feeling came over him that LaCroix was going to try something. He looked across the auditorium to where Janette was sitting, and saw her looking back at him. *Trouble,* he thought, and she nodded back. Janette turned and beckoned to Socrates, who was also sitting on one of the outer seats. He quickly slid over into a seat next to hers. "We need a distraction. Now." "Roger that, boss, I mean ma'am," Socrates replied. He took the emergency rescue radio out of his pocket, turned it on, and thumbed the mike. "Raven Black!" Far overhead, the electronic warfare officers of Raven flight activated the jamming computers, which sent invisible waves of electronic noise towards Toronto. At the city's main power station several green lights switched to amber, then to red. "Uh, oh!" the on-duty technician said, and switched on his intercom. "We've got an entire grid overloading downtown, and if we don't shut them down, we'll lose several transformer stations!" "Shut them down then, but send crews to fix it immediately!" a voice replied. The technician flipped several switches, and went to round up the emergency crews. LaCroix tensed to spring, but before he could act the lights and the projector went out. Several members of the audience screamed in surprise, which started a small panic. As the emergency lights came on, the entire audience began to mill about in confusion. LaCroix lost sight of JP, and was about to storm to the projector when he found his way blocked by Nick. "So, Nicholas, is this your doing? If so it will amount to naught, like the rest of your schemes to help these *mortals*." "No, LaCroix," Nick replied, "they did this on their own. And *you* will let it be!" Janette appeared at Nick's side. "Ah, Lucien, some problems with the script, non?" she asked. "You should have left it in the hands of the show's writers." At that moment Schanke and several uniformed police entered the room and called out for order. "Come on, folks! It's just a power outage! Calm down." "What can you do now, LaCroix?" Nick asked. "It has already progressed beyond your control." LaCroix allowed himself to calm down and retracted his fangs. "Perhaps not now, but there is always later..." he replied, glaring at several Cousins who were watching him. The Cousins gulped, and averted their gaze. Janette again nodded to Socrates, who had gotten close by but had tried to remain out of sight. Activating the radio, he transmitted again: "Raven white!" At the power station the warning lights changed back to green as the 4 airborne EF- 111A Ravens ceased their jamming. After checking his master board, the technician switched the downtown grid back on. At the auditorium, the power came back on. "If everyone will sit down, we'll continue on with the show," it was announced, and the projector started up again. ************************************************************* A Message to the Guild by Jennifer Greenbury Lackey Jen had possession of the laptop, and was pouring over her mail. She opened a message from Sarah, and was shocked to find a request to join the Guild, which she had been trying to get Sarah to do since her decision to go freelance. Jen thought for a second, not only about Sarah, but about the general situation, and decided a Guild powwow and alert was in order. She fired off a message. ------------------------------------------------------------- My fellow Mercs, For those of you who may not be aware, Sarah Welsh, my illustrious editor, collaborator and good friend, has decided to join our ranks, after much haranguing by myself, and threat by the Cousins. While someone joining up because they were under threat by another faction and needed protection might be problematic as a general rule, because Sarah was working as a freelance Merc already, and was currently unaffiliated, I think this circumstance is acceptable. What has happened to Sarah is what we formed to protect ourselves against, after all. Let the games begin. And watch your backs out there, my friends. Although many of us (including myself) are working for Cousins right now, it appears that trouble might be brewing between the faction and ourselves. Between Maureen's noble and courageous exhortation to LaCroix to "bite her", metaphorically of course, and now Sarah's defiance of LaCroix, we may be facing an attack. Our business is making money, not squabbling with the Cousins, and so I hope that our collective strength and the threat of being barred from services may prevent overt hostilities. But, it will not do to have LaCroix believe that he can bully Guild members with impunity. If we are attacked, we must be ready to retaliate with all the considerable resources at our disposal. I retain hopes that direct conflict can be avoided. In the meantime, go about your usual business, have fun, make money, and be sure to notify me immediately of anything suspicious. And feel free to send any thoughts you might have on this topic. Your collective servant, Jen High Administrative Poohbah Mercenaries Guild ------------------------------------------------------------- That should suffice, Jen thought to herself. Now one can only wait and see. And keep a close eye on the Cousins in the little band with which I was working. ************************************************************* Investigations and Investigators by Selma McCrory The young woman was waiting for Nick and Schanke when they got in. She was fairly tall, with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a blue-striped shirt and gray cords. "Ms. McCroy?" Schanke asked. "McCro*r*y, actually," the young woman said, correcting Schanke. "Selma McCrory." "I'm Detective Schanke, this is my partner, Detective Knight." The young woman nodded. "Pleased to meet you both." "So, Ms. McCrory," Schanke said. "You said you have some evidence concerning Captain Stonetree's murder." "I saw something," Selma responded. "I thought the police might want to know." "Yes," Knight responded. "If you'll come this way?" Selma nodded and followed the detectives. * * * "So, you were also staying at the hotel where he was murdered." "Yes, I was. I was at the writer's conference because I'm an aspiring science-fiction writer, and because it was a good cover for meeting with Joe." "You were on a first-name basis with the deceased?" The young woman gave him an odd look. "Of course. We're cousins. Relatively close." "All right," Knight said. "You were meeting with Stonetree. Why?" "He'd hired me to do some investigating on some murders of police officials that had been happening lately. It wasn't official, just for his peace of mind." "So," Schanke said. "Did you cause peace of mind?" "Unfortunately, no. I wasn't able to find anything that was helpful. And I was worried, because one of our own police officials in Vancouver, where I live, was murdered too." "What did you find out?" Knight asked. "I can give you what I found out for Joe," the young woman said. She put the black case that she had been carrying up on the table and unzipped it, revealing a laptop computer. "Just a sec, and I'll copy the files for you. If I don't kill File Manager first." The two detectives watched as she withdrew a floppy from the case, turned on the machine, and copied the files onto the floppy. "There. That's everything that I gave Joe," she said, handing Schanke the floppy. "So, this was why you came," Knight said. "No, actually, it's what happened after that I wanted to report." "What did happen?" Schanke asked. "Well, after I finished briefing Joe, I escorted him down to the lobby to see him off. That was about 10:00 or so. He was about to go out, and then this person came up to him and they went towards the elevators together. "The person, man I should say, was about my height. Short for a man. Short, straight dark hair. I didn't see eye color. I heard his voice. High for a male, but I've heard higher. Kind of low for a female. He was wearing a navy suit and tie. That's the last I saw of Joe." "You didn't follow?" Schanke asked. "He flashed me a sign that everything was okay. I thought he was talking with one of his informants, so I went back to my own room." "And then?" Knight asked the woman. "And then I went back to my own room to do some things, and then I went out to eat. After that, I found out Joe was-- dead." "That's it?" "That's it." They questioned her a bit further, then let her go. Schanke said thoughtfully, "Ten O'clock. The time of death was Ten-thirty, right?" Knight nodded. "Which makes Ms. McCrory either the last person or the next to last known to see him alive. We'll have to see if anyone else in the lobby remembers the three." "I'm heading back to the hotel. Coming?" "Coming." ************************************************************* The Coming of Shadows by L. Bruce Gray It was a dark and stormy night. The wind whipped a damp, thick fog in from the lake and covered all the city's lights with an eerie glow. There was very little traffic on the roads and even the night desk was quiet for a change. Schanke looked at the log book and shook his head. "Nothing." said Schanke. "Not even a lost dog." He looked up at the clock. "Well, that's it for me tonight. Sign me out, will you?" The desk clerk nodded and Schanke headed out the door and back to his apartment. He got into his car and left the parking lot, headed for home. * * * * * A few minutes later, a shadow detached itself unseen from a nearby group of shadows and headed for the parked cars. A quick check of license plates showed which one was the target. The shadow took a small package from within folds of shadows and attached it carefully under the target vehicle. Then the shadow continued down the line of cars, looking for other targets. After attaching similar packages to certain of the other police vehicles, the shadow slipped back into the darkness-- to another job--another victim. * * * * * A few minutes later, a shadow detached itself from the wall near Nick Knight's apartment. Carefully hiding itself in the darkness it somehow slipped virtually undetected into the garage next to Nick's apartment. It looked at the car for a few moments, and then took a small package from out of folds of shadow and attached it carefully under his car. Then the shadow slipped back out of the garage and into the deeper shadows of night and fog. * * * * * A few minutes later a shadow detached itself from the shrubbery near the coroner's office. It went through the line of cars quickly, but left no packages. It would return-- later. * * * * * A few minutes later a shadow detached itself from a nearby convenience store and carefully went over to the car parked in the nearby driveway. It only stopped a moment to look at the license plate before attaching another small package underneath. The shadow moved quickly, and then disappeared into the night. * * * * * A few hours later, the shadow moved back into the Coroner's office parking lot. It went directly over to a car that had not been there before, checked the plate, and quickly attached another small package underneath. Then it was gone-- melting into the other shadows of night and fog. * * * * * The shadow moved into the room, but not unexpectedly. "I have been waiting for you. What is your report?" "We have finished with the first phase of the Shadow Plans." said the shadow. "We are ready to begin with phase two--by your command." "It is given." said the man in the chair simply. The shadow disappeared into the night. ************************************************************* Meanwhile, Back At The Station... by Andria M. Marcoux "Poker?" "No." "Hearts?" "No." "Go Fish?" "No." Lashoka had known she would be stuck doing the drudge work because of her ill advised time as a Knightie, but her partner insisting that doing nothing was actually fun only made it worse. Deborah riffled the deck of cards and smiled as she surrendered to a Cousinly impulse. "W-a-a-r-r?" She drew it out slowly, savoring the word. "NO!" Lashoka stomped into the broadcast booth. Deborah laughed and followed her. "It's not that bad," she said reassuringly, "The war's just starting. Once we prove ourselves, we'll be given more responsibility." "How, exactly, are we proving ourselves as Cousins by doing this?" Lashoka lowered her voice to a rasp. "The cartridges are numbered, put them in and press button and don't touch anything else." She jammed "Tape One" into the slot. "Anyone could do it." "Even a Knightie?" Deborah asked slyly. I'm never going to live that down, Lashoka thought. "Fine, you push the button," she said. "I don't think I'm ready for that kind of responsibility." She stomped out of the booth. Deborah stayed, and listened to an unfamiliar announcer explain that the station was airing a rebroadcast. Then _he_ began. His voice sent shivers up her spine, never mind that it was a repeat. It even drew Lashoka back into the booth. "What's with the phone?" she asked. "Hmm? Oh, the phone." Deborah's brow wrinkled at all the flashing lights. "Why are all these people calling in if it's a repeat?" "Maybe they're calling to complain." Lashoka moved her hand to the receiver. "If we talked to them, and calmed them down, that would help, wouldn't it?" "I don't know, he said not to touch anything." "It's a phone, Deborah. I think I know how to use it." Before Deborah could raise another objection Lashoka picked up the phone and said brightly, "Hello, CERK FM, for those who don't sleep but dare to dream." She jerked the handset away from her ear. "Ma'am, you're going to have speak slower. No, I don't know anything about clear cutting the Stonetree Forest, no, I... Uh-huh. Uh-huh." Deborah sat down in the chair and concentrated on Uncle's soothing voice. She had a feeling that the next time she heard it, the experience wouldn't be a pleasant one. ************************************************************* We Interrupt This Program by Andria M. Marcoux The I.A. guy was quiet, Nick was quiet, and Schanke had to admit he didn't feel much like talking himself after his first visit to 'Darkangel's Dangerous Liaison's Boutique'. Desperate to fill the silence, he turned on the radio. "Hey, Nick, your missing your favorite show." "It's a repeat." Nick said absently, and Schanke glanced at Lucas Cross in the back seat. "You'll have to excuse my partner, he-" A smooth and mellow voice interrupted him. "The Nightcrawler is off the air indefinitely. The following is a re-broadcast of a 'Nightwatch' that originally aired last September." Schanke looked back at Nick. "How could you possibly have know that?" he asked incredulously. The I.A. guy in the back snorted, and Nick opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I, ah-" He was interrupted by a hiss of static and the squeal of feedback. A new voice filled the Caddy. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you night creatures, but I *hate* repeats." Cross sat forward, glaring at the dial. "Not to mention the fact that I am genuinely hurt that the Nightcrawler would abandon us at a time like this. What ever happened to-" The Nightcrawler's voice briefly replaced the interloper's. "Hmm? Your absence is dearly felt, NC. Now, I know that I could never replace you, but until you return, I will stand the nightwatch in your place." Schanke shrugged. "Unbelievable, this chick's even weirder than the guy who's usually on," he said, leaning over to turn off the radio. Cross clamped down on his wrist with an iron grip. "Leave. It." he spat. "Okay, okay," Schanke said, rubbing his wrist. The opening chords of a Motown song came from the radio. "This one is for the Forest of Stonetrees out there, Stormy and the rest. For those of you who haven't heard, Joseph Stonetree was found murdered tonight. Joe, you were overweight, you told rambling stories about scorpions and dead cops, we have reason to believe you were a vegetarian, and we loved you. I know I speak for all of us when I say that I hope this grave unkindness is avenged." 'Papa was a rolling stone' replaced the voice. Schanke shook his head in disbelief, turning the volume down. "Did you hear that?" he demanded, "That's the first time I've heard cold-blooded murder called an 'unkindness'. That is so rich-" He was interrupted by a wry voice from the back seat. "A plurality of ravens is called an 'unkindness', Detective Schanke. I believe it is time we visited Miss DuCharme, don't you?" ************************************************************* Is It Live or Is It... by Cousin Deborah As the sound of Uncle's voice played through the station, Deborah spun idly in the chair at his desk only vaguely aware of Lashoka's voice explaining to irate callers that the Nightcrawler was away on personal business and that was why they were playing repeats While Deborah was glad to cover at CERK while LaCroix was out keeping an eye on the Stonetree investigation, it seemed like a such a straight forward thing to do. There was nothing sneaky or underhanded about. There was no good natured tormenting, no one was suffering... Well, except Lashoka but that was suffering from boredom... Hardly evil in the Uncle- sense of the word. *Oh well* she sighed *everyone has to start somewhere. Even on the ladder of Cousinly success*. Lashoka poked her head in the open doorway. "Deborah, could you come help me with the phones? It's getting crazy out there... I don't know where all these calls are coming from. No one ever seems to listen to the show but Nick." "Sure thing." Deborah jumped up and came around the desk. As she did, the hem of her jacket caught on the answering machine, knocking it to ground, the tape falling out to the carpet. "Oh, great! Don't touch anything, the man said. I wonder if that include breaking his answering machine." "Oh, just put it back on the desk," Lashoka said, exasperated "He'll never know. Then *puh-leeze* come help me with the phones." She walked out to fend off more callers. "Fine. I'll be right there." she called after the departing figure. Under her breath, she added, "Don't get your knickers in a twist." Deborah picked up the machine, reinserted the tape and placed the whole contraption back on the desk with a decided thump. As she did, the machine clicked on and began to play the last message on the tape. When she realized what and more significantly *who* it was, she was only surprise, maybe even shocked. But by the time the message came to an end, she was curiously pleased at the possibilities now presented to her... And she was sure Uncle would be as well. "Hello, this Captain Joseph Stonetree at Metro P.D. I am calling about an acquaintance of yours... A Detective Knight..." ************************************************************* You Were Saying? by Lorelei Feldman Lorelei giggled to herself as she crept up to the radio station. *You know, he really ought to think about getting some more staff. Then things like this couldn't happen.* Walking up to the doorway, and making sure that no-one was around, she got some tools out of her backpack and broke open the lock, then went inside. Not hearing any alarms go off, she went over to the control panel, punched in a few (wrong) numbers, then ripped the box off the wall for good measure. *If that doesn't bring someone, I don't know what will...* Then she made her way as close to the control booth as she could, and looked inside. She was in luck; the two Cousins were next door, answering phones, and the speakers monitoring the show were off. *I don't believe it. This is almost >too< perfect.* Quickly removing the tapes of the Nightcrawler, she replaced them with others she had brought with her. On her way out, just to make sure the cops got the right idea, she also broke the lock on the control room. And since she'd worn gloves, there would only be two sets of fingerprints all over everything... She grinned again, quickly ducked out of view of the office as one of the Cousins, she didn't know which, turned in her direction, and then hurried out. Behind her, the horrendous strains of Lawrence Welk began to ooze out of the transmitter. Some time later, the police arrived. Deborah and Lashoka, still in the control booth, were somewhat surprised to find themselves at gun point to a decent contingent of the Toronto Metro Police. Their confused cries of, "but, we're supposed to be here!" were patiently listened to, then followed by a request that they proceed from the radio station to the police station, where they could attempt to verify this. ************ Back in the Caddy again, Nick and Schanke were discussing their next move when the obnoxious big band music started. "Captain Cross", in the back seat, turned a lovely shade of green that almost exactly matched the Caddy's paint job. Nick quickly turned off the radio. "You know, Knight, there've been weird things going on at that radio station tonight, and the girl running it did say something about Stonetree and the Raven earlier. Maybe we should go and check it out?" "I don't know, Schanke, I mean it's probably nothing," Nick looked nervously in the rear-view mirror at LaCroix. "Yeah, so what else have we got to go on?" LaCroix, in the back seat, was smoldering. "Detective Schanke," he sneered, "is quite correct. I suggest you take us to that radio station. *Now.*" Swallowing his questions nervously, Nick obliged. When they arrived at the station, they found it already marked off by police. Confused, they hopped out of the car and corralled the nearest officer. "Knight, Schanke." He nodded at them, and again at LaCroix. "What are you two doing here?" Nick answered. "We came to talk to whomever was running the show on this station tonight; we thought it might have some bearing on our case. What's happened?" "Well, someone broke in, the alarms went off, we came out and found two young women on the scene, in an office upstairs. Nothing appears to be stolen, no damage except for the door down here and a lock on the control booth. No one else was here; we figure it was an automated show, and the engineer stepped out or something; we haven't been able to reach anyone. Apparently, when we found them, they were just frantically answering telephones." The officer shook his head, bewildered. "Have the women said anything about why they were here?" "Well, they tried to tell us they belonged here, but they couldn't call up any other employees to verify it, and we tried reaching the owner and manager, but there's no answer at his number, so we just took them in for breaking and entering. We'll keep trying to get in touch with the station management." "Alright, thanks." Nick started to leave, only to find LaCroix glaring at him. "What about that... *Music*, Nicholas?" he hissed. "What do you mean?" "I mean, that I am not having *my station* broadcasting the excrement we heard on the way over here! We must do something about it!" "Do something about what?" Schanke returned from the Caddy, where he'd called in, making sure the perps had made it to the station already. Unable to say anything further, LaCroix simply glared at him. Schanke glared back for a few seconds, then turned to Nick. "Well, if you want to go talk to those ladies, they're processed and waiting. Let's go." With a final glance at LaCroix, he headed back to the Caddy, muttering about the rude asses over at IA. Nick followed him, stifling a nervous grin, and after fuming a few more seconds, LaCroix followed, foiled by long rolls of bright yellow tape. ************************************************************* It is Live (2) by Cousin Deborah Deborah played the message again, still amazed her good fortune. This would certainly score points with Uncle. She thought he'd been pleased when she managed to get to Toronto to help with the station. Still, he seemed to take it as a given that she would do as he requested no questions asked... Which of course it had been. She'd arrived instantly. But this... This would be a major coup.... This would... "DEBORAH!" Lashoka came running back into the room "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry Lashoka I meant to come right out and help with the phone. But you have to hear this. It's..." "Oh forget it, what ever it is. We have a bigger problem. Those people calling in... They aren't complaining because of the show being in repeats." "They're not? Deborah looked very puzzled "Well then why *are* they calling?" "They want to know *who was talking on the show about Capt. Stonetree being killed and the Nightcrawler deserting his listeners." She started searching through the various cabinets as quickly as possible. "Come on, we gotta find a radio to see what's actually going out over the airwaves. He's going to *kill* us." Deborah didn't bother to ask who *he* was. By the time they actually found a radio, she was so nervous just thinking about it that she almost dropped it. As the two terrified Cousins huddled around the radio, Lashoka tuned in the station and Deborah prayed to whoever was available that Uncle would be doing something... Anything... Other than listening to the radio. "OK, I got it" Lashoka said."shhhh, listen" What they heard made their blood run cold... "Papa was a Rolling Stone." "We're dead" Lashoka whispered. "Maybe not," Deborah replied in the same hushed tones, "he might not be listening." she knew she was grasping at straws. Uncle had said he would be with Nick, posing as an IA officer. When had Nick ever listened to anything else in the gross colored Caddy of his. As if echoing Deborah's thoughts, Lashoka shook her head "He's with Nick and Schanke and if he's with Nick, he's listening. Did you ever hear of Nick listening to anything else while he drove around in that car of his? Wait a minute," Lashoka said, raising her voice... Why are we whispering? We're alone here... At least until Uncle gets back." Her voice dropped again "It's just not fair." Deborah wailed "I just met Uncle and now he's going to kill me. This is *not *going to help our relationship any." She pouted quietly for a bit, then true to form she found *someone* to blame "This is all Nick's fault." She declared, "If he listened to an oldies station or a rock or country station like the rest of us, we wouldn't be in this position. I mean, if he wants to be mortal so badly, let him listen to the radio like one. I'll get him for this..." "How?" Lashoka asked, mildly concerned at Deborah's twisty reasoning. Not that Lashoka was opposed to getting back at those at fault but it didn't seem to be Nick's fault (and besides, Nick wasn't all *that* bad.) Deborah tapped her fingers grinch-style on the desk "I'll think of *something*." She glanced around, a smile appearing on her face as her eyes fell on the answering machine. "Oh, yes. That's it." she breathed and she pressed the button. Suddenly the voice of the late Capt. Stonetree filled the room "Hello, this Captain Joseph Stonetree at Metro P.D. I am calling about an acquaintance of yours... A Detective Knight. I'd like to come in and ask you a few questions if I might. A source indicated that you may be able to shed some light on various... Inconsistencies in his background." Deborah pressed the button to stop the machine and smiled at Lashoka. Lashoka stared at Deborah, thinking that the drudge work she had been complaining about doing, suddenly seemed pretty good. "Come on," Deborah said while taking the tape out of the machine, "We should make some copies of this for Uncle. After all, he never got the message and we'll need this copy to send to the police station." She took Lashoka by the arm and led her, not completely willingly, out of the room. ************************************************************* The Investigation Continues by Sandra Gray Nick reached over and shut off the radio. A few minutes later he pulled his car up in front of the Raven. The music was loud and the beat resounded in Nick's blood. He walked directly to the bar and spoke to the bartender on duty, Miklos. "Where's Janette?" he asked. "In her office. You want me to get her?" He was looking in a puzzled way at LaCroix. "No, that's all right," said Nick. "Has she been here in the club all evening?" Miklos turned his puzzled gaze to Nick and frowned. "As far as I know," he said. "Why?" "Let's get on with it," said LaCroix. Nick looked at LaCroix, then Schanke. He looked back at the bartender and, smiling slightly, said, "We'll speak later, Miklos." Then he headed for Janette's office, a grim look on his face. "Entre!" said Janette at Nick's knock. She looked up and smiled. "Hello, Nico-lah." Her voice trailed off as her eyes took in Schanke and LaCroix. A frown creased her lovely face. She closed the ledger she had been looking at and leaned back in her chair. Nick stepped further into the room, wishing that he didn't have Schanke and LaCroix there or that he didn't have to do what he had to do. "Janette," he began. "Um, I'm here to ask you to come down to the station with me." Janette's eyebrows rose. "The station? Why?" "There's been a... Murder... And... We need to ask you some questions about it." "A murder? I know nothing about any murder," said Janette, her eyes shifting to LaCroix. "Janette, please. It won't take long." Janette eyed the other two men, then looked again at Nick. "Very well." She rose from her seat. Nick took Janette's elbow and led her back out into the club, Schanke and LaCroix following. She cast him a worried glance and his grip tightened slightly. He wished he could reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. As his eyes drifted over the club, he noticed a group of women sitting at one table. He released Janette and mumbled, "Excuse me. I'll be back in a minute." Then he quickly walked over to the table. "Ladies," he said and they all looked up at him. "I thought you were going to stay in the hotel in case we have any more questions for you." They were silent. Nick's eyes fastened on the woman he had comforted and he added, "I'd consider returning there. This place gets a strange crowd later." He looked at each of them and, smiling, added, "Good night." Then he walked back over to join Schanke, LaCroix and Janette. ************************************************************* Hanging On by Sharon S. Scott The music was deafening, which would have been okay if it had been Sting, but Metallica was just ear-splitting noise. Scottie took her fingers out of her ears long enough to try to shout at Margaret. "Are you ready to get out of here?" "What?" "ARE YOU READY TO GET OUT OF HERE?" "What?" Wishing she knew sign language, she pointed to the front door of the club, and gestured that the two of them should go towards it. Margaret nodded. The roommates were just getting ready to leave when Nick, Schanke, and Captain Cross appeared at their table. Sharon's mouth fell open, and Margaret sat back down quickly. "I think it's a good idea you're going. You don't want to be around here very long. It's dangerous." Nick's voice was clearly audible over the noise. Scottie hated being told what to do, but this was Nick, after all. "We had just decided the same thing." "Good. Go. Do it. Now." "Okay, okay, hold your horses, all right? We're going." They gathered their coats and started digging in their purses for their money. Nick began to look exasperated. "Your bill is paid. Go." Margaret looked at Scottie, then they both looked at Susan Garrett. Scottie bravely asked, "Come on, Susan, we're going." Susan hefted her Amaretto and took a sip, then carefully put the glass back on the table. "I need to talk to Janette. You two go on." "If it's dangerous in here, then it's probably even more dangerous out on the sidewalk. Maybe we'll wait for you here?" Margaret hadn't liked the looks of some of the hangers-on at the front door when they'd come in." "You'd best do as Nick says. Go on, take a taxi. Nick will pay for it. He can afford it. Can't you, Nick?" Susan took another sip of the Amaretto and glared at the detective. Nick glared back and spoke softly. "I thought we had an agreement after the last war. Forgive and forget?" Susan stood abruptly. "Forgive? Maybe. Forget? Never." And she threw the contents of her glass at him. Captain Cross had to hide a snicker. Schanke looked confused. And Scottie was very, very angry. "Susan! Apologize, immediately!" She pulled some of her ever-present wad of tissues out of her purse and began wiping the drips and drops off Nick. "I will not apologize. He deserves it. In spades." "Nick, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have done that." Scottie continued to wipe and blot. "It's okay. You can stop that now." She continued to dab at him. "I said, that's enough. Stop." She didn't. Margaret grabbed one of her arms and tried to pull her away. In vain. "Scottie, STOP IT." Nick was exasperated and embarrassed. Susan and Captain Cross exchanged smirks. Schanke was watching a particularly lissome young woman on the dance floor. Nick grabbed Scottie's hand. "Enough, already." Scottie was staring at his hand on hers, as if mesmerized. "Thank you. You've done an admirable job of cleaning me up." He dropped her hand. Scottie continued to stare at him. "Come on, Schank. We've got work to do." Schanke turned at the sound of his name, and the two men started toward the door of the club. Scottie looked as if she might cry. And then she lunged for Nick. She fell in the process, and grabbed his ankle. And wouldn't let go. He tried to move his leg, and ended up dragging her across the floor, still attached to his ankle. Susan and Cross howled in laughter, Margaret looked mortified, and the patrons of the club stopped dancing to watch. Janette heard the raucous noises and flung open her office door. "What is going on here? Why are you dragging this woman across my dance floor?" Susan tried to look serious, said "She won't let go... She ... She thinks he's the cat's pajamas... " And erupted into laughter again. "Nicolah, stop this insanity, immediately." "I tried. I don't want to hurt her." "You *know* how to make her stop. I can't have this kind of thing going on in my club." "I can't do that with everyone watching, Janette. There are too many mortals here." "Nicolas, your scruples are showing again. I'll get you out of this. As always." Cross sighed, then walked over to the woman and bent down. "You *will* let go... Do you understand?" She still didn't let go. Cross spoke again. "Look at me. Concentrate. *Let go of Nicholas.* Do you understand?" "I understand." She blinked once, twice, then let go. "Finally. Now will you get her out of here and out of my sight?" Janette turned on her heel, walked briskly to her office, and slammed the door shut. "Let's get outta here, buddy, while she's calm. You never know when she might start up again." Schanke took Nick by the arm and they headed out of the club. Margaret and Susan helped get the dazed woman off the floor and to her feet. She looked at Margaret and asked, "What's going on? Why was I on the floor?" Margaret dared a quick look at Susan, who just shook her head, and answered, "You don't want to know. Come on, we're going back to the hotel." "You'll take care of her?" Susan asked, and Margaret nodded. Captain Cross looked at Susan and winked. ************************************************************* Deus ex Machina: Knight Fall by Tuppence transcribed by Diane Echelbarger "OK, folks, the director asked me to go over the next shot with you. She's discussing it with the pros," Valery King said. "This is the drink-in-Nick's-face scene. You all know your lines?" Scottie, Susan and Margaret nodded. "Good. Now, we've decided to play this scene for a little comic relief. Scottie, after Susan throws the drink in his face, we want you to take a wad of napkins or something and wipe him off. Margaret, you try to stop her." Margaret and Scottie nodded. "Oh, and Scottie, when he walks away, you take one step after him, like you want to follow, but know you shouldn't. Got it?" "Got it," Scottie agreed. We'll try it ad-libbed once, and if that doesn't work, we'll set up some formal dialog. OK?" The three fans-turned-actors agreed. They began the scene, and it went smoothly enough. Until Scottie, as instructed, started to take a single step after the retreating actor--and felt her foot catch on something--and fell, grabbing wildly for anything handy to break her fall. Unfortunately, the only thing handy was a certain Welsh actor's ankle. And he didn't stop... Tuppence climbed, purring, into a hidey-hole she had discovered in the bar, and began grooming her fur. The human's shoe had ruffled it, and she *hated* ruffled fur... ************************************************************* A Matter of Taste by Andria M. Marcoux All Schanke wanted to do was get the hell out of the Raven, and his partner had wandered off, leaving him in the middle of the dance floor with Janette and the I.A. guy, Lucas Cross. "These stalling tactics don't look good, Detective Schanke." Cross warned. "We're not stalling," Schanke said defensively, "He said he'd be right back. See?" he pointed to where he spotted Nick winding his way across the dance floor. The heavy pulse of the music was abruptly replaced by the mellow sounds of Jethro Tull. The dancers began shoving back and forth, shouting complaints. Janette headed for the deejay booth, determined to find the cause of the disturbance, but Cross snatched her wrist, holding her in place. "A diversion, Detective? Perhaps to allow Miss Du Charme to escape?" "Escape?" Janette turned to Schanke. "Am I under arrest?" "No, not arrest, exactly..." A now-familiar voice emitted from the speakers as the music faded. "That was Jethro Tull's 'Thick as a Brick', going out to Nick from The Magister. If you want to make a request or dedication on Nightwatch just e-mail me at 'marcoux3108@mtroyal.ab.ca'. My apologies to the CRTC, but that address is just another dead-end. It won't help you catch me. Up next is 'Snake Charmer', from the White Nights album. This one is for 'Donny-boy' from 'his Alma'. Don't forget, boiling spoils the taste." As the driving, electric sounds of "Snake Charmer" replaced the radio pirate's voice, the patrons relaxed and began dancing to the more familiar beat. Schanke closed his eyes, the hazy memories of that night flooding back. The blonde... The backroom... The bondage. "I'm gone," he said, to no one in particular. LaCroix looked at Janette, his alternate persona momentarily discarded. "Alma? And Schanke?" Janette shrugged. "There's no accounting for... Taste." Nick rejoined the two vampires, ignoring the bemused looks they were exchanging. "Let's go," he said. They caught up to Schanke as he escaped into the street. "Schank," Nick began, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. "Not one word, Knight, or I'm telling Natalie about you." he said, not slowing down. "Telling Nat what about me?" "Oh, you know. I mean it! Not one word. Or else." Nick didn't say a word. ************************************************************* Malevolent Conjunction by Cousin Lisa "Eureka!" said Lisa McDavid, putting down her book and signaling one of The Raven waitresses for another Zombie Beachcomber. Her companion in the booth farthest from the sound system looked concerned. "No, I'm *Alma.* Maybe you shouldn't have another drink?" Lisa shook her head impatiently. "No, no, "Eureka's" Greek-- Oh, never mind. I just found out why poor Joe Stonetree was wearing that nightie." "You mean it's in that book? Gee, I didn't know you could get anything but eyestrain from a book." Alma picked up the volume in question as Lisa accepted her new drink from the waitress. "This is a copy of Thomas's "Recherches Chez les Peaux-Rouges de l'Amerique du Nord," published in Paris in 1792. It's very rare because the printer was arrested in the Terror and most of the copies were destroyed. Anyway, it says that among the Neemonee--" "The which?" "Stonetree's tribe. Among the Neemonee, if a man thinks that a sorcerer has put a curse on him, he can turn the curse back on the sorcerer if he dresses as a woman for three days. I heard that little twerp on the front desk tell Schanke that Stonetree had the room booked for three days." Lisa took a long pull from her Zombie Beachcomber. "It's not easy to find clothes Joe's size for a woman, but Zenaida's big, too, and-- Oh, my God! That's it." "Miklos been making the drinks too strong again?" asked Alma. "No, no. Zenaida Stonetree's an Apache. By God, I'd kill Joe Stonetree if he wasn't dead already. There must have been a Scorpion in that stuff he gave me to burn." Lisa was on her feet, chugging the rest of her drink. "'Just do me a favor, Lisa, please,' he said. "'I can't risk being caught with this. Take it away and burn it.' See if I do anybody any more favors, Clan Cousin or not.'" Alma stared at her friend. "Lisa, maybe you better go in back and lie down. What kind of cousin?" "Clan Cousin. My mother's mother was a Neemonee from the Wolf Clan, same as Joe's mother and the Neemonee are matrilineal-" "Mattress? You and Joe were sleeping together?" Lisa glared at the vampire ditz. "Of course not! That means family relationships are reckoned through the mother, and all the members of the clan are cousins even if they're not related. Look, Alma, I've got to go talk to Zenaida Stonetree." "Gee, you sound just like Alix Logan!" Alma's eyes were shining. "Hey, something just fell out of your book." "Oh, it's that stupid note that came with it. I was using it for a book mark. What's wrong?" Lisa took a step backward. There was gold in the back of Alma's eyes. "What the hell *does* she know?" Alma demanded trucculently. "Does that mean you know who wrote this?" Lisa put the note back into Alma's hands. "Yeah, that dingbat Alexandra that Janette hired because she waltzed in here with some sob story about being raped and abandoned by her master and she's looking for him cause she heard he was in Toronto someplace. She can't add and she can't keep nothing straight and I'm always the one who gets yelled at because the customers complain they had problems with some blonde whose name started with A." Alma's eyes were beginning to redden. "Never mind that now," said Lisa automatically. "Look, I've got to get out to Stonetree's house right away. Hey!" Lisa's own eyes lit up and the grin that had made strong men climb trees to get away from her formed on her lips. "Alma, you want to play like you're Alix Logan?" "Hot damn, yeah!" Alma answered. "What do I do?" "Come along with me. I may need you to do some hypnotizing. Call us a cab." Lisa noticed another Zombie Beachcomber standing on the bar, waved an absent thank-you at Miklos and downed half of it in one gulp. "So who needs a cab? I'll just fly you out there." Alma was dancing with enthusiasm. The tiny sober portion of Lisa's brain observed dispassionately that five Zombie Beachcombers were not quite sufficient to shut down her instinct for self-preservation. (This was a useful thing to know, since in the last war five Zombie Beachcombers had led to her new and highly dangerous job as Dorian's assistant. He hadn't told her that the position description included playing den mother to an assortment of temperamental Enforcers.) Flying with Alma struck her as only minimally safer than playing tonsil-hockey with an unmuzzled LaCroix (not that she wouldn't like to try, thought the major, drunken section of the mind which she was temporarily out of.) "No, because I might need to take Zenaida somewhere," Lisa hastily ad libbed, "and she doesn't know about vampires." Alma smiled beatifically and fumbled with the belt of the coat which she had retrieved from under the bar. "Okey-dokey, we'll drive." "But we don't have a car." Lisa finished her drink and absent-mindedly picked up yet another. She swallowed it down in three gulps, trying to anesthetize herself against the suspicion that Alma was about to steal a car for them. Knowing Alma, they'd end up with a Metro Police Patrol car. "No, but Janette does, and I know where she keeps the keys." Miklos suddenly looked alarmed and began advancing on the mortal and the blonde vampiress. He'd lost count while flirting with LJC; that had been six Zombie Beachcombers Lisa'd drunk. He'd never heard of a mortal's having more than five and living. He called, "Lisa, wait!" Lisa, who had speculated after five of the hellacious concoctions in the last war that maybe six would nerve her to commit suicide by molesting LaCroix, proved herself correct. LaCroix wasn't available at present. However, joyriding with Alma in Janette's beloved black Alfa Romeo was an equally valid way of getting oneself killed. Miklos shouted, "Lisa, just a minute," but Lisa ignored him. Alma returned, jingling a Faberge keyring. "Come on, let's go!" Lisa grabbed a bottle of rum from the bar for luck, and ran after Alma into the night. ************************************************************* Random Acts (4) by Diane Echelbarger Captain Cohen found the box on her desk when she got back from her meeting. It was a large, plain white gift box, labeled "AMANDA COHEN, 95TH PRECINCT." She frowned and stuck her head out of her office door. "Lapinksi, where did this box come from?" He shrugged "Delivery service left it at the front desk, Captain. About half an hour ago." "Hmph," she said, closed her office door, and returned to the box. It was a two-and-a-half-foot-square cube, unadorned except for the red-bordered label stuck on top. She slipped her fingers under the sides and lifted the top free. She had to stand on tiptoe to see inside. A black bear cub stared back at her. A Gund bear cub, with a big red bow on its neck. It rested on its back in the box, all four paws in the air. She checked that the blinds on her office were tightly closed, then tipped the box on its side and pulled the stuffed animal out. A grin spread slowly over her face. A bear and one she didn't already have. She sat the life- sized bear cub on her desk, and tossed the box onto the floor. The critter stared cheerfully at her from atop a pile of reports. She ruffled its fur happily, then paused, struck by a sudden thought. Who had sent it to her? And why had they had it delivered to the precinct? She was careful not to let her subordinates know about her toy bear collection; it was so-- unprofessional. And she'd had enough teasing on the subject when she was with the Feds. Since moving to Toronto, she'd been very careful to make sure anyone who found out about the beasties thought they were her daughter's. That was when she noticed the small white envelope stapled to one end of the bow. She pulled it free and removed the card. Four teddy bears smiled at her from the front. The inside was blank. ************************************************************* The Investigation Continues (2) by Sandra Gray LaCroix climbed into the back of Nick's car. Nick gestured to Janette that she should join him. Janette frowned at Nick and he shook his head no slightly in warning. Janette sighed and got into the back seat. Nick and Schanke got in the front and they started down the road. "Where are we going?" asked LaCroix. "I thought we were going to the station." "I need to make a stop first. By forensics." A few minutes later Nick pulled up outside the building that housed the coroner's offices and the forensics lab. He cut off the car and said, "You wait here. I'll just be a few minutes." LaCroix glared at him, Janette frowned slightly, and Schanke's expression was noncommittal. Once inside the building, he headed for the morgue examining rooms. Nat was examining a body on the table--he averted his gaze from Stonetree. She looked up. "Nick! I--I haven't finished the autopsy yet." "I'm not here about that. Has that choker been sent to forensics?" "Yes, but I doubt they've had time to examine it. Why?" "Can't talk now. I've got Schanke, Janette, and LaCroix waiting in the car." "LaCroix!" "I'll explain later." He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. He glanced once at Stonetree lying so cold and white on the examining table. Then he left. He walked to forensics and signed for the choker found at the murder scene. As Nat had expected, they hadn't yet examined it. He promised to return it soon. In the car, he passed the evidence bag over to Schanke. Then he headed for the station. A few minutes later, the four of them were ensconced in an interrogation room. Janette was trying to act nonchalant, but Nick could see she was confused by the turn of events. Nick wasn't quite sure where to start. Finally he said, "Ms. Du Charme, thank you for coming down here tonight. You know Detective Schanke and I. This is..." Nick looked at LaCroix. "Captain Cross of Internal Affairs." Janette raised an eyebrow at LaCroix, who bowed his head. Then she looked at Nick and said, "What is this about?" "Earlier this evening, we found... Captain Joseph Stonetree murdered in the Regal Constellation hotel." "What has that to do with me?" "We found this at the crime scene," said Schanke, laying the choker in its clear evidence bag on the table in front of her. "Look familiar?" Janette picked up the bag gingerly and held it up in front of her face. "A choker?" She laid it back on the table and looked at Nick. "You know I have not worn such a thing for at least a year. *Everyone* wears them now." She sniffed disdainfully. "So you're saying this isn't yours?" asked Nick. "No," she said, her eyes on the choker. Nick frowned. "Can you give us an account of your movements this evening?" Janette looked at Nick. "I've been in the Raven. All night." "You have witnesses that can corroborate that?" asked Schanke. "You were alone in your office." "I was going over the books. I did *not* leave the club. I did not even *know* this Captain Stonetree." "Is there a back entrance to the club?" continued Schanke. "Of course. But I was there all evening. Ask Miklos or--Am I being charged with this crime?" Nick and Schanke exchanged looks. "No," said Nick. "Then, as I have told you everything I know, I have nothing further to say." Nick sighed. "Thank you, Ms. Du Charme, for coming in and talking with us. You're free to go, but please keep yourself available in case we have further questions for you." Janette rose, her gaze angry. Then she left the room. LaCroix looked at Nick and said, "You're letting her leave?" Nick frowned and said, "We don't have any concrete evidence against her." "What about the choker?" Nick picked up the evidence bag. "Circumstantial. Forensics hasn't done any tests on it yet." "Gentlemen, if you've bungled this investigation--" "You were the one who wanted us to talk to her," said Schanke. Then he added, "Sir." LaCroix glared at Schanke and left the room. Nick looked at Schanke and smiled. "I hate IA," said Schanke, smiling back. Then he sobered. "But he's right, Nick. If Janette is guilty, we've just given her a perfect opportunity to leave town." "She's not guilty," said Nick. "Someone's trying to make it seem that she did it." "A frame? Who?" "I don't know that, yet. Maybe this," said Nick, holding up the evidence bag, "will give us some answers." "Or make things hotter for your friend," added Schanke. He sighed. "At least we've got Cross off our necks for a while." "Yeah," said Nick thoughtfully. "Guess I should get this back to forensics." ************************************************************* On The Road Again by Stefani Osborne and Cousin Candice "Candice, where are you?" I put my head on the steering wheel for a moment, hoping that maybe reality would vanish if I didn't look at it. I opened one eye. No luck, the world was still there. I sighed and lit a cigarette. Sitting in front of a crowded hotel in a stolen car was not my idea of fun... "Hi, Steff!" Candi looked way too cheerful for this time of day. But, then again, she wasn't the one who had to get up at four a.m. to make the "travel arrangements." Two nights ago, Detectives Knight and Schanke had showed up at the store, Darkangel's Dangerous Liaisons, she had stayed out of sight, but not out of hearing range. They'd wanted to have a word with her about a particular item they had in the store, but pink negligees were a popular seller among her less adventurous clientele, so she let her manager take care of them. When they figured out they wouldn't be talking to the owner of the store, Nick and Schanke left, and she followed Nick to the motel he'd be staying at for the duration of the "interrogation." she'd thought at the time. What she'd realized was that she'd have to get Schanke out of the way--Nick wasn't a problem, her manager had overheard a comment he'd made to Schanke about staying at a friend's place. Slipping Schanke that sleeping powder had made use of some of her more creative finagling prowess, but had left her little time for sleep herself. Waiting for the sunrise--technically 5:22 am, getting into the car with minimal amounts of sleep, breaking into the car without alarming anyone in the surrounding area, then trying to get used to the oversized monster of a car, trying to act as if she belonged in the car instead of in jail hadn't really been in her plans either. So at this point _anyone_ was in better sprits, including Candi--who wasn't really much of a morning person. She also had those mirrored specs to help make the morning a little less bright. At least she hadn't had to drive all the way to Alfred--everyone had arranged to meet in Williamsburg, Virginia to compensate their "hired help" in part for her services. I belatedly noticed that Cousins James and Caile were behind her, as well as her fellow Merc, Jen Lackey. Damn, what kind of Merc was I, being half-asleep like this in the middle of a job? Maybe if I asked her, Jen would drive. "Hi, guys." I smiled weakly. Luckily we would have to stop for gas soon--I needed coffee. Badly. "Nice car," James grinned as she climbed into the back seat. "I thought so. Though this colour is just too gross..." I wrinkled my nose. Teal was not my style. Of course neither was Nick. "I can't believe you actually took it!" Caile gave me an admiring grin as she climbed in after James. "Yes, well, rental cars just don't have enough leg room. "I smirked. "Or trunk space, for that matter." "And if I'm right, we'll be needing all the spare trunk space we can get." Candi said with a hint of a snicker in her voice, settled herself into the front passenger seat and handed me a package. "Your payment, madam." Candice grinned and motioned for me to open the black box tied with purple ribbon. I looked inside. Sure enough, it was just what I'd asked for... Plus a little something I'd put to *good* use--later. I tucked it under the seat and put the Caddy into 'drive.' Taking it from Nick's place had been a piece of cake, if a little complicated, and it would be several hours before he noticed its absence. By then we'd be long gone. I had a sudden, terrible thought. "Candi?" "Hm?" She was fiddling with a green backpack at her feet. "Please tell me you have the directions with you." "Steff, what kind of moron do you think I am?" She gave me her best look of superiority. "I know! I know what kind she is!" James was bouncing up and down behind me, grinning. I couldn't help but laugh. My guess that James would be fun on car trips was proving to be correct. Now, if only I could keep her wit focused on everyone but me... Candice looked thoroughly annoyed. "Yes, I have the directions," she said, exasperated, and pulled them out of the bag at her feet along with a car discman. "Boys on the Side soundtrack anyone?" she said smiling and plugging the adapter into the Caddy's cigarette lighter. "Good." I smiled and took a drag from my cigarette. Candi also pulled out a small black book with the words "Carpe Nocturn" written in gold cursive on the cover. She flipped through the first few pages and turned to her fellow travelers stating absently "Right then,... Um Steff, in roughly one hour we need to stop and make a phone call--I *think* we have a place to stay while we're in Toronto... Some place on Crawford Street. I just want to make sure. So you can take it easy--no speeding down here... Um, unless you'd like to drive Caile?" "Thanks but no thanks, I'd rather not be driving a stolen car--even if I *am* Uncle's pet." Caile chuckled and made herself comfortable. "I'll drive if you want me to." Jen finally piped up. I smiled gratefully at her and climbed into the backseat, settling in next to Caile--a nap would be a good thing. Then it was all settled, we'd stop somewhere for coffee in an hour. Once we were outside of Toronto--pick up some munchies, cigarettes, gas, and a quick change of license plates. And then, it was off to complete our mission. ************************************************************* A Little Night Music by Cousin Candice It seemed the pit stop had been turned into an e-mail check point. After Jen had poured over her e-mail, Candice had made use of her laptop (for the price of a mocha) to check her own mail. "Nope,, nope, , , ... Ah this is useless. *Why* haven't I heard from them yet, damn they must be busy with their own plans." Candice zapped through the rest of the junk in her Inbox and came to rest the highlighter on... What was this?... Cousin Deborah, hmm.. "Looks like my message is getting out and about, oh MY goodne--er badness... She's certainly up to no good. But I think she'll need my help as soon as I'm finished in Ontario..." She mumbled to herself as she poured over the ominous message. Candice sighed and turned to Caile "Any news from anyone else?" Caile shook her head and packed the rest of her things back into the spacious trunk of the Caddy. Everyone piled back into the Caddy and off they went into the heart of Hamilton, Ontario. It was only an hour west of Toronto, so they should have no trouble getting to the writers convention. So what if they were a few days late? It wasn't their main reason for going to Toronto. Aside from the fact that every person in the car was an avid reader and writer of various fanfiction, they weren't very concerned with a convention with others like themselves. At least they hadn't been since they'd heard about the murder case that had sprung from the very hotel they were all staying in. Candice's first thought was to go and do a little investigating of her own--but she needed a little help from her friends. "Alright, Candi" Jen said flatly "what is it exactly you want us all to do--we're getting closer to our destination, and you still haven't given us our jobs." "Ok, here goes, I'm guessing that there's little or no security at the apartment that we're going into. So, Steff," Candice shifted to face her, "Did you bring that lock pick set I asked you for?" Steff just glared at her, but in a playful manner answered, "Of course I did. What kind of idiot do you think I am? It's amazing what you can glean off the FTP sites these days..." And with that Steff pulled out a small black case that housed her home made files--perfectly shaped to pick any and every lock. James snickered and made a face. "Hey don't look at me! I'm just here for the ride." "Yes, we know James..." Caile groaned, annoyed since she had just been James' latest victim of sharpened wit. "Okay--knock it off. Jen, is the black duffel in the trunk? Are all the supplies I listed in it?" Jen nodded in the affirmative and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. "But what are we supposed to *DO*?" Jen asked rather annoyed. "Listen," Candice snarled, "you're getting paid aren't you ? So just be patient. It'll all come together when we get there. Just be prepared to do more than a little damage." Candice grinned and sat back. "March of the Pigs" blasted out of the speakers and she thought to herself ************************************************************* What's Love Got to Do With It by Sharon Scott "No, Margy, I didn't do that. Please, please, tell me you made it all up. I'm an Assistant Professor, for God's sake. With tenure and everything. I couldn't have. I *wouldn't* have." Scottie pleaded. "Learn to live with it, pardner. You *did* it. I have witnesses." Margaret looked quite satisfied with her roommate's humiliation. "Name 'em." "Me, Susan, a couple of dozen denizens of the club, Cross, Schanke, Janette, and, best of all... NICK!" "You're cruel, Margaret. Mean and cruel. Nasty even." Margaret just smiled. "Stop grinning like a possum! Why didn't you stop me? Damn, I'll never be able to show my face again." "Stop you? Now why would I do that? It was very... instructive." "Yeah, right. One of the Ladies of the Knight embarrasses the hell out of herself and Nick, and you find it *instructive*." She continued hitting her head against the wall. "Well, I *am* a Cousin. What do you expect?" Margaret pulled out her notebook and started writing. "You're taking notes?" "Oh, you never know when stuff like this will come in handy. This is a writers' conference, after all--we're supposed to be learning how to make our fiction better..." "Please promise me you'll change the names to protect the innocent when you publish it." "You wish." She continued writing, then stopped suddenly. "Oh! Almost forgot! While you were totally out of it earlier, I got a call from Schanke. We've got to go down to the station to give a statement." Scottie banged her head against the wall again, then turned to face her friend, and sighed. "Great. Just great. I've made a total fool of myself, and now we have to go face Nick and Schanke again. Great." "Don't forget Captain Cross." "Thanks. That's just what I needed. Maybe I should just go up to the roof and throw myself off and be done with it." "It won't be so bad. Just a couple of questions, sign the statement, and we're back to the conference, right? Since we don't *know* anything about Stonetree's murder, there's not a lot we can tell them." "When do we have to do this?" "ASAP, Schanke said. Go take a shower, change clothes. You *have* been rolling around on the floor at the Raven. Not the most sanitary of places, I would think." "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" "Never." Margaret smiled as Scottie headed for the bathroom. ******************************* At the precinct: It was very strange actually being in a police station--a new experience for both of them. And it was even stranger being led to an interrogation room and being told to sit and wait for the detectives. "I do not have a good feeling about this, Margy." "I don't know--I think it's pretty interesting being here, seeing how things are done. Good experience for the novel." Margy reached into her bag for her notebook and pen, but stopped when the door to the interrogation room opened. Nick and Schanke walked in. Margy looked at them and smiled. Scottie kept her eyes on the top of the table. "Hokay, ladies, just a few questions, then we'll cut you free to do whatever it is you do." Schanke looked at Nick, then at Scottie, a smirk on his face. "Let's start with you, Ms. Newman. Full name, address, date of birth, citizenship." When Margaret started her spiel, Nick walked around the table and stood next to Scottie. "I need to talk to you," he said softly. Scottie didn't look up. "Let's go. Now." She rose, blushing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Schank, we're going outside for a minute." Schanke nodded and continued his questioning. She followed Nick out into the hallway. He leaned against the wall and stared at her. "Now, will you explain what the hell was going on at the Raven?" "I... I can't." "Try." "Nick, I'm sorry. I can't explain it. I think I just went crazy there for a minute." She buried her face in her hands. "Look at me." She slowly lifted her head and did as he ordered. "Who put you up to it?" "No one put me up to it. And before you ask, no, I wasn't drunk. I don't drink. I'm normally a quiet, well-behaved person. I... oh God, I'm so sorry. I apologize. It'll never happen again. I swear it." "Apology accepted. But don't be surprised if I back off anytime you're close." A stricken look crossed her face, but she gulped and tried to look as if she weren't cut to the quick. "I accept that. Is there anything I can do to prove how sorry I am?" "Just stay away from the Raven." She nodded her agreement. "Let's go back in. Schanke's probably done with the preliminaries." She followed him back in to the room and took a seat again. Schanke took the same basic information from her, and then sat back in his chair and grinned. "You're the one who has a phobia about frogs?" "Who told you about that?" "Ve haf our vays." She looked at Margaret, who had the grace to look ashamed of herself. "I will repay, Margaret." "So, tell me about this "thing" you have about our friend the frog." "I'm getting quite a collection. From friends, you understand. Actually, I'm sort of getting used to them. They're kind of cute, if you ignore the cold blood, glassy eyes, and warts." ************************************************************* What's Love Got to Do With It? (2) by Sharon Scott Margaret gaped and Schanke snorted. "My informant said you ran screaming in terror from them." "Maybe your informant gave you some grossly exaggerated information. They're not so bad." Nick was getting exasperated. "Could we get b